For the Love of God and the Arab Rising

  Chapter Twenty: The race to Furness Green. At 1715 hrs the phone promptly rings, its Tom as expected. Tom informs me that DI Bramley has raised a sting team and will be heading up to Furness Green tonight in preparation for tomorrow. He is onboard and as keen as us to nail this one. It will be a high profile sting that is not only politically inspiring, but career lifting. The media will love it. He suggests that I must stay away until the police have done their work and the trap is sprung; I will only get in the way and be a great danger to myself and his team. An agreement is reached and this keeps him happy, but I have known Tom for some years now and he is only happy when he is getting his own way; it’s pointless trying to explain our plans to him.

  On catching a little movement in the rear view mirror of the Jag, I immediately say good bye to Tom, put the phone down and look into the rear view mirror once more. I can see a few cars behind me, but nothing grabs my attention. Then as I pull away from the kerb and proceed back to Jeff’s, I have to queue before turning right at the traffic lights and then I spot something; a Silver Ford Mondeo with 3 guys and a woman inside. Two of them, I immediately recognise are from the airport: the big blond guy is driving and the brunette woman is in the passenger seat; two hoods are in the rear seats. As I look into the mirror once more, the lights turn green and the brunette woman catches my eye, she realises they have been spotted and I can see the animated urgency of the occupants as they try to kick arse and get to me. The Jag doesn’t let me down; the torque is so strong and it accelerates with ease. I feint a turn, but instead of turning right, I head straight on to the main road and the M25. They are at least four cars behind and driving as urgently as I. Now they have been spotted, they have only one option left, to stop me, subdue me, and use me to get to Catriona and the others. I grab my mobile and hit the speed dial for Catriona. ‘Hello. Catriona Mitchell speaking.’ ‘Cat, it’s me Steve, and I’ve been spotted, I’m heading for the M25’. ‘I told you Steve, it’s that damned Tom Bramley, he cannot be trusted’. ‘Maybe Cat, Maybe. I will drive the ‘Swanley to Orpington’ ring road. Meet me with the van at the Orpington high rise car park. We’ll do a quick swap on the top floor and dump the Jag; ask Jeff to pick it up later’. ‘OK’. ‘Do not bring Jeff and the lads along, it will be mayhem’. They were about 4 cars behind me and the traffic was a little busy. You could overtake occasionally and that was the game we played. Any opportunity missed was an opportunity for the other to gain. Pull out accelerate and pull back in before hitting oncoming traffic or having a permanent relationship with a bloody traffic island. I hit the slip road for the M25 London circular at about 90mph and was doing 110mph before the end of the slip road; and gunned it to 120 mph as I crossed 3 lanes in one manoeuvre. My adrenaline was on overdrive, my senses alive with the will to live. The silver Mondeo was leaving the slip road as I pushed the Jag down the outside lane: My advantage? Yes. This was my manor and I knew exactly where I was going. I had to cover approximately 5 miles and take the second turn off at junction 3. Then the main road to Orpington from the M25 junction was another 5 miles of fast ‘A’ road. I passed junction 2 and stabbed the throttle once more; hitting 130mph as I eased the Jag into the middle lane in preparation for a dive into the third junction and the run for Orpington.

  I’m heading for junction 3 when the bloody phone rings, so I jab my finger at the in car system and its Jeff. ‘Steve, are you OK. Do need some help?’ ‘No; not really Jeff. I’m running scared but I’m in front. If I take these guys back to your place or you even meet me anywhere it will be shooting gallery for sure’. ‘What then? You want us to stay here?’ ‘Yep, pick up your Jag from the Orpington high rise, and let Cat take the works van. I’ll do a swap on the top floor; there’ll never notice us coming out as they go in’. It takes me a good 10 minutes to do the 5 miles to Orpington town centre and I can see the silver Mondeo in my rear view mirror all the way. I drive round the back of the high street and straight into the multi storey car park. On reaching the top floor and I can see Jeff’s white van parked neatly and ready to go. Cat is waving frantically at me to get a move on. I screech to a halt and lock the Jag as Jeff will take his spare keys. Catriona is pulling away before I even close the passenger door and we are already two floors down when we spot the Silver Mondeo racing up a car park slope through a gap of its construction. Catriona times the exit from this level with the Mondeo’s egress to the same level; they would have only seen the tiniest glimpse of the van if at all. It was time to hit the M1 and head for Furness Green.

  It’s now 7pm and we have not booked a hotel. Cat and I are quite aware that we are running out of time. The drop is scheduled for anytime tomorrow, but will it surely be early am or after dark, it could be during daylight hours, but that would be extremely risky and highly unlikely. It will take 2 hours to drive to Furness Green, so we will not get there until approximately 9pm. At the moment: I am not worried about getting a hotel room or whether McGovan will catch up with us; but I am worried about Tom and Peter. Tom called just as I spotted the car tailing me and Peter has not called at all which is a real worry. Tom did say an operation was in motion and that we should stay away, but until McGovan’s crew is arrested, we are not safe, pure and simple. We are relieved to get away from Orpington; it was safe for a while but we need to keep moving. Our plan B facilitates this; it gets us away once more and gives us an opportunity to help nail these killers. It only takes two hours to get to Croydon, which is the nearest large town to Furness Green. We head into the town centre to find a hotel and book a room. It takes some time for us to clean up, wind down and relax; its 10pm before we realise it. ‘Cat. Shall we eat?’ ‘Oh yes please, down stairs will do fine’.

  It’s during dinner that we discuss our options. Shall we leave the surveillance until after dark tomorrow or try our luck from early in the morning? The date we had worked out from Nosa’s statement was 19th December and every operation scheduled for a calendar date must surely refer to the period of night time that follows. The drop couldn’t be during the day, could it? Catriona pulls an ordinance survey map out of her coat pocket and we start to study the map over a glass of Sauvignon. The good food, wine, and the hotel atmosphere begin to take affect and my mind wanders. I begin to notice Catriona’ sweet smell once more; I lean over the table and kiss her quickly on the lips. All I get for my trouble is an incredulous stare and a quick rebuff, and told to concentrate on the job in hand.