Chapter 51
Lucy - Present
“Got everything you need?” Owen asks as I strap the knife into my boot, the holster sitting snug against my leg. I zip the boot and stand.
Owen waits by the front door with me in front of Henry’s console table, the circular mirror reflecting our images.
Owen looks shattered, his five o’clock shadow getting longer and longer by the day. I reach out and run my hand over his cheek. “You need to shave.”
“I thought it makes me look kind of rugged,” he says, placing his hand over mine turning his head from side to side, looking at his reflection in the mirror.
I smile.
“Nervous?” he asks.
I pull my hand down and check my own reflection. Pale blue eyes alert and ready for what comes next.
“For the interception? No,” I reply. “For what you’re about to do, yes,” I admit.
“You know if you don’t get the hard drive, this is all for nothing, right?”
My eyes meet his in the reflection, and I nod before grabbing the gun from the table and sliding it into my holster.
Owen leans to the coat hook and grabs me my black jacket, holding it up for me to slip into it.
“Always the gentleman,” I say, smiling.
“Be careful.”
I lean forward and kiss him. “I’m always careful.”
“I’m not sure I believe that,” he says over my lips, and deepens the kiss, his tongue pushing into my mouth.
“Sorry to break this little moment,” Henry says, joining us in the hallway of his really rather nice bachelor pad.
Three bedrooms, large floor to ceiling windows, with woods, blues and greys running throughout, huge plants, artwork of chess pieces.
I swear Luca had similar ones.
It’s where we have set up base for the past seven days.
Seven days to put things into motion.
Seven days to plan, re-plan, and go through every possible outcome. All the what ifs? It’s all covered. Maybe that’s why I’m not nervous about getting Roman.
Because it’s so meticulously planned.
The second part of said plan, though, not so much. It all rides on me getting the hard drive. If that doesn’t work out, well, it all falls apart, and we’ll spend the rest of our lives looking over our shoulders.
Bishop has worked his magic, and today Roman Rook will be transferred to the Central Criminal Court, otherwise known as the Old Bailey for his plea hearing that was originally scheduled for seventeen weeks time.
Our plan is simple: take out the prison transport, break all the prisoners out, and Roman will hold up his end of the bargain.
Or get a bullet in his head.
Either way, by the end of the day, we will know what comes next.
“Transport has left the prison. I’ll track them from here using the GPS beacons on each of the vans. Here.” He walks over to us and passes me a small box. I open it and pull out the earpiece, placing it in my ear.
“This is some James Bond type shit,” Owen says as Henry pulls out another box.
“Comms check,” he says, placing his own earpiece in and passes to Owen.
“Not him,” I say before Owen takes it. Owen looks at me, frowning. “If I have you in my ear, I’m going to be worried about you and I won’t be able to stay focused. Don’t take it personally.”
Owen nods, and Henry pulls the box back.
“Comms check, please,” Henry says, walking away. “Ready when you are!” he shouts from his study, sitting behind his desk with his copious amounts of monitors.
“One, two, three,” I say into the hallway, and I hear Henry’s voice clear in my ear.
“One, two, three,” he replies.
“Received, clear.”
“Agreed.”
I look at Owen who is staring at me, biting his lip. “You’re thinking naughty thoughts, aren’t you?”
“You look fucking sexy in this outfit.” He reaches out to my long, sleek ponytail, wrapping my long hair around his fist and pulls. The bite of pain at my roots. “When you’re back later, I’m going to fuck you raw with my hand wrapped around your hair just like this.”
“It’s a fucking date,” I say.
He grins. “Be safe.”
“Stay here until you hear from me. I mean it, Owen, stick to the plan.”
He holds his arms up, placating. “I know, I will.”
“I mean it.” I point my finger at him, waggling it. “I know you love to wing it—”
“Winging a speech is slightly different from winging any of this.”
“Get going, Kara,” Henry calls from his study.
“Love you,” Owen says, reaching for my little finger.
“Me more.” I wrap my pinkie around his, and he pulls our conjoined hands to his mouth, kissing them. I pull him to my mouth quickly, and before I am even more torn about leaving him without me in the vicinity to protect him, I throw open the door and walk into the cold air of the hallway.
“It’s freezing,” I mutter into the earpiece as I take up my position on the corner of two roads. The courthouse entrance is across from the coffee shop I’m sitting outside of, where I have direct sight of the entrance that prison trucks turn into.
Two have already arrived, none of which Roman was in.
But they each wait up to a minute before the big black gate slides along its metal rung and opens following a security checkpoint.
What they don’t do?
Check the vehicles themselves, which is why in my backpack is a small set of explosives. Not big enough to do damage to the armoured vehicle, but enough to take out the car axis and make the car immobile.
“Two minutes out.” Henry’s voice comes through my ear.
“Roger that.” I take a sip of my coffee and pretend to read my book.
The prison vehicle pulls into the road, so I stand and cross the road as it stops at the black gates. I walk behind it, pretend to drop something. I slide the small device under the truck as I pretend to pick something up and carry on walking.
The move takes no more than ten seconds and isn’t enough to cause any suspicion.
“Planted,” I say into the earpiece.
“Cameras haven’t picked up anything, neither has chatter. You’re good.”
“Moving to phase two.”
Phase two involves two things. Number one, Roman completing his plea hearing. Which I’m sure he’ll be really pissed off about.
Number two, it involves me waiting again. But before I wait, I need to get into position.
The time to get out of the courthouse and onto the main road and location of where I will make the hit is approximately fifteen minutes.
We’ve chosen the spot because it is smack bang in the middle of the journey, which means it’s the furthest position away from the courthouse, police hub and prison.
When they radio for help, it will take at least four minutes for said help to arrive. Giving me and Roman four minutes of a head start to get the hell out the area.
I walk to my motorbike and gun the engine, the vibrations running through me settling the adrenaline. Like I’d said, this mission doesn’t make me nervous, it’s planned.
But I’m away from Owen at a time when he still has a hit on him. I do, too, but well, I always have some sort of contract out on me. I’m used to this world.
“How’s things at home?”
“No change since the last time you asked, which was about five minutes ago, Kara.”
“Can you stop calling me Kara!” I ask, pulling up to a red traffic light.
“Ah yes, I heard Owen call you Lucy. I must say Apex Security really did well hiding your past.”
“Have you been poking about, Mr Bishop?”
“Doing my due diligence,” he admits.
I smile in my helmet. “You’re being nosey.”
“Due diligence.”
“Stop polishing the turd,” I reply, and he laughs. “I’ll tell you when I’m in position.”
“Roger that. I’m ready with the lights as soon as the van is there. Radio and I’ll make sure they’re red.”
I pull up into one of the parking bays on the road, pull out the stand, take my helmet off, and wait.
And wait.
And wait.
This was always the worst part of missions. The waiting.
I take in the surroundings. I scan for potential threats, but it is just like we planned it to be—lunch time on a busy junction halfway to the prison.
The large crossroads have a constant stream of traffic, but there is a lack of pedestrians with it being such a large road.
There’s a lack of shops; there’s a lack of houses.
There is also a lack of cameras, which makes Henry’s job even easier.
“Get ready,” Henry says. “They’re approaching.”
“I see them,” I reply as the prison vehicle appears in the distance. “Is Roman confirmed as checked back on?”
“Yes. What’s the status of the lights?”
“Green.”
I throw my leg back on my bike, pull my helmet on, and as the prison vehicle passes me, I pull back into the traffic and follow at a safe distance.
Henry turns the lights from green to red, and the van pulls to a stop. I pull up next to it and wait.
“Slight bang on your right,” Henry says.
I turn to look over my shoulder at the same time a small pop sounds, followed by a billow of smoke pouring from the bottom of the van. I wave at the prison guard to get his attention and point to the smoke that he will see as soon as he looks into the large side mirrors.
He says something to the driver, picking up the radio.
“They are aware they have an issue,” Henry says over the radio. “Dispatch acknowledged, you have four minutes.”
“Roger that. And we are 100% they don’t have guns?”
“Are we ever 100%?”
“Give me a percentage.” I ask, pulling up my visor improving my vision.
“We’re in the UK, Kara—sorry, Lucy. They will have batons, PAVA spray and if you’re feeling really spicy, a taser. Three minutes thirty.”
“Alright, alright.”
I climb off the bike as the door to the passenger side opens.
As the guard steps out, I throw my hand out quickly, striking him straight in his throat. The poor man barely has time to put his thick, bearlike hands round his neck as he fights for breath. I’m already moving in with another blow that will knock him out.
He’s on the floor, unconscious before he’s realised what the hell has happened.
As far as the driver is concerned, it looked like he tripped and fell.
“You alright? Dave.” His deep voice comes from the front.
“Sorry,” I answer, climbing up into the passenger seat, my gun pointed at the prison guard’s face.