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‘Where are they going? Wrong way to get back to Shotts,’ said Janie.
‘A local nick, I’d guess. They’ll want to interview him, to capture this evidentially. Kilmarnock is just down the road, isn’t it?’ said Max.
‘Aye, you’re probably right. This is looking to be a bit of an anticlimax, right? Hardie telling the truth, just to get to a cushy nick, maybe he’s developed a conscience?’ said Janie.
‘You believe that?’ said Max.
‘Not really, but I can’t see what the angle is, otherwise,’ said Janie.
The drone seemed to be moving in sync with the van, smoothly and effortlessly as it headed along the small road.
‘Cracking camera work, Barney,’ said Janie.
‘Not me, love. Active track. I’ve locked it onto the van, and I don’t have to do owt. It just homes in on it. Brilliant bit of kit, this. Wish I’d had it in the Northern Ireland days, would have saved loads of hanging around in boggy fields.’
The van swept along the road, and was heading towards a junction when it suddenly lurched and came to a halt, a puff of dust billowing up from the front, off-side tyre.
‘What’s happened?’ said Max, an edge in his voice.
The driver’s door opened, and the uniformed cop got out, and walked to the front of the van. He just stood there for a few moments, before returning and climbing back into the driver’s seat.
‘Looks like a tyre problem,’ said Barney, zooming in tighter on the van. Even on the screen they could see that the tyre was completely flat.
‘Shit. What’s happening?’ said Janie, feeling her heart begin to pound in her chest. Something was wrong.
Suddenly a black BMW screeched around the junction from behind some shrubbery that had been obscuring it. The doors flew open, and three balaclava-clad figures in dark clothing got out, all clutching handguns.
‘Shit, they’re breaking him out. Fuck, call for help on your radio urgently, Barney, and keep the drone going.’
‘I’m on the radio now, but the drone battery’s failing. I’m not sure how much flight time I have left.’ His voice was typically unemotional, as if he was describing a chess match, not a prison break.
Janie could hear Barney calling it in on the radio, his delivery relaxed and unhurried. ‘Urgent message, vehicle with Davie Hardie is under attack, repeat under attack, three hostiles, all armed with handguns, a mile south of the White Loch on the B769. Armed response required.’
‘Keep it going, Barney, keep it going. This is crucial evidence,’ said Max, his voice cracking with the stress of the incident.
Melissa stood up, her hand covering her mouth in shock, as she listened to the unfolding drama.
Janie looked at the screen, her heart in her mouth as the sliding door to the van was ripped back and Davie Hardie was pulled out, a large man, presumably a cop, dragged along with him because of the handcuffs securing their wrists together. Another gunman was by the driver’s door, pistol levelled at the driver, and a third was standing back, a pistol in one hand and what looked like bolt croppers in the other.
‘Battery’s gonna fail, guys. I’m putting it in emergency landing mode,’ said Barney.
Then the screen went black. Dead, and inert. There was total and complete silence as the shock landed. Like his brother, Davie Hardie was free.
24
‘PLEASE, DON’T SHOOT,’said DS Lenny Maxwell, his voice surprisingly calm despite the abject terror that was coursing like molten lava through his veins, as he stood there at the side of the open van door, his wrist still shackled to Davie Hardie’s.
‘Shut up. You don’t need to say or do anything, we’re just here for Hardie. We’ve not been paid to kill any cops and I don’t kill anyone I’ve not been paid to kill. However, you’d better believe that I won’t hesitate to put a bullet straight through your head if you do anything stupid, am I clear?’ His voice was low and even with a flat English accent. His eyes were flashing through the holes in the balaclava. He seemed contained, crisp and efficient, with a military bearing.
‘I’ll not do anything, I promise,’ said Maxwell, feeling his bowels begin to loosen and his stomach lurching, as he looked at the large-calibre pistol that was pointed directly at his centre mass. With the attacker’s distance, he’d not miss. No chance.
‘Good, now my colleague over there is covering the driver and your mate in the front of the car, so you shout to them that they’re to keep their hands where we can see them, okay?’
‘Aye.’
‘Tell them, then,’ he goaded.
‘Ann, Cleggy. Hands up where they can see, eh. No heroics,’ Maxwell said, trying to keep the wobble out of his voice. He looked into the car: Clegg had his hands on the wheel and Ann was in the front seat, looking out of the side window at the gunman, her facepale and her eyes full of fear. Leo Hamilton was in the back of the van, fully exposed by the wide-open sliding door.
