Read Online The Last 10 Seconds by Simon Kernick - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Simon Kernick
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did so she glanced back at Kent and felt that twinge of doubt reappear.
Could it possibly be that he was telling the truth?
Nine
It had just turned three o’clock and I was still buzzing with the after-effects of the adrenalin when we pulled into a deserted pay and display car park just west of the Brent Cross shopping centre, where we were going to be rendezvousing with Wolfe and Haddock. Tommy had already called Wolfe to say that, although we had the goods and they seemed in order, there’d been a problem. He hadn’t elaborated, being cunning enough never to say too much on the phone, but I’d heard Wolfe’s distinctive growl down the other end, the volume notched up a few levels, and it was clear he wasn’t happy.
‘Don’t worry, Sean,’ said Tommy as he found a spot in the corner of the car park, near a couple of anaemic-looking trees that were the only greenery I’d seen in the last ten minutes. ‘Wolfe’ll smooth things over with Mitchell and his people. The relationship we’ve got with them’s good, and Wolfe’s got enough clout to make sure there are no comebacks. Know what I’m saying?’
‘Sure,’ I answered, still finding it hard to come to terms with what I’d done.
I’ve come close to the edge before. One time, not long after I’d started out in undercover, I infiltrated a gang of West Ham football hooligans to try to gather evidence against some of their top guys, who were suspected of involvement in drug dealing and gun running. The assignment lasted four months, and during that time I had to prove myself by joining in the clashes with rival fans. This meant hand-to-hand fighting. Hitting people in the face; kicking them when they were on the ground; chucking chairs through pub windows (I did that twice). I’d like to say that I tried to do as little damage to people as possible, but that’s not entirely true. Several times I found myself caught up in the thrill of the moment – it’s difficult not to when the war cries break out and the adrenalin’s pumping through you. You’re surrounded by your mates, guys you know will always watch your back, and it was the nearest thing to going into battle that I’ve ever experienced. It was wrong, I always knew that, but I justified it by telling myself that joining in was the only way I was going to keep my cover intact. And anyway, the men I was fighting against were football hooligans too, and knew the score when they got involved.
Then, during a mass brawl on the Seven Sisters Road with Spurs fans, I was one of ten people caught on CCTV throwing punches and kicks. Stills of the footage were shown on Crimestoppers , and though it was thankfully pretty grainy (this being the early days of CCTV), I was still recognized by both my bosses at the time, Dougie MacLeod and Captain Bob, as well as several colleagues. Not surprisingly, this caused huge embarrassment among the Met’s brass who, desperate to avoid a scandal, got Crimestoppers to remove my mug from their website, stopped any further broadcasts, and told Captain Bob to pull me off the job immediately.
The grim irony in all this was that my guest appearance on Crimestoppers improved my credibility within the Firm no end. On the day I was told it was all over, I got a call from the Firm’s head honcho, and our main target, saying that he wanted a meet. But it was too late. I tried to persuade Captain Bob that it had to be worth carrying on now that I was finally in with the people we were after, but he wasn’t having any of it. Sometimes as an undercover copper you’ve got to commit crimes to prevent other, bigger ones from happening further down the line. The key is not to get caught. I did, and it cost me a black mark on my record.
What I’d just done was different, though, because I’d deliberately shot two men. The fact that it was self-defence, and that they’d almost certainly survive if they received medical treatment, wasn’t making me feel better either. There was
Could it possibly be that he was telling the truth?
Nine
It had just turned three o’clock and I was still buzzing with the after-effects of the adrenalin when we pulled into a deserted pay and display car park just west of the Brent Cross shopping centre, where we were going to be rendezvousing with Wolfe and Haddock. Tommy had already called Wolfe to say that, although we had the goods and they seemed in order, there’d been a problem. He hadn’t elaborated, being cunning enough never to say too much on the phone, but I’d heard Wolfe’s distinctive growl down the other end, the volume notched up a few levels, and it was clear he wasn’t happy.
‘Don’t worry, Sean,’ said Tommy as he found a spot in the corner of the car park, near a couple of anaemic-looking trees that were the only greenery I’d seen in the last ten minutes. ‘Wolfe’ll smooth things over with Mitchell and his people. The relationship we’ve got with them’s good, and Wolfe’s got enough clout to make sure there are no comebacks. Know what I’m saying?’
‘Sure,’ I answered, still finding it hard to come to terms with what I’d done.
I’ve come close to the edge before. One time, not long after I’d started out in undercover, I infiltrated a gang of West Ham football hooligans to try to gather evidence against some of their top guys, who were suspected of involvement in drug dealing and gun running. The assignment lasted four months, and during that time I had to prove myself by joining in the clashes with rival fans. This meant hand-to-hand fighting. Hitting people in the face; kicking them when they were on the ground; chucking chairs through pub windows (I did that twice). I’d like to say that I tried to do as little damage to people as possible, but that’s not entirely true. Several times I found myself caught up in the thrill of the moment – it’s difficult not to when the war cries break out and the adrenalin’s pumping through you. You’re surrounded by your mates, guys you know will always watch your back, and it was the nearest thing to going into battle that I’ve ever experienced. It was wrong, I always knew that, but I justified it by telling myself that joining in was the only way I was going to keep my cover intact. And anyway, the men I was fighting against were football hooligans too, and knew the score when they got involved.
Then, during a mass brawl on the Seven Sisters Road with Spurs fans, I was one of ten people caught on CCTV throwing punches and kicks. Stills of the footage were shown on Crimestoppers , and though it was thankfully pretty grainy (this being the early days of CCTV), I was still recognized by both my bosses at the time, Dougie MacLeod and Captain Bob, as well as several colleagues. Not surprisingly, this caused huge embarrassment among the Met’s brass who, desperate to avoid a scandal, got Crimestoppers to remove my mug from their website, stopped any further broadcasts, and told Captain Bob to pull me off the job immediately.
The grim irony in all this was that my guest appearance on Crimestoppers improved my credibility within the Firm no end. On the day I was told it was all over, I got a call from the Firm’s head honcho, and our main target, saying that he wanted a meet. But it was too late. I tried to persuade Captain Bob that it had to be worth carrying on now that I was finally in with the people we were after, but he wasn’t having any of it. Sometimes as an undercover copper you’ve got to commit crimes to prevent other, bigger ones from happening further down the line. The key is not to get caught. I did, and it cost me a black mark on my record.
What I’d just done was different, though, because I’d deliberately shot two men. The fact that it was self-defence, and that they’d almost certainly survive if they received medical treatment, wasn’t making me feel better either. There was
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