‘I want to know what he’s got to say,’ I repeated firmly.
‘Well you can’t,’ snapped Wolfe, glaring at me from barely two feet away now. ‘You’re just the hired help, remember?’
That’s when a part of me just snapped. Being spoken to like that by the man who’d murdered my brother made the red mist come hurtling down, and before I could even think about it I’d lifted my shotgun and pointed it at Wolfe, so that the end of the barrel was barely six inches from his chest. ‘Don’t talk to me like that. You’ve messed me around enough. I’m entitled to know what this piece of shit’s talking about, so do me a favour and drop your gun. Now.’
But Wolfe made no move to pull his pistol away from Kent’s face. ‘What the fuck do you think you’re doing?’
To be honest, I wasn’t at all sure, but now that I’d made the move I was going to have to see it through. ‘I don’t like the way this whole thing’s gone down,’ I said, keeping the shotgun trained on him, my finger steady on the trigger. ‘I want to know why we’ve sprung this guy, who your client is, and where exactly we’re going. And I want to know it now.’
‘Come on, boys,’ said Tommy uncertainly from behind me. ‘Let’s all calm down and do what we’re meant to do. Sean, stop pointing that thing at Ty.’
‘I’m being bullshitted, Tommy,’ I said over my shoulder, ‘and I don’t like it. I want to know what this guy’s got to say.’
‘You’d better drop it now,’ hissed Wolfe, his whole body tensing.
‘I told you we shouldn’t trust this dog,’ Haddock rumbled from the driver’s seat.
I could hear my heart thumping in my chest, and I knew I’d made a bad move, because now I’d made an enemy of both the men in the front of this vehicle, and there was going to be no coming back from that. But there was also something badly wrong here. This wasn’t a vigilante job. It never had been, which I guess I should have known all along. But what did Wolfe want with a suspected serial killer like Kent? From what little I could gather, Kent had information that made him confident Wolfe couldn’t kill him. I had no idea what it was, but if it had something to do with Wolfe’s client, I needed to hear it. I already had enough evidence on the recording device to convict Wolfe and Haddock. If I got out now with Kent, I could find out what he knew, deliver him to the authorities and take my chances with the inquiry that was sure to come later.
But first I had to get out.
I stared at Wolfe. He stared right back.
My whole world had been reduced to the interior of a tiny van that smelled of age and sweat.
‘Drop the gun,’ I repeated, trying to keep the fear out of my voice.
Wolfe kept it pressed in Kent’s cheek. ‘Or what? You’ll pull the trigger? I don’t think you’ve got the balls, son. Cos I’m looking in your eyes and I can tell you won’t do it.’
I swallowed, conscious of a bead of sweat running down into the corner of my eye, forcing me to blink.
That was when I felt something cold against the back of my head. ‘I think it’d be better if you dropped yours, Sean,’ said Tommy. ‘I’m sorry, mate, but it’s better this way.’
I hadn’t expected this from Tommy, but maybe I should have done. After all, his first loyalty was always going to be the crew. Even so, I still felt a sense of relief as I lowered the shotgun, which lasted as long as it took Wolfe to jerk it from my hand, turn it round, and shove the barrel between my legs while at the same time placing the pistol right between my eyes. For the first time in my life I was on the wrong end of three different firearms.
‘Cover Kent,’ Wolfe snapped at Tommy. ‘And put that gag on him. Tie his hands behind his back too. I don’t want that bastard moving an inch.’ Then he turned to me, his face a screwed-up ball of pure hate.
I didn’t speak. I couldn’t, because I knew with absolute certainty that the man holding the gun against my head was the cold-blooded murderer who’d shot my brother all those years before, and that now it was my turn. I’ve been close to getting killed before. Jesus, I’d been close enough earlier that day. But not like this. I could feel the coldness of the barrel pressing into my skin, and see the dark contempt in Wolfe’s good eye. I couldn’t even repeat the trick I’d used earlier and swat the gun away, not when there were three of them trained on me.
Wolfe clicked off the Sig’s safety catch, his lips curling upwards in a sadistic sneer, and I saw his index finger tightening on the trigger. ‘Not so nice now, is it, Seany boy? Having someone point a piece at you.’
I swallowed hard, my heart hammering in my chest, as possibly the last ten seconds of my life ebbed away, and wondered whether John had experienced the gut-wrenching terror I was feeling now as I sat there waiting to die, knowing there was nothing I could do to prevent the bullet from coming. I was helpless, and everyone in that stinking van knew it.
‘Don’t do it, Ty,’ I heard Tommy say. I could see him out of the corner of my eye, holding a small snub-nosed revolver against Kent’s neck while he put the tape over his mouth. ‘We’re all pretty emotional after what happened. Sean shouldn’t have done what he did, no question, but we’ve all done stupid things in the heat of the moment, and we don’t want any more complications right now, do we? So come on. Let’s all put the guns down, get to the rendezvous and sort it out there.’
‘What do you reckon, Clarence?’ said Wolfe, not taking his eyes off me.
‘Blow his fucking head off. He’s a liability, and we don’t need him no more.’
The minibus fell silent. It was decision time. Life or death.
Wolfe nodded slowly as if he’d come to a decision. ‘The next time you point a gun at me,’ he said, speaking slowly and carefully enunciating every word, ‘I will kill you without a second’s thought. Do you understand that?’ Pause. ‘Do you?’
‘Yeah,’ I answered, experiencing a sense of relief so powerful I almost vomited.
‘Good,’ he said, removing the gun and replacing it in his waistband before taking the shotgun out from between my legs.
Then, without warning, he slammed the butt into my face and my whole world exploded in searing pain.
Twenty-seven
Tina dragged hard on her cigarette and wished she could have a drink. It was now ten to ten, more than an hour since she’d written off her Focus, and the gentrified quiet of Doughty Street where she was standing now had been transformed into a major crime scene. Police vehicles blocked access at both ends while SOCO swarmed over the three vehicles — the ambulance, the patrol car and the Bedford van — which were all that remained of the audacious operation to spring Andrew Kent from custody.
Details of what exactly had happened were still sketchy, but according to all the eyewitnesses, most of whom were police officers, it had been a well-planned and professional assault involving four men, most or all of whom had been armed. They’d been ruthless too, shooting one of the officers guarding Kent when he attempted to intervene. Twenty-seven-year-old Gary Hancock was currently in intensive care at University College Hospital, the same place Kent had been on his way to, and his condition was unknown. Tina knew him to say hello to and remembered that he was a nice guy who’d recently got engaged to a WPC based out of Camden nick.
And now the perpetrators had disappeared into thin air. A burnt-out car, thought to have been their getaway vehicle, had been found up in Islington, and a full-scale manhunt involving helicopters and strategically placed roadblocks at points all over north London was now under way. But they no longer knew what car they had to look for, and Tina knew from experience that, with this much time gone, it was highly unlikely they’d get a result that day.