Costello sat watching the road.
Dominic was tapping an erratic beat on the handlebars of the bike. It was starting to become annoying.
They were waiting for the blue Ford Sierra to appear. The previous day, the target had led them from the police station at Ilford up as far as the Gants Hill roundabout before they had decided to break off. On that occasion, they had used an old Escort van Costello had bought; today they used another moped. Dominic was up front, Costello on the pillion.
With any luck the policeman would use the same route and pass by at about the same time.
‘What’s the time, Dominic?’ he asked.
Dominic rolled back the sleeve of his jacket. ‘A quarter past two, he should be here by now.’
As Dominic finished, Costello saw the car.
‘There he is,’ he said. ‘Give him a few seconds and then pull out behind him.’
Dominic kicked the motorcycle into gear, waited for the Sierra to pass and then eased out into the traffic.
The target car was moving more quickly than the previous day. Costello guessed that the policeman was hurrying home to watch the rugby on television.
‘Don’t bloody lose him,’ he said.
They made steady progress though the traffic. At traffic lights and junctions, Dominic was careful to keep out of sight of the car’s mirrors. Finally, their target slowed as he pulled into a cul-de-sac off New North Road and into his driveway.
They had located his home.
Next day, they returned.
This time, Costello drove. They used the Escort van. It was a good choice. Dirty and bearing all the dents and scratches of a trader’s vehicle, it gave them the appearance of moonlighting builders on a job.
Inside the van, Costello and Dominic now wore light anoraks over cheap overalls and plimsolls. Experience had taught them how the police forensic science laboratory worked. They would destroy all clothing after a job and wash their skin and hair thoroughly. Traces of explosive residue and nitro powder from firearms had been used to convict many a volunteer. Science continually improved but there was no sense in making it easy for them.
Both of them were now armed. Dominic sat in the passenger seat with a folding-stock Kalashnikov AK47 nestled between his feet and both men carried Browning 9mm pistols hidden in shoulder holsters. Today was to be for final reconnaissance but they were tooled up in case they were stopped. The real job would be done tomorrow, just as the target arrived home.
‘If he runs true to form he should have been home about two-thirty.’ Dominic scanned the A–Z as they turned into New North Road.
‘What’s the time now?’ Costello asked.
‘Three.’
‘We’ll drive past the house and take a wee look, then.’
As they drove slowly down the cul-de-sac, the target was in the driveway washing the blue Sierra.
‘That’s him,’ said Costello.
The target glanced up from his car washing and watched them as they drove past.
A small boy ran across the road and shouted at the target. As they cruised past, Costello slowly wound down his window.
‘Uncle Rod,’ the boy called out, ‘can you fix the brake on my bike?’
The man that he called Uncle Rod looked down on the little lad. ‘What’s wrong with it then, Tommy?’
‘It keeps falling off.’
Costello pulled the van into the side of the narrow street and stopped. As he watched in his rear-view mirror, the target disappeared into his house and returned with some tools.
‘We’ll do it now,’ said Costello, as he continued to observe the target working on the child’s bike.
‘There’s a kid … we can’t.’ Dominic reached between his feet and placed the AK47 deeper into the foot well of the van.
‘You’ll do as yer fuckin’ told, Dominic. He’s seen us. If we come back another day he’ll recognise us.’
Dominic kept silent, but lifted the AK47 from between his feet and cocked the firing mechanism.
Costello turned the van around and moved slowly towards the target.
‘Call him over … make it look like we need directions,’ he said.
Dominic wound down his window as they pulled up adjacent to the target’s house.
‘Excuse me,’ called Dominic. ‘Could you tell me the way to the station?’
‘The station? For Christ’s sake, Dom,’ hissed Costello.
As the target walked towards the van, the boy came with him.
‘Shit,’ said Dominic, as he thrust the barrel of the rifle through the open window and flicked off the safety.
The target reacted quickly. He span around, snatched the small boy up in his arms and threw him bodily across the bonnet of the car that sat on the driveway to the house.
It saved the boy’s life.
Even as young Tommy flew across the car, the air was split by the sound of the AK47 on fully automatic. The first rounds hit the concrete between the target’s legs, but Dominic raised his aim, and the next burst caught the man squarely between the shoulders. He flew forward as though punched by an invisible fist.
Costello was about to pull away when he saw that the target was still moving.
‘He’s still alive … finish him off!’ he shouted.
Dominic threw open the passenger door and ran towards the house. The target was crawling towards his home. At close quarters, Dominic fired five more rounds into the back of the prone form that twitched beneath him.
The door to the house was open. As Dominic stopped shooting, Costello saw a woman appear in the doorway. Dominic raised the assault rifle and pointed it at her face.
She started to scream.
Costello guessed her to be the policeman’s wife. To many who followed the IRA cause she was a legitimate target, but not to him and especially not today. This ‘hit’ was target-specific and the target was down.
‘Leave it. Come on. Now!’ he shouted to Dominic.
Dominic dived into the passenger seat as Costello gunned the engine. The tyres skidded on the tarmac as they accelerated hard away from the sound of the screaming woman.
Within twenty minutes, they were leaving Hainault forest, the van was torched, their clothing destroyed and they were on their way back to Hackney in an old Ford Fiesta.
Costello pulled out his telephone, typed M.A. into a text message and pressed ‘send’.
M.A.: Mission Accomplished.
If Yildrim ran true to form, details of the next job would appear on Costello’s phone within a day.