‘I won’t be drawn into naming names,’ Drummond said. ‘But I believe it’s an open secret that our aim now is to bring to justice this country’s most feared and revered organised criminal. He knows who he is and I’m sure he knows that we’re coming for him.’

2

Slack

It was the first time Roy Slack had heard himself described as the most feared and revered crime boss in the country, and it made him smile.

He knew it to be true, of course, just like he’d known for some time that the Old Bill were going to come after him with everything they had.

But he wasn’t going to make it easy for them. In fact he intended to ensure that it was a move they would come to regret.

He turned his attention away from the huge flat-screen TV on his office wall and said to Danny Carver, ‘Thirty frigging years. The poor sod might as well top himself because he won’t ever be coming out.’

Danny was his most trusted enforcer, a fifty-five-year-old former mercenary whose nickname in the underworld was The Rottweiler. He was a thickset individual with a boxer’s physique and a well-deserved reputation as a violent psychopath, qualities that made him perfect for the job he did.

‘My money was on a fifteen stretch, boss,’ he said. ‘But we should have guessed the bastards would use the poor bugger to send a message to us.’

Slack nodded. Danny was right. This was a crude example of the police and the judicial system working together to show they meant business.

‘The wankers are mistaken if they think it’ll have me shitting in my pants,’ Slack said. ‘Harry Fuller was a fairly easy target, but I won’t be.’

The two men, who were alone in the office, turned their attention back to the TV screen.

Sky News were reporting live from outside the Old Bailey and DCS George Drummond was still responding to questions. He was a smooth-looking bastard who clearly had an inflated opinion of himself.

Slack had met the man on two occasions and he knew their paths would cross again.

‘Seems to me that what that bloke is saying amounts to a declaration of all-out war,’ Danny said.

Slack leaned back in his padded leather chair and swung his shoes up onto the desk.

‘That’s exactly what it is, Danny,’ he said. ‘And if it’s a war they want, then it’s a war they’re gonna get.’

He’d known what was coming ever since the Home Office announced a major new offensive against organised crime in London. It was essentially a political move over widespread concern that the problem had got out of hand.

There had been an epidemic of gun and knife crime in the capital, and during the past three years no less than thirty people had been murdered during gang turf wars.