LITMIR.BIZ

Скачать книгу

the bank. As Gazza entered the bank door, David started the timer function on his watch and placed it on the dashboard.

      Gazza swung open the door of the bank, marched in and brought the gun up towards the lone young girl at the only open counter who jumped up and threw up her hands.

      “That’s right, it’s a robbery!” Gazza barked. “Don’t touch any alarms sweetheart.”

      Gazza swung the gun around at the handful of customers in the bank. “Now everyone, DOWN ON THE FLOOR!”

      Everyone stood in silence and raised their hands slightly, purposely avoiding eye contact with Gazza.

      “NOW!” barked Gazza.

      Everyone quickly and quietly sat down on the floor keeping their hands raised.

      The manager came out of his office. “What’s all this noise . . . ?” He squinted his eyes and adjusted his glasses as Arnold Schwarzenegger turned and pointed a gun directly at him.

      “Oh, I see . . . ” he muttered as he feebly raised his hands.

      Gazza grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him around and placed the gun behind him with the barrel in the nape of his neck.

      “Now listen to me, everyone!” Gazza announced. “There are three simple rules: Anyone sets off an alarm, everyone dies. Anyone tries to escape, everyone dies. Anyone fails to cooperate . . . ” He shook the manager roughly by the shoulder. “ . . . what do you think, Mr. Manager?” Gazza demanded.

      “Er, everyone dies?” The manager offered weakly.

      “That’s right!” Bellowed Gazza. “So, the only way we all get out of this alive, is if we all cooperate. So now Mr. Manager, you have exactly three minutes to fill this sack.” Gazza shoved the manager towards the cashier door. “GO!”

16. Fuzz—British English slang for Police.

      Armed Response

      London, England

Liz edged forward another twenty feet in the dense London morning traffic and then pulled up behind the other cars waiting at the traffic lights. Her high visibility blue and yellow checkered BMW X5 patrol car stood out from the other cars and the circular yellow stickers on the rear bodywork indicated that this was an armed response vehicle or ARV. She had been working for SCO19, the UK’s armed response police,17 for almost two years now. During that time, she had never had to un-holster her standard-issue Glock 17 pistol on duty, although she had used the Taser almost every week, usually on aggressive alcoholics or drug addicts. The ARV’s two, standard-issue Heckler and Koch MP5 automatic rifles were safely secured in the vehicle’s trunk. Jim her regular partner had retired last week. Mick, her new partner was a bit younger than Liz and was obviously new to the unit. She had seen him around the station this past week but not had the opportunity to speak with him. Mick had been assigned to replace Jim and today was their first day on patrol together. They had been driving now for almost two hours and Mick had hardly said a word. Liz found that hours driving through London’s clogged streets can quickly become monotonous without some conversation. The silence in the car was bothering Liz who had enjoyed her chats with Jim who would often regale her with stories of policing the streets of London in the ‘good old days’. She glanced over at Mick as she checked the passenger side mirror. He was sat bolt upright with his arms folded. Liz noticed the ‘short back and sides’ military-style haircut and the UK forces tattoos on Mick’s forearms.

      “So, Mick, you’re ex-military, huh?” She nodded to his forearms.

      Mick followed her gaze down to his forearms.

“Two tours of Afghanistan with the Paras.”18 he replied matter-of-factly.

      “So, how’d you end up in ARV’s?” Liz offered, prompting the conversation along.

      “Got out last year, the Army’s fine an’ all but I figured I’d done my bit and looking to settle down. Got a nipper at home and another on the way now so I was looking for a job, you know, but with my skill set there wasn’t much on ‘Civvy Street’. So, it was either this or a security job in some warehouse somewhere drinking endless cups of tea.” Mick replied.

      “What about yourself?” Mick asked.

      “Me, oh I . . . ” Liz spluttered as she tried to recall the exact moment in her life that has set off the unlikely chain of events that had led her to become one of the first female armed officers of London’s Metropolitan Police.

      Suddenly the police band radio burst into life.

      “TROJAN 2, TROJAN 2!”

      “Saved by the bell!” Mick smiled at Liz and took the radio. “Base this is Trojan 2. Send over.”

      “TROJAN 2, PROCEED TO THE SANTANDER BANK AT 15 ISLINGTON HIGH STREET—WE HAVE A CODE 2 IN PROGRESS WITH A POSSIBLE CODE 44, OVER.” The voice on the radio instructed.

      Liz activated the lights and siren. The sudden deafening scream of the wailing siren sent the traffic shunting sideways the little that they could move to make way for her car. Liz stepped on the accelerator and swung out into the oncoming traffic on the other side of the road.

      “Base this is Trojan 2, Received and Understood. Proceeding to Santander Bank, 15 Islington High Street, Code 2. Possible Code 44. Out.” Mick replied as he accepted the address on the on-board computer which activated the GPS route map.

      ♦ ♦ ♦

      David was still sitting in the car watching the bank door through the rear-view mirror. He glanced again at the watch on the dashboard as the display now showed six minutes and ten seconds had passed.

      “Come on, come on Gazza . . . ” David nervously drummed his fingers on the dashboard.

      David took another sip of his now cold coffee and he continued looking in the rear-view mirror. He notices two women pushing pushchairs past the entrance to the bank. To distract himself, David pulls his mobile phone from his pocket and checks for any messages. There aren’t any. The smiley-face air freshener dangling from the rear-view mirror seems to mock his rising anxiety. Suddenly he notices blue flashing lights in the rear-view mirror. He adjusts the mirror to see a police car, picking its way through the traffic coming up the High Street from the west end still about 500 yards away.

      He glances again at the watch on the dashboard which shows that seven minutes have now passed.

      “Oh shite!” David takes a last look at the door of the bank. Still no sign of Gazza.

      “OK, Sorry Gazza, seven minutes, I’m outta here,” David mumbles to himself as he takes the watch from the dashboard and places it back on his wrist.

      David indicates as he slowly pulls out into traffic and heads east down the High Street as police sirens start to fill the air. He turns first left into a side street as Liz’s BMW screeches around the corner into the side street from the other end on the wrong side of the road narrowly missing the silver Mercedes. For a split second as they fly passed each other Liz glances at the driver of the Mercedes. David looks away adjusting his Spurs cap on his head and drives on as Liz refocuses on the street ahead and screeches around the next corner and into the High Street from the east end.

      ♦ ♦ ♦

      Gazza glances at his watch. “Time’s up!” He bellows.

      He marches over to the manager and the cashier and snatches the sack that they have been filling and gives it a shake to feel the weight. He grunts that he is not impressed and points the gun at the Manager who puts up his hands and nervously takes his wallet from his jacket pocket and offers it to Gazza who lets him drop it in the sack.

      Sirens begin to fill the air inside the bank and the customers

Скачать книгу