Today, everything was different. She was looking at the world through a different lens. From the perspective of a drugs courier, nothing was quite the same. Every face on the street was a potential cause for concern. Every dodgy doorway could pose some unnamed threat. To walk down Old Compton Street was to tiptoe into the danger zone, antennae bristling and every sense quivering with alertness. She wondered how criminals coped with these levels of adrenaline. Just one morning and she was jittery at some deep level, her stomach clenched and her skin clammy. Simply trying to keep her pace down to a stroll took every ounce of effort she had to give.
She turned into Dean Street, her eyes scanning the pavements and the roadway, constantly checking to see if anyone was taking an interest in her. Something tricky was bound to be lying in wait for her, and she wanted a sense of what that might be.
Carol spotted Damocles up ahead of her on the opposite side of the street. It looked like a typical Soho café-bar, all designer chairs and marble tables, exotic flower arrangements visible through the smoked-glass window. She kept on walking till she reached the next corner, then circled the block so that she came back down Dean Street in the opposite direction.
She was almost level with them when she saw them. Shed never worked Drugs, but she was familiar with the plain clothes cars they used. This one looked like a bog-standard Ford Mondeo, but what gave it away were the twin tail pipes of the exhaust. This had a lot more under the bonnet than the standard engine. The stubby radio aerial sticking out of the rear window was confirmation enough if shed needed it. The driver sat behind the wheel, ostensibly reading the paper, a baseball cap pulled down to shield the top half of his face.
Where there was one, there would be more. Now she had a better idea of what she was looking for, Carol carried on ambling down the street. There was another car she was fairly sure was Drugs Squad, again with the driver in place behind his newspaper. Directly opposite Damocles, two men were making a very thorough job of cleaning the window of a newsagents. A third man was bending over a bike, pumping up the rear tyre very slowly, checking the pressure with his fingers every few seconds.
Two car loads, she thought. That meant six or eight officers. Shed clocked five, which meant there were probably another three she hadnt spotted. If she was their target, the chances were that the others were already inside the café. Fine. So be it.
Time for a little improvisation.
What Carol hadnt registered was the battered white van parked behind the Mondeo. Inside, it was fitted out with state-of-the-art surveillance kit. Morgan, Thorson and Surtees perched on swivel chairs, headsets clamped to their ears. Thats her, isnt it? Thorson said. Shes changed the way she looks, but its her.
You can always tell by the walk, Surtees said, reaching across her to snag a Thermos hed had filled with café latte from his favourite Old Compton Street bar. The one thing its almost impossible to disguise.
Morgan stared intently into one of the video monitors. Shes carrying on to the corner. Thats two passes. Shell go in next time.
She handled those two thugs well, Surtees said, pouring out his coffee and pointedly not offering any to his colleagues. Morgan, he knew, would have his inevitable bottle of San Pellegrino stashed somewhere. Thorson hed never liked enough to want to share anything with.
Thorson glared at him as the rich aroma of the coffee hit. She never seemed to manage to be as prepared for things as that anally retentive bastard Surtees. He always made her feel inadequate. She suspected that Morgan knew that, and that it was one of the reasons he kept them working together. He always liked to keep people on their toes. It meant he got results, but she couldnt help feeling that it was sometimes at the expense of the nervous systems of his team members. She craned her neck to look at the monitor over Morgans shoulder. All units in place, target entering, she heard through the crackle in her headset. On my word, not before.
Carol had come back into sight, this time moving with a determined stride towards the heavy glass and chrome doors of Damocles. Morgan clicked the mouse linked to the video display and the picture changed to the inside of the café. Another click and the screen split into two images. One showed the whole of the interior, the other focused on the man sitting reading and smoking at a table in the rear. They watched as Carol walked in and made straight for the bar. She chose a stool towards the back of the room, a little distance from the man shed been told was her contact. But she made no attempt to catch his attention. She said something to the barista, who supplied her with a mineral water.
A pity we couldnt get audio in place, Surtees said.
Theres far too much background noise, Thorson said. We tried a mike under the table, but the marble blocked out anything worth hearing.
Carol reached into her bag and pulled out a packet of cigarettes. She took one out and put it between her lips.
I didnt think she smoked, Thorson said.
She doesnt. Morgan frowned at the screen. What is she up to?
Carol made a show of searching in her bag and pulling a face in disgust. She looked around her and her eyes lit on the man at the corner table. She hitched herself off the stool, leaving her bag on the bar, and walked across to him. Now her body was between the man and the camera and they couldnt see what was happening. She bent down, then eventually stood up, the lit cigarette between her fingers. A long time to light a fag, Morgan said, suspicion in his voice. Shes not following the script.
Good for her, Thorson said softly as Carol returned to her bar stool. She sipped her drink and toyed with the cigarette, stubbing it out before it had burned halfway down. Then she was on her feet in a blur of movement, grabbing her bag and heading for the toilets. As she opened the door, her contact jumped to his feet, leaving his magazine, and followed her.
Oh shit, Morgan said. Is there an exit out there?
Surtees shrugged. Ive no idea. It was Mary who checked the place out.
Thorson coloured. Theres a fire exit. Its alarmed
As she spoke, the peal of a security siren screamed. At the same moment, all hell broke loose in their ears.
Carol ran down the narrow service alley between the tall buildings. She didnt have to look over her shoulder to check her contact was behind her; she could hear his heavy footfalls closing on her with every step. They emerged on a narrow side street, the pavements busy with people returning to their offices after lunch. Carol slowed to a brisk walk, her contact falling into step beside her. Fucking hell, he said. You trying to kill me?
I spotted a geezer from the Drugs Squad sitting outside the café in a car, she said, still firmly in character. Him and his storm troopers turned over a mate of mines place a couple of months back. They didnt get anything then, and Im fucked if I was going to let them get anything now. A nearby police siren swirled through the air. Weve got to get off the street.
My motors over in Greek Street, he said.
They might have clocked that an all, Carol said impatiently. She jinked across the road between the traffic-jammed cars, heading for a dingy corner pub. She pushed open the doors. It was still busy from the lunchtime crowd and she squirmed her way to the rear of the room, checking he was still with her. They squeezed into the angle between the bar and the back wall. Carols hand was in her bag. Have you got the money?
His hand was inside his jacket pocket. He came out with an envelope folded to the size of a twenty-pound note, thick as a London A-Z. Their hands were low, his body blocking them from any curious eyes. Carol passed him the drugs and took the money. Nice doing business, she said wryly, then pushed past him. She looked around for the ladies toilet, made her way through the throng and dived into a cubicle. She sat on the toilet, head in her hands, shaking. What the hell sort of assignment did they have lined up for her if this was their idea of an exercise?
Gradually, she got her breathing and her heart rate under control. She stood up and wondered if there was any point in trying to change her look again. She pulled off the leggings and replaced them with the skirt, then jammed the baseball cap down over her hair. She might as well give it a try. Now all she had to do was get back to Stoke Newington in one piece. That shouldnt be beyond her, she thought grimly.
Out on the street, there was no sign of pursuit. She made her way by a circuitous route to the Tottenham Court Road underground station and tried not to think about what could still go wrong. At least now she didnt have any drugs on her. Money was always explicable. The only dodgy thing in her possession was the CS gas canister. When nobody was looking, she pushed it into the gap between the seat and the bulkhead of the tube. Not the most responsible thing shed ever done, but she wasnt thinking like Carol Jordan any longer. She was thinking like Janine Jerrold, one hundred per cent.
Three-quarters of an hour later, she turned back into the street where the days mission had begun. There was no sign of anything out of place. It was funny how, in just a few hours, normal could seem so rife with potential threat. But at least now the end was in sight. She took a deep breath and marched up to the front door.
It wasnt Gary who answered the door this time. The man on the doorstep had the bulky upper torso of a weightlifter. His reddish hair was cropped close to his head and the glare from his prominent pale blue eyes was unnerving. Yeah? What do you want? he asked belligerently.
Im looking for Gary, she said. Her nerves were buzzing again. He didnt look like a cop, but what if this was another trap?
He pursed his lips then shouted over his shoulder. Gary, you expecting some bird?
A muffled, Yeah, let her in, came from the room shed been in earlier.
The weightlifter stepped back, opening the door wide. There was nothing in the hall to make her uneasy, so Carol stifled her doubts and walked in. He stepped neatly behind her and slammed the door shut.
It was obviously a signal. Three men stepped out from the doorways leading off the hall. Police, stay where you are, the one who had opened the door shouted.
What the fuck? she managed to get out before they were on her. Hands seized her and half-pushed, half-dragged her into the living room. One of them made a grab for her bag. She clung on grimly, trying for the appearance of indignant innocence. Get your hands off me, she shouted.
They pushed her on to the sofa. Whats your name? the weightlifter demanded.
Karen Barstow, she said, using the cover name shed been given in the brief.
Right then, Karen. Whats your business with Gary?
She tried for bewildered. Look, what is this? How do I know youre the Old Bill?
He pulled a wallet out of the pocket of his jogging trousers and flashed a warrant card at her too fast for her to take in a name. But it was the real thing, she knew that. Satisfied?
She nodded. I still dont get it. Whats going on? Why are you picking on me?
Dont play the innocent. We know youre one of Garys mules. Youve been carrying drugs for him. We know the score.
Thats bullshit. I just came round to give him his winnings. I dont know nothing about no drugs, she said defiantly. She thrust her bag at him, relieved shed ditched the CS gas. Look. Go on. Theres fuck all in there.
He took the bag and unceremoniously dumped the contents on the floor. He went straight for the envelope and ripped it open. He riffled the bundle of notes with his thumb. There must be a couple of grand here, he said.
I dont know. I didnt look. You wont find my prints on a single one of them notes. All I know is that my mate Linda asked me to drop off Garys winnings.
It must have been a helluva bet, one of the other officers said, leaning indolently against the wall.
I dont know anything about that. You gotta believe me, I dont know what youre talking about. I dont even do drugs, never mind dealing them.
Who said anything about dealing? the weightlifter asked, shoving the money back into the envelope.
Dealing, running, whatever. I dont have nothing to do with that. I swear on my mothers grave. All I was doing was bringing Gary his winnings. She was confident now. They had nothing on her. Nobody had seen her hand over the drugs to her contact, she was clear on that.
Gary says he sent you off with a parcel of drugs this morning, the weightlifter said.
I dont know why hed say that, because its not true. She was almost sure what he was saying was a bluff. All she had to do was stick to her story. Let them come to her with anything concrete.
You went out with the drugs and you were due to come back with the money. And here you are with an envelope full of readies.
She shrugged. I told you, its his winnings from the horses. I dont care what lies Garys told you, thats the truth and you cant prove any different.
Lets see about that, shall we? A little trip down to the station, get a female officer to give you the full body search and see if youre as keen on your bullshit then.
Carol almost smiled. At least she was on firmer ground here. She knew her rights. Im not going nowhere with you pigs unless you arrest me. And if you arrest me, Im saying bugger all until I get to see my lawyer.
The weightlifter glanced around at his colleagues. That was all she needed to see. They didnt have anything on her. They had been lying about what Gary had said, because if he really had thrown her to the wolves, it would be enough to arrest her on suspicion. She got to her feet. So, whats it to be? Are you going to arrest me, or am I going to walk out that door? With Garys money, by the way, because youve got no right to that. She crouched down and started scooping her possessions back into her bag.
Before anyone could respond, the door opened and Morgan stepped into the room. Thank you, gentlemen, he said. I appreciate your help. But Ill take it from here.
The weightlifter looked as if he wanted to protest, but one of his colleagues put a restraining hand on his arm. The four who had confronted Carol filed out of the door. On his way out, the one who had been lounging against the wall turned back. For the record, sir, were not best pleased with the way this has gone.
Noted, Morgan said curtly. He winked at Carol and held a finger to his lips till they heard the front door close behind them. Then he smiled. You have really pissed off the Drugs Squad, he said.
I have?
That was a real deal that went down out there, he said, crossing to the sofa and sitting down. The Drugs Squads intention was to pick up the bloke you sold the drugs to. You were supposed to have a fairly hairy time but be given the opportunity to escape. Unfortunately, you didnt play it the way we were all expecting you to. And chummy walked away with a parcel of drugs that was supposed to be back in our hands by bedtime.