Текст книги "Just Another Day"

Автор книги: Steven Clark

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Текущая страница: 9 (всего у книги 16 страниц)

Chapter 13

John stood by the rear nearside of the unmarked police car as directed by the gunman. He opened the door and waited for the next instruction. He knew that it was vitally important not to upset Johnson. While waiting for the car, he had received a detailed briefing regarding the gunman’s criminal history. The pleasure Johnson had gained when chopping off the security guards hand in the armed robbery of several years ago made his blood run cold. Whilst he had some previous knowledge of Johnson, he was thankful for the additional info.

He was not a man who was fazed by serious situations and as a veteran of many hostage encounters he always maintained a calm demeanour. His air of calmness; the patient way he built up confidence and trust was so important and, more often than not, was the point of considerable comment at the end of a successful negotiation. Whilst it sometimes took a toll on his physical and mental wellbeing, if ever a man had a calling for a particular job, John was certainly that man. He was definitely born to be a negotiator.

The force benevolent fund had benefitted to the tune of one hundred thousand pounds as a consequence of a very wealthy banker; he had wanted to give the money to john as a personal thank you for the successful release of his wife and daughter. They had been held hostage for a huge ransom for four days earlier in the year. As the days went on, he believed they would both be murdered. He spiralled into a severe depression and it was only the gentle coaxing and skilful way that John dealt with both the hostage takers and the banker that he actually pulled it off. Even if he’d wanted to, he couldn’t accept the money and persuaded the emotional giant of a man that the release of his wife and daughter was the result of a massive team involvement. The success of the operation was down to the fact that so many officers and personnel behind the scenes had been instrumental in ensuring their safety and, ‘wouldn’t it be better for all the officers and the various family members involved in the Fund to benefit from your kind generosity?’ John could hardly feel his fingers as the Banker continued to grip his hand in a vice like manner in everlasting gratefulness for the safe release of his family. No matter what John said, and he well knew the involvement of the other officers, if it hadn’t been for Johns expertise, they would have died.

He was further embarrassed a week after the event when the man and his now recovered family sought him out in his crowded office. Twenty or so colleagues of john were both stunned and somewhat nonplussed when the Banker broke down in tears at the thought of how close he had come to losing the two most precious people in his life.

‘John’ he said, ‘please believe me when I say that you don’t have to work ever again if you don’t want to. I will pay for you to do anything you want, round the world cruise, an income for life. You can come and work for me in any capacity of your own choosing if you want. Just name it john: Whatever you say, it’s yours.’

Being a hostage negotiator, he wasn’t often stuck for words but on this occasion, he couldn’t say anything for a few seconds. The mans shoulders slumped as the emotion and delayed shock of the previous week suddenly came to the fore and john’s professionalism quickly kicked in once more as he quietly took him to one side to an office at the far end of the corridor, away from the bemusement of his fellow officers and family who were also extremely emotional.

Anthony Batholomew was a multi millionaire who commanded respect, fear and admiration in equal measures within the world of corporate banking. He was considered by his contemporaries and adversaries, as a captain of industry who thought nothing of brokering billion pound deals on a weekly, almost daily basis. He had not foreseen his own weakness in this way and he was grateful that no one, other than his family and the other police officers who for the most part were all strangers to him, had seen him break down and sob like a little child. The thought that his banking competitors might see him in this way further compounded his distress.

John spoke quietly and with real warmth. He had gotten to know him quite well throughout the duration of his ordeal. You can tell a lot about a man in four days when he is under extreme pressure and one thing’s for certain, pressure doesn’t get much more extreme than the possibility of your wife and child being brutally murdered. He liked and respected him. He was a good man and that in turn was more than enough for John.

‘Anthony’, he said gently, ‘come and sit here and listen to me; you and your family have been through trauma and fear the likes of which most people, thankfully, will never ever see in their lives. Go home with them; enjoy each others company as much as you can. But also, take this thought with you. Even though what you have all suffered has been beyond imagination for most people and almost unbearable, you have also got something very precious out of this terrifying ordeal. I know you will think I’m mad when I say this but hear me out and give some serious thought to what I am about to say.

I say this from the heart and with some experience of what you and your family have had to endure. Most people will never come so close to losing something or someone that is very precious to them. You and your family have such a closeness, such a bond now, that you have to make each day count as much as possible. You have a wonderful wife and daughter who know how much you love them. It’s plain to see what a loving family you all are. Go home now, take them on a fantastic holiday, you all need it and deserve it so much. All I ask is that you do me one thing; one thing that is just so important to me; I hardly dare mention it.’

The big man straightened his shoulders and looked up at the faint smile that had spread across Johns face.

‘Promise that you’ll send me a funny bloody postcard.’

A very slight smile creased his lips. He took hold of John’s right hand in both of his own hands and looked into his eyes, regaining his composure and speaking in his formidable Bankers tone he said, ‘thank you John for all that you have done for us. You are a truly exceptional man. You quite literally put your life on the line when you stand next to these evil people who hold guns to the heads of innocent; ordinary people and I will never be able to adequately thank you and your colleagues for the outstanding work that you do, often in situations of secrecy that the public will never be aware of. I am, and forever will be, deeply in your debt. I know you are a very busy man John, so I will leave now. I will take your advice; we all need a good holiday. Please remember John. My offer, either now or in the future, is a genuine one. You know me well enough to know that I am a very wealthy man. You also know that I would not make such an offer lightly. If you need me at any time; in any capacity whatsoever, I would consider it a great honour if you contacted me.’

He watched the proud man regain his full height, his immaculately tailored suit looking just how it should do once more. With shoulders back, he strode along the corridor and almost marched out of the office arm in arm with his family.

Inspector Thomas, the office manager, broke the spell by proclaiming, ‘okay you lot, show’s over, back to work and lets put some more scrotes and evil bastards away where they belong.’

The office erupted into laughter when one of john’s colleagues, strolling along, hands in pockets and nodding in John’s direction, piped up, ‘Aye boss, except for that tosser. He doesn’t have to work, he’s off on a world fucking cruise.’

John smiling in his quiet, unassuming way, elbowed him in the ribs and winked at Tommy Evans. ‘Well, one thing’s for certain bollocks, it won’t be your arse next to mine on the sun lounger.’

John often got gently ribbed after that with friendly banter from his friends and colleagues. They knew that he was indeed a special person, any one who was prepared to walk unarmed into the lions den as often as he had done in the past deserved their whole hearted respect. When someone wanted to lighten a grim or difficult situation, one of the boys would often use John’s ‘predicament’ for their own amusement. ‘It’s okay for you bollocks, you don’t need to work,’ or, ‘now then John Boy, seen much of your fairy godfather lately.’

He never got bothered by the comments as he knew they were always in jest and it was important to remember that it was the jokes and the comments that often got them all through a difficult situation.

His mind came back to the present, Oh God he thought, what I wouldn’t give for a bit of friendly banter now.

‘Move away from the car.’ The cold menacing voice of Johnson cut through his thoughts.

He moved several yards away to the front of the car. The last thing he wanted was to escalate the tension. He knew the police marksmen would be peering through the ‘scopes of their rifles from the various vantage points, looking to take Johnson out at the first opportunity. Johnson in turn was all too aware of his own vulnerability.

‘I’m going to get out of the wagon with your mate. Any sudden moves by anybody and he gets it in the neck, literally. Understood?’

John swallowed hard. ‘Yes, just tell me what you want me to do.’

‘Nothing until I tell you.’

The gunman poked around in the bunk area and located a small cupboard behind the drivers’ seat. He opened it and found a large wooden handled carving knife that Joe, the escaped lorry driver, kept for cutting meat and food when he was travelling overnight doing his out of town runs. The interior of most modern wagons was a far cry from a few years ago. Now, they were fitted out with lots of comforts and gadgets. A small fridge and cooker, even a toilet in some to cater for the foreign trips when the drivers may be away from normal facilities for days on end. He put the knife in his waistband and turned to Dave.

‘We’re leaving the wagon now. If you fuck about as we climb down, this might go off and take your head with it. Understand?’

Dave was fatigued. He had been awake since the previous day and it was now 3pm. The pizza and water had revived him initially but the shock and blood loss were still taking their toll.

‘Look, I’ve got nothing within me to fight you with. I’ll do whatever you want me to do. Let’s get this over with. Where are we going?’ Johnson didn’t answer.

‘Right, you’re going first with me close by.’

With that, Johnson threw the blanket from Joe’s bunk bed over the heads of both of them and pulled Dave close to him. As they both slithered out of the passenger door of the wagon, it was impossible from the police marksmen’s position to determine who was who under the heavy ex army surplus blanket. Dave could smell the foul breath of his assailant as his head came into contact with Dave’s. The stubbly beard scratched at his cheek. He had to fight the urge not to bite his attacker’s ear. He’d never thought of himself as a particularly violent person; didn’t think he was capable of serious violence to another person but, he wanted so badly to chew his ear and make him feel some of the pain that he was enduring as a consequence of the loss of his own ear lobe courtesy of Johnson’s earlier rage in the wagon.

He knew it would be the last act of his life if he attempted the same as Johnson would surely pull the trigger, whether he wanted to or not. The thought of his kids being fatherless and Mandy being a widow gave his mind a certain clarity and he pushed the notion away.

Johnson shouted to John.

‘I can’t see where I’m going under this blanket. I want you to direct me. I will get in the back passenger door first and slide along behind the driver’s seat. Do you understand?’

‘Yes I understand. Move to your right about three yards and you will be at the back of the car.’

Like Siamese twins joined at the hip, both Dave and his attacker shuffled to the right until Johnson’s right leg touched the rear bumper and now that he had his bearings, he quickly found the open rear passenger door. He slid along the seat pulling Dave in alongside him. Even though he was quite sure that he had some form of protection under the blanket, he didn’t want to be exposed outside of the car for a second longer than necessary.

‘Get into the front passenger seat.’ He shouted to John.

John, being somewhat surprised by this order, shouted back a little louder than he intended. The last thing he wanted was to wind Johnson up by questioning his authority.

‘Who’s going to drive the car if I’m in the passenger seat?’ said John.

‘Just do what your fucking told. I want to show you something.’

John got into the passenger seat and closed the door. Johnson had been holding the shotgun tightly against his captives’ neck with his right hand. Unknown to Dave, them both being hidden under the blanket, Johnson had taken his finger off the trigger; He didn’t want there to be any unintended shotgun blasts at this stage of the game. When it happened, he wanted to savour the moment.

The twisted cloth holding the gun in place was causing him to feel faint as it was cutting off the blood supply to his brain. Dave asked very quietly, but without much expectation, if Johnson could slacken off the noose. Much to his surprise, and without any aggression or comments of any kind, he felt the pressure ease as Johnson untwisted the ligature with one anti clockwise turn and transferred the weapon from his right hand to his left. He felt the blood begin to flow and he winced in pain as his damaged ear lobe began to throb.

‘Look at the drivers’ seat,’ Johnson said to John.

John began to turn around to the figure behind him to his right, suddenly, he felt a sharp punch to the right side of his head near his temple and he was momentarily stunned.

‘Don’t fucking look at me. Look at the seat.’

John instinctively rubbed the side of his head and looked toward the empty driver’s seat wondering what this psychopath was going to do next. Johnson took hold of the handle of the kitchen knife with his empty right hand and slowly slid it out of his waistband.

‘Can you see anything on the drivers’ seat?’ he said to John.

Still hurting and rubbing the side of his head, he was also now tired and somewhat exasperated by the puerile nonsense spewing from his obscene mouth.

‘No, I can’t see anything.’

‘You will now, watch.’

As john glanced to his right once more, he saw a sudden movement behind him. Johnson gripped the carving knife very firmly and stabbed the back of the empty driver’s seat with tremendous force. John involuntarily jumped as he saw the blade exit the middle of the fabric covering by about six inches and he shuddered as he thought of the damage the blade would have done to him if he had been sitting in the seat. He realised that this was exactly what Johnson wanted him to feel. He was letting John know that he was very much in charge of the situation and that he could kill both of them at any time. It wasn’t warm in the car, in fact it was quite chilly but he felt a shiver of sweat as it ran down the back of his shirt into his waistband.

Johnson withdrew the blade.

‘Do I need to explain anything to you Mr Negotiator?’ Said Johnson in a mocking voice. He knew full well that his demonstration conveyed his power far more than words ever could.

John was beginning to have a very bad feeling about the outcome of this situation. He had seen Johnson swallowing more pills in an effort to stay awake and he knew it would be only a matter of time before Johnson realised that he needed to sleep. As a lone kidnapper with no one else to help him, he might decide to end it sooner rather than later.

‘I understand’ said John. ‘Just tell me what you want me to do next.’

‘Right you lot, listen to what I’ve got to say’ growled Johnson.

John started to speak, ‘who are?’ he didn’t finish his question as he felt Johnson lean forward and felt the tip of the knife blade press against the soft tissue behind his right ear.

‘Do you think I’m a simpleton or something’ as he pushed the knife a little harder causing a small puncture wound, john felt the blood trickle down his neck.

‘This is a fucking police car; keep your mouth shut while I talk to our friends who I’m sure will be listening now to my every soothing, comforting word.’ Johnson took the blade away and leaned back in his seat.

‘Now, this is what I’m going to do my friends,’ he was now beginning to enjoy taunting a wider audience.

‘As our friendly marksmen will be able to see; the officer and me’, he said, almost laughing, ‘still have the blanket over our head. I’m going to remove it because we both need a little air. Just remember any of you nice people with the guns that whilst it may be very tempting for you to consider relieving me of my head, you will also see my own little gun pressing into your friend’s neck.

So just bear that in mind one and all; think of it as a supermarket offer; shoot me dead, and you get another dead one free.’

Chief Superintendent McKay sat back in his chair in the forward command post a short distance from the hostage scene and stared intently at the radio speaker. He knew that Johnson would work out sooner or later that the police car was bugged but he hoped that he would be able to buy a little time as the gunman would be tired and maybe not thinking too clearly. Johnson’s chilling monotone voice dispelled any notion that they might gain an advantage in being able to listen directly to the dialogue in the car.

Ged Duggan was also concentrating very hard on not pulling the trigger. He had a clear sight and the red laser dot was very visible on the back of Johnson’s skull. He could end this now and they could all go home. ‘Relax Ged’, he thought to himself, ‘There’s only one in the car that needs taking out. Let’s get the guys home safe.’ He eased his finger off the trigger and slid the safety catch in position.

‘I think that went rather well’ said Johnson to no one in particular as he pushed the blanket back over their shoulders to the parcel shelf behind.

‘Now then John Boy, before we set off on our little trip to the seaside, back in the drivers cab of the lorry, you will find a pair of green overalls and a nice comfy pair of trainers that our lorry driver friend left behind in his haste to depart from us. Very rude don’t you think?’ John knew the words were more of a statement than a question and didn’t answer.

‘They’re at the bottom of the bunk near the cupboard and you’ve got 30 seconds to get them and then get back in the car, otherwise your mate here, who looks a little under the weather anyway, might just lose a little more blood. Do you understand me?’

‘Yes’ he replied, ‘perfectly.’

‘No, I’m not sure you do understand me. I want you to turn round, very slowly, and look at me.’

The menacing tone of the words chilled John and he slowly turned as instructed. Their eyes met and John could see the unmistakable wildness in his eyes and at that moment he knew that their captor had no intention whatsoever of allowing either of them to survive their imprisonment. At the end of their torment, Johnson was going to kill them both. They might die in the next five minutes or the next five hours, but as they looked at each other, they both knew that things had gone too far now for there to be a peaceful end to the situation.

He broke his gaze and glanced at Dave who was fading. He didn’t think he would be able to take much more of his humiliation and pain.

Johnson didn’t take his eyes off John and glared at him.

‘Doesn’t look too good your mate; why don’t we put him out of his misery and then you and I can be a nice cosy twosome eh?’

John’s eyes flashed back to Johnson,

‘please, I’m begging you, don’t,’ he didn’t finish his sentence before Johnson cut him off with a wave of the blade and said, ‘Now I think you understand. 30 seconds, Go.’ Johnson was enjoying playing to a wider audience as he was well aware that the command team would be listening to his every word.

John stumbled out of the car and ran and tripped as he reached the lorry with its passenger door still open from where Dave had slithered out in what seemed an age ago but in reality was only about 10 minutes.

‘10 seconds,’ he heard Johnson shout as he counted down, ‘9, 8, 7’.

John was back at the passenger door of the car, clutching the trainers and rolled up overalls before Johnson finished his count only to hear Johnson proclaim in a loud mocking voice,

‘Too late me old mucker, too fucking late’.

He saw the flash of the blade as Johnson stabbed Dave’s right thigh. He screamed in pain and jerked his head back. ‘Steady on officer’, said Johnson as he looked not at him, but at John. ‘Don’t yank your head about. This might go off without me wanting it to. Then where would we be eh?’

Dave’s shoulders slumped and he began to moan. The knife had cut into the soft tissue but had not connected with the bone or major artery and whilst the blood began to flow, it did not spurt out and John breathed a sigh of relief.

‘Now, just to show that I am not altogether without feeling, you can tie that cloth around his leg. We wouldn’t want poor old Dave here to lose too much blood would we?’ said Johnson, using the dripping knife to indicate the cloth on the dashboard that had been routinely used by the normal driver of the car to demist the inside of the windows on occasions.

He told John to twist in his seat and tie the cloth around Dave’s thigh. He knew there was too little room to allow him into the back seat and he could sense that, for all his experience as a negotiator and his usual calm demeanour, he might just have a go at being a hero. He had plans for John, but not just yet. He needed him to get them away from this location to somewhere that he could feel safer. Johnson thought to himself that he still had an opportunity to walk away from this situation, provided he maintained control.

John finished tying the bandage, not too tight that it would cut off the blood supply to his leg, but tight enough to ensure that he could adequately stem the blood oozing from Dave’s thigh.

‘Right.’ said Johnson, ‘now that you’ve done your Florence Nightingale bit, strip off.’

‘What are you talking’, he never finished his question before Johnson screamed at him in such a loud, aggressive voice that even the officers in the command post jumped in shock.

‘Don’t you fucking question me, get out of the car, stand where I can see you and take everything off. The fucking lot, understand? And when you’ve done that, put the overalls and trainers on.’

He was convinced that John would have a transmitter or listening device somewhere in his shoes or clothing and this was his way of further strengthening his position, intimidating John, and showing to his listening audience that he could still think clearly. He watched very carefully that john did not retain anything as he saw him put on the overalls and the trainers which, whilst a size too small, would not restrict him from driving the car.

‘Now, get fuckin your arse into the drivers seat, we’re going for a little drive. Just remember Mr Walsh that you’re sitting in front of me.’

‘Mr Walsh,’ thought John. He didn’t particularly like that sound coming from his kidnapper’s mouth. John was now not a negotiator any more, but another hostage and he became increasingly aware that any influence he hoped to bring to bear on this situation had disappeared in the last hour or so. He was as much a victim as Dave and time was not on their side. John started the engine, the headlights cutting through the gloom of the rapidly darkening day. He slowly turned the car around to face the service road that led back towards the Motorway. He could see the police barricades and vehicles being moved out of position to allow him to leave the industrial estate.

‘Where are we going then?’ He could feel Johnson’s breath on the back of his neck as his captor leaned forward and it made him shiver.

‘Just drive the fucking car,’ he said menacingly. ‘I’ll tell you when to go left or right.’

He glanced in the mirror at Dave slumped in the back seat. His face was grey and his eyes were closed. With the earlier wounds to his head, shoulder and hand and this latest wound to his leg, he was slowly but surely bleeding to death. He drove forward through the avenue of police vehicles. Shit, said John to himself, this is not going to plan; this is not going to plan at all, and his shoulders sagged as he headed toward the Motorway.