Nick Oldham - Facing Justice

‘Oh my God!’

Donaldson spun, found Ginny behind him. He steered her away from the carnage, knowing there was nothing he could do for these men.

‘Got to call Henry,’ he said.

Henry listened as Donaldson succinctly described the events at the pub, his eyes flitting from Alison to Flynn and back. He had come out of the office with the phone to his ear and mee-mawed for Flynn to watch Tom whilst he spoke to the American.

‘Right — thanks, pal.’ He pressed the end call button and stared at Alison.

‘You got a problem, Henry?’ Tom shouted with delight.

‘Not as big as yours,’ Henry quipped.

Flynn had been standing close to Tom, peering through the Venetian blinds that he had closed after switching off the lights. ‘Behind the hedge now,’ he reported. ‘What was the call about?’

Even though he didn’t want to talk in front of Tom, Henry did not have much choice. ‘They’ve already paid a visit to the pub… no, it’s OK,’ he said, reacting to Alison’s gasp of horror. ‘Ginny’s all right… but three of Cain’s men aren’t and they’ve abducted Cain himself.’

‘I need to get back immediately,’ Alison said.

‘No, not yet,’ Henry snapped, ‘we need to see what’s happening here.’ He flicked off the hall light and went into the office to join Flynn at the window. Both men peered out through the crack. Flynn pointed out two black figures kneeling by the low hedge that formed the boundary of the garden. ‘I see them,’ Henry said tightly.

‘Henry, they’ve come for me,’ Tom explained. He began to get to his feet, but Henry slammed him back to the floor.

‘Stay there and keep quiet.’ Henry pointed a fairly meaningless finger at him.

Tom looked sadly at him. ‘Henry, this is too big for the likes of you. You need to let me go.’ He held up his wrists. ‘Let me go and no one else gets hurt — promise.’

‘You’re going nowhere, pal. Remember what I said about facing justice? Still applies.’

‘In that case, they’ll come by force, and people will get hurt. People like her.’ He jabbed a finger at Alison. ‘Do you want that to happen?’

Flynn took Henry by the uninjured arm and pushed him out into the hallway, stepping over Tom’s outstretched legs, giving the prisoner an aside as he passed. ‘Don’t give me a reason to rip your fucking lungs out, you bastard.’

Tom laughed.

In the hall Flynn whispered urgently. ‘Let’s get tooled up. Use the guns I found.’ He gestured to the kitchen. ‘We might need them and it’ll all be reasonable and justified if it all goes shit-shaped. If we have him covered, they might back off.’

Panic — that he tried to suppress — rose like bile in Henry and his overriding thought was that this was a real shitty end to a shitty day. ‘OK,’ he said heavily. Already his mind was a whirl of inquests, trials, cross-examinations, internal discipline boards, plus newspaper headlines, family crises and an uncomfortable future. ‘Make sure the guns are loaded, but they are a last resort, Steve, you know? Way down the line.’

‘I hear you — but it’s going to be a short line.’

Then there was a huge crash as something hit the front door, a rock, brick or stone, making everyone jump and duck, for it also sounded like a gunshot. Flynn dashed back to the front-room blinds.

One of the crouching figures was now standing in the driveway, holding up his hands to show he was unarmed. He was shouting something. Flynn relayed this latest scenario to Henry, who opened the front door an inch, then snaked past Henry to the kitchen to sort out the guns.

‘What?’ Henry called.

The figure was Jack Vincent. He cupped his hands around his mouth to amplify his voice. ‘Just let Tom go, will you? That’ll be the end of this and we’ll be out of here, no probs.’

‘Not an option,’ Henry called back through the gap. ‘I suggest you back off now and start running so you can put some distance between you and the law. Give yourself a head start. That’s all I can offer you.’

‘Not good enough. If you don’t hand him over, we’ll just come and get him, then it’ll turn nasty.’

‘Why do you want him so badly?’

‘Because I like him.’ Vincent dropped his hands. ‘Look pal, just open the door and push him out.’

Flynn came up behind Henry. He fully opened the door and stood shoulder to shoulder with him, the very menacing-looking Skorpion machine pistol held across his chest. Henry saw it and quivered.

Vincent snorted and made a dismissive gesture. ‘Guys, if that’s the way you want it…’

He backed away and ducked out of sight behind the hedge.

Henry and Flynn reversed into the hall, closed and locked the door.

To Alison, Henry said, ‘You and Laura get into the dining room at the back of the house. I know you want to get back to the pub, but there’s no way you can go safely at the moment. Karl will look after Ginny — he will,’ he emphasized. ‘I’d trust him with my life.’

She nodded reluctantly and took Laura to the back of the house.

Henry got on the phone and called the FIM to bring him up to speed. As he was talking, the phone was ripped from the FIM’s hand and another voice came on the line, one Henry recognized instantly — the Chief Constable, Robert Fanshaw-Bayley. This was the man Henry had had a hate-hate relationship with for over twenty-five years. Normally Henry’s heart would have sunk without trace, but there was something reassuring in the gruff, unpleasant tones of FB, as he was known. He had obviously seen fit to turn out for this incident.

‘Henry, what the hell have you done this time?’ he demanded.

‘I’d argue nothing.’

‘Likely story. Look, you just keep calm. I’ve got a firearms team, a support unit serial, ambulance and fire service and the helicopter all en route to you. As far as they can go, that is. As soon as the council get off their fucking arse and get the snowploughs through, we’ll be with you.’

‘Thanks boss.’

‘In the meantime, keep a lid on it and tell that twat Tom James I’m going to have his guts when I get hold of him.’

‘I will.’ The call ended. Henry said to Tom, ‘The chief sends his regards.’ Tom scowled.

‘Did he have a message for me?’ Flynn asked.

‘Yeah, says you’re a twat.’

‘Ahh, I love him too.’

There was a noise. A noise that crept up on them from the background, building up. A vehicle. Getting louder as it got nearer. A big vehicle. Henry and Flynn frowned at each other. Flynn stepped over Tom’s legs again. Callard, still sleeping through everything, grunted something. Flynn looked out of the window.

‘Oh hell,’ he said, ‘remember that HGV that drove past?’ Henry recalled it. He joined Flynn at the window. ‘Well, it’s coming back.’

And there it was, bearing down on the house. Having turned off the road, it demolished the low garden wall and lumbered across the front lawn at the bay window of the lounge. It was the lorry that Vincent and his men had driven down to the village earlier. It came like a tank. At the wheel was Vincent’s injured man, Shannon, driving the huge machine easily despite his wound.

At the window, both men watched mesmerized as the lorry drove right into the bay window.

Vincent had taken up a position at the bottom of the drive, a machine pistol held at hip level. He pulled the trigger and sprayed the office window with a stream of bullets.

Henry pushed Flynn, who landed on Callard, as a line of bullets splattered through the window and thudded into the back wall.

The huge lorry plunged into the bay window with a crunching, cracking, grinding and howling engine noise, and that whole section of the house crumbled around the front of the vehicle like a pack of cards combined with a matchstick model.