Read Online Hot Blood by Stephen Leather - Free Book Online Page B

Prison. He nodded at the high wall to his right. ‘If this goes wrong, we could end up in there,’ he said.
    ‘First, it won’t go wrong,’ said the Major, beside him in the front passenger seat, ‘and second, do you think any prison could hold the five of us?’
    ‘The boss is right,’ said Shortt, from the back. ‘We busted into a prison to get Spider out once before, so I don’t think we’d have any problems getting ourselves out.’
    ‘Like I said, it won’t come to that,’ said the Major. ‘Take a left ahead, Martin.’
    O’Brien indicated and they turned off Brixton Hill. ‘Number twenty-four,’ said Shortt. He was sitting on the floor of the van, Shepherd to his left and Armstrong to his right.
    ‘Are we sure he’s going to be walking home?’ asked O’Brien. He brought the van to a halt down the road from number twenty-four. It was mid-way along a terrace of Victorian houses with weathered bricks, slate roofs and front doors that opened on to the street.
    ‘He doesn’t have a car, so he’ll be on the Victoria Line home,’ said Shortt.
    ‘Unless he gets a lift from a colleague,’ said O’Brien.
    ‘If he gets a lift, we’ll get him in the house,’ said Shortt. ‘He’s in the office today – I checked. And he was in at ten so I figure with a nine-hour day he’ll be here some time in the next hour or so.’
    ‘Unless he goes out for a drink after work,’ said O’Brien.
    ‘He’s a Muslim, so he doesn’t drink,’ said Shortt. ‘What’s with all the doom and gloom, anyway, Martin? Is your blood sugar getting low?’
    ‘Let’s relax,’ said the Major. ‘He’ll be here some time tonight, no matter how he comes.’
    ‘Anyone else in the house?’ asked Shepherd.
    ‘It’s rented. I phoned a couple of times during the day and no one answered,’ said Shortt.
    Armstrong took out a Browning Hi-power semi-automatic and checked the action.
    ‘No one gets hurt,’ said the Major.
    ‘The magazine’s empty,’ said Armstrong.
    ‘We do what we have to do, but I don’t want him in hospital,’ said the Major. ‘If he gets hurt, the police’ll be called in.’
    ‘The cops are already here,’ laughed Shortt, and jerked a thumb at Shepherd.
    Shepherd flashed him a sarcastic smile. He was far from happy at what they were about to do, but he knew they had no choice. He was a policeman, but Geordie Mitchell was a friend and Shepherd would do whatever it took to save his life.
    O’Brien switched on the radio and flicked through the channels until he found one playing bland seventies music. The men listened to the Police, Elton John, and the Eagles as they waited.
    It was close to nine o’clock when the Major switched it off. ‘This could be him,’ he said, looking in the wing mirror.
    O’Brien twisted round in his seat. A man in his early thirties was walking from the direction of the Tube. He was wearing a green parka with a fur-trimmed hood and carrying a brown leather briefcase. He had slicked-back black hair and a Saddam Hussein-style moustache. O’Brien had the photocopy of Basharat’s passport on the dashboard and passed it to the Major. ‘Looks like him,’ he said.
    ‘Right, here we go,’ said the Major. He watched in the mirror as Basharat strode towards his house. ‘Start the engine, Martin.’
    O’Brien turned on the ignition.
    ‘Fifty feet,’ said the Major.
    Shepherd, Shortt and Armstrong pulled on ski masks. They were already wearing gloves.
    ‘Forty feet,’ said the Major.
    Shepherd took a deep breath. There was no going back once the van door opened.
    ‘Thirty feet,’ said the Major.
    Shortt slid across to the side of the van.
    ‘Go,’ said the Major. ‘Go, go, go.’
    Shortt opened the side door and jumped out on to the pavement, followed by Shepherd and Armstrong. Basharat stopped when he saw them, his mouth open in surprise. Shortt reached him first, grabbed his left arm and jerked him towards the van. Basharat started to yell but Shepherd clamped