Urban Outlaws Read online

  Dedicated to the memory of my father

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  THE URBAN OUTLAWS

  BEHIND THE SCENES WITH THE URBAN OUTLAWS

  URBAN OUTLAWS BUNKER

  THE REAL GADGET GENIUS

  About the Author

  CHAPTER ONE

  Jack Fenton stood struck dumb, his eyes wide and staring, refusing to believe what he was looking at. They’d changed it. When had they done that? Why?

  He hurried to the door and leant in for a closer look. The old padlock was gone, replaced by a sophisticated key-code. The numbers glowed, mocking him, daring him to try them out. Step right up, step right up, they said. See if Lady Luck’s smiling. Give it a shot, you never know . . . But he did know. It was his job to know stuff like that. Even if it only needed a four-digit code, that meant ten thousand possible combinations.

  Ten. Thousand.

  He sighed, and deep in the pit of his stomach, Jack felt a twinge of self-doubt. Three months of planning wasted. How had he overlooked something so simple? He cursed himself for not giving the place a final check the night before, but how was he supposed to guess something like this? And he still came back to the same question: why had they changed the lock? It made no sense.

  He swore under his breath. Now he’d have to –

  ‘What are you doing?’ a deep voice boomed.

  Jack wheeled round.

  Standing further down the alleyway was a security guard.

  Where had he come from?

  Jack didn’t bother to make a run for it. He knew a three-metre-high wall blocked the other end of the alley. The only way out of there was through a locked door or past the security guard.

  Brilliant.

  The guard’s right hand moved to his hip. In the darkness, Jack couldn’t tell if he was reaching for a torch or a radio.

  ‘You gonna answer me?’ the guard said. ‘What are you doing ’ere?’

  Jack’s mind raced. Should he make up a story? Say something that would get him out of this mess? Perhaps he could distract the guard long enough –

  Jack shook himself.

  No. Stick to the plan. Always stick to the plan.

  The guard unclipped something from his belt.

  Jack squinted. Was that . . . a gun?

  The guard moved into the light and Jack took an involuntary step back.

  Yep, a gun. Definitely a gun.

  The guard planted his feet shoulder-width apart, gripped the pistol with both hands and pointed it at what Jack could only assume was his head.

  Jack’s eyes widened in disbelief. The guy was going to shoot a fifteen-year-old boy? Seriously?

  This was London not Afghanistan. What was he doing with a gun anyway? He was just a security guard.

  ‘Move away from the door,’ the guard demanded in a voice that sounded like it was straight out of a film, ‘and walk towards me. Slowly.’

  Jack raised his hands and took a step forward. ‘Now would be good,’ he breathed through the corner of his mouth into the wireless headset. ‘Plan B. In your own time, Charlie.’

  As if on cue, a hooded figure dressed all in black sprinted up the alleyway and slid to a halt behind the guard, who started to turn. But he was too slow – there was a sudden crack as Charlie jabbed a stun gun into his side.

  The guard went rigid as electricity coursed through his body.

  Jack winced. That had to hurt.

  Charlie pulled the stun gun from the guard’s side and, for a moment, neither of them moved.

  The guard’s arms hung limp. His eyes were vacant and glazed. The pistol slipped from his fingers and clattered to the tarmac.

  Charlie kicked the gun away and jabbed him again, this time in the belly. Another crack of electricity sent the guard sprawling backwards. He smacked his head on the concrete and fell unconscious.

  Charlie pulled off her hood and lowered the bandana from her nose and mouth. She had long dark hair tied in a ponytail and her bright jade eyes almost glowed in the darkness.

  She looked down at the unconscious guard. ‘Tough one, wasn’t he?’

  ‘Is he dead?’

  Charlie knelt down and felt the guard’s neck for a pulse. ‘Nah, he’s alive.’

  Eyeing the homemade stun gun in Charlie’s hand, Jack made a mental note not to get on the wrong side of her.

  Ever.

  She was a couple of months younger than he was, and the toughest girl he’d ever met, probably the toughest street kid in London.

  Yep, it was good to have her on your side.

  Charlie slipped the stun gun into her jacket’s inside pocket, grabbed the guard under the arms and looked at Jack. ‘Help me with him then.’

  Jack ran over, took his legs, and – with a lot of effort – they half carried, half dragged his lifeless form behind a skip and out of sight.

  Jack straightened and let out a breath. ‘Thank God for Plan B.’

  ‘Yeah, about that,’ Charlie glanced around. ‘Why are we on Plan B already? A little early to give up on Plan A, don’t ya think?’

  Jack pointed at the door. ‘See for yourself.’

  The two of them hurried over.

  Charlie examined the keypad, a slight crease furrowing her brow. ‘Why did they change it?’

  ‘Exactly what I was wondering.’ Jack looked up. The building’s first couple of floors were empty. Insurance brokers and telesales companies occupied the rest, and they had individual security on each floor, so no reason to change anything. Besides, what was there to nick?

  Charlie unclipped a long hip bag from her thigh, set it on the ground and rummaged inside. Finally, she found what she was looking for – a black box eight centimetres on each side with a digital readout.

  With a small screwdriver, Charlie unfastened the front of the keypad, exposing the circuitry behind. ‘Hold this.’ She handed Jack the black box and unrolled two wires: one red, one grey. She fixed the grey one to the case of the keypad and held the other ready. The concentration on her face was intense. Her lips moved silently as her eyes followed the paths of the circuit.

  Jack stayed as still as possible, hardly breathing, not wanting to break her concentration. If Charlie couldn’t get them out of this mess then – well, they were in deep trouble.

  Finally, Charlie touched the red wire to a terminal inside. ‘Hit the button.’

  Jack pressed the trigger on the top of the box and the display sprang to life. Numbers scrolled. He glanced around. They were still alone in the alley, but the sooner they got inside, the better.

  He looked back at the readout. The numbers moved in a blur, almost too quickly to see. Ten thousand combinations, right there. He was about to ask how long it would take when there was a click.

  Charlie grabbed the handle, pushed and the door swung open.

  Jack squinted as fluorescent light spilled into the alleyway, casting their shadows on the opposite wall. ‘You’re amazing,’ he said, handing the box back to her.

  Charlie dropped it into her bag and strode into the building. ‘I know.’

  Jack smiled as he followed her inside.

  • • •

  On the rooftop, twenty storeys up, they lay flat on their backs, catching their breath.

  After a few moments, Jack turned to Charlie. ‘Ready?’ She nodded. ‘OK, let’s do this.’
r />   They rolled on to their fronts and peered over the wall. From their vantage point, they had a clear view of the entire south face of the Millbarn building.

  Jack took out a pair of mini binoculars from his pocket and surveyed the street below. It was late and most people had already gone home, which meant their target would be easy to spot.

  Jack lowered the binoculars and watched Charlie as she removed a small tripod from her hip bag and set it up. Then she carefully slid out two black telescopic tubes – each five centimetres in diameter, and extending to sixty centimetres long. With infinite care, Charlie then screwed the ends together – making one long tube – and clipped it to the top of the tripod. Last, she connected a bunch of wires to the back.

  Jack took out a netbook from his own hip bag, turned it on and slid it over to her. Charlie connected the other end of the wires to the USB ports and ran a quick diagnostic. The optics inside the tube were aligned and calibrated.

  It had taken her months to build the sophisticated telescope and, as always, she’d done a brilliant job. The camera itself – a high-resolution CCD – had cost them a fortune, but it was money well spent.

  Well, at least Jack hoped so.

  An image of the building opposite sprang up on the netbook’s display. Charlie used the trackpad and arrow keys to zoom in on the tenth floor, far-right corner.

  The light was on in the office. At that moment, as far as Jack could tell, the room was empty. There were several blind spots, so he had no way to be sure.

  They could see the back of an LCD monitor sitting on a desk, and the edge of a keyboard underneath. A Lowry painting hung on the far wall, its stick figures walking towards a factory with tall chimneys that billowed smoke into a darkened sky. Jack wondered if it was a fake, but knowing their target, it was the real thing.

  Underneath the painting was a shelf, and on the shelf was a chrome vase filled with dried flowers.

  Good. Nothing had moved since their recon.

  ‘Ready?’ Charlie said.

  Jack nodded and held his breath. This was the most dangerous part of the mission and presented the greatest chance of them drawing attention to themselves.

  Charlie hit the Enter key.

  A green laser beam shot from the end of the customised telescope and hit the chrome vase in the office. The light scanned up and down, each pass taking three seconds. The returned measurement data from the laser scrolled down the left side of the netbook display and, after an agonising ten passes, the laser shut down.

  Scan complete, the netbook declared.

  Jack breathed a sigh of relief. The second part of the plan had gone without a hitch. They now had the exact dimensions of the vase.

  He looked at his watch: eight twenty. Which meant they had ten minutes to wait. He pressed a finger to his ear and spoke quietly into the mic of his headset. ‘Obi, everything good?’

  ‘It’s Commander Obi,’ came the reply.

  Charlie snickered.

  Jack pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘Not that again.’

  Obi was back at their headquarters, monitoring all the CCTV cameras in the area. He continued, ‘I think my title should be Mission Commander. Just saying.’

  ‘You’re a year younger than us,’ Jack said. ‘You can’t be Commander.’ Charlie was still giggling. Jack shot her an exasperated look and said to Obi, ‘Just tell me if everything is OK.’

  ‘Running hot,’ came the confident reply. There was a short pause, then Obi said, ‘We’ll talk about it when you get back. Commander Obi, out.’

  Jack let out a controlled breath. He’d gone over it a thousand times with all of them – if they messed about, they’d get caught. That simple.

  Annoyed, he refocused his binoculars on the building opposite.

  The office at the centre of their attention was owned by Millbarn Associates, a group of accountants that worked for large corporate companies. Millbarn had an impressive list of clients but what they were unaware of was that their star employee – fifty-three-year-old Richard Hardy – was a crook.

  Hardy’s gift was the movement of money. Illegal money. Leaving no trail.

  Well, almost no trail.

  Jack had read an anonymous message on one of the internet hacking forums, which in turn led him to find the electronic footprints. The path of dirty money was faint but that’s what had guided them to this moment. This rooftop.

  Richard Hardy’s most important client was a man called Benito Del Sarto and Jack’s probing had revealed that – on the surface – Del Sarto was a successful businessman with his fingers in many pies, ranging from oil to clothing imports.

  But that wasn’t all. Del Sarto was also one of the country’s biggest arms traffickers. He supplied sixty per cent of the UK’s illegal weapons. Jack’s eyes had almost popped from his skull when he’d discovered that nugget of information. But guns weren’t Jack’s main concern right now – it was something else that he wanted from Del Sarto.

  All he and Charlie had to do was get Hardy’s username and password.

  Jack and the others had spent months planning, following people, checking out the local area. He’d thought of every possible eventuality in excruciating detail. That was his gift. His curse.

  ‘Jack,’ Charlie hissed, breaking his thoughts.

  He pressed the binoculars back to his eyes and returned his attention to the street below. Next to the building’s entrance was a ten-year-old street kid. Her clothes were torn and dirty. She wore a tatty coat with the hood up, a blue scarf and woollen gloves. She hugged herself and rocked from side to side, trying to keep warm.

  Occasionally she’d hold out her hands to passers-by, but they didn’t even bother to glance in her direction. They knew she was there. Of course they did. They always knew. They’d learnt to block people like her out. The homeless. The destitute.

  Jack looked at Charlie.

  She had her own pair of pocket binoculars pressed to her eyes. ‘Oh, no.’

  ‘What?’ Jack said.

  Charlie pointed. ‘He’s early.’

  Jack’s stomach knotted, and he hoped Slink would be ready in time. He looked back at the street and watched their target march to the Millbarn building.

  Richard Hardy had short brown hair and was clean-shaven. He wore a black tailored suit and a red silk tie. On his wrist was a Rolex President watch, eighteen-carat gold, encrusted with thirty carats of diamonds. Lastly, Jack’s eyes moved to Richard’s shoes. Tanino Crisci. Bespoke. Black leather. Expensive.

  Rich git.

  Hardy walked with his nose in the air. Even his stride was arrogant.

  He was a few metres away from the entrance when the homeless girl stepped in front of him. She said something and held out her gloved hands. Hardy flinched and tried to walk around her but the girl mirrored his move, blocking his path. Large pleading eyes. Hands still outstretched.

  Hardy huffed his annoyance, obviously realising the girl wasn’t going to go away. He reluctantly fished in his pocket, pulled out a coin and tossed it into the girl’s waiting hands.

  Her eyes lit up and she beamed at him.

  Hardy hurried past her and pushed through the glass doors without a backward glance.

  Jack refocused his binocular sights on the girl as she ran down the street and then stopped in a narrow alleyway opposite. She held the coin in her gloved fingers, as if it were a precious artefact. With her other hand, she reached into her coat pocket and pulled out an object that looked something like a calculator.

  The girl pressed a button and a white band of light appeared above the narrow display. She waved the device over the coin a few times, then looked directly up at Jack and Charlie. ‘Got it?’ her small voice asked in Jack’s earpiece.

  Charlie set to work, and a few clicks later the image of the coin appeared on the netbook screen. ‘Applying filters.’ The picture changed colour, went from positive to negative, and the unmistakable lines of Richard Hardy’s fingerprint emerged. Charlie grinned and said into her m
ic, ‘Got it. Good job.’

  The girl, Wren, beamed up at them. ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Go to the meeting point like we said, OK?’

  ‘OK.’ Wren turned and skipped down the alleyway, disappearing into the darkness.

  Jack scanned the building opposite with the binoculars. ‘Phase three,’ he muttered. A full sixty seconds passed but there was no sign of him. ‘Where is he? We’re running out of time.’ Jack looked at Charlie and she shrugged. ‘Obi, patch us in to Slink.’

  A sudden blast of deafening noise made Jack cry out in pain. Dubstep blasted his eardrums and he cupped his hand over the microphone, ‘Slink.’ The music dropped a few decibels and he heard Slink’s distinctive chuckle. Slink loved dubstep – something Jack would never understand. The screech, grind and whistles made no sense, didn’t even resemble real music. Perhaps you just had to be twelve years old to get it. ‘Where are you?’ Jack asked.

  ‘Almost there.’ Slink’s voice didn’t even sound out of breath.

  Jack moved the binoculars up the facade of the Millbarn building, and a few floors from the top he spotted him.

  Slink was dressed all in black and, legs and arms spread wide, he shimmied up the window frames like a spider. He was at least sixty metres off the ground and holding on by nothing more than his fingertips and the grip of his shoes. After a heart-stopping couple of minutes, Slink finally grabbed the ledge at the top of the building, and hauled himself on to the roof.

  Jack let out the breath he hadn’t realised he was holding. ‘You need to hurry, Slink. Hardy is early.’

  Slink looked around for a second. ‘Terrific.’ He crouched low and – like a bullet – darted across the rooftop. He sprang over a protruding air vent, vaulted a low wall and slid to a stop in front of a door.

  He pulled a flat wallet from his pocket and unzipped it. Inside was a selection of picks. He removed two and set to work on the door’s lock.

  Jack lowered the binoculars. ‘Where’s Hardy?’ he asked Obi. There was no reply. ‘Obi?’

  ‘In the lift.’

  ‘How long before he reaches his office?’

  There was another short pause. ‘Hmm, I’d say two minutes tops.’

  Jack put his hand over his microphone and looked at Charlie. ‘Is that long enough?’