Chapter Eight

Lew took a steadying breath as he pulled back the enforcer and aligned it to the flimsy lock on the aging flat door. Sam and Jules stacked up against the wall, weapons raised and ready to enter as soon as the door was breached. They shared a silent look; they all knew what was riding on this. One wrong move and they'd never see their team leader again.

Greg's call to speak to the courier had paid off, yielding up a name and address. David Wilson had made his first mistake and paid with a card, and the cops needs no further invitation to pay him a visit.

The tension was palpable, there could be no mistakes: it was essential the subject was brought in alive, and able to tell them where their teammate was being held. Anyone shooting the subject would be killing both hostages too.

Lew's heart was pounding as his adrenaline prepared him for the breach. His gun hung from its sling around his neck, ready to back up his two team mates, but their real weapons were speed, surprise and intimidation.

Sam gave a nod and Lew swung the enforcer into the door, shattering the lock and sending splinters flying from the door's wooden frame. Sam and Jules burst into the flat, looking down the barrels of their weapons.

"SRU, SRU!"

"On the floor! Get down, down!"

Lew discarded the enforcer and stepped in behind them, raising his weapon and sweeping the room. The lone male occupant was face down on the floor with Jules covering him. Sam was already moving away to search the rest of the rooms. Lew moved in the opposite direction and swung open a door. The room behind it was dominated by a bed and a wardrobe. A quick search confirmed no-one was there.

"Clear!" he called, and heard Sam's voice echoing through the flat as he confirmed the other rooms were clear as well. They regrouped beside the prone subject, who lay breathing rapidly but making no attempt to move. Lew moved in and patted him down while the others kept their weapons on the subject, ready to react if he produced a weapon.

"He's clean."

"Get up," Sam ordered the suspect. "Slowly."

The man pushed himself to his feet and looked round the trio of cops, his eyes wide as he stared at their weapons.

"What's this about? I haven't done anything."

Sam shared a look with Jules. He'd picked up plenty of perps since he'd been with the SRU, but this guy wasn't acting guilty. He just seemed… scared.

"David Wilson?" he clarified.

"Yes, but-"

"Have you ever been to Quick Drop Motorcycle Couriers, Mr Wilson?" Jules questioned.

"Is that what this is about?" he said, a note of relief pre-emptively creeping into his voice, as he looked from one unrelenting face to the next, then hurried to explain. "I was passing there yesterday and a guy in a van asked me to run a package in for him. He couldn't park – it was rush hour, he was in a hurry. He gave me the cash and I took it in for him."

Sam sighed in frustration, and Lew turned away to update the rest of the team through his headset.

"Can you recall anything about the man?" Jules probed.

Wilson shook his head.

"No, I- He was just a normal guy. He was driving a white van. It didn't have any signs on the side, I remember that – it looked like a work van but it didn't have any signage."

"Did you get that, Spike?" Sam asked.

"Copy. I'll check CCTV. But a plain white van, in rush hour…"

He didn't finish, but they all knew what he was thinking. It would be like looking for a needle in a haystack, and the clock was already ticking. Night was closing in, and they couldn't afford for this to be a dead end.

"We're going to need you to come with us, sir," Jules told Wilson.

"But I haven't done anything wrong!" the man protested. Sam spun on his heel and closed the gap between them with two strides.

"One of our colleagues is being held at gunpoint, and right now you're the only link we have to his kidnappers."

The man stared wide-eyed at the blond cop, then nodded quickly.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know. Whatever I can do to help."

By the time they arrived back as the station to question him further, Spike and Winnie had the CCTV footage pulled up on the terminal in front of them, and were watching it through in double speed.

"Another one," Spike said, as a white van slowed near the couriers. Winnie hit a button and the recording slowed to normal speed.

"There," she said, tapping the screen as a man stopped and approached the window. "That's got to be Wilson."

Wilson stayed beside the van for a moment, clearly talking to the driver, then a package was passed through the window. Winnie zoomed in on the driver side window, but the driver was shrouded in shadow. Spike knew at a glance that they'd be able to get nothing usable: even an enhanced image would yield nothing. The angle and lighting was all wrong.

"What's that?" Winnie frowned, squinting at the glare reflecting from the vehicle's licence plate.

"Blocker spray," Spike groaned, wondering how he was going to break the news to the rest of the team. "It stops the plate being readable by cameras."

An entire evening wasted chasing after to a dead end. Ed and Clark had never seemed so far beyond their reach.

"Dammit!" he cursed, pushing himself to his feet.

He needed to go… somewhere… do something, anything. He needed to get Ed and Clark out of there. Just the thought of leaving them in captivity for another moment, overnight even, it was unbareable. He paced frantically, there had to be something he could do, how could there be nothing he could do?!

"Spike…"

He stopped and looked at Winnie's sympathetic expression. He wasn't the only one going through this, he realised as he took a slow breath and dropped back into his chair.

"I'm sorry, I…."

"I know."

He nodded, and stared back at the screen, willing the image to yield up something useful. It was no use though: wherever the answers lay, they weren't on the machine.