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just someone waiting for his bird,’ said Margaret. ‘He’ll get a hell of a surprise if it is,’ said Utter, then informed the other cops of the plan.
    A few minutes later, Flynn said, ‘here she comes’ as a massive lorry lit up like a Christmas tree ground along the street and turned into the estate. The Ford Transit waiting on the service road flashed its lights once and Utter grunted with satisfaction. ‘Gotcha,’ he said.
    As the truck’s taillights diminished in their view the two plain clothes, appeared still holding hands, crossed the road in front of the van, separated, the woman shouted something unintelligible and slapped the man’s face. They split up, one heading towards the driver’s side, the other the passenger’s. Then they turned, drew their weapons and ripped open the van doors. The interior light came on, illuminating the face of a very surprised spotter who lifted his hands above his head. ‘Done Guv,’ the woman’s voice said over the radio. ‘He thought he was at the pictures watching us ruck. He had a radio, but he didn’t have time to use it.’
    ‘We saw,’ replied Utter into his transmitter, ‘good job.’ Then, ‘all units, go, go, go.’
    * * *
     
    The convoy swiftly regrouped and sped past the captured Transit, down the service road and arrived at the warehouse just as the huge, razor wired gates were closing. The lead van hit the gates with its strengthened front end crashing back open and they caught up with the artic as it drove through the open roller doors of the warehouse itself. The lead vans broadsided and skidded to a halt, their back doors burst open and a dozen members of SO19, each armed with an automatic rifle, rushed past the lorry’s trailer into the warehouse screaming. ‘Armed police, stay where you are.’
    The gang members inside the building ignored the order and made for the back of the building, pulled weapons from about their persons and started to shoot. The SO19 crew took cover and returned fire. ‘Christ,’ said Utter. ‘A fucking war,’ and he leapt from the unmarked car, followed by Margaret, the three DCs in the back, and the team of five in the car behind them.
    The fire fight was gathering strength when the ten slid up behind the wagon, guns drawn, and ready for action. Margaret quickly forgot her nerves, and her training kicked in as Utter rolled under the back wheels and shimmied up to the rear of the tractor, engine still running, Margaret close behind, exhaust fumes hot and pungent in her lungs. Utter stopped in front of her, bullets coming from all directions. The last thing she heard him say was, ‘cluster fuck,’ before a stray bullet blew a hole in his head, all the lights in the warehouse went out, leaving the lights from the truck as the only source of illumination.
    Suddenly, the place was plunged into darkness as they were cut, apart from the muzzle flashes from the shootout and the lights from the police vehicles in the car park reflecting through the windows.
    Margaret felt warm brain matter and blood on her face and clothes and gagged, just managing not to vomit. ‘Utter,’ she hissed. ‘Are you there?’ She knew it was pointless speaking to him as he was obviously dead, but she couldn’t help herself. She felt for his pulse, but there was nothing. ‘Get a medic,’ she screamed to the men behind her, not worrying about giving her position away. ‘Utter’s hit.’ Once again she knew it was futile, but she didn’t care.
    ‘Christ,’ said Flynn, as he scrambled back, pulling his radio from his pocket and calling for medical assistance.
    ‘Bastards,’ said Margaret, and she pushed forward under the tractor.
    That was when she saw him. The silhouetted figure of a man coming towards her with what looked like a weapon in his right hand. ‘Stop,’ she called. ‘Stop, or I’ll shoot.’
    The warehouse was full of smoke from the truck’s exhaust and the gunfire, and her ears were ringing from the sound of the