Nine Lives by Tom Barber Read Free Book Online Page B

captured out on the street. He’d wracked his brains, searching for the answer as to where the hell he could hide out until his escape on Saturday night.
    And then it had come to him, like a light-bulb going off in his brain.
    A hotel by the airport.
    It was organised mayhem in those places. There was an endless rotation of different faces and names in the building, so many people coming and going that he could disappear into the crowd as another anonymous guest. So he’d selected a hotel and used a fake name to check in, holing up in the room where he’d been for the past twenty four hours, out of sight. Right now was the first time he’d risked stepping out of the room since he’d arrived; he was pleasantly surprised at how calm and confident he felt. There was no-one about. No-one had a clue where he was.
    And he’d be out of the country before the clock struck midnight.
    Pushing a pair of sunglasses up over his nose, he started to walk down the quiet corridor towards the elevators. Dressed in a smart suit, he looked like a typical businessman staying at the hotel, his hectic lifestyle momentarily slowed until he hopped on a flight to New York or maybe the Far East.
    Indeed, there was only one thing about Dominick Farha’s polished appearance which looked slightly out of place that morning.
    A large black holdall, slung over his shoulder.
     
    ‘Alright, here’s a bet. Ten quid says it’s a water pistol,’ offered Chalky, watching the street flash past his window in the back of the car.
    The four policemen were inside a black 4x4 Ford moving quickly through the streets, speeding towards the location where the weapon was sighted. Porter was behind the wheel, Mac beside him in the front passenger seat, with the two younger officers sat behind them.
    Archer turned to his friend. ‘Deal.’
    He offered his hand, to seal the terms. Chalky shook it.
    ‘Who called it in, Port?’ he asked.
    ‘Old lady across the street. Said she saw a kid take a handgun into a house,’ said Porter, swerving to avoid a car parked just too far into the road.
    Chalky grinned at Archer. ‘Told you. Might as well pay me now, Arch. At least it'll make this little journey worthwhile.’
    ‘You making a point, Officer White?’ Mac growled from the front seat, as he inspected the MP5 resting on his lap.
    ‘Just that we’re meant to be a special unit, Sarge,’ he responded. ‘Armed response, counter-terrorism, that sort of thing. But here we are, going to pick up a Super Soaker from some twelve year old kid who made the heinous mistake of carrying it down the street.’
    ‘Have you considered that it might be a real gun?’ Archer asked.
    ‘How many kids are walking around carrying real handguns in London, Arch?’ his friend countered.
    ‘OK, so let me ask you something Chalky,’ said Mac. ‘Why did you apply to join this unit? It seems to me that you’re starting to complain about doing anything that actually involves police work.’
    Chalky sensed his sergeant’s irritation and backtracked. He knew better than to provoke him. ‘Oh, I love the work, Sarge. I’m just saying it wouldn’t hurt to have a bit of excitement once in a while.’
    As he spoke, Porter turned to the right and pulled the vehicle into a gap on the kerb, applying the handbrake and turning off the engine. They were parked on a residential road, rows of semi-detached houses facing each other all the way down the street. They could see a few people walking down the pavements on either side, but the place was pretty quiet.
    ‘We’re here,’ Porter said. ‘Number 33, up ahead to the right.’
    All four men looked where he’d indicated and saw the front door in question.
    The curtains to the windows in the front room were all drawn, which was a mixed blessing. Whoever was inside wouldn’t see them coming, but equally they couldn’t get any idea who or what was inside.
    Mac turned to his three officers, ready to go.
    ‘Check your weapons. Arch, you’re