Shaun Hutson - Captives

'Could it be a set up?' Joe Perry wanted to know. Perry was a thick-set, bull-necked man who looked as if he'd been eased into his suit with a shoe-horn. The material stretched so tightly across his shoulder blades it threatened to rip. His face was smooth, almost feminine; it looked as if it had never felt the touch of a razor.

Plummer shrugged.

'It could be,' he said.

'It could also be bollocks, couldn't it?' Morton interjected. 'I mean, there might not even be a shipment of coke.'

'Then why bother phoning?' asked Adrian McCann, rubbing a hand over his close-cropped hair. Over his ears it was completely shaved. 'It's a bit fucking elaborate, isn't it?'

'That's what I said,' Plummer agreed. He turned to Hitch. 'You heard the geezer the other night, John; he didn't sound like he was joking, did he?'

Hitch shook his head.

'I agree with Joe,' he added. 'It could be a set-up.'

'But by who?' Plummer wanted to know, a note of exasperation in his voice. 'We know it's not another organisation in London, especially not Ralph Connelly's firm.'

'Could it be somebody working for Connelly with an axe to grind?' asked Martin Bates, running his finger around the rim of his glass. Bates was in his early twenties, one of Plummer's youngest employees.

Plummer shrugged.

'Who knows? The point is, do we go with it or not? Do we assume there is a shipment? And, if there is, do we knock it over?'

'Are you asking for votes, boss?' Hitch said, laughing.

The other men laughed too. Plummer didn't see the joke and glanced irritably at Hitch, waiting until they calmed down.

'Right, let's assume there is a shipment of coke,' he continued. 'Let's say that phone call was kosher. The day after next the shipment is meant to be arriving, if the information's right. If it is right then the coke is hidden among a load of coffee beans. Now the question is, if this is a set-up, we're going to get hit when we try to take the lorry they're transferring the shit to. How do we get round that?'

'Take out the lorry first?' offered Joe Perry.

'No,' Hitch said, smiling. 'We hit it before they even take it off the boat.'

Even Plummer smiled.

'Hijack the fucking boat,' Hitch continued. 'Unload it somewhere else down the river. We have our own lorry waiting. Unload it, pack it away and piss off.'

Plummer slapped him on the shoulder.

'That's what we'll do,' he said. 'Take the shipment while it's still on the river.'

'Like pirates,' chuckled Morton.

The other men laughed.

'Ray, there are some other things to consider,' offered McCann. 'Once we've hit Connelly's shipment, he ain't going to be too happy.'

'I wouldn't be if I'd just lost twenty million,' Plummer said humourlessly. 'What are you getting at? You reckon he might come looking for bother?'

'Wouldn't you?' McCann said.

'He's right, Ray,' Hitch interjected. 'A fucking gang war is the last thing we want.'

'What am I, stupid?' Plummer said. 'There's no need for Connelly to know who turned him over. If it's done properly, and I'm not talking about fucking balaclavas and funny accents, there's no reason why he should know who hit him.' He looked at Hitch. 'I'm leaving that side of it to you, John. Like I said, you got about thirty-six hours.'

Hitch nodded.

'If the worst comes to the worst and he does find out, what then?' Perry wanted to know.

'A gang war would be as damaging to Connelly as it would to us. He won't want it,' Plummer said with assurance. 'But if he does, he can't win. We're stronger and, for twenty million, I'm bloody sure we're going to be better equipped. Connelly will realise that. He's not stupid.'

'So we go with it, then?' Hitch echoed.

Plummer nodded. He reached across and touched Hitch's arm.

'John, I want Jim Scott to drive one of the cars,' he said quietly.

Hitch looked puzzled.

'Scott? He runs one of your clubs, doesn't he? I wouldn't have thought he was the right bloke for this kind of operation,' Hitch said.

'I want him involved,' Plummer said, his eyes never leaving Hitch. 'He knows how to handle himself. He'll be all right.'

'I'm sure he will. I just don't know why you want him in on it.'

'I've got my reasons,' Plummer said.

Hitch shrugged.

'I'm sure you have,' he said. 'Okay, I'll tell him. If you want him in, that's fair enough, Ray. You're the boss.'

Plummer smiled.

'Yeah, I am.'

FIFTY-NINE

They were watching him. He was certain of it now.

As the tube pulled into Westminster station Trevor Magee looked directly across the compartment and saw his own reflection in the glass. He tried not to look either left or right. As the doors slid open he glanced at the middle-aged couple who got out but then stared straight ahead again.

The doors remained open for a moment but no other passengers got on.

Magee realised that he was alone apart from the other two.

And he knew they were watching him.

The two youths, both in their early twenties, one black, one white, had boarded the train at Gloucester Road station. At first they had sat directly opposite him, but as the train travelled through the subterranean tunnel one of them had moved three seats to his left. The other had moved to the right. Both sat on the opposite row of seats and Magee moved uncomfortably under their gaze. He looked up briefly and saw that the black youth was watching him. He was tall, taller than Magee's six feet, dressed in faded jeans and baseball boots which made his feet look enormous. He had one hand in the pocket of a baggy jacket. The other he was tapping on his right thigh, slapping out a rhythm, perhaps the accompaniment to the tuneless refrain he was humming.

His white companion was also staring at Magee. He too wore baggy jeans and baseball boots, and across his T-shirt the words 'Ski-Club' could be clearly seen. His face was pitted and he needed a shave.

Magee was painfully aware that he was alone in the compartment with the youths. He glanced at the map of the Underground on the panel opposite and saw that they were approaching Embankment Station. He decided to get off.

Would they follow him?

Out of the corner of his eye he could see the white youth had draped one leg over a plastic seat arm and was reclining, his gaze never leaving Magee.

He began to consider the worst possible scenario. If they both came at him at once, from opposite sides, how would he deal with them?

He tried to tell himself he was being ridiculous. He was, after all, thirty-six years old, six feet tall and well-built. Should they try anything he should be more than capable of dealing with them. But the doubts persisted.

The black youth got to his feet, standing still for a moment, swaying with the motion of the train, gripping one of the rails overhead for support. Then he began walking towards Magee.

The train was slowing slightly; they must be close to the station.

The youth sat down opposite.

Magee clenched both fists in the pockets of his long leather overcoat. The knot of muscles at the side of his jaw pulsed.

He was ready.

The train eased into the station and he got to his feet, heading for the door, pressing the 'DOOR OPEN' button even before it was illuminated. The orange light flared and he jabbed at it. The door slid open and he stepped out onto the platform, walking quickly towards the exit. Once there he paused and glanced behind him.

There was no one following.

He smiled and hurried to the escalator, scuttling up the moving stairway towards street level, finally emerging into the ticket hall. As he passed through he cast one last glance behind him to assure himself he was free of pursuers. Satisfied that he was, he walked out into Villiers Street, into the arms of the night.