Chapter Twenty Nine
Bridger could feel the extra weight in the car as he swung it around the corner into Isadore Road; underinflated tyres making it wallow and crab across the surface before grabbing traction again. He saw two faces in the rear view mirror rocking from left to right as the car corrected its position on the road. Killing the siren and slowing a little, he heard a collective release of breath. He did not really care what they thought of his driving though, they were only a few hundred meters from the approach road to the old ruins and the thought of saving his wife and colleagues had taken priority.
Driving past the front entrance to the golf course on their right, he could not help noticing the car park was full of near new sedans, the type owned by wealthy retirees. So much for respecting the dead, he thought, the golf must go on. He wondered if they had taken any notice of the Gangs activities in the last few hours. Highly unlikely, they would be far too busy trying to put their little white balls into the equally small holes.
Continuing along the road he could see a Police patrol car parked on the corner up ahead with its blue and red lights blinking on and off.
“That will be Steve Kirkland” Gillian spoke up from the rear. “He and another have been released from the scene of the shooting; they have all their kit with them”
The four of them had only been able to gather two rifles and three pistols from the firearms safe at the police station on their way out the door, Bridger was glad that Steve and his partner would have more firearms with them. He had a bad feeling they were going to need them.
“I have one patrol heading this way from North but they are a little while away yet…” Matthews said. Bridger glanced back at him in the mirror and their eyes met for a second, there was nothing in the look. “And no, I’m not going to say let’s wait for them… we go in now, hard and fast” he added.
Bridger did not need telling, he already knew how this was going to play out and he was not waiting for permission from Matthews.
Driving past Steve Kirkland in the other patrol car he indicated for him to follow as he made the turn into the street.
“That’s Joseph Kingi’s car isn’t it?” Brian said from the front passenger seat.
Bridger had seen the car that he was pointing at and the recognition of his familiar BMW only served to increase his urgency. He felt the car surge forward as he subconsciously pressed down on the accelerator. This was it, they were here… he just hoped they were in time.
The old building was not visible yet, hidden behind a subdivision of new houses it was perched on the cliffs edge accessed via a single entrance track. That would work to their advantage today though, he thought, as the houses would shield them from immediate view right up until the last minute.
Inside the car, he could hear the unmistakable sound of ammunition rounds chambering inside the breach of the Bushmaster rifles coming from the backseat and he saw Brian on his left sliding the working parts back on the Glock pistol he was holding in his hand. The adrenaline was almost overpowering, and had every one of them hyped up and ready.
They were four hundred meters away from the only entrance to the castle.
“Let Steve take the lead on the entry Mike, he has had the training.” Gillian said. Her voice heard from behind him.
Bridger knew she was probably right and checked his mirror to see how far behind he was. The front end of his patrol car filled the entire mirror; he was right on their tail. Good man, he thought, we will not be wasting any time when we stop.
Two hundred meters left.
Steve took the initiative and accelerated around the outside of their car, as if he had read Gillian’s mind. He raced ahead and Bridger watched as he expertly slid the car to a halt, just like in the movies, and then disgorged along with his partner from either side. Both of them were dressed in the black of the AOS and wore black Kevlar helmets on their heads. They came together, brought their rifles up to the ready and then moved in unison like figure skaters vying for Olympic gold as they disappeared down the rough track. Nothing was going to stand in their way.
Jumping on his own brakes seconds later he brought their car to a stop and had the door open before he had even applied the handbrake. The others had opened their own doors as the car surged forward slightly causing them to stumble as they tried to alight. Realising his mistake he banged the gear selector into park. He had to stop himself for a second. Slow down a bit, you will stuff this up otherwise…; the thoughts were lost as he saw his colleagues disappearing down the track behind the black clad Olympic skaters. Grabbing the Glock pistol from its holster strapped to his thigh, he followed suit.
As he neared the old building, the scale of it became apparent, it was not overly large by today’s standards but it was an impressive structure anyway, with its tall crumbling concrete walls, huge window openings and battlements on the roofline giving it the impression of a small castle keep. With a backdrop of bright blue sky and a view over St Clair and the ocean, it would normally make a beautiful sight, except today. Today it held a deadly secret, of which Bridger was acutely aware. He could almost feel Laura and his colleagues calling out to him from within its derelict walls.
He could see his five colleagues crouched down behind bushes with their guns trained towards what looked like the only entrance on this side of the building. He could not see anyone in or near the building at all, it looked as empty and derelict as its ruin suggested. Steve Kirkland waved him closer. “Mike, Simon and I are going to breach the front door there,” he pointed at the obvious door. “You and Brian go through those empty window openings to the left and right, they are not too far off the ground so you shouldn’t have too much trouble” Bridger just nodded while looking at where Steve was pointing. “I’m going to send the Inspector and Gillian around the back to mop up anyone making a run for it.”
He found himself impressed with Steve’s quick decision-making skills; and made a mental note to let him know when this was over. Looking over at Matthews, he saw he was nodding in agreement with Steve’s directions. The look on both Brian and Gillian’s face told him that they understood what the plan was and were ready to go.
“We go on three then…”
Steve Kirkland pulled a flash-bang grenade from his belt, held his hand in the air; three fingers erect, and then dropped them one by one.
Wasted Lives, a Detective Mike Bridger novel Page 31
