Bevan’s eyes were focussed on the man immediately in front of her, but in her peripheral vision, she could see a further three masked men dragging Mason’s body out of the way so that they could close the side door — and then she saw Jack leading the charge across the lawn towards the unlocked patio doors, his radio transmitting the frantic voice of the officer watching the CCTV: ‘They’re in! Oh God, they’re in! Four inside. I repeat, four inside.’
All of this seemed to happen in slow motion and, by the time Bevan’s brain could assess the situation in full, she was standing with her back to the masked man, who had his forearm pushed into her throat and the crowbar pushed so hard into her side, it felt like it had pierced her skin and was now nestling between two of her ribs.
Three of the masked men ran back out of the side door, followed by all of Jack’s team, bar one. Sergeant McDermott went straight to Mason, established signs of life, rolled him into the recovery position and then applied pressure to the gaping wound at the back of his skull. The growing pool of blood on the kitchen floor around Mason’s head contained tiny white flecks that Bevan assumed to be skull fragments, and the look on her face told Jack that Mason was in dire trouble and needed to go to hospital... Now!
Jack stood in front of the open side door and spoke directly to the man in the mask behind Bevan. ‘This is up to me and you now — because you’re the one who can make this go completely tits-up, and I’m the one who can let you escape. We’ve got the other four gangs, so I’m happy. But if you want to be the one that got away, you’re running out of time because backup will be here in seconds.’ Although Jack exuded an air of total confidence, he was fully aware that the man now standing with his arm pushed hard onto Bevan’s throat could well be the same man who snapped a colleague’s hyoid bone just eight months ago.
The masked man took a step towards the side door and Jack moved with him, blocking his exit. ‘If you go, you go alone,’ Jack said. ‘There’s no way you’re leaving with her.’
Jack’s dark, threatening eyes never blinked, while the eyes behind the mask flicked between Jack and the open door. Jack knew that this masked man had trapped himself in a corner, but he also knew that that was a dangerous place for any scared animal to be. If a mistake was going to be made, it would be now. Again, the masked man stepped towards the open side door, holding Bevan so tightly around the throat that she was on tiptoes as they moved as one. Bevan turned her head slightly, creating a tiny space between her windpipe and the crook of the man’s elbow, so she could gulp a desperate mouthful of air.
The man raised his crowbar, extended it towards Jack and whispered three words: ‘I’m the boss.’ In that moment, Jack’s blood ran cold, remembering Mathew’s trembling voice as he spoke of being beaten, over and over, by ‘Oberyn Martell’. His final words to Mathew had been ‘I’m the boss’. This man, with his arm around Bevan’s neck and a crowbar in his hand was Alberto Barro. This man was the weak link they needed to bring De Voe to his knees. Jack maintained his external calm for Bevan’s sake.
The masked man slid his arm from round Bevan’s neck and grabbed a fistful of her hair. The move took less than a second, but a more experienced field officer would have used it to break free. Instead, Bevan stood stock still, staring at Jack, waiting for him to tell her what to do. She had no copper’s instinct — no survival instinct. She was totally relying on Jack to save her. Jack realised he’d misjudged her and wished she was still sitting at her computer surrounded by pastries.
The masked man pulled Bevan backwards and then, with one violent shove, he threw her forwards, still holding her firmly by the hair. She grimaced in pain as her scalp screamed in agony but she managed not to cry out.
Jack wasn’t close enough to make a grab for her, or to make a grab for the man he now believed to be Alberto Barro. The masked man flicked the extended crowbar sideways, indicating that Jack should move out of the way of his exit. Jack seemingly started to do as he was told, but as well as moving left, he also edged forwards. Once the masked man could see a clear route out, he pulled Bevan fiercely towards his chest before throwing her forwards again, this time letting go of her hair. She lurched into Jack’s arms, forcing him to catch her and giving the masked man time to escape. Jack got Bevan back onto her feet, steadied her, then dashed outside.
The Yardley house was at the end of a short gravel drive which Jack could clearly see down to the street at the far end. No one was running away in that direction. At the back of the house, a locked iron gate juddered as though someone had just vaulted over it. Jack leapt the gate and ran down the dirt track beyond. After running in a straight line for about thirty seconds, Jack realised that he was getting nowhere. He had no clue how far this road went and, to his left and right, the fields were scattered with huge rolls of hay, any of which would make a perfect hiding place. He was chasing ghosts.
Furious with himself, Jack started to walk back the way he came. He heard the rustle of bushes behind him one second too late and, as he turned, he walked straight into the heavy crowbar. Jack fell flat onto his back, staring up at the silhouetted masked man who now stood over him. The man spun the crowbar in his hand. He was playing, taunting — his favourite game. The man got out his mobile, found the name Betina and texted:
It’s a trap. Get out.
Then, as the weapon was raised for the final kill, Jack breathed out what he thought might be his last words: ‘Alberto Barro.’ The words made the crowbar freeze, mid-strike. The man took off his mask and laughed. ‘Good for you. What are you going to do... arrest me?’
As his head spun and his vision swirled, Jack’s only hope of survival now was that Alberto loved the sound of his own voice so much, that he would keep taunting Jack until backup arrived. Alberto’s mobile pinged. It was Betina:
Safe.
Alberto smiled. ‘Know this before I kill you. You haven’t got us all. What you’ve got is cannon fodder. Small fry who don’t even know who they’re working for.’
Jack’s vision was becoming clearer and, with the adrenaline fiercely pumping, dulling the pain in his head, he said simply, ‘Michael De Voe.’ He saw the silhouette before him straighten and tense. Jack smiled. He couldn’t see Alberto’s expression, but he now knew that the police did know who the small fry were working for. And if they knew that, then they knew everything. Although Alberto was the one with a crowbar in his hand, it was his voice that now trembled in fear: ‘Who are you?’
Jack’s voice was deep and steady. ‘Jack Warr.’
At this point, Jack still imagined that he was about to die, but he was determined that his name would be a ghost haunting Alberto Barro’s dreams for the rest of his life. As the crowbar was drawn back, time stood still long enough for Jack to clearly picture Maggie and Hannah. He smiled and focused on his beautiful, love-filled final memory.
Suddenly a voice shouted Jack’s name, sending Alberto fleeing into the field, swiftly followed by adrenaline-fuelled police officers. Someone knelt by Jack’s side — he had no idea who — and they assured him that he was going to be OK.