I smile in my helmet. “You’re being nosey.”
“Due diligence.”
“Stop polishing the turd,” I reply, and he laughs. “I’ll tell you when I’m in position.”
“Roger that. I’m ready with the lights as soon as the van is there. Radio and I’ll make sure they’re red.”
I pull up into one of the parking bays on the road, pull out the stand, take my helmet off, and wait.
And wait.
And wait.
This was always the worst part of missions. The waiting.
I take in the surroundings. I scan for potential threats, but it is just like we planned it to be—lunch time on a busy junction halfway to the prison. The large crossroads have a constant stream of traffic, but there is a lack of pedestrians with it being such a large road. There’s a lack of shops; there’s a lack of houses. There is also a lack of cameras, which makes Henry’s job even easier.
“Get ready,” Henry says. “They’re approaching.”
“I see them,” I reply as the prison vehicle appears in the distance. “Is Roman confirmed as checked back on?”
“Yes. What’s the status of the lights?”
“Green.”
I throw my leg back on my bike, pull my helmet on, and as the prison vehicle passes me, I pull back into the traffic and follow at a safe distance.
Henry turns the lights from green to red, and the van pulls to a stop. I pull up next to it and wait.
“Slight bang on your right,” Henry says.
I turn to look over my shoulder at the same time a small pop sounds, followed by a billow of smoke pouring from the bottom of the van. I wave at the prison guard to get his attention and point to the smoke that he will see as soon as he looks into the large side mirrors.
He says something to the driver, picking up the radio.
“They are aware they have an issue,” Henry says over the radio. “Dispatch acknowledged, you have four minutes.”
“Roger that. And we are 100% they don’t have guns?”
“Are we ever 100%?”
“Give me a percentage.” I ask, pulling up my visor improving my vision.
“We’re in the UK, Kara—sorry, Lucy. They will have batons, PAVA spray and if you’re feeling really spicy, a taser. Three minutes thirty.”
“Alright, alright.”
I climb off the bike as the door to the passenger side opens.
As the guard steps out, I throw my hand out quickly, striking him straight in his throat. The poor man barely has time to put his thick, bearlike hands round his neck as he fights for breath. I’m already moving in with another blow that will knock him out.
He’s on the floor, unconscious before he’s realised what the hell has happened.
As far as the driver is concerned, it looked like he tripped and fell.
“You alright? Dave.” His deep voice comes from the front.
“Sorry,” I answer, climbing up into the passenger seat, my gun pointed at the prison guard’s face.
