Robert Young - Gatecrasher

That his professional reputation and political future might be in jeopardy was something that he had no control over at present and this work needed to be finished either way. The livelihoods of many people depended on it, and on him.

Monday. 12.30pm.

The strain was clear on Gresham’s face and he turned away from the reflection in the glass and stared at the floor. He knew the others in the room could see it too and he didn’t like them to see him weak or scared.

And right now he was both.

He had not been able to sleep in the two nights that she had been gone. When finally exhaustion overtook him, the dreams that he’d seen in sleep were too awful to bear and he had woken shouting her name more than once.

He had sent Slater and the others to see what they could find out, see what people knew about Walker. But no-one would talk even if they did know anything and Gresham was well aware that he would find out where she was only when Walker told him.

But the waiting was worse. The inactivity and the feeling of impotence as he stared at the phone were more than he could take. At least if he was doing something to find her, however futile, it was better than the waiting.

‘Have we heard anything about Campbell? Did Drennan’s man get to him yet?’ Gresham asked them.

Nobody spoke. Slater shrugged. Keane and Warren exchanged a brief look.

‘I want somebody watching Campbell’s flat. All the time. If he even pops in to get his post I want the fucker. We get him, we get the stick, we get the money and then we get Angie back,’ he said quietly, his eyes still cast down.

Nobody wanted to suggest that there might be no Angie to get back. Or Campbell. They all knew that Gresham was already all too aware of that thought anyway. Now was the time to say the right thing and do what the boss said and find some way out of this. Ever since that fateful night the fabric of their world had started to tear and it got worse at every turn, not better.

‘We’ll do shifts then. Me and Keano will take first shift,’ offered Warren.

They all murmured their agreement and the two men shuffled out the door, Warren patting a hand on Gresham’s shoulder as he passed.

Monday. 2pm.

Tyler looked no less like a doorman whether he wore a suit and tie or the jeans and black leather jacket that he favoured. Drennan tried to make more of an effort over his own appearance and was a vain and self-important man. He made no effort to encourage Tyler to improve his own hair and clothes though, preferring the impression of menace that Tyler’s unkempt appearance tended to convey and the often unsettling contrast it presented with his own.

They had heard from their paymaster only once since the end of the previous week and been told to wait. The young man who had got himself embroiled in this situation was soon to be eliminated. Drennan thought this more than over-cautious behaviour on his employer’s behalf but was in no position to question or influence the decision.

Once he was out of the equation they could proceed with the plan as agreed. In the meantime he had been in contact with Gresham once more to tell the man to sit tight and to keep hold of the memory stick he had stolen and keep it safe. Drennan had felt that the further removed it was for the time being from himself and his employer the better. There would be no call for it yet.

Gresham had struck him as edgy and ill-tempered but gave no reason why. Bad night’s sleep Drennan thought, or maybe he was just a belligerent bastard all the time. Maybe he was getting nervous keeping hold of the memory stick, which had, after all, got one of his men killed. Never mind, he’d just have to be patient if he wanted his money.

The phone rang and Drennan noted the caller on the screen of his mobile.

‘Sir?’

‘Afternoon.’

‘Are we ready to move?’

A pause. ‘It seems that our young friend is a more resilient man than we gave him credit for.’

‘Sir?’ Drennan thought he knew what he was getting at but knew better than to say so.

‘My man failed Matthew. I have heard nothing in two days. I can only presume that something has gone gravely wrong. He was due to report in yesterday evening but has yet to do so and cannot be reached.’

Drennan remained silent, aware that they were both probably thinking the same thing: that there was more to Campbell than they had thought, or perhaps he had finally gone to the police despite Gresham’s best attempts to threaten him into silence. What was clear was that Drennan’s paymaster had sent someone to kill him but that Campbell had evidently escaped that fate as well. Which meant that he was still out there somewhere, still in a position to ruin everything for them.

‘Do we wait?’

Another pause. ‘No. No more waiting. There’s no more time. We make our play now.’

‘Very good. You would like me to make contact?’

‘Yes. Today.’

‘I’ll make the call.’

‘And Drennan, do me another favour.’

Drennan waited for it but knew what was coming.

‘Get rid of Campbell for me. As soon as you can.’

Monday. 2.30pm.

Two hours after leaving Gresham’s house and Warren was getting bored and uncomfortable. They had found a parking spot a few hundred yards short of Campbell’s flat and sat drinking hot coffee and listening to the radio quietly. Nudging at his colleague to get out and take a walk past the flat he turned down the stereo and watched as Keane zipped up his jacket against the chill and strolled nonchalantly off down the road.

Soon bored with the radio station Warren began sifting through the cds in the glove compartment and slid one in. Looking up again as the bass kicked in through the speakers in the doors he saw Keane walking briskly back towards the car and then the door popped open.

‘Lights are on,’ he said.

‘He’s back?’

The telephone ring sounded like an alarm bell and sent a surge of shock ripping through him. His hand trembled as he picked up the receiver and he had to fight to control his voice before he spoke. Slater stared at him eager for a sign.

‘Looks like we got a break George.’ Warren’s voice.

Gresham felt something sink again when he didn’t hear his daughter on the end of the phone but then the words began to register.

‘Do what?’

‘Looks like he’s home. Lights are on.’

Feeling a rush of elation Gresham gripped his empty hand into a fist. ‘About time. Right, now let’s be careful. One of you ring the bell and the other go round the back make sure he doesn’t get scared and do a runner again right?’ Gresham ordered and noted that already he felt more in control, less helpless.

‘No worries George. We’re moving,’ said Warren and then he passed the instructions on to Keane. He came back on the line. ‘I’ll call you back in a tick boss.’

‘Alright son. Give me good news Jools.’

He dropped the phone and then sank into a chair as Slater began asking questions.

It rang again and he had the receiver up in half a ring.

‘Jools?’

‘Try again.’

Walker. Gresham’s head dropped.

‘Frank. How is she?’

‘Lovely George. Just lovely.’

‘You fucking lay one finger on her Frank-’

‘Now, now George. Lets be professional. I find that insulting.’

Gresham seethed silently.

‘OK. Now listen. I’ve been having a little natter with the young lady and I must say I am mighty intrigued George. Seems like you had some sort of scam going to get my money back. Something of value to be sold off, no?’

‘Sort of,’ he replied apprehensively.

‘Hmm. Sort of. I see. Well here’s what I think George. I think if you have something of value and I have something of value then we might be able to make some sort of swap. I know you’re a big cheese and all that but I rather think I might be able to negotiate a better deal than you have and… well… you aren’t too worried about making yourself any money right now are you George? Mind on other things?’