What Breaks A Detective.

Chapter 13

For the fifth time in five hours, Smart moved slightly from his place, crouched behind a wall of boxes in dockyard 4 of Canary Wharf, stretching out his legs one at a time, before tucking them back in under his skinny frame and resuming his position.

He reminded Lieutenant Newham of a preying mantis on the hunt, stretching out its pincers, preparing for a spring.

But Smart had already compared Lieutenant Newham to a mole, sitting hunched with his head so low down in his coat collar that it was barely visible, as every now and again he would pop it up to mutter something along the lines of the awfully chilly temperature. Therefore Lieutenant Newham kept his mouth firmly shut.

It was utterly freezing. Smart had lost the sensation in his fingers at least two hours ago, and it was only his occasional movements that stopped him from losing the feeling in his legs and feet, too. The wind bit into his cheeks so hard it stung, and he could feel his lips turning blue also, despite how muffled up he was-with a scarf, hat, and gloves. The Lieutenant beside him hadn't opted for a scarf, and Smart could see that the other man was regretting it sourly. The wind was whistling, and Smart swore his breath was freezing in the air as he breathed in and out.

Newham uncurled his neck for a second, also pulling an arm out of his ball of heat to check the time.

"T-10 minutes" he murmured. Smart heard his report and began to stir himself, slowly working with his frozen fingers, trying to get the feeling back. He gently hit them against his knees, as despite the pain it did heat them up, rather. Newham cracked out his shoulders and quietly rubbed his hands together, as they both knew that they wouldn't be able to move very fast with cold, cramped muscles.

As Newham once again pulled his trusty Enfield MK II pistol from his coat, Smart pulled out his weapon of choice; a sleek, grey, long-barreled handgun of which he was very fond, and everyone at the Yard knew he was very fond. He checked it over quietly, and, finding it up to standard, gripped it tightly as the adrenaline began to build, along with the tension.

Newham silently nudged his arm, and indicated with a tilt of his head behind them. They had chosen their spot well, they could not be seen from the front or the back, but if either man leant a little to the left they could see behind them, downriver. Smart turned his head slightly, and he could just about make out a black cargo hull making its way silently up the Thames towards the dockyard. He nodded to Newham, who stuck a hand out to his side, signaling to many, many eyes and guns around them that there was something on its way.

The two men then looked to their right, and then ahead, over at dockyard 2. Nothing moved, but there was a slight increase of tension in the air. Smart smiled to himself. If there was one thing that Scotland Yard did well, it was finding men that stayed quiet when necessary. He knew where Arthman and Fisher were hiding, and he also suspected that by now, they would have received the message Newham had sent.

The black hull pulled slowly into the third dock, and suddenly, it seemed to come alive with men, speaking in hushed tones and seemingly seamlessly organized. The hull was tethered down, and a gangplank glided slowly out from it. Smart and Newham turned to look at the water, waiting for Carmen's firework signal.

They waited.

And waited.

And waited a little more.

The tension was killing Smart, and he felt like it was killing Newham too. He was beginning to despair when suddenly, there was a whoosh of red sparks from the opposite bank, soaring high into the sky and exploding with a crack of scarlet light.

Newham and Smart heard Barnes's booming voice ring out over the quiet dockyard.

"Freeze! This is the police!"