They move as a pack through woodlands that surround the safehouse until it comes into view. Unlike the towns and villages that surround the area, the interior of this house is brightly lit, and exterior lights brighten the façade and surrounding lawns. Bin Sayeed makes the signal – a single flash of vertical torchlight held for two seconds – and then crouches. Within two seconds the lights around the house switch off.
The men rise in unison and speed across the grass to the back of the house. A single, guiding light shines. Within twenty seconds they’re at the back door and entering the kitchen.
“Second floor,” are the only words Daoud speaks as Bin Sayeed steps into the kitchen.
Bin Sayeed sweeps past Daoud, - a mental image of the map detailing the house’s floorplans clear in his mind - and runs through the kitchen and up the first flight of stairs, confident that he’ll meet no resistance. On the second floor he stops and waits.
The lights switch off.
Shouts from downstairs are followed by the repetitive thud, thud of muffled gunshot. Moving along the corridor, footsteps from behind closed doors thud on carpet, a voice calls out, and then a door opens.
“Carrie! The power’s out,” a boy’s voice shouts; the son. “Carrie!” A door opens on the other side of the corridor.
“Shh! You’ll wake Dad,” the daughter replies.
“But the light’s out. Where’s Davis? I can’t see a thing.” Davis is dead, or he should be by now.
Mohammed joins Bin Sayeed at the top of the stairs as he listens to them speak, the boy obviously scared of the dark and on the verge of panic. “Ready?” Bin Sayeed asks in a whisper as Khalid treads the stairs, his footsteps almost silent.
“Ready.”
In the next second the men, flashlights on full beam and trained on the faces of the teenagers, pelt down the hallway. Giving them no time to react, Bin Sayeed grapples the boy to the floor whilst Khalid wrestles the girl. Daoud and Faisal make their way to the end of the corridor and the father’s room. The girl screams as she’s thrown against the door’s jamb, and her brother cries out in pain as his shoulder slams to the floor.
“Carrie! What’s going on?” a man’s voice demands as a door further along the corridor slams open. The Prime Minister. “Davis! Daoud!” he shouts.
“All under control, Sir,” Daoud replies as Khalid holds his hand to the girl’s mouth. Bin Sayeed’s is clasped over the boy’s.
“What the hell is going on, Douad?”
“Get him,” Bin Sayeed hisses as Daoud trains his torchlight onto the figure. The Prime Minister, without his usual dour and perfectly tailored suit, stands blinded by the intense light, paunchy and slack-shouldered in his striped pyjamas. This was going to be almost too easy.
The boy struggles beneath Bin Sayeed’s grip, but is no match for the older man’s strength. As Daoud, Faisal, and Mohammed fall on the Prime Minister, Bin Sayeed pulls the boy to his feet, elbow hard against his throat, knife’s point firm between his ribs, and walks him down the corridor. “Walk out of the house without a struggle or I stab this knife into your kidneys,” he whispers close to the boy’s ear. The boy makes a mewling noise and Bin Sayeed squeezes his elbow tighter, enjoying his fear, suppressing an urge to finish the brat right now. It would be easy to snap his neck and let him slip to the ground, then he could finish the others. The satisfaction would be enormous. His elbow tightens and the boy gasps for breath. A smirk slides onto Bin Sayeed’s face in the dark—he was going to enjoy watching him burn.
As he takes the first step onto the stairs, the growls of anger, and the scuffling of resistance disappear. At the bottom of the stairs a flashlight has been stood in the centre of the hallway to illuminating the space. A body lays across the final steps but as Bin Sayeed descends it is dragged then rolled into the dark. Other bodies litter the hallway: a guard lies belly down, spread-eagled and still twitching as blood pools around his head; another slumps against a backdrop of spattered blood and gore with what is left of his head lolling against his shoulder. In the kitchen two more men lay prone and blood-drenched, their still bodies sprawled at awkward angles. His men have done a thorough and very deadly job, Bin Sayeed notes with satisfaction.
Outside, the van is waiting. All is silent but for the scuffle of shoes on gravel and the hum of the van’s engine. The job has been smooth—a testament to his careful planning and his men’s skills. Khadeeja would have been proud.
As he forces the boy into the dark space inside the van, the stink of fear is strong. For a moment the boy struggles as Bin Sayeed pushes him forward, his foot pushing against the lip of the van’s floor. With callous anger, and unconcerned with any damage he may cause, Bin Sayeed hoists the boy by the neck and throws him inside. Young flesh lands with a thud on the chipboard flooring. The boy would be dead within a few hours and a few bruises, or even broken bones, won’t matter.
“Tie him up,” Bin Sayeed commands as Khalid arrives at the van with the girl. Not as meek as her brother she kicks at the lip of the van’s floor, but with her hands secured behind her back and mouth covered with tape her efforts are futile. Bin Sayeed turns, slaps her, then grabs her upper arm with steel fingers. Her scream of pain is muffled beneath the tape as he commands Faisal to grab her other arm. Lifted from the ground, she’s thrown into the van with the same callous disregard as her brother. Her head hits the bare metal of the van’s far side and she whimpers as she slides to the floor.
Turning, Bin Sayeed watches as the third prisoner is dragged unconscious down the stone steps to the gravelled drive.
“Make sure his head doesn’t hit those steps,” Bin Sayeed calls as Daoud and Jamal pull at the man’s feet. “I need him alive and conscious when he starts to burn; a dead man burning does not make good television,” he laughs as the noise of scuffling and muffled shouts comes from the van.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
The journey to London, and then through the streets towards Parliament, takes twice as long as anticipated and when they reach the City of London at its heart, darkness has descended over the streets. Jessie had expected to see tranches of burned out buildings and tower blocks but there seemed to be a calm about the place, and the black plumes of smoke that were prevalent further north were missing here. She’d watched the sun set with a sense of relief. London wasn’t burning, although the evidence of the blackout’s impact was everywhere. Pavements were littered with glass and shop doors stood open, their interiors robbed of goods. There were the now familiar cars piled into one another; evidence of failing brakes as the EMP hit. In more than one street the burnt-out wreck of cars mangled against each other sit blackened.
More obvious here, because of the denser population, were the groups of young men, and sometimes women, gathered on the streets. They seemed aimless leaning against walls, huddled in small groups, but anxious too, staring at the car and the bikes as they passed, working vehicles already a novelty. The difference, perhaps, was the heavy presence of the military. Before the sun disappeared for the night, Jessie had spotted at least five patrols but although she had been relieved to see a government response to the crisis, gangs of men had taken more than a little interest in their convoy. Jessie had loaded her bow and Bill had his knives at the ready, but it had been Uri’s skills as a driver that had kept them safe. At one memorable point, he’d had to speed into a particularly aggressive group blocking the road. The men had fled at the very last moment and Jessie had looked back in breath-catching trepidation as Harry and the other bikers had been forced to splinter and mount kerbs to avoid the attack. Only one of her precious bolts had been fired. It hit home just as a man swiped a long metal rod across Harry’s chest forcing him off his bike. The man had sunk to his knees and Harry had been able to grab his bike and speed away from the gang. It had been close, but they’d all got through to the quieter area of the City of London.
As they near the City perimeter, roadblocks manned by armed military personnel, bar their way.
“Should we ju
st tell them about Bin Sayeed?” Jasmin offers. Though she was pale, her discomfort seems to have subsided, no doubt helped by the painkillers Jenny had found in her handbag.
Jessie considers Jasmin’s suggestion for less than a second. “No. I don’t trust them.”
“Oh.”
“What she means is that we don’t have time to tell them and hope that they figure it all out before it’s too late,” Bill offers as they draw up to a checkpoint.
A soldier, torch in hand, light fixed to his helmet steps forward. His weapon is drawn. He signals for them to stop, palm flat.
“We should turn around.”
The guard approaches. The other stands alert. Uri rolls down the window and waits for the guard.
“No entry past this point.”
“But I need to get to other side of city,” Uri tries.
“If you need to get through the city you’ll have to go around. There is no entry at this point, sir.”
“But-”
“Turn the car around, sir.” The guardsman turns his attention to the motorbikes pulling up behind the car and gestures for the other guard to advance.
Uri agrees with a feigned sigh, turns the car in a wide arc, and drives back along the road. At a suitable distance from the checkpoints, Uri pulls over and kills the lights. “We walk from here,” he states as Harry and his men pull their bikes up behind.
HARRY PULLS UP BEHIND the car and dismounts. The blockades had been a surprise given the complete lack of response from authority in other parts of the country.
“So what now?” he asks as Bill steps out of the car. “Those soldiers meant business. There’s no way they’ll let us pass.”
“We’ll have to make it on foot.”
“That’ll take another half an hour. The place could be burning by then. Bin Sayeed could already be there,” Jessie adds as the huge white dog jumps down beside Bill.
“You need to be able to drive in closer then.” Harry stops for a moment as the dog nuzzles at his hand. “We could distract them and you could slip through the barricade and get in closer to the Palace.”
“How?”
“Leave that to me,” Harry replies. “Just get into position behind me as we approach the blockade.”
“They’ve got guns, Harry. Don’t do anything stupid.”
Harry laughs. “Just going to play a little—give them enough of a distraction to get you a passage through.”
Harry returns to the others and within a minute the thrum of bike engines fills the air. Pulling his visor down his heart pounds. If this worked it would be a miracle. If it didn’t then people could die.
Minutes later they’re back at the entrance to the road. He turns to Jenny as she rides pillion and gives her the thumbs up. She taps his shoulder. She’s ready. Behind him the others wait. In the next second he pulls back the throttle and speeds down the road. The bike positioned in the centre of the road, the soldiers are directly in his path, bright lamps marking their position. With headlights creating a wide cone, he picks out the silhouettes of two soldiers. His heart hammers just a little harder as they raise their rifles. Behind him the other bikes hang back. At the last moment he pulls the brake and the front wheel slams to a halt as the back of the bike swings to the front. The bike spins out of control, heading straight for the soldiers as he and Jenny are flung across the road. Roll, Jenny! The bike spins as its engine revs, the back tyre spinning. Jenny rolls to a stop at the kerb and lies still. As one soldier runs to her and the other drags Michael away from the dangerous spinning of the motorbike the group moves forward, running in the shadows they pick up the barricade and dismantle the blockade.
The car, headlights dimmed, appears at the end of the road. Come on, Uri. Go! The soldier helping Harry across the tarmac stops to look at the car then at the barricade. Its lights have disappeared and the road is now open. He stares back down at Harry and their eyes lock. In that moment Harry throws his arm around the man’s neck and pulls him down to his chest then flips him over, pinning him to the ground. Come on, Bill! The soldier is strong, stronger and younger than Harry. He may have served his time in the forces, but that was a good few years ago. The soldier grunts. Harry’s training kicks in and, in one deft move, with a strength that he thought he’d never have to use again, Harry flips the man onto the tarmac and pulls his hands up behind him. Pinned to the ground, the man grunts with anger. Harry leans in. “Just stay still, mate.” The soldier grunts. Harry gives his arms a tug. “Just stay still,” he repeats. “I’m not here to hurt you.” The soldier takes no notice and bucks against Harry. He was strong, perhaps stronger than Harry could hold. Come on, Uri!
The car rolls forward and then passes beyond the blockade. Yes! Harry looks down at the soldier, his face greyed out in the moonlight. Now what? He’d got a tiger by the tail. If he let him go then Harry would be the one pinned to the floor. He was under no illusion, the only reason he’d managed to tackle the man to the ground was because he’d had the element of surprise, that and the soldier looked like he was still wet behind the ears.
The noise of bike engines fills the air and in the next second the road is flooded with light as five headlights turn on the scene. The soldier’s rifle is only feet away. Harry’s bike is five feet the other way, its engine stalled. Jenny, feigning injury until this moment, springs up and runs past the soldier to Harry.
“Kick the gun away, Jen,” he orders as she stands breathless next to him, “and get the bike up.”
The other soldier turns, his rifle aimed at Jenny. He wouldn’t!
“Halt!” he shouts.
“She’s not armed,” Harry calls as Jenny runs to the bike.
“Halt!” The soldier takes a step forward as the one beneath Harry bucks again. Engines rev and then the road is filled with movement as five bikes circle the group. As the bikes snake in between Jenny and the soldier, Harry and the bike, the armed man points his rifle from biker to biker. Jenny kicks at the rifle on the ground then runs for Harry’s bike. In that same moment that the rifle lands another five feet away Harry releases the soldier and sprints for his bike. The others circle him, a moving barrier between him and the soldiers.
As he mounts the bike and kickstarts the engine the others continue to circle him until, with a pull at the throttle as Jenny jumps on behind him, he hurtles forward, front wheel raised. The others follow in quick succession and the convoy speeds away from the soldiers. For the first seconds he expects to hear gunshot, but nothing sounds. They’d be on the alert now though.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
The van comes to a sudden stop as a row of lights shines ahead of them.
“What is it” Bin Sayeed asks leaning forward in his seat to get a better view.
“Military,” Khalid says in dour tones. “They’ve blockaded the roads.”
“Pah! No one told me about this,” he says with indignation. “Why did we not know.”
“Don’t know,” is Daoud’s response.
“Go another way,” Bin Sayeed commands.
Khalid reverses the van and takes another route. Within five minutes they face another blockade. “What!” Bin Sayeed leans forward and slams his fist on the dashboard. “Go through.”
“What?”
“Go through.”
“They’ll fire at us. They’re armed.”
“So are we.”
“They’ve noticed us,” Khalid says as a soldier turns in their direction and raises his rifle.
“Go forward. Jamal. Mohammed. You know what to do.”
Grunts from the back as the van rolls forward. Bin Sayeed reaches down into the footwell and picks up his rifle. A military grade automatic, it will blow their faces off.
The van slows as it reaches the blockade and two soldiers walk forward.
“Now!” Bin Sayeed says through gritted teeth.
The side door slides open with a bang as he swings his own door open. Jamal jumps out and the air fills with gunshot as he aims his rifle at the closes
t soldier and pulls the trigger hard. Round after round shoots into the man, throwing him back in a hail of bullets. The other soldier falls behind him as Mohamed takes a shot.
“Yallah,” Bin Sayeed shouts as the bodies lie twitching on the ground. “Get them out of the way and move those barriers.”
Without question Jamal stoops to drag the bodies off the road and Mohammed runs to the row of lights. As the lights are thrown to the side of the road along with the barrier the van rolls forward.
BILL SITS CROUCHED behind the low stone wall as gunshots sound.
“Them?”
“Perhaps,” he replies, alert for any movement in the area ahead. An engine hums in the distance then seems to fade and disappear.
“The soldiers?”
“Could be.” He stands to relieve the ache in his legs. They’ve been waiting for at least twenty minutes and those minutes have been among some of the longest of his life. His patience was well-honed during his years of service though unused at this level of resilience for the past couple of years. He scans the area, looking for the smallest movement. The dog nuzzles against his leg, pushing its head to his hand. “Sit,” he commands. The dog had refused to stay in the car, and the women had been unsure of it, so he’d been forced to keep it with him. He strokes its head as it sits back on its haunches. “Good, boy,” he says. In the distance a door slams, but the sound is not unusual. There may not be many people in the area at present but the sounds of life and movement in the distance carried across the air quite clearly, unhindered by the usual pollution of noise.
Another twenty minutes pass and the bikers become restless.
“Perhaps they won’t come,” Harry says as he stands beside him.
“Maybe we’ve scared them off.”
“Maybe the soldiers have sorted him.”
Bill thinks that is highly unlikely.
“We wait,” Uri says, “in silence.”
The murmuring quiets.
Blackout & Burn: A Complete EMP Thriller Series Page 55
