The Graveyard Shift. Jack Higgins

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      Chapter 1

      Fog drifted up from the Thames, pushed by an early morning wind, yellow and menacing, wrapping the city in its yellow shroud, and when the duty officer at Wandsworth opened the judas gate and motioned the half dozen waiting men through, they stepped into an alien world.

      Ben Garvald was last in line, a big, dangerous-looking man, massive shoulders swelling under the cheap raincoat. He hesitated, pulling up his collar, and the duty officer gave him a quick push.

      ‘Don’t want to leave us, eh?’

      Garvald turned and looked at him calmly.

      ‘What do you think, you pig?’

      The officer took an involuntary step back and flushed. ‘I think you always did have too much bloody lip, Garvald. Now get moving.’

      Garvald stepped outside and the gate clicked into place with a finality that was strangely comforting. He started to walk down towards the main road, passing a line of parked cars and the man behind the wheel of the old blue van on the end turned to his companion and nodded.

      Garvald paused on the corner, watching the early morning traffic move in a slow line through the fog, judged his moment and crossed quickly to the small café on the other side.

      Two of the others were there before him, standing at the counter while a washed-out blonde with sleep in her eyes stood at the urn and made fresh tea in a metal pot.

      Garvald sat on a stool and waited, looking out through the window. After a while, the blue van cut across the line of traffic through the fog and pulled in at the kerb. Two men got out and entered the café. One of them was small and badly in need of a shave. The other was at least six feet tall with a hard, rawboned face and big hands.

      He leaned against the counter and when the girl turned to Garvald from serving the others, cut in quickly in a soft Irish voice:

      ‘Two teas, me dear.’

      He challenged Garvald to say something, a slight, mocking smile on his mouth, arrogantly sure of himself. The big man refused to be drawn and looked into the fog again as rain spattered against the window.

      The Irishman paid for his teas and joined his companion, at a corner table and the small man glanced furtively across at Garvald.

      ‘What do you think, Terry?’

      ‘Maybe he was hot stuff about a thousand years ago, but they’ve squeezed him dry in there.’ The Irishman grinned. ‘This is going to be the softest touch we’ve had in a long, long time.’

      The girl behind the counter yawned as she filled a cup for Garvald and watched him out of the corner of her eye. She was used to men like him. Almost every morning someone crossed the road from the place opposite and they all had the same look. But there was something different about this one. Something she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

      She pushed the cup of tea across and brushed the long hair back from her face. ‘Anything else?’

      ‘What have you got?’

      His eyes were as grey as woodsmoke on an autumn day and there was strength there, a restless, animal force that was almost physical and she was aware of her body reacting to it.

      ‘At this time in the morning? You’re all the same, you men.’

      ‘What do you expect? It’s been a long time.’