The Last 10 Seconds

I thought through what would happen next. Usually, in infiltration jobs, the path to an arrest follows a pattern. Once I’ve gained the trust of my targets, I use my recording devices to gather evidence of the targets’ planned wrongdoing. If I can gather enough in this manner, I call in my colleagues, and while I’m safely off the scene they come in and make the arrests. If, however, more’s needed, we tend to allow them to carry out the crime they’re planning – usually with me accompanying them – and then move in and catch them red-handed on my signal. These are the best ops from my perspective because I tend to get nicked along with the bad guys, and we don’t have to use any of the taped evidence we’ve got, which means my cover doesn’t get blown.

However, allowing the targets to carry out their crimes and taking them down mid-act can be a dangerous business, especially if there are guns involved and one of the gunmen is an undercover cop. So I knew damn well that the bosses would never sanction it with Wolfe and his crew, which meant I was going to have to wait until I knew exactly where and when the snatch was going to happen and then let Captain Bob know. It was hardly the ideal plan of action, but right then it was the best I had.

After the meeting with Wolfe and Haddock was over, Tommy drove me home. On the way, I again tried pumping him for information on the job, but he wasn’t giving anything away.

It was an unusual situation, because what intelligence there was on Tyrone Wolfe stated that he was the boss of his tight-knit and very small crew, which effectively consisted of him, Haddock and Tommy, and that he masterminded the business himself, rather than doing work for other people, which usually tends to be a surefire way of getting caught. It meant that they had to know a lot more about this op than they were telling. I studied Tommy’s face but, like Wolfe, he was good at keeping his cards close to his chest.

It had just turned five o’clock when we pulled up outside the post-war terrace containing the flat I’d rented in the name of Sean Tatelli. I was officially on long-term sick leave from CO10 suffering from stress, having convinced the police psychiatrist I saw once a month that I was having a nervous breakdown, which had given me the time to focus entirely on the job at hand. Surprisingly, even after everything else, it was this deceit I felt most guilty about. I didn’t like going sick, and until then my attendance record had been one of the best in the unit.

‘Fancy a pint tonight after I’ve taken Tommy Junior for a walk?’ asked Tommy, trying to get out of the way as the dog jumped on him at the mention of his daily exercise. ‘Not a big one, cos this job’s going to come up pretty soon. Maybe even tomorrow. Just a celebration drink to welcome you to the team.’

Normally I’d have said yes. I never liked to miss an opportunity to get closer to a target. But I needed to think. ‘Thanks, Tom, but I’m going to turn in early.’

‘You’re all right, though, yeah?’ He looked genuinely concerned.

I wondered irrationally if he could read my mind. ‘I’m fine. Why shouldn’t I be?’

‘Cos you shot two blokes today. It’s not the kind of thing you do on an everyday basis.’

‘They asked for it,’ I said, with a defiance I wasn’t feeling. ‘I was just defending myself.’

He grinned, showing teeth that could have done with some investment, and gave my shoulder a meaty squeeze – an expression of affection that he’d given me on more than one occasion. ‘You’re all right, Sean, do you know that? I trusted you from the beginning. I knew you’d work out. You’re like us. You’re a pro.’

I thanked him once again for getting me the work, before watching him drive off with conflicting feelings. This was the man who’d driven my brother’s killers away from the scene of their brutal crime, and who’d gone on to commit numerous others. For years I’d built him up as a monster who’d not lost a moment’s sleep over what had happened to John. And maybe he hadn’t. I don’t know because I was always careful never to raise the subject with him, but in the three months I’d spent getting to know him, he’d become far more human in my eyes. A flawed character, certainly, an uneducated thug unafraid to use violence when he considered it necessary, but a funny, generous guy as well, who was popular in the pubs we drank in, who doted on his dog, and who genuinely seemed to like me.