Live Fire Read Free

what’s really important is that immediately they leave you calm everyone down, explain that the police are on the case and that the men will be apprehended within the hour. I don’t want anyone phoning the Evening Standard or the TV.’
    ‘They’re going to be pretty stressed out,’ said Ford.
    ‘Which is why we’ll be relying on you to keep everyone calm,’ said Franklin. ‘Now, can you send up Simon so that we can brief him? And don’t forget, other than the three of you, mum’s the word.’
    ‘You can rely on me,’ said Ford.
    Franklin and Brewerton watched her close the door. ‘Nice tits,’ said Brewerton.
    ‘I can’t do this,’ said Crompton. He put his head in his hands. ‘My heart’s thumping like it’s going to burst.’
    ‘Deep breaths,’ said Franklin. ‘Take deep breaths and think happy thoughts. It’ll soon be over.’
    Brewerton stood up. His jacket swung open, revealing a semi-automatic in a nylon holster under his left arm. ‘Don’t worry, Owen,’ he said. ‘This isn’t our first time, we know what we’re doing. Just make sure you tell Max and Peter what to do. If anyone trips the silent alarm this could all turn to shit. And you know what that’ll mean.’
    The white Transit van bore the scars of a thousand or so days of battling the London traffic, with dented wings and scrapes on both sides. It was mechanically sound, though, and the engine had been carefully tuned. The vehicle was the clone of one used by an electrician in Brixton with identical registration plates and tax disc. The driver was in his late forties. Two decades earlier he had been a London taxi driver, one of the breed who knew virtually every street and landmark in the city by name. Don Parkinson had long since given up his taxi badge and now plied his trade as one of the most respected getaway drivers in the country. During the course of his criminal career he had acquired the nickname ‘DP’, which had nothing to do with his initials and everything to do with his habit of muttering, ‘Don’t panic,’ to himself whenever things got serious. He looked at his watch. There was a small digital clock in the dashboard but he didn’t trust electrical timepieces. The Rolex on his left wrist was half a century old and it had never failed him or his father before him. ‘It’s time,’ he said. A man was sitting next to him in the passenger seat and three more in the back. All were wearing long coats.
    ‘Rock and roll!’ said the man in the passenger seat. His name was Robbie Edwards and he was a veteran of more than two dozen armed robberies. He was thick-set with well-muscled forearms and a rock-hard abdomen, but in the blue pinstripe suit and cashmere overcoat he looked like any other well-heeled businessman in the city. He was well tanned, and though his black hair was flecked with grey he still seemed younger than his forty-five years. He took a pair of dark glasses from his coat pocket and put them on.
    The three in the back of the van were in their thirties. They were all thinner than Edwards but had the look of men who spent a lot of time in the gym. Ricky Knight was the tallest, with dark brown hair and Ray-Ban sunglasses. Geoff Marker was also wearing shades, his hair had been shaved to disguise his receding hairline and he had a small diamond in his left earlobe. Billy McMullen was blond with a neatly trimmed goatee beard. The one thing they had in common, other than the long coats and the scarves around their necks, was that they were all cradling loaded Kalashnikov assault rifles.
    ‘Glasses,’ Knight said to McMullen.
    ‘I know.’ McMullen scowled, taking a pair of Oakley shades from his coat pocket and putting them on. ‘You’re as bad as my bloody mother. Wear your scarf, button your coat, don’t forget your dinner money.’
    Knight grinned. ‘Rough childhood?’
    ‘It was okay. She was just a bit of nag. Dad left when he couldn’t stand it any more so we kids took the brunt. She was