Luke Delaney: The Network

August 2002

The black Range Rover cruised through the streets of Tottenham, North London, the tinted windows hiding the two men inside. It drew both admiring and threatening looks from the youths who seemed to infest the pavements outside, yellow lights from the open shops illuminating their hooded figures even though the time approached ten p.m. — the demands of imported cultures ensured the streets stayed alive well into the night. The traffic along the Seven Sisters Road was as busy as most streets would be at rush hour — a mixture of small-time drug dealers and lost causes who fancied themselves as gangsters, always on the lookout for a rival crew to wreak havoc on, but only so long as they outnumbered them. Knives would be drawn and young lives lost. The owner of a decent semi-automatic could rise quickly to king in a place like this, their coronation fanfare the ubiquitous wail of sirens.

Detective Sergeant Sean Corrigan flicked the indicator on to turn right onto Park Lane, next to the Spurs Football Ground. His passenger looked across at him. ‘That’s a no right turn,’ DC Zack Benton told him, his dark skin making his face almost invisible in the car’s dim interior.

‘Don’t worry about it,’ Sean told him, swerving across the oncoming traffic and inducing a cacophony of screaming horns, enjoying the power of the engine and the feel of a car he could never afford himself. ‘We’re criminals, remember?’

‘You are — not me. I’m just here as your minder,’ Benton reminded him. Sean studied him from the corner of his eye, assessing the man he’d met a few hours earlier at the briefing at Stoke Newington Police Station. Sean had been paraded in front of the arrest team so they would know he was the undercover officer when they moved in on the targets, just in case anyone was looking to dish out some summary justice. Sean didn’t fancy a kicking from his own kind. It was at the briefing that Benton had been assigned as his minder — his first job to escort Sean close to the meeting point before crawling through the undergrowth to get as near as possible to the target venue and call for urgent assistance if Sean ever appeared to be in serious trouble. His second task would be to summon the arrest team once the target vehicle came onto the plot. The arrest team would have to hang much further back or risk compromising the entire operation and weeks of work — not least all of that done by Sean himself in infiltrating a criminal gang and arranging the purchase of the stolen Sony laptops the gang claimed to possess.

‘I’ll get you as close as I can in the motor, but you’re gonna have to hump the last few hundred yards,’ Sean told him. ‘The warehouse is out by the old reservoir — they can see me coming a fair distance off so I’m going to have to cut you loose well before then.’

‘Suits me fine,’ Benton told him with an air of relief. Sean noted he seemed a little jumpy, but he’d rather that than some gung-ho lunatic looking to make a name for himself. Benton would do his job well enough and nothing more and that suited Sean fine.

‘You got the phone?’ he checked, making sure Benton still had the mobile he was given at the briefing — on which Sean would reach him if he needed to warn the team something was wrong.

‘Yeah, sure,’ Benton replied, patting his waistband.

‘D’you want to go over it again?’ Sean asked.

‘No, I’m good,’ he replied unconvincingly.

‘Let’s go over it again,’ Sean encouraged him. ‘Can’t be too careful on a job like this.’

‘If you say so.’

‘It’s simple enough — you make your way to the forward O.P. and I make my way to the warehouse for the meet. The baddies will want to talk a load of bullshit before anything gets done, they always do, but eventually they’ll get down to business and if they’re happy they’ll call the lorry onto the plot. I’ll check it out and if it’s loaded up with the nicked laptops I’ll call you on the mobile, making it sound like you’re the guy who’s going to come and take one of them to where the cash is waiting so he can verify I’m good for the money — understand?’

‘Wait, wait, wait,’ Benton argued, ‘this isn’t how they said it was going to go down at the briefing. As soon as the lorry comes onto the plot I’m supposed to call in the arrest team. Nobody said nothing about you calling me first.’

‘Yeah, well there’s been a change of plan.’

‘The briefing was only a couple of hours ago — nobody’s told me about any change.’

‘That’s because nobody knows about it.’

‘I really think we should stick to the plan,’ Benton argued.

‘Listen, Zack — how much undercover work you done?’

‘None,’ he admitted. ‘I’m not a U.C.’

‘Would you like to be?’ Sean asked. ‘You look the part, or at least you could.’

‘Yeah, sure — sometime in the future maybe.’

‘Then you’d better understand that the people you’ll be dealing with aren’t cops. They don’t play by rules. They live day-to-day and rely on their cunning to survive — to get the best for themselves and fuck everyone else. They’ll agree on a price for something then change it. They’ll agree on a place to meet then pick a new one at the last minute. They’ll agree on how much back-up they can bring to a meet then turn up with three times as many. They’ll agree not to bring weapons then turn up with shooters. This fella I’m going to meet is no different — in fact he’s worst than most. Enrico Ismain or Tricky Ricky as he’s known on the street. He’s a good operator, you have to admire him for that. But he’s up to something. I can feel it.’

‘You think he knows you’re Old Bill?’

‘He doesn’t know anything, but he’ll suspect everything. That’s how he stays out of prison.’

‘You should have mentioned this at the briefing,’ Benton told him shaking his head.

‘Fuck that,’ Sean answered. ‘I mention I have doubts, the whole operation would have been cancelled and I would have wasted the best part of a month setting this up. We do it my way and everything’ll be fine.’

‘I’m not sure about this, man.’

‘Like I was saying, you just wait for my call before summoning the cavalry — no matter what happens — understand?’

‘Okay — fuck it. But if it goes tits-up, it’s on your head.’

‘Nothing new there, then,’ Sean told him as he pulled the Range Rover over to the side of the road. ‘This is your stop — I can’t get you any closer.’ Benton opened the door and jumped out without speaking. ‘And remember — don’t make the call until you’ve heard from me.’ Benton nodded and slammed the door shut before disappearing into the wasteland to the west of where the warehouse lay.

Sean eased the accelerator and rolled towards the meeting venue, his heart beginning to pump with excitement. He welcomed the feeling, like an actor before they walked onto the stage, the nervous tension and stress in his body helping to concentrate his mind and increase his speed of thought — if he was going to out-manoeuvre Tricky Ricky Ismain, he’d need to think on his feet.

He followed the road that looped around the huge reservoir hidden behind rows of modest houses, its existence unknown to everyone but the locals, and headed for the warehouse where he’d met Ismain several times over the last few weeks. The ambiguous sign lit up above the front of the building merely stated Ismain Import-Export. He pulled up close to the entrance; fast enough to make the two hooded figures guarding it jump back a little as he leapt from the car. He smiled at them, trying to look as confident as he possibly could. They were clearly expecting him and he walked past them and into the warehouse without a word being exchanged. Once inside, two more hoods stopped him. He recognized them from his previous meetings — they were higher up in Ismain’s organization than the foot-soldiers still hanging around outside.