Ten minutes later they meet again in the building’s lobby.
“Fifth floor, flat 16B?”
“Yes.”
Bill looks around. Concrete steps lead upwards whilst a dark corridor leads to the open doors of a lift. The lift’s car is obviously stuck between floors and there are scratch marks and gouges at the edges of the metal doors.
“Whoever was in here when the blackout struck has had a lucky escape. If they’d been between floors they could still be trapped in there.”
“Sure,” Jessie replies, unconcerned as she follows Bill to the first riser.
“What’s the odds that there are people across the country trapped in lifts right now?” He grimaces at the thought.
“No idea,” she replies, as scratching echoes.
Taking the first steps up the concrete risers, he’s alert for the sound of banging doors and feet. The scratching comes again followed by a bark. Bill ignores the noise. Nothing of note sounds until they reach the third floor and then a door bangs in the stairwell above and deep voices echo. Looking up, Bill catches sight of two men, both dark-haired, dressed completely in black. They speak in Arabic, the echo making their words indecipherable. Bill understands a little of the language but not enough to figure out what they’re saying at speed. Feet patter on the steps; they’re running down.
Bill pushes at the door leading into the third floor and ushers the others through closing the door as the two men walk past and make their way down the next flight of stairs. Once out of sight, he leads the way to the next landing. His heart beats rhythmically, steady though he can feel the adrenaline pumping through his body. All is quiet as they reach the fourth floor. He’d expected there to be more people or at least some bodyguards. Fifth landing reached. He pushes the door open. The corridor is dingy and broken by another set of doors. Those in front of him number ‘12A’ through to ‘14B’. Bin Sayeed’s flat must be beyond the doors.
Through the doors.
‘15A’ ... ‘15B’ ... ‘16A’ and finally, ‘16B’.
“Ready?” Bill asks, knife in hand. Uri nods, his gun already drawn. Jessie has her crossbow loaded.
“Try the handle first,” she suggests as Bill raises his foot to kick at the door.
She’s right. If they can enter without making a noise that would be preferable. He reaches for the handle. Footsteps and voices reverberate in the stairwell. He listens to their movement then, reassured that they’re moving down the stairs, pulls the door handle down. The latch clicks and he pushes the door open slowly. Unseen voices, low, guttural, and laughing, fill the space beyond the hallway. Without speaking, he steps into the flat and makes his way to the end of the corridor with its half-open door. The men – he counts two voices - are in the next room. The next seconds, whilst Bill has the advantage of surprise, are crucial. He squeezes the handle of his knife, turns to give the nod to Jessie and Uri then kicks the door open.
The sight that greets him is mundane. Two men sit at a small table next to the window as lace curtains flap in the breeze of the open window. One has a cigarette half drawn to his mouth. The other, a bottle at his lips. Both turn to him with widening eyes. Within the next seconds they stand, chairs thrown back, bottle dropped and knife drawn. Uri pushes past and leaps to the other side of the room, gun trained on the man with the knife. Jessie steps beside Bill, crossbow loaded and sights trained on the man reaching towards the floor. As he jerks back up, gun in hand, a streak of silver flashes and a bolt slices into his forehead. He staggers back, dead before he slumps against the fallen chair. The other man drops the knife to the table, raises his hands in submission, and jabbers at them in broken English.
“Which one is Bin Sayeed?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, how do we find out?”
“Ask.”
Cigarette smoke curls around the remaining man’s arm. It irritates Bill’s eyes. “Put it out,” he snaps. The man nods his head, reaches for the table and stabs the cigarette out in the glass ashtray sat at its centre.
Footsteps and voices sound in the corridor, loud through the still open front door. “This one,” he hears a woman say.
“You sure?”
“It’s open.”
“Go in then.”
Damn! He should have closed the door—made it less interesting to nosey parkers.
Bill turns as the sound of footsteps fills the hallway and then a figure stands in the open doorway. Dressed in leather from head to foot all that can be seen of the man is a thick copper beard poking from the lip of his helmet. He strides into the room, Bowie knife in hand. Within five seconds the room is full of bikers in full leathers, helmets on, visors down and armed with knives, axes and even a machete.
The terrorist makes a move towards the window. Uri steps across and, within seconds, has him pinned face down against the table. Bill stares in confusion at the gathering. Jessie trains her bow on the biker with the copper beard.
“You sure this is the right address, Harry?” a man, his dark brows pinched together inside his helmet asks from behind the copper beard’s shoulder.
“It’s the one Nareen gave me.”
“Nareen?” asks Bill. “Who the hell is Nareen? And who the hell are you?”
Copper beard steps further into the room, ignoring Jessie’s bow and the bikers behind him follow suit. Suddenly the space feels small.
“I recognise you,” Jessie says lowering her crossbow. “You were at the attack—in the street.”
Copper Beard lifts his visor and stares at her with a quizzical frown then a smile breaks out onto his face.
The terrorist twists under Uri’s grip. “Keep still,” he growls then hurls the man to the floor.
This is surreal. “Care to explain what’s going on, Jessie?” They’ve come here to kill a fanatical, hate-filled, murderous terrorist not catch up with old acquaintances.
She shrugs. “I have absolutely no idea.”
“She killed a shed-load of terrorists—they were trying to kill everyone after burning down their apartments—just mowing them down in the street. Jessie, here—she helped us put a stop to them.”
“It was carnage.”
“She was amazing.”
“Looks like she’s been at it again,” Copper Beard gestures dryly to the man laying slumped against the chair. Blood trickles down his forehead, seeping out from the perfectly circular, bolt-filled wound.
“She has,” Bill agrees.
“Harry,” Copper Beard says offering his hand.
“Bill. And this is Uri, and Jessie.” Uri nods from his place on the floor, knees heavy on the terrorist’s back. Jessie smiles a greeting to the bikers standing behind Harry’s shoulder. Helmets bob and gloved hands wave in return.
“You here for Bin Sayeed?”
“Da,” Uri replies.
“The Russian! Here’s here too,” Harry says turning back to the bikers. A murmur of appreciation rises up.
“Is that one Bin Sayeed?” a voice asks.
“We’re not sure,” Bill admits. “We don’t know what he looks like.”
“He’s got a scar on his neck and a bullet wound on his arse cheek.”
Surprised, Bill stares at Harry.
“Nareen told us.” Bill’s eyebrows raise a little further. “She said that was the story—he’d been shot in the arse running away,” Harry continues. “He’s wanted for terrorist activity in his own country, both him and his wife.”
“Surprise, surprise!”
“He came here as ‘refugees’ on one of the migrant ships. She was blown up in an airstrike on their compound. Nareen said their masterplan was to set up terror cells across the country and then head an invasion force.”
“They succeeded then.”
“Looks like it, apart from the part where his wife was blown up. Nareen said the wife was just as fanatical as him. He got the scar in a fight he had with another illegal on the boat—they nearly killed him.”
“Bloody shame they didn’t succ
eed. It would have saved a lot of lives.”
Bill grunts in agreement.
Jessie walks across to the dead man. “No scar on his neck,” she says as she takes hold of the bolt’s end. She grunts. The bolt is stuck. Bill watches fascinated as she stands, presses her boot against the man’s cheek then yanks at the steel rod. It inches out. She adjusts her grip then pulls again. The bolt slides out, blood trickling down the man’s cheek, narrowly missing Jessie’s boot as she wipes the rod against his black shirt.
“Check his arse, then,” Bill says watching Jessie closely. Is she going to fall for it? She moves forward, stops, looks back at Bill then shakes her head with a wry smile.
“You check it,” she laughs as she locks the bolt back into its chamber. Harry moves back as she swings the loaded crossbow past him then points it at the closed door. “Let’s see if he’s in here, shall we?” She moves forward.
“Wait,” Uri says as he pulls a length of black plastic from his pocket, his knees still firmly planted in the terrorist’s back. He pulls the man’s hands together then, in smooth movements, loops the cable tie over his wrists and tightens them. The man grunts but doesn’t move. “Now am ready,” he says pushing against the man’s back as he stands.
“Wait back there, please,” Bill asks turning to Harry and the other bikers as the noise of shuffling comes from the other side of the door.
Uri reaches for the handle and throws it open. It slams against the wall.
“Oh!” he exclaims.
Standing immediately before him, arm outstretched as though reaching for the door handle, is a woman.
“Where is he?” Bill demands as he pushes past Uri.
Uri strides to the wardrobe, throws the door open, and peers inside.
“He’s not here,” she replies as Uri throws open another wardrobe door.
“Where is he then?” Bill asks trying not to stare at the bruising across her face. One of her eyes is swollen, blackened and nearly closed whilst her cheek is purple with bruising. Dark spots sit in a line across her jaw and her lip is split at the top and bottom. Her wrapper gapes at the top and even here, across her breastbone, there is the evidence of an older beating. Though attractive, she’s thin and more worn than a woman of her age should be. Uri pulls at something in the wardrobe. He grunts as the wardrobe rocks. Whatever was in there didn’t want to come out. Bill grips the handle of his knife tighter as an arm then a head appears and a pair of defiant brown eyes stares out from beneath a mop of dark and tousled hair. He relaxes his grip—just a kid.
“Don’t hurt him,” the woman says though her words, called through swollen lips, are unclear. “He’s not one of them.” The boy looks relieved as she speaks. “He came here to help me.”
“Is that why he’s in the wardrobe?”
“When they came back he had to hide. If they found him here ...”
Noise then movement catches Bill’s attention and another head appears from the wardrobe. A woman.
“Don’t hurt us, please,” she says with a startled look around the room as it fills with strangers.
“We’re not going to hurt you,” Jessie says reassuringly.
“We are here for Bin Sayeed,” Uri adds. “Where is he?”
The bruised woman remains silent.
“We should get out of here,” the woman from the wardrobe urges. “He could come back at any time.”
“We wait for him then.”
“No!” The bruised moves towards the bed. “He’ll kill us.” Her wrapper gapes around her legs—more bruising.
“She’s right,” the other woman says. “He’ll hurt us if he catches us here,” she insists with a glance at the boy. “We’re leaving.” She reaches for his arm.
Uri wraps his hand around her bicep. She flinches. “Tell us where he is.”
“Get off my mum!” the boy shouts grabbing at Uri’s arm. Uri ignores his grip and stares down at the woman.
“I don’t know,” she replies.
“But she does.” Bill stares at the beaten woman. “Don’t you.” She stumbles then sits down heavily on the bed.
“Someone should get her a doctor. She looks like she’s going to collapse.”
“Jenny’s a nurse,” Harry pipes up.
“I’m a veterinary nurse, Harry!” Long red hair, brighter than any Bill has ever seen, dangles from beneath her helmet.
“Still medical, isn’t it?” Harry replies. “Jenny can help,” he continues. “Go and help her, Jen. Talk to her.”
“But ...” She relents and steps into the space surrounding the woman.
Jessie steps with her. “Where is Bin Sayeed?”
The woman takes a sharp breath but remains silent.
“What’s your name?” Jenny asks in gentler tones.
Jessie huffs. “She just needs to tell us where he is.”
“Patience, Jess.”
“I’d like to help you.” Jenny crouches next to the woman.
Silence.
Jessie turns to Bill, her lips pressed together with impatience.
“Jasmin,” the woman replies.
“Where is he, Jasmin?” Bill asks stepping up to her. She doesn’t reply.
“We wait then,” Jessie replies. “We have no option.”
“No!” The boy tugs at his mother’s sleeve. “Jasmin can come with us. Can’t she, Mum.”
“Jasmin.” Jenny sits on the bed next to the woman. “Do you know Bin Sayeed?” Jasmin nods. “Did he do this to you?” She nods again. “Is he coming back?”
“Yes, but not until tomorrow.”
“Where is he?” Jessie asks. “We have to find him.”
“He’ll kill me if he knows I told.”
Uri grunts. “He kill you anyway. This man is pig. When he is finished with you, he kill you.” Jenny grimaces and a shudder passes over Jasmine. “You know I tell truth,” he continues. “I have seen this many, many times before. He has too much anger and no respect for you.”
“He’s right,” Jenny says. “One day he’ll beat you so bad you’ll be taken out of here in a box.”
“Bags more like,” Bill corrects.
“Bags?”
“Yeah, well if he kills her he’s not going to send for a coffin is he. He’ll bag her up.”
“Suitcase is better,” Uri adds with a knowledgeable air.
“He’d have to chop her up first,” Bill continues.
“Will you give it a rest?” Jenny blurts as the woman begins to quiver.
“He’s not wrong,” Jessie adds.
“That’s as maybe, but he doesn’t need to be so ... graphic.”
“He’s seen every episode of NCIS,” Jessie improvises and a collective murmur runs through the room. “Right,” she continues. “So, we’ve ascertained that Bin Sayeed will kill her at some point – he may or may not bag her up or put her in a suitcase to get rid of the evidence - so there’s no point in her keeping his whereabouts from us,” Jessie says with impatience. “Jasmin,” she says with a gentler tone and stands a little closer then crouches at her knees. “Tell us where he is and we’ll make sure you get out of here—alive.”
“We can take you some place safe,” Bill offers.
“We keep you safe,” Uri adds.
As Jasmin opens her mouth to speak a dog barks from somewhere in the building and a car door slams. Her mouth snaps shut.
“That’s it.” Jessie blurts. “She’s not going to tell us anything here.” She turns to Bill. “We need to leave.” She turns to the flame-haired woman. “Get her up! She can tell us on the way.”
“What about him?” Harry gestures to the tied man. “The first thing he’ll do when Bin Sayeed gets back is blab.”
Harry was right. Telling Bin Sayeed about them would be the first thing he’d do.
“Well, we’re not bringing him with us,” Jessie says with a look that Bill understands.
“Uri,” Bill says as Jenny and the woman from the wardrobe pull Jasmin to her feet. “Do your thing.”
“You may want to look away now, children,” Bill says as Jasmin is walked into the living room. “Cover the kid’s eyes, Jess,” he says as Uri’s other hand slips over the man’s chin. The terrorist twists and jerks in Uri’s grip, his shouts muffled beneath the giant’s huge hand.
“Close your eyes, Aaron,” the boy’s mother calls as Jessie attempts to cover his eyes with her hand. Aaron pulls at her fingers as Uri gives the man’s head a single sharp and powerful twist then throws him to the floor.
“Wow!” Jessie says with admiration.
The room fills with groans of surprise and shock as the terrorist’s neck breaks and his head hits the radiator. Uri brushes his hands against his jeans and steps away from the body.
“That was a smooth move, Uri.”
“Da. I have much practice,” he replies as he strides to the door. The boy runs after him, matching Uri’s stride as he walks down the hallway amidst a collective intake of breath, mutterings, and the call of ‘well done’ accompanied by someone clapping.
As the group reaches the first-floor stairwell the yelp sounds again. It’s coming from somewhere close—too close to be from one of the flats. Silence then the scrabbling noise comes again followed by a bark. Bill strains to listen through the clatter of feet on concrete steps. The noise grows louder as he passes the open doors of the lift stuck between floors. He breaks off from the group and leans into the shaft, shining his torch down into its depths. The light bounces off the shaft’s walls. It’s empty. Scratching comes from above his head and he peers into the lift’s car. Scratching sounds again, followed by a yelp as he shines light on the ceiling.
“Bill!” Jessie calls. “Come on.”
“There’s a dog.”
“What?”
“A dog—stuck on top of the lift.”
“And?”
“And it’s stuck.”
“And?”
“And ...” he falters. What can he do? They have to get the women and kids to a safer place then hunt down Bin Sayeed. He doesn’t have time for a trapped dog. “Coming,” he says and pulls back. The dog barks again, louder now it has heard their voices, and perhaps smelt them too. He sighs. He can’t leave a trapped dog.
Blackout & Burn: A Complete EMP Thriller Series Page 53
