TURKISH DELIGHT Page 4

  ‘You are?’

  ‘Yes, a very simple job that will wipe the slate clean between us; and, if you accept it and complete it, you will never hear from me, or wife, again. That’s a promise, and I always keep my promises.’ He took a deep breath before continuing with a sad shake of his head. ‘Unfortunately, love is blind, Mr Nevis. You have met my wife – who wouldn’t fall in love with such a creature? But only in the harsh light of day after the honeymoon, one comes to realise that the inside of a person is not all they seem on the outside. With her two previous husbands in the ground I do not intend to become my wife’s next financial benefactor and little mourned third husband. I want you to kill my wife, and I will give you one million pounds when you do.’

  I was stunned. I had two people both wanting me to kill each other, and both willing to pay big money for it. I hadn’t any choice with Nicholas Rambart’s offer, it wasn’t negotiable – I took the job or I was brown bread. No way would he let me out of this office if I refused; I’d probably go out as a stiff rolled up in my own rather threadbare carpet, be weighted down and dropped into the Thames under cover of darkness, or maybe taken somewhere else more convenient to be incinerated or dumped into a vat of acid. I only had the one option if I wanted to live.

  ‘I have no choice, do I?’ I said in a resigned manner.

  ‘No, you don’t. Giving people choices is not my stock in trade, Mr Nevis, and obviously you wish to continue living – so no, you are right, you have no choice.’ He stood and looked down at me. ‘There is no time limit on it, Mr Nevis, but I would hope you would have completed the task in a month. If not, I may get a little worried – and I can assure you, Mr Nevis, you don’t want that.’ And with a curt nod of the head, he and his goons were gone.

  It took me several minutes of thought, weighing up my options to come to the conclusion that I didn’t have any – well, just one really, I had to kill Eve Rambart or I was as good as dead myself, and I had to kill Nicholas Rambart or lose a million quid, and maybe have her come after me. On top of that had to keep my word to Woodward, or I was bound for the Scrubs. Amazing how your life can change completely in a few days. I called Gold.

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘What’s happening?’

  ‘I’m following your guests.’

  I didn’t understand. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I’d pulled up down the road on my way in to your office and saw the three of them get out of a posh limo and go in the building. Pretty obvious they weren’t the sort of visitor you normally have, so I took a peep and saw the one standing guard outside your door, did an about turn and waited in my car. I guess you had a visit from Mr Rambart?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Okay, don’t tell me about it now as I’m following their limo – we are going through Streatham. I’ll give you a call when we arrive at wherever it is we’re going.’

  ‘Okay, take care. My first impression is that he’s not a very nice man.’

  ***********************************

  CHAPTER 7

  Night was lowering its dark blanket as I pulled up behind Gold’s car on an unlit road on a large industrial estate in Purley. She had texted me the street name and my sat nav had done its job. I slipped out of my car and into hers.

  ‘I’m starving,’ was the greeting I got. ‘What did you bring?’

  I gave her the egg mayonnaise sandwich and an orange drink carton I’d bought on the way; she’d asked me to bring food and drink as she hadn’t had either since the morning and now it was late. I could have got there earlier but I wanted to take a good look at this place, and I worked best in the dark.

  ‘See that big grey warehouse building at the end of the street?’ she mumbled through a mouth full of egg mayonnaise. ‘That’s where they went. There’s a security pod at the gate so if we want to take a good look around it’ll have to be from the side or back. This estate is pretty new so I would assume the buildings have good alarm systems.’

  I agreed, ‘If Rambart is dealing arms I would bet he’s got a state of the art one installed. You stay here I’m going for a walk round.’

  ‘Not without these you’re not,’ she said, hauling her shoulder bag over from the back seat and giving me the earpiece, mic and battery belt pack. I set myself up as she did the same and we tested it. All systems go, we could hear each other and talk to each other.

  I left the car and walked towards the building, I often thought I should get a dog – people wouldn’t take any notice of a bloke walking his dog, but a bloke walking on his own in an industrial estate at night could create some interest from security people.

  The gatehouse, or security pod as Gold had called it, was very professional, sitting behind a pair of solid metal bar twelve foot-high gates that opened on runners set in the concrete ground. Floodlights from the roof of the warehouse twenty meters behind illuminated the whole area, and their glare blinded my view of it. What must be Rambart’s car was parked at the side of the gatehouse. I waited outside the scope of the floodlights, trying to make out who was in the gatehouse; I could only see one uniformed guard, and he was reading a book.

  I crossed to the farthest point from the light and quickly moved through it back into the darkness of the street past the gates. I followed the high security chain-link fence around the compound; judging by the razor wire threaded along the top of it they really didn’t want any visitors. I must have walked a hundred metres before the compound ended and butted against the next warehouse unit; a large For Sale or Rent sign on the front gave me hope that this might be a way in. No towering chain-link fence and razor wire fronted this unit, just a six foot breeze block wall. I was over that in seconds and stood in the gloom, getting my bearings. The block wall separated the unit from Rambart’s unit, and a twisting curl of razor wire had been strung along the top of it; I needed a cover to throw over it. A tarpaulin spread over a heap of builder’s sand dumped by the wall was ideal; I cut it into a four foot wide strip and folded it three times – razor wire is what it says on the tin: razor sharp.

  Standing on the rest of the tarpaulin on top of the sand pile I threw the strip over the razor wire and eased myself up, crawling over and dropping down into Rambart’s compound. I crouched and waited for alarms connected to movement sensors to wail, or the snarling barks or loose guard dogs coming at me, their open jaws salivating with expectation. Neither. I gave Gold a call.

  ‘I’m in.’

  ‘Good, all quiet at the front.’

  I moved silently across the concrete to the building, a modern all metal prefabricated type; no windows as far as I could see, probably two storeys high stretching above me. Keeping close and moving to the nearest corner, I peeped round – same again: concrete road, no floodlights, no windows. Eureka! halfway along, a door. The handle was the type that had a Yale lock embedded in it. Tough to crack, say the adverts – so tough it took me all of twenty seconds before the audible click of the hammers aligning told me my picks had worked. Trouble was that this door was bound to be alarmed; open it and lights would flash on the gatehouse monitor board. At least that’s what I hoped – I certainly didn’t want any loud alarm going off screaming into the night. Fifty-fifty chance, but having got this far I was going to take the chance.

  ‘Gold.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I’m going in a door, but it’s bound to be alarmed – I’m banking on it triggering something in the gatehouse. Can you create a diversion? I could only see one bloke in there, I need to get him out for a couple of minutes.’

  ‘Will do, I’ll give you a call when it’s clear.’

  I knelt down by the door and waited. I reckoned that if all Hell broke loose I could be back to the wall and over it in about twenty seconds. I waited for Gold.

  *****************************

  Getting out of her car Gold removed her coat and pulled on a beret covering her hair. She walked towards the gates, giving a few staggers on the way; Gold was making like a young lady who had slightly too m
uch drink inside her. She wobbled to the gates and shook them. The guard looked up from his book and waved her to go away. She shook the gates more and blew him kisses. He didn’t move, just waved his hand for her to go and shook his head in despair at the young of today – drink and drugs, this girl’s parents should be ashamed.

  Gold was a bit worried. When she’d tried this trick before, a young lady slightly drunk had always brought more attention than this guard was giving. Plan B then, that always worked.

  She reached under her jumper and released her bra, then pulling it out waved it at the guard. Now she had his attention, oh yes – and when she raised her jumper and flashed a firm pair of breasts, his eyes nearly left their sockets.

  But the bastard wouldn’t leave his chair, let alone the gatehouse!

  Gold moved up against the gates and pressed her chest against one so that her breasts poked through either side of a metal bar. Christ it was cold, but things were heating up in the gatehouse; the guard had stood up and was on his way out of the door.

  ‘All clear, go.’

  She knew she had to keep that guard out of that gatehouse until Nevis had killed the alarm switch. It was now a game of cat and mouse with the guard to keep him at the gate until Nevis said: ‘Clear.’

  ************************************

  I got the all clear, go from Gold.

  I turned the door handle and pushed the door slowly open and slipped inside. No screaming alarms, so it was a silent one to the gatehouse security board; it could also go straight through to the police, but I didn’t think Nicholas Rambart would want them on the premises so probably not. The warehouse inside was dimly lit, but I didn’t give it much attention as I had to get this door alarm knocked out. Just as I thought, it had a standard keypad on the wall next to it – the lights would be flashing in the gatehouse by now. I took out my mobile and pressed on the Apps list, and then the one I’d named FP – finger print. I took a close-up picture of the keypad and hit go; almost instantaneously four numbers flashed onto the screen. These were the four numbers with the most patination on the keyboard – patination being the microparticles of dust and dirt clinging to the fingerprint oil on the four numbers that had been hit the most times. I had the numbers, but in which order? I hoped the numbers 1 and 9 were there – they were. It’s a known fact that people use birthdays when setting alarm codes, and the person who set this one would have been born in the twentieth century, so would use 19. The other two numbers were 7 and 8. I keyed them in, got it right first time: 1978 – well, thank you and happy birthday whoever you are. The bleeping red light on the keypad turned green, and I hoped the same had happened on the gatehouse board.

  I called Gold. ‘All clear, I’m in.’

  ********************************

  Thank Heaven for that, thought Gold as the message hit her earpiece. She’d been playing try and touch my tits with the guard, who had an arm through the gate slats as she proffered a breast and pulled it away after the slightest of touches, giggling like a drunk girl. Luckily the guard was late middle-aged and wasn’t very nifty.

  ‘You’re a naughty man,’ Gold slurred at him. ‘I’m going home and maybe I’ll come back tomorrow. What time do you get off?’

  ‘Eight in the morning, come back then.’ The guard’s speech was shaking with hope.

  Gold gave him a wave and wandered off out of his view and back to her car. ‘Jesus, Ben – the things I do for you. I hope there’s no CCTV of the gate, or my tits will be all over social media in no time,’ she said to herself as she reinstated her bra.

  ************************************

  CHAPTER 8

  I knelt by the side of the door as my eyes got accustomed to the dim light. The place seemed much bigger inside than it had looked from the outside. The floor was covered in wooden crates of all sizes, the smaller ones stacked halfway up to the roof, the large ones resting on pallets for easy movement by forklift truck. Four forklifts were parked up along the wall from me, their batteries being charged through wall plugs. There didn’t seem to be anybody about – no noise, no movement between the crates. Time to take a closer look for Woodward. I took out the mobile he’d given me, turned off the automatic flash and moving slowly between the crates, I took pictures of the labels stuck on them. I reckoned there was enough light for them to be read; they weren’t in English, some looked to be in an Eastern European language and some Middle Eastern.

  The sound of voices sent me hitting the floor between two large crates. What the hell, how had I missed people being here? I hadn’t missed them – they weren’t here on the floor, they were upstairs. In a far corner at the back of the warehouse a steel staircase led up to an office perched on a mezzanine platform. The office door was open and light flooded out; the windows to the office were covered inside with blinds, so no light would have shown before. I breathed a sigh of relief; I could have been caught lock stock and barrel. I kicked myself for being so lax. I could have been seen from up there, but the office had been hidden from my sightline from the door by stacked crates. I stayed prone on the floor, listening; I counted four voices, not speaking in English and the metallic clanking said they were coming down the staircase. I pulled out my gun. If I was discovered here, a hands up and ‘sorry’ wouldn’t keep me alive, no way. I screwed the silencer onto the barrel.

  The footsteps down the staircase had stopped, and the voices were moving farther away from me through the crates towards the front of the warehouse. That was a relief. A door slammed shut. I was on my own – or was I? I’d thought that before. What if there was somebody else left up in the office? I peeped up from behind the crate. The office was in darkness, but the door was shut so who knows what was inside? I’d better alert Gold.

  ‘People have left the warehouse – could be Rambart. Four of them.’

  ‘I’ve got them, four including Rambart – he and one other getting into his limo. Looks like they are leaving, the other two staying. I’ll follow.’

  ‘Okay, I’m going to have a look around. I’ll call you on the mobile when I’m out.’ The comms would only pick up for half a mile, so Gold would soon be out of range.

  I looked at the steel staircase leading from the floor up to the office; I would be in full view of the whole warehouse going up it and an easy target. Fingers crossed there weren’t any other people around that might come in and see me. I moved through the crates to the bottom of it and started up, quickly but silently. At the top I crouched by the door and listened – the rule was you listen for three minutes, as on average a person will move within three minutes. After two I was satisfied I was alone. The door didn’t have a keyhole – that spelled danger; could be it takes a key fob to open it like a car, could be it has a magnetic close and once that breaks an alarm operates? Only one way to find out.

  I pushed it open quickly and stepped inside, crouching with my gun held steady with both hands in front of me. The office was empty, no alarm was sounding, and no CCTV was watching from the ceiling or walls. I decided not to turn the light on and flicked on my head torch and began a search of the desk drawers. Lots of legal looking papers in a foreign language. I clicked away with Woodward’s camera. There was a safe in the corner, but I didn’t have time to work on that – locks I can do, safes are bit beyond me, but I took a picture of it in case Woodward wanted me to come back with somebody who could open it.

  I spent at least ten minutes in that room taking snaps of papers in folders in a filing cabinet – far too many to snap them all but I took five of the first pages in each of the folders. The filing cabinet had been locked, but come on – a lock on a filing cabinet is easy for a kid, let alone a pro. I had laughed as it popped open after about five seconds’ work with the picks – oh Mr Rambart, maybe you should employ me as a security consultant.

  Loud footsteps and voices on the metal staircase sent a shiver through me, I clicked on the comms, hoping Gold was still within reach.

  ‘Confirm how many are in the car?’ I ask
ed quietly.

  ‘Two, why?’

  ‘There were four in the warehouse and I think I have the other two back for company.’

  ‘Want me back?’

  ‘No, surprise is on my side.’ I put my gun in my pocket – I didn’t think I’d need it – and turned off my head torch. I checked that all my pockets were shut – good old Velcro, I didn’t want anything that could identify me falling out.

  The door was an inward opening one, so the best attack would be to hit them whilst they were on the stairs; I would have the height advantage and they would naturally be off balance. I pulled my balaclava down to full facial and pulled the door open quietly. They were at the top step and being a narrow staircase were one behind the other. I stepped out as the first one stepped up onto the platform and raised my leg and planted my right boot into his stomach with force. The look of surprise on his face was immediately followed by one of fear mixed with pain as he fell back onto number two, and they both tumbled back down the staircase, their bodies and heads banging against the steel handrails and steps as they fell.

  I was down after them in a flash and had the first one lifted up and over the rail in a split second. I didn’t bother to watch him fall as number two was getting himself together and although laid sideways on the stairs was reaching into a coat pocket, probably for a gun. I jumped the three steps down to him and stamped on his other hand that was clinging to the step; he squealed in pain as the finger tendons snapped under my boot. I took him by the hair and smashed his head into the handrail a couple of times before lifting his now limp body up and over to plummet to the floor below to join number one.

  I took the stairs in twos to the bottom and hurried to where my victims had fallen, pulling out my gun just in case. Number one was draped over the edge of a large crate and there was a fair amount of blood seeping into the wood; his pulse was dead, and so was he. Number two had hit the concrete floor and was amazingly stirring and moving – couldn’t have that, no witnesses is how I work. I put his neck in an arm lock and twisted until the jolt and crack told me he was gone too. I know what you are thinking, and you are right – I’m not a very nice man when the chips are down, but that’s probably why I’m still alive and in one piece. Six years undercover behind the Taliban lines in Afghanistan teaches you that he who attacks first usually wins.