have you got his phone?’
Haddad holds up Joesbury’s mobile.
‘You know what to do.’
Haddad turns to the nearest port-side hatch and tosses the phone out of the boat. Joesbury hears the splash as it hits the water and hopes the expression on his face says mildly pissed off, rather than very afraid.
‘Where’s Beenie?’ A sudden thought hits him. Now that it’s happening, Beenie could have outlived his usefulness.
‘Driving Rich out of town.’
If that’s true, then he’s safe.
If
. ‘So what’s going down?’
‘You drive the boat. Do what you’re told. Up you go.’
Joesbury sits. ‘Sorry guys, I’ve gone along with this for three weeks now, but I’ve had it. If we’re going to impersonate a Marine Unit crew, how are we doing that, exactly? Because if we sneak up to Wapping like the red team in a paintball skirmish and try to steal a boat, I think they might notice.’
Lacey will be on shift right now. There is no way he is taking this lot anywhere near her. Except it looks as though he is, because Assaf has pulled out a handgun.
‘Stand up. Arms in the air.’
Joesbury does as he’s told, because no one argues with a man holding a loaded gun. He is patted down to make sure he hasn’t sneaked anything into his new pockets and then shoved up the steps.
Safar is already in the RIB, holding on to the mooring line. The camera is back, balanced on Malouf’s shoulder. Kouri and Safar are wearing baseball caps, but tucked away under the front seat of the RIB Joesbury sees uniformed hats, including one worn by a sergeant.
The men have been practising their boat-handling skills. The whole business of untying lines and pushing away from the marina is much slicker now. Joesbury has nothing to do but take the helm, start the engines and steer slowly out of the dock.
Assaf nods downstream, towards Wapping, and Joesbury turns the boat, steering them under Tower Bridge. He isn’t going to do it. He will not take this lot to Wapping police station. He will leap overboard with the ignition key. Back in the yacht cabin, he’d pulled a life jacket over his stolen uniform. He’ll survive.
They aren’t going to Wapping. All five men in the boat watch it nervously as they drive past, but he receives no orders to turn in. Instead, they continue downstream. At Rotherhithe, they see another craft heading towards them. Assaf lifts binoculars, watches it drawing closer. The others are watching it too.
‘Ram it,’ Assaf tells him.
‘Fuck, no.’ He can see it now. It’s a Marine Unit RIB, heading back to Wapping after some task in Docklands.
‘Do it.’ Assaf’s gun is pointing at him again. Knowing that aggressive action on his part will prompt a radio alert, Joesbury switches course, pushes down the throttle and heads directly for the Marine Unit RIB. The police boat cuts its speed.
The gap between the two RIBs is narrowing. One hundred metres, fifty. One of the constables on board is standing in the bow, holding on with one hand, with the other gesturing that they slow down. Hope plummeting, Joesbury recognizes the young female.
‘OK, I think we’ve got their attention.’ Assaf pulls back on the throttle to slow the boat, then tugs sharply on the wheel to turn the RIB to starboard. Then he kills the engine.
‘On your knees.’ He jabs Joesbury sharply in the shoulder with the gun. ‘Get down.’
Joesbury makes a grab for the keys, but before he can pull them from the ignition two of the men are on him, pushing him to the RIB’s floor. Haddad, the heavier of the two, sits on his chest, Safar kneels on his legs.
‘Watch out!’ Joesbury takes a kick in the head as the others start shouting.
‘We need help here!’
‘We’ve lost someone overboard!’
‘We need you over here. Now!’
‘Can you state your business on the river, please?’
Joesbury knows that voice, even distorted by the loudhailer, has known it his whole life. He squirms, tries to call out, to warn his uncle, but
Haddad holds up Joesbury’s mobile.
‘You know what to do.’
Haddad turns to the nearest port-side hatch and tosses the phone out of the boat. Joesbury hears the splash as it hits the water and hopes the expression on his face says mildly pissed off, rather than very afraid.
‘Where’s Beenie?’ A sudden thought hits him. Now that it’s happening, Beenie could have outlived his usefulness.
‘Driving Rich out of town.’
If that’s true, then he’s safe.
If
. ‘So what’s going down?’
‘You drive the boat. Do what you’re told. Up you go.’
Joesbury sits. ‘Sorry guys, I’ve gone along with this for three weeks now, but I’ve had it. If we’re going to impersonate a Marine Unit crew, how are we doing that, exactly? Because if we sneak up to Wapping like the red team in a paintball skirmish and try to steal a boat, I think they might notice.’
Lacey will be on shift right now. There is no way he is taking this lot anywhere near her. Except it looks as though he is, because Assaf has pulled out a handgun.
‘Stand up. Arms in the air.’
Joesbury does as he’s told, because no one argues with a man holding a loaded gun. He is patted down to make sure he hasn’t sneaked anything into his new pockets and then shoved up the steps.
Safar is already in the RIB, holding on to the mooring line. The camera is back, balanced on Malouf’s shoulder. Kouri and Safar are wearing baseball caps, but tucked away under the front seat of the RIB Joesbury sees uniformed hats, including one worn by a sergeant.
The men have been practising their boat-handling skills. The whole business of untying lines and pushing away from the marina is much slicker now. Joesbury has nothing to do but take the helm, start the engines and steer slowly out of the dock.
Assaf nods downstream, towards Wapping, and Joesbury turns the boat, steering them under Tower Bridge. He isn’t going to do it. He will not take this lot to Wapping police station. He will leap overboard with the ignition key. Back in the yacht cabin, he’d pulled a life jacket over his stolen uniform. He’ll survive.
They aren’t going to Wapping. All five men in the boat watch it nervously as they drive past, but he receives no orders to turn in. Instead, they continue downstream. At Rotherhithe, they see another craft heading towards them. Assaf lifts binoculars, watches it drawing closer. The others are watching it too.
‘Ram it,’ Assaf tells him.
‘Fuck, no.’ He can see it now. It’s a Marine Unit RIB, heading back to Wapping after some task in Docklands.
‘Do it.’ Assaf’s gun is pointing at him again. Knowing that aggressive action on his part will prompt a radio alert, Joesbury switches course, pushes down the throttle and heads directly for the Marine Unit RIB. The police boat cuts its speed.
The gap between the two RIBs is narrowing. One hundred metres, fifty. One of the constables on board is standing in the bow, holding on with one hand, with the other gesturing that they slow down. Hope plummeting, Joesbury recognizes the young female.
‘OK, I think we’ve got their attention.’ Assaf pulls back on the throttle to slow the boat, then tugs sharply on the wheel to turn the RIB to starboard. Then he kills the engine.
‘On your knees.’ He jabs Joesbury sharply in the shoulder with the gun. ‘Get down.’
Joesbury makes a grab for the keys, but before he can pull them from the ignition two of the men are on him, pushing him to the RIB’s floor. Haddad, the heavier of the two, sits on his chest, Safar kneels on his legs.
‘Watch out!’ Joesbury takes a kick in the head as the others start shouting.
‘We need help here!’
‘We’ve lost someone overboard!’
‘We need you over here. Now!’
‘Can you state your business on the river, please?’
Joesbury knows that voice, even distorted by the loudhailer, has known it his whole life. He squirms, tries to call out, to warn his uncle, but
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