‘ I presume you searched everybody in the house?’
The look on Gallagher’s face gave the game away. ‘In view of the fact we were searching for a wanted man, I think it would have been OTT to start strip-searching folk, don’t you?’
‘ No, I fucking don’t. You stupid, stupid bastard. How can I soar like an eagle when I’m surrounded by donkeys?’ he wanted to know. He took a deep sigh, but try as he might, he could not shake his sense of foreboding. Henry Christie was proving to be hard to handle.
‘ Right,’ he said, consulting a piece of paper in his hand, ‘we’ve got thirty different weapons to show, so I suggest we set up about fifteen of the tables on the dance floor and put two on each with boxes of ammo. Then de Vere can wander about to his heart’s content. You do that, and I’ll go and help the others bring the gear across from the station.’
He left, fuming.
Twenty minutes later he returned with Siobhan and Tattersall. They were each carrying heavy holdalls which contained the guns. They had been removed openly from the armoury at the station because openly aroused less suspicion.
Morton directed their distribution.
Ten minutes later he walked round the tables, checking the merchandise.
At one point he stood on some grit on the highly polished surface. He scuffed his shoes in it, gave it a moment’s attention, then forgot it. His mind was consumed with other matters.
Thirty feet above, Rider and Henry peered down through the two-inch crack they had engineered in the ceiling to give them a restricted view down to the room below.
‘ What are they doing?’ Rider said more to himself than anything.
‘ Haven’t a clue.’
From their position, laid out side by side in the old casino office, chins hanging over the edge of the trapdoor, squinting down through the minute gap, they could see a couple of the tables Gallagher had dragged onto the dance floor.
‘ Rearranging the furniture,’ Henry said.
The top of Tattersall’s head came into view. He placed something on a table with a clatter of metal. His shoulders hunched over his task, obscuring the view. A minute later he moved away, revealing two guns lying on the table. One was a semi-automatic pistol, the other a big revolver. Boxes of ammunition stood by them.
Tattersall moved to the next table within their view and left two more weapons on it. One could have been an Uzi, the other was a semi-automatic pistol. And ammunition to go.
‘ A gun bazaar, I’d say,’ Rider murmured. ‘Marketing their goods.’
‘ They’ve got police property tags on them too,’ Henry noted. ‘I think they’re the ones we found in the back of Dundaven’s Range Rover. The cheeky swines.’
They drove in convoy to Blackpool, the Mercedes followed by the Mayfairs and then a Mondeo driven by Conroy’s minders. They arrived outside the club at 10.30 a.m.
Morton met them at the door, then led them inside to the dance floor and main bar area. Gallagher and Siobhan were left to guard the entrance. De Vere sniffed the atmosphere huffily but said nothing. He began to browse through the display, lifting up and examining the goods closely. He was impressed.
Hamilton introduced the Mayfairs to Morton as the men who would be killing Henry Christie and John Rider.
‘ I don’t think you’ll have to look far. I reckon they’re in Blackpool somewhere. That should make things easier for you.’
After ten minutes amongst the tables, de Vere turned to Conroy. ‘We need to talk money now.’
Which is exactly what Conroy wanted to hear, but he also needed McNamara’s presence because of the transport arrangements which were an integral part of the deal. ‘Just give me a second,’ Conroy said. He went to Morton. ‘Where the fuck is Harry?’
At which exact moment the man himself walked hurriedly in through the door. His face was a mask of controlled grief, though none of the men in the room picked that up. They wanted him for his contacts, not his face.
‘ Ahh,’ Conroy announced with relief. ‘We wondered where you’d been hiding. Come over here. We’re talking business.’
Kate picked up the phone on the first ring. ‘It’s for you. Somebody called Kevin Summers.’ She handed it across to Donaldson, then sat down again. Her eyes were sunken and surrounded by dark circles. Karen placed an arm around her shoulder and gave her a hug.
There were only the three of them in the house. The girls had been taken to school without any explanations about what was going on.
Donaldson asked a few muted questions and hung up.
He turned to the women. ‘Developments,’ he said. Before he could expand, there was a knock on the front door. ‘I’ll get it,’ he said.
It was Detective Chief Superintendent Fanshaw- Bayley.
Ten yards above the dance floor, two escaped prisoners watched and listened as intently as possible. Only the occasional word could be made out.
Henry adjusted his position ever so slightly to relieve the pain he was feeling.
Rider’s stomach gurgled obscenely, reminding Henry how hungry he was himself. It had been a long time since both men had eaten or drunk anything warm and they were both close to starvation and exhaustion.
Donaldson and FB burst out of the front door and sprinted down the driveway to FB’s car, a Ford Probe.
FB was shouting into his personal radio, ordering all the ARV patrols to go onto channel 71, the secure radio channel to which only firearms officers had access.
‘ How many teams are in Blackpool at this moment?’ Donaldson asked.
‘ Three. That means six officers, all armed and dangerous.’ FB slammed the Probe into first and accelerated away from the kerb. ‘All ARV s to meet me, as a matter of urgency, on the Promenade, near to the pleasure beach, opposite the Big One. Do not use two-tones, or blues,’ he said into his radio, then repeated the message and asked for acknowledgements. He then instructed them all to prepare their weapons and don their body armour.
When FB had finished speaking, Donaldson said, ‘Henry thinks you’re one of them.’
‘ Henry’s an arsehole,’ FB muttered, negotiating a blind bend and slewing the back wheels across the tarmac.
‘ And he’s been used by you, hasn’t he?’
FB slotted Donaldson a sidelong squint of contempt, then concentrated on his driving, choosing to make no reply to what was a very leading question.
After discussing the planned demise of Christie and Rider with Morton, the Mayfairs sauntered between the tables of weaponry, watched closely by Morton who did not like, or trust them very much.
They strolled until they were — accidentally — directly under the aperture in the ceiling through which the two escapees were peering. A table displaying two AK 47s was next to Tiger.
Tiger’s trainer scuffed the dusty grit on the dance floor. He bent down, dipped his fingers into it, frowned and looked up at Wayne.
The ARVs responded brilliantly. Within five minutes, each car had converged beneath the shadow of the Big One. The officers, all kitted out in their body armour, Glock pistols and MP5s, waited expectantly for FB who screeched to a halt a minute later.
There was also another car present. The nondescript occupant got out of it and approached Donaldson. They shook hands. Donaldson then introduced the man to FB. ‘I’d like you to meet Kevin Summers, FB. Kevin’s with the MI5 Surveillance Branch. He’s been doing some superb work for me.’
Coolly Summers said, ‘I think we’ve got a situation here and we should move as soon as possible with it.’
McNamara, de Vere and Conroy paused at one of the tables which was displaying. 357 Ruger revolvers.
McNamara nonchalantly picked up one of the empty guns in his left hand and flicked the cylinder release whilst continuing to discuss matters of transport and money with the other two. He held a speed-loader in his right hand which was fitted with six wad-cutter bullets.