Robert Young - Gatecrasher

The young man was an irritation, and a possible witness and that meant that he was a threat to Gresham. But this new development seemed to change all that. Could that be it? Could that be the reason for his involvement? Not just that he knew something but rather that he had something?

Drennan needed to find out what was going on. But there was something more important on the agenda and that was to eliminate the exposure of this information. Campbell — and now the girl, whoever she was — would be disposed of shortly and then the memory stick, if indeed it was in Campbell’s possession rather than Gresham’s, would be his. No more time for messing around with these amateurs he decided, unbuckling his seatbelt and nudging Tyler. It was about time the professionals tidied this up.

The bigger of the two men, was at least six feet three and must have been pushing twenty stone, none of it fat. He walked in front of Campbell twirling his car keys on his finger whilst the other man gripped his bound hands from behind. It seemed like it had been some time since he had last been tied up like this but the sores on his wrists from Gresham’s rope stung as sharply as ever as he stumbled down the narrow staircase.

His course was clear now and left no room for improvising or running. This new man, Walker, had the upper hand and he seemed to know exactly what he was doing. Campbell recalled the look of lost helplessness and terror on Sarah’s face as he’d been dragged from the room and he felt nauseous at the memory and the thought of her alone back there.

Now the driver and the man that he had run into as he had tried to flee his flat earlier on walked in front and behind him along a dim hallway of a small house. The bedroom upstairs, sparse and dingy with Sarah inside, was only a short distance away but already he felt as if he were miles from her.

Obviously Walker was the boss of the outfit. Obviously he was bad news as well. If he was willing to do something like this to a man like Gresham, he had to be.

They moved quietly through the shadows and stuck close to the wall, watching the front of the house carefully, checking the windows for signs of movement.

At the door Drennan pulled his hand from his coat and Tyler saw that his handgun had a suppressor attached. Just like Drennan, Tyler thought, always trying to be so bloody flash. Always playing the secret agent. Still, he was a handy enough operator and since Tyler was going to be the one popping the door open with his foot, Drennan would be leading the way in and that was fine with him.

He had no idea what they were getting into here but he could feel that familiar buzz of excitement and he fixed his eyes on the door figuring out where the locks were and where he’d have to kick.

Here we go then, he thought and closed his hand around the butt of his own gun.

Tuesday. 1.30am.

Gresham could see Walker standing over Angie and he was watching him remove his belt and begin to beat her with the leather strap. Then he was dropping his trousers and moving down on top of her as she lay there, gagged and tied and helpless.

Then something strange happened as Gresham saw that it wasn’t Walker at all. This man was bigger and his skin was dark and his hair cropped short and not parted with that dead straight line at the side. Gresham saw now that he was looking at Julius Warren.

Warren had betrayed him. Warren was helping Walker to do this to him and maybe the others were helping too. Maybe there was nobody he could trust anymore.

He could hear Warren saying his name as he looked on but he didn’t answer and the calls grew louder.

‘GEORGE!’

He jolted awake. Warren was staring at him and holding the phone out. ‘Slater’s on.’

For a moment he did nothing. Dazed and bewildered he knew he was in his own living room and he realised that he must finally have fallen asleep but the dreams had come again and this one had been so clear. He pressed his hands to his eyes, trying to clear the image and snatched the phone.

‘Keith?’

Late in the afternoon Gresham had sent Slater to go and swap places with Warren. As his number two he had wanted him on hand, close. But Slater had been restless and grown more edgy as the time passed and eventually Gresham had relented, deciding that the man’s energy might be better put to use elsewhere.

‘George. Something’s kicking off.’

‘Where the fuck have you been?

‘We were watching the place and it had been quiet for about ten minutes or so and I decided to have a poke around inside while Keano waited in the car. Then fuck me if Campbell didn’t pop up out of nowhere, right there in the hallway,’ Slater explained, barely able to believe it himself.

‘Where did he come from?’ demanded Gresham.

‘Christ knows. And he had some bird with him. Anyway, I was creeping around with the lights off and heard something in the kitchen. I turned the light on and it was just this girl. No idea who she is. Then, two seconds later and he appeared behind me and smashed a fucking huge pot over my head. Put me out. Little bastard.’

‘Where are you now?’

‘Keano saw them loaded into the back of a car — Walker’s lot turned up. I came round as they were walking out the front door. Keano pulled the car up and we followed them.’

‘So now Walker has Campbell and Angie? We’ve got nothing,’ Gresham was staring at the floor, his eyes blank.

‘Listen to me George. We’re sat here for a minute or two and Drennan just appeared with his fat little sidekick. They just kicked the front door in.’

‘Drennan? As well? What the fuck is going on here Keith?’

‘Search me. You want us to follow him in there?’

Gresham paused for a moment. His instinct was to send them in. God knows what was happening in there but his Angie was there too, of that much he was certain. But if there were too many of Walker’s men about then it would be over before it began. Slater and Keane wouldn’t get two inches inside the front door and that wouldn’t help her one bit.

‘Sit tight Keith. Wait and see what happens for a minute.’

Wondering if anybody even lived in this house Campbell was trying to make mental notes of the place in case he needed to give details to someone in the future, like the police, and he was struck by the dank and run-down look of the place. The wallpaper was faded and had a garish design the likes of which he had last seen when stripping the walls in his own flat and discovering aged layers beneath.

The carpet at his feet was a smudgy brown colour with a number of stains and tears in it and worn through to the wood beneath on the lip of each step of the staircase. He noted once again that the lightbulbs had no shades.

From the front of them came a loud, thumping, crashing sound and he heard wood splinter noisily. Suddenly he was alert again and trying to see over the shoulder of the man in front who obscured his view.

The twin popping sounds he heard were only vaguely familiar to him and for a split second he could not understand why. But then the big man’s hands were flung into the air as something slammed hard into his chest and he staggered against the wall and dropped to his knees.

The man at his rear had released his hands now and as Campbell looked from the big man’s slumping form to the hallway in front of him, he saw a spray of crimson splashed across that grimy wallpaper and carpet. And then he saw a coated figure in the doorway, a handgun with a sleek lengthened barrel gripped in two hands still aimed at the man down on his knees.

Campbell found himself yanked backwards almost off his feet and he slammed shoulder-first against the wall and toward the staircase, struggling to keep upright. A hand was placed roughly in his back, propelling him forward and the momentum took him onto the first of the steps but it was too quick and he wasn’t ready and tripped, falling onto his knees.