Z-Series (Book 4): Z-Takeover

by Hatchett

  Faruk: “Finished yet.”

  Ismet: “We decided to…”

  Faruk: “Do it together...”

  Ismet: “in the end.”

  Faruk: “Better display.”

  Ismet: “Much better.”

  “Still, it’s looking good, guys,” Mamba praised them.

  While Faruk and Ismet bathed in his praise, Mamba took a closer look at their new ‘sculpture’.

  The two bodies had been stripped and dismembered. Then they had used four legs from the knees down to balance the baggage trolley on top of them, and Mamba could see a bit of creativity had been needed to make sure everything balanced and that the legs stayed upright and kept the trolley suspended. So, it looked like the baggage trolley was on four legs and walked along rather than using its wheels.

  There were hands holding on to the push-bar, with arms up to the elbow sticking out horizontally backwards, giving the impression that the trolley was being pushed.

  The torsos had been piled onto the lower rack, as if they were two suitcases, but with blood, tendons and guts trailing onto the floor, like a suitcase that had split on a conveyer belt and had spilt its contents.

  The first of the heads was sitting in the rack between the two hands on the push-bar, and the second head was placed at the front of the trolley, in front of the torsos. Both heads had erect penises sticking out of their mouths.

  “How’d ya get ‘em to stay up?” Mamba asked, pointing unnecessarily.

  Faruk: “Wire.”

  Ismet: “Inserted…”

  “I get the picture,” Mamba said, cutting him off.

  The remaining body parts were scattered all around the trolley, waiting to be used or discarded.

  “What do ya reckon, Jack?” Mamba asked, turning to face him.

  “Looks like something Hieronymus Bosch might put together or a horror version of a Salvador Dali painting,” Jack said.

  “Who?” Mamba asked, puzzled. “Don’t matter, let’s go. Keep up the good work guys,” he directed to Faruk and Ismet over his shoulder as he walked off.

  “What did ya make of that then,” he asked Jack when they were out of earshot.

  “Difficult to say,” Jack said diplomatically, “‘unique’ is probably the best way to describe it. Whatever ‘it’ is.”

  Mamba laughed. “They ain’t all there, ‘em boys.”

  “Really, I hadn’t realised,” Jack replied, sarcastically.

  “Funny, Jack, real funny.”

  They walked back to the Security Command Centre, neither of them saying another word, but both thinking about Faruk and Ismet’s sculpture.

  “Could ya do summat like that, Jack?” Mamba asked, curious.

  Jack didn’t need Mamba to explain what he was referring to. “No. You?”

  “Yeah, I reckon I could give the boys a run fer their money.”

  Mamba spotted Basir, still sitting near the Major. “Go ‘n get some breakfast, Basir, ya deserve it,” Mamba ordered.

  Basir shot off his seat and almost ran out of the room.

  Mamba pulled out his pistol and shot the Major in the forehead, the sound reverberating around the closed room. The Major slumped and would have fallen off the chair if his hands hadn’t been tied to the arms. There was an audible gasp from around the room and Mamba could see that Gert was trying her best not to scream and fighting against being sick at the same time.

  A stunned Jack croaked, “What did you do that for?”

  Mamba looked at him. “One, I didn’t like him. Two, he’s takin’ the rap fer shootin’ missiles at me. Three, I couldn’t be bothered to guard him anymore. Waste of my time. Ya should be happy Jack, yer the only boss ‘round here now, except fer me of course.”

  Mamba sauntered on to the Command Ring where Ahmed and Ayla were in deep conversation despite the shooting a moment ago.

  “Yer lookin’ cosy,” Mamba said suspiciously. “What’s goin’ on?”

  “Just talking. We’re allowed to talk, aren’t we? Or has that been banned?” Ayla asked, clearly unhappy.

  “Ya can go ‘n get breakfast,” Mamba said.

  Ahmed and Ayla rose to their feet, and as Ahmed started walking for the exit, Ayla trotted up beside him and linked her arm around his.

  Mamba watched them go. He was going to have serious words with her later. “Oi!”, he shouted, and when Ayla and Ahmed turned around to look back at him, Mamba added, “make sure the only sausage ya get is the one on the plate.”

  Ayla shook her head in disgust and carried on towards the exit, pulling Ahmed along with her. Ahmed had a surprised look on his face, not really sure what Mamba was going on about and allowed himself to be dragged out of the room by Ayla.

  “What now?” Jack asked, going over to Mamba.

  “Good question, Jack,” Mamba replied, flopping down into a seat. “Gert, ya find that music?”

  “Er, still looking,” Gert replied.

  “Bloody Hell woman, what use are ya? Maybe I need to get me gun out again.”

  “I…I f-forgot what it was called,” Gert stuttered.

  “‘One fuckin’ Vision’, by Queen. It ain’t that difficult!”

  “I…I’ll look again,” Gert said.

  Jack went over to her, ostensibly to check she was alright and give her some comfort, but he used the excuse to palm her an earpiece so that she could hear what the Leaders were planning and could make sure the CCTV’s weren’t pointed in their direction when they came.

  “Jack, ya betta let some of yer people go to the toilet ‘n get some breakfast. Small groups, no messin’.”

  “OK, I’ll sort it out, thanks.”

  83

  Day 19 – 08:00

  Hendon Police College

  Issy, Andy, Gina and Travis had left the communications room to get themselves suitably armed.

  There had been little conversation between them while they geared up, although it was clear that both Andy and Travis had something on their minds from the way they kept staring at Issy and Gina.

  Both Issy and Gina knew exactly what the men were thinking and knew they were too afraid to ask, but neither woman was in the mood to waste time on that little issue right now. There were far more pressing matters at hand and keeping the men on their toes was no bad thing.

  The Major had been killed in cold blood by Mamba. Andy, Travis and Gina had only known him a couple of weeks, but Issy had known and worked with him for years, and his death had come as a huge blow. She was sure that Dave and Joel would be feeling much the same, because they had all been a team before the zombies arrived and had worked together in various overseas countries. No, Issy was definitely not in the mood for talking.

  Once they were ready, they followed Kyle across the compound to a massive hanger where the police helicopters were stored and where the seventy odd policemen and women had congregated, waiting for the arrival of the Chinooks from Odiham.

  The Lynx and Apache from Battersea had already arrived a few minutes earlier, and Issy, Gina, Andy and Travis had been delighted to see Daniel and Dave emerge from the Lynx, both suitably geared up. Issy had quickly run across to give them both a hug, closely followed by Gina, then Andy and Travis shook their hands. After introducing the new arrivals to Nathan Briggs and some of the other police officers, they moved to a quiet spot so they could talk.

  “I didn’t think you two would be coming,” Issy said.

  “We couldn’t miss this,” Dave replied, answering for both of them.

  “Is everything organised?” Issy asked.

  “Yeah, all done,” Dave confirmed. “One of the Chinooks will stop off at Battersea to pick up my men and the other will come here to pick us up. That’ll give us over a hundred or so armed people in total. We’ll land in a field just off the Bath Road, about two hundred metres from the airport’s main Northern access point at Tunnel Road. We go through the road tunnel for about five hundred metres, get past the coaches blocking the far end, then follow the Inner Ring Road to Termina
l 3.”

  “OK. The Apache’s will come with us when we leave and can then wait in the field in case we need to call them in. Once we’re inside the airport, we’ll give Bear the nod. Have you got any snipers in your group?”

  “Yeah, we’ve got half a dozen.”

  “Good. What about getting dirty?”

  “Yes, we’ll need to do that for the walk from the field to the coaches at the end of the road tunnel. There are bound to be loads of zombies around the area, so when the pilots left for Odiham, they also took more than enough bags of blood with them and will leave them in the back of the Chinooks.

  “Sounds good. Anything we might have forgotten?” Issy asked.

  “I don’t think so. Jack has managed to get an earpiece to Julia in the Security Command Centre, so she can make sure the CCTV cameras are pointed in the opposite direction from us.

  “Julia?” Issy asked, confused.

  “Mamba’s been calling her Gert,” Dave explained.

  “Oh, I’ve got you. Mamba does like his nicknames.”

  “That’s right Cobra, he does,” Dave said, smiling.

  “Don’t,” Issy said, shaking her head in embarrassment, “just don’t go there.”

  As Dave was about to say something else, they all heard the distinctive sound of the Chinooks approaching.

  84

  Day 19 – 08:00

  Heathrow Terminal 3, Security Command Centre

  “Jack, I’ve got a Sir James Curtis-Smyth on the phone for you,” Gert said.

  Jack had sorted out shifts for people to get breakfast and take toilet breaks and had only just got back to his seat.

  Mamba looked from Gert to Jack.

  “Who the fuck is he? An where’s he callin’ from?”

  “It would take too long to explain,” Jack replied.

  “Well, ya can fuckin’ try!” Mamba almost exploded.

  Jack looked to Gert, “Tell him I’ll call him back in five.”

  “Well?” Mamba asked, getting annoyed.

  “Let’s go to my office,” Jack suggested.

  Mamba thought about it. He hadn’t been in there yet.

  “OK, but any funny business, yer dead.” With that he took out his pistol.

  Jack led the way, and placed his palm on the scanner and waited for the door to click open before he pushed it wide and went in. He automatically went and sat behind his desk, leaving one of the less comfortable visitor’s chairs for Mamba.

  Mamba took a good look around the room, his gun pointed at Jack the whole time.

  “I like these one-way mirrors. Ya can see ‘em, but they can’t see ya.”

  “That’s what they’re for,” Jack confirmed.

  “So, tell me ‘bout this ‘Sir’ bloke.

  Jack went to open one of his drawers and Mamba quickly raised the pistol.

  “It’s OK, Jack said, “I was just getting a drink.”

  “Slowly,” Mamba ordered.

  Jack slowly reached into the drawer and brought out two glasses. He then pulled out a bottle of ‘Famous Grouse’; he wasn’t about to share his expensive bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue Label on someone like Mamba. He poured some whisky into each of the glasses and pushed one towards Mamba, who had now lowered his gun.

  “Bit early ain’t it? Mamba asked, picking up the glass and taking a drink. “Or is yer plan to try ‘n get me pissed?” He laughed. “Yer’ll need a shit-load more of this stuff if that’s the case.”

  “It’s been a long day already,” Jack said by way of explanation. Jack drank and savoured the taste.

  “Well?” Mamba asked.

  “Right,” Jack acknowledged. “Sir James Curtis-Smyth was the Met’s Police Commissioner. To cut a very long story short, he used to be my boss until the zombies came along and everything changed.”

  “So, where is he?”

  “He’s in a place called Burlington.”

  “Never head of it.”

  “You wouldn’t have. It’s a Top-Secret underground city which was set up for all the top people in the country to go to in the event of a catastrophe. It was originally built in case of nuclear war, but I guess a zombie apocalypse also fits the bill.”

  “Ah, I get it. A hideaway fer all the rich ‘n famous arseholes eh?

  “Something like that,” Jack agreed.

  Mamba laughed. “Wouldn’t they let ya in, Jack?”

  “I could’ve gone, but I decided to stay here and help the people.”

  “Fuck me! Ya really are a do-gooder ain’t ya Jack. I should shoot ya now, ‘cos yer jus’ too good to be true. So, where’s this…”

  “Burlington?” Jack said, completing Mamba’s question. “Near Corsham in Wiltshire.”

  “Where’s that?”

  “Towards the Bath area from here.”

  Mamba looked blank.

  “Towards Wales?”

  “Heard of it,” Mamba admitted. “Dunno where it is, though. Never bin outta London.”

  “You’re joking!” Jack said, surprised.

  “No. Why’d I need ta leave London?” Mamba asked, as if it was the most obvious and natural question in the world. “Got everythin’ I need right here.”

  Jack was momentarily lost for words, so he used the pause in conversation to take another drink. He leant forward and pressed a button on his desk. “Julia, could you put a map of the lower half of England on my screen?”

  A few seconds later the map appeared. Jack rose from his desk and moved across to the screen.

  “Have you seen a map of England?” he asked.

  “Of course, I have. I ain’t dumb,” although Mamba couldn’t remember seeing one.

  “I didn’t say you were, Mamba. Now, this is Heathrow,” Jack pointed to their current position. “Here is Bath and this here is Corsham. Burlington is around here somewhere.” Jack indicted an area just to the South of Corsham, but there was nothing on the map.

  “I can’t see anythin’,” Mamba said, thinking it was all a wind up.

  “That’s because it’s Top-Secret and hidden underground. I have no idea if there is an entrance from above or where it is. So, it’s a bit like a treasure hunt.”

  Mamba liked the idea of a treasure hunt. “How far?”

  “I’m not sure. About a hundred and forty kilometres if you fly.”

  “Who’s there?” Ya said rich n’ famous.”

  “The Queen, the Prime Minister, all their families and servants, politicians, senior doctors, scientists. The list goes on.”

  “The Queen eh?” Mamba repeated with a smile on his face, thinking. “And the Prime Minister? That fuck who was on the TV the first day tellin’ us we was on our own.”

  “Yes, that’s him. The Right Honourable Charles Barrington. Or maybe not so honourable after all.”

  Jack could see a spark in Mamba’s eyes as he was thinking things through. After a few minutes, he came back and said, “Betta call that wanker back. Put it on speaker.”

  Jack got Julia to make the call and waited until she put it through.

  “Good havin’ a slave to do the shit, eh Jack?”

  Jack was about to reply when Sir James Curtis-Smyth’s plummy voice came through the speaker.

  “Robinson, old chap. What on earth is going on? I’ve been trying to reach you for days and you haven’t returned my calls.”

  “It’s been a bit hectic,” Jack replied, purposely not finishing his sentence with ‘Sir’. Those days were long gone.

  “Well, next time I get in touch, old boy, you make sure you call me back pronto!”

  Mamba placed his thumb and first finger together and mimicked masturbating. He had a smile on his face but didn’t say anything. Even Jack couldn’t help but smile. What was that phrase, ‘my enemy’s enemy is my friend’? Something like that.

  “So, how are things up there in the outside world, old chap? Managed to sort those buggers out? Not too messy I hope.”

  “Sorry, but I’ve got a lot on. Was there something specific you wanted
or was the call just to find out what the weather was like?”

  He got a thumbs up from Mamba, who was clearly beginning to realise there was no love lost between the two men and was enjoying the conversation immensely.

  “There’s no need to take that attitude, old boy. I was just making the odd call to check up on my chums and make sure they were all tickety-boo.”

  Jack grimaced and Mamba went back to his simulated masturbation, a bigger smile now spread across his face.

  “I really don’t have time,” Jack said, ready to kill the call.

  “Well, old bean, what I was actually calling for was to see if it was time to take a trip to see you and check out how you’re getting on. Assuming it is safe, of course.” He started laughing at his own joke.

  “Well, it’s not safe yet,” Jack said, staring at Mamba.

  Mamba’s smile slipped and he frowned.

  “What’s the problem, old boy? Perhaps I can be of some assistance?”

  “I doubt it,” Jack replied. “Not within your powers this time, but we’re getting there. Give it another week or two.”

  “Jolly good. I’ll call back soon. Cheerio.”

  The line was disconnected.

  Jack stared at Mamba and Mamba stared straight back before he burst out laughing.

  “That fucker was yer boss?”

  “Yes.”

  “I would’ve fuckin’ killed him. Slowly ‘n painfully. What a twat!”

  “I’m sure he has some good qualities,” Jack suggested.

  “That’s yer problem, right there, Jack. Yer too nice. Ya need someone like me to sort him out.”

  “Is that what you’re going to do then? Sort him out?” Jack asked slowly, as if challenging Mamba, daring him to go for it.

  “I might. How many people live there?”

  “Thousands.”

  “All rich and famous?”

  “Most.”

  “Footballers?”

  “Probably.”

  “Film stars?”

  “Definitely.”

  “Models?”

  “Yes.”

  “Tell me what it’s like.”

  “I’ve never been there, but from what I’ve been told, it’s like a palace where everything you could ever want is on hand.”

  “No bullshit?”