Pushing himself to his feet, he grabbed his crutches and set off along the tree-lined embankment. He had always thought how pretty it was here, but today it was cold and miserable, and at this time of the year it was already dark. The phone in his boot pressed uncomfortably on his calf muscle with each step, so he relied almost entirely on his right leg and the crutches.
The path was busy with football supporters walking in the opposite direction. There must be a match on at Old Trafford, just over a mile away. People stared at him as they tramped past, clearly wondering why he would put himself through such obvious pain, but he didn’t return their gaze and hobbled on, stopping to catch his breath and glance at his watch every few minutes. What if he was late? Would Terry wait?
He tried to up his speed and only just stopped himself from crashing to the ground. With a moan of frustration, he stopped, took a deep breath and glanced over his shoulder. Among the bodies heading to the football match was a man in a green jacket – the only one walking in his direction. Was he being followed? Had someone been sent to check up on him, to make sure he was obeying instructions? Or had the police sent someone to tail him?
He picked up the pace again. Anyone walking at a normal speed would pass him, so he continued for another minute then stopped as if recovering and turned again. The man in the green jacket had gone. Ash sighed with relief. He was nearly there. He would make it on time.
71
Sandie Burford had decided to follow Rajavi herself. As soon as they’d had word that he was in Salford Quays she had deployed three teams – one on the ground and two mobile, and she’d located him easily enough outside the hotel. Now he was on the move.
They had been checking cars entering the car park of the Lowry Outlet, but there was no sign of a black Volvo. Perhaps they were too smart to use the same car more than once. It was impossible to know what their plans were, but with Rajavi on crutches he was easy to follow and clearly unable to break into a run.
He hadn’t spotted her tailing him. Sandie thought she looked like someone on her way to the theatre – at least, that had been her intention when she chose a smart navy-blue coat and slung a handbag over her shoulder. Instead of walking behind him along the embankment, she had stuck to the pavement on the other side of the trees, and although she’d seen him check over his shoulder a couple of times, he hadn’t even looked her way.
The moment he reached the piazza, though, everything changed. The area in front of the theatre was heaving with football supporters. With an hour still to go before the match, they were making the most of the many cafés and bars that lined the space, shouting, chanting, hyped up with excitement for the match ahead. For the moment it all seemed good-humoured, and she could only hope nothing kicked off. That would make their task almost impossible.
She watched as Rajavi made his way slowly up the ramp to the doors of the outlet. The shops would be closed by now, but people were still passing in and out as this was the way to the car park. Was he going to dodge inside and head for the lifts? Unless she got in there with him, she wouldn’t know which floor he was heading to, and she sincerely hoped that wouldn’t happen.
He stopped right by the doors, and Sandie walked straight past, taking a seat outside one of the cafés. Despite the cold, there were enough people choosing fresh air over a crowded bar for her not to stand out. She could see one of her men reading the menu outside a restaurant, although she was sure he was actually watching Rajavi’s reflection in the plate-glass window. She got the feeling of suppressed excitement that always hit her when a plan came together. Her heart beat a little faster, her senses were on high alert – sounds, vision, smells all intensified. Her team was going to nail these bastards and get the kid back.
The moment she saw a man heading across the concourse in a black padded anorak with a scarf hiding the lower half of his face, Sandie knew he was the one. He was alone, walking with determination, shoulders hunched, head down. The scarf didn’t look out of place on this cold evening, but she’d hoped they could get a photo so they could identify him.
She watched as he spoke briefly to Rajavi, and the two men moved together into a bar with a watch live poster outside.
She lifted her phone as if she was making a call but spoke into her headset. ‘Al, you go into the bar. I’ll stay outside and keep watch from here.’
She listened as Al ordered a pint, one she trusted he wasn’t going to drink, and waited.
‘They’re right in the middle of the footie supporters. I’m ten metres back. They’re talking, arguing,’ Al said quietly. ‘The suspect is holding out his hand, and Rajavi is shaking his head. Suspect’s scarf is down – I’ll get a photo if I can. Hold up. He’s on the move, heading to the door. Rajavi’s trying to stop him.’ There was a pause. ‘He’s passed something to the suspect, who’s now walking across to the bar to speak to the barman. It looks like he’s passed him Rajavi’s mobile. Barman looks confused – clearly no idea why he’s given it to him. He’s put it behind the bar.’
‘Shit,’ Sandie muttered. ‘He’s made him leave his phone. We can’t lose sight of him now.’
Sandie quickly spoke to her team leaders, alerting them that Rajavi was on the move.
‘There’s only one way out of the car park, so let’s ID the car as soon as they’re in it, and then get on it.’
‘Hang on, Sarge. They’re not heading to the car park. They’re going down the ramp towards the theatre.’
‘What the fuck?’
Sandie could see them now, heading to the right of the theatre as she looked at it.
‘They’re going for a pick-up. Mobile unit one, are you at the pick-up point at the Quays?’
‘In position. A car has just dropped off, but it’s moved on. Only taxis there now.’
‘Watch and wait.’
Sandie started to move down the ramp, lost in the crowds of football fans. She could still make out Ash because of his slow progress on the crutches.
‘They’re getting in a taxi,’ Al murmured, reading out the registration.
‘We’re ready to pursue,’ Sandie heard through her headset.
‘Okay, keep eyes on that taxi. Mobile two, we need you in position to take over if necessary.’
This wasn’t going the way they had expected, and Sandie spoke briskly into her radio: ‘Pick me up. Now!’ She needed to be in the control van, not hanging around outside a bar.
The taxi had gone, so Sandie broke cover and ran at full pelt towards the mini-roundabout, reaching it as the van pulled over, a side door sliding open. She jumped inside, slammed the door, and the van immediately started to move.
A voice came through her headset: ‘Sarge, they’re heading round the Quays. Traffic’s crap – bloody football. Taxi’s turning on to Trafford Road, heading south. Wait – they’ve pulled into the IBIS car park. I’m driving past. Mobile two, you need to follow.’
The second mobile team confirmed that they were about to enter the car park. A male and female team, they would pass for a couple arriving for the night.
‘Sarge, no one’s getting out of the taxi. They’re waiting for something.’