Z-Series | Book 6 | Z-Endgame

by Hatchett

  They’d clearly brought him here to talk, but he had no doubt that to all intents and purposes it would be an interrogation. It might be dressed up as a nice chat, but he was sure things would quickly change if he proved difficult.

  Ahmed wasn’t worried, he had nothing to hide, and his genuine desire to settle down and spend time with Ayla meant that he would willingly cooperate. Whether they would believe him was another matter, but there was nothing he could do about that.

  Jack started the conversation with the usual banal pleasantries, like the weather, which was semi-pleasant for this time of year, but thankfully that didn’t last long, and they got into the meat of the conversation.

  Ahmed was asked what they had been up to since they had last been together and he took them through the same story of Burlington, Corsham, Swindon and the farm that he’d related to Ayla the night before.

  “How many are with Mamba?” one of the men asked. Ahmed wasn’t sure who.

  “Four, I think,” Ahmed replied, “unless others survived that I don’t now ‘bout.”

  “Are they dangerous?” Gina asked.

  Ahmed laughed.

  “’Course they fuckin’ dangerous, especially the twins.”

  He felt Ayla stiffen beside him.

  “Who are the twins?” Irish asked.

  “They were the ones who built the human sculpture ya saw at Heathrow. They mad fuckers.”

  The Leaders looked at each other, remembering the chopped-up bodies that had been amalgamated with a shopping trolley. It had given some people nightmares ever since.

  “Nice,” Issy said, sarcastically. “Who else?”

  “Dev ‘n Emre. They’re harmless compared to the twins, they jus’ do whatever Mamba tells ‘em.”

  “A bit like you then,” Issy pointed out.

  Ahmed stared at her.

  “Yeah, a bit like me,” he agreed.

  “What has he ordered you to do now? Gain our trust then fuck us over? Slit our throats during the night?” Issy said, beginning to get annoyed.

  “Have I ever lied ta ya?” Ahmed asked.

  “I wouldn’t know, would I?”

  “Have I ever treated ya badly?”

  “You didn’t have us captured for long enough,” she spat, glancing at Gina.

  “He treated us better than the others,” Gina said, in his defence.

  “Wasn’t difficult,” Issy retorted.

  Ahmed shrugged, realising he was fighting a losing battle with Issy. He suspected she would be the last to ever trust him.

  The questioning went on for another two hours before they stopped for a break, then it continued into the afternoon.

  Ahmed answered all their questions to the best of his ability.

  71

  Day 30 – 12:00

  Broadwater Farm Estate, Tottenham

  Mamba, Dev and Emre approached the vehicle blockade where Gloucester Road met Freedom Road, Mamba feeling a sense of deja vu. The twins were somewhere nearby, but Mamba couldn’t see them.

  The walk from Clerkenwell of roughly six kilometres hadn’t taken too long and had been largely event free, apart from a quick game of ‘stab the zombie’ to pass the time. Mamba had been the first to reach fifty and proclaimed himself the winner, much to Dev and Emre’s annoyance, especially when they were sure there was some double counting going on.

  There were guards sitting, smoking, chatting, and laughing on a flatbed trailer, guns by their sides and ignoring everything going on around them.

  There were several zombies crawling around the area and just a few standing up against the blockade, trying in vain to reach the men. It was different to the last time they were here when there were loads of zombies all over the place. The guards must have been busy at some point.

  Mamba stamped on the head of a zombie, the sound alerting the guards who quickly dropped their cigarettes and grabbed their guns.

  They recognised Mamba and a look of pure hatred crossed their faces.

  “What?” Mamba asked, holding his arms out.

  “You fucking bombed that building,” said one of the men, pointing over his shoulder but keeping his eyes and gun fixed on Mamba, “and fucking killed Volkan.”

  “Weren’t me,” Mamba said. “Where’s Sami?”

  “He’s inside.”

  “Well, go get him, there’s a good lad.”

  “You don’t give the orders around here.”

  “I coulda fuckin’ shot y’all if I wanted ‘n still might if ya don’t get Sami quick.”

  The men looked at each other, silently debating whether to just shoot Mamba or call Sami. They decided it was probably better to call Sami.

  One of the men pulled out a walkie talkie and turned away from Mamba. Mamba could see him talking and nodding and silently hoped Sami would see sense, otherwise there would be some bloodshed.

  The man finished his discussion and turned back to Mamba.

  “You can come in, but you leave your weapons with us.”

  Mamba smiled and walked forwards, taking his MP5 off his shoulder and pulling out his pistol and knives. He’d need his silver tongue in the next few minutes or some help from the twins. He passed over his weapons and watched on as Dev and Emre did the same. Then they climbed the blockade and jumped down into the estate and stared walking down Gloucester Road, closely followed by the guards.

  Mamba glanced to his right and whistled.

  “The fuckers at Heathrow really made a mess of that,” he commented, looking at the rubble where Volkan’s pyramid building had once stood.

  As he looked ahead again, he saw a group of heavily armed men striding up the road to meet them, with Sami at the front.

  Sami was taller than Mamba, younger, slimmer, and better looking, but he seemed to have aged over the past couple of weeks.

  “You’ve got a fucking nerve coming here,” Sami snarled when they were three metres apart and had stopped.

  Mamba’s escorts moved to the side, out of the line of fire, and trained their own weapons on him.

  “Hi Sami, good ta see ya.”

  Samir stared back with hatred in his eyes.

  “My brother was in that building,” Sami accused him.

  Mamba shrugged.

  “Weren’t me.”

  “Really?” Sami said sarcastically. “A little bird told me you took a helicopter and shot a missile into the building. We have plenty of witnesses who saw it happen, many of whom were running for their lives at the time.”

  “I didn’t say it didn’t happen, I said it weren’t me,” Mamba said.

  “Well, I think it was.”

  “Don’t be fuckin’ stupid,” Mamba retorted. “How am I gonna fly a fuckin’ ‘copter? Think ‘bout it.”

  Mamba could see the wheels turning in Sami’s head. Good. He’d sown some doubt and now he just had to wait and see what Sami would do.

  Sami whispered to one of his men, then turned and walked off a few metres. He pulled out a satellite phone, dialled a number and put the phone to his ear. Mamba could see him talking and listening, but not hear what was being said.

  After a few minutes, Sami was back.

  “Jack has confirmed it was you,” he accused. “He also told me it was flown by one of his pilots and you were in the spare seat.”

  Mamba laughed.

  “What’s so fucking funny,” Sami snarled, raising his gun.

  “What did ya expect? Him ta own up?” Mamba laughed again, gauging how far he could push this for maximum effect. He laughed again and shook his head as if the explanation was the best joke he’d ever heard. The fact that he hadn’t been shot already showed that he could come through this. “Did he also tell ya that the ‘copter only has one seat?” Mamba lied.

  Sami lowered his gun and paused, thinking it through. He vaguely remembered seeing the helicopters on the apron at Heathrow and he remembered the attack helicopters were narrow and much smaller than the others, more like a fighter jet, but he had no idea how many seats were in
them. He thought about the film ‘Top Gun’ and seemed to think there were two seats, one behind the other, but he wasn’t certain, and there was no way to find out.

  “What do you want?” Sami asked, still suspicious but Mamba knew he was home and dry.

  “Well, a beer would be a good start,” Mamba suggested.

  Sami nodded once and turned, his men following suit.

  72

  Day 30 – 17:00

  Broadwater Farm Estate, Tottenham

  It had taken Mamba all afternoon to finally convince Sami that he had nothing to do with destroying the pyramid and that the blame lay squarely on the duplicitous bastards from Heathrow.

  They were in some sort of community hall, with a high ceiling, whitewashed walls, functional metal tables and uncomfortable metal stacking chairs lined up against the walls, some of which had been pulled out so they could sit down.

  The beers had flowed and the more they drank, the more Sami believed Mamba’s version of events, despite some caution from a few of his advisors. Mamba kept stoking the fire and reminding Sami about his late brother, and even Dev and Emre began to accept the story as fact, even though they had no idea one way or the other. Emre seemed to recall Mamba flying off in one of the helicopters, but he wasn’t going to mention it now.

  By five-thirty, Sami wanted blood and Mamba was only too happy to set out how he thought they could go about getting it.

  By six-thirty, their plans had been finalised and the Turkish Delight was brought out on a large tray. A few minutes later some women appeared and began to do some erotic belly dancing to the sound of some Arabic-sounding music.

  By seven, the party was in full swing with more popular music blasting out from hidden speakers and with what seemed like hundreds of Turks dancing and getting pissed and stoned out of their heads.

  All Mamba needed now was one or two of those belly dancers to keep him occupied and his new best mate Sami happily obliged.

  73

  Day 31 – 10:30

  Tower of London

  Mamba and the remainder of his men had climbed into one of the vehicles provided by Sami. Dev and Emre were decidedly uncomfortable being in such close proximity to the twins, but they didn’t dare complain. If anything, they were more likely to complain about their raging hangovers, but silence was the definitely the best policy.

  Sami and over a hundred well-armed Turks had all boarded vans, cars, trucks and minibuses and the long convoy had then driven the short distance to the A10 and turned South, heading for the Tower.

  They’d passed through Seven Sisters, Stamford Hill, Stoke Newington and down into Dalston, where Mamba flipped the bird out of the window in the direction of Sully’s estate. The fat bastard should be slithering around like a giant zombie slug these days and Mamba smiled at the thought. It couldn’t have happened to a nicer person.

  They then passed through Haggerston, Hoxton, Hackney then Shoreditch, getting ever closer to their destination.

  At Liverpool Street train station several vehicles peeled off into Spitalfields, driving through the abandoned market heading towards Commercial Road where they would swing South again and come at the Tower from the East.

  The rest of the convoy continued down to where Bishopsgate met at the crossroads with Bevis Marks. Half the remaining convoy turned onto Bevis Marks, ready to link up to Minories and approach the Tower from the North.

  With the South side of the Tower protected by the River Thames, that left just the West, so Mamba, Sami and the remaining vehicles continued on Bishopsgate onto Gracechurch Street then along a couple of side roads until they were on Lower Thames Street. When the road merged into Byward Street, they stopped and got out to stretch their legs and look around.

  The teams to the North and East called in over the walkie talkie once they were in position. Sami ordered them to stay some way back and hidden from prying eyes in the Tower, form a defensive ring and wait for further instructions. He then turned to Mamba.

  “How do you want to play it?” he asked.

  Mamba looked at the massive Tower Place West building in front of him and checked it against his A to Z map. The Tower was just a few hundred metres away, with the entrance, called Middle Tower, almost straight ahead of where he now stood.

  “We need ta take a look afore decidin’ what ta do,” Mamba said. “We should be able ta get onta the roof of this buildin’,” he added, pointing towards the steps of a nearby fire escape.

  “How many?” Sami asked.

  “Jus’ ya, me ‘n a coupla others.”

  Sami picked a couple of men and ordered the rest to stay hidden and alert until he got back. It was clearly Mamba’s show, but the Turks were still suspicious of Mamba and would only answer to Sami.

  “What about us?” Emre asked on behalf of himself, Dev, and the twins.

  “Faruk ‘n Ismet can go scout. Ya ‘n Dev stay here.”

  Faruk and Ismet quickly disappeared, heading towards the river. Mamba watched them go, wondering where the fuck they were going, and more importantly, what they intended to do. It really was anyone’s guess.

  “Ready?” Sami asked.

  “Got the glasses ‘n rifle?” Mamba asked

  Sami lifted them into view.

  “Let’s go then.”

  They trudged across to the fire escape, which they found to be padlocked.

  “That’s fuckin’ clever,” Mamba said, shaking his head. “Health ‘n safety at its best,” he added sarcastically.

  He pulled out his cigarettes and lit up as one of Sami’s men walked back to the vehicles to get a crowbar. They could have shot the lock off, but the sound was likely to echo all the way to the Tower and give their enemy some warning.

  They waited for Sami’s man to get back and smashed the lock, then Mamba swung open the gate and started up the stairs with the others following.

  They climbed the equivalent of seven stories and emerged onto a balcony with a fire door in front of them. Mamba looked up and saw that there was no way they were going to get onto the roof.

  “Fuck, we’re gonna have ta go in,” he cursed, looking towards Sami’s man with the crowbar.

  The man stepped forward and smashed the thick safety glass of the emergency exit door, the noise of the glass shattering and hitting the floor making them all cringe. They waited a few seconds then the man pushed the bar on the inside of the door and pulled it towards him.

  They entered a dark corridor and it became immediately evident from the sounds they could hear that they were not alone.

  Mamba withdrew both of his knives and took the lead, moving slowly and making sure he didn’t put a foot wrong. The corridor darkened further as the rest of the group followed, until one of them switched on a torch. Must’ve been a boy scout, Mamba thought to himself.

  The light helped and Mamba was able to move quicker. The corridor stank and it was easy to spot the moving forms of the zombies. Most were crawling along the floor, so it was a simple task to step on their heads and crush them, or for the more stubborn craniums, lean down and stab them. There were still several zombies shuffling along on their feet and Mamba soon dispatched them, finishing the last one off by stabbing it through both ears at the same time, the blades joining in the middle of the zombie’s head.

  There were offices on either side with more zombies, but there was no chance they could get into the corridor and were ignored. They were here to view the Tower, not on a zombie hunt.

  Roughly halfway along the corridor it opened into a large atrium with a glass-looking roof which let in plenty of light, so the torch could be turned off. There were far more zombies in this area, so the men spread out and took care of them as they headed for the far side, passing a central staircase on the way.

  They entered the corridor of the other wing, seeing a sign on the wall directing them to the ‘Tower View Restaurant’. They followed the corridor to the end and found themselves at a glass door which swung inwards easily. Mamba looked around, noticing tha
t there were loads of dead zombies dotted about and quickly held up a hand to keep everyone quiet. He held the door open while the others entered, pointing to the dead zombies then directing each of them to a different part of the restaurant to search. Within a couple minutes everyone was back.

  “Nothing here,” Sami said, stating the obvious.

  “Someone’s bin in here,” Mamba said, still looking around.

  “How do you know that?” Sami asked.

  “Zombies don’t kill ‘emselves.”

  Once he was satisfied no one was around, Mamba headed towards the glass walls, noticing as he got closer that there was an external balcony. He carefully opened some sliding doors and stepped out, keeping low and raising his binoculars.

  He first checked the Tower walls, but there were no guards in view, so he checked the inner walls, only to find the same thing. Seeing the Tower again bought back the memories of when he’d been there just a few short weeks earlier, at the start of the outbreak when all hell had been let loose. Good times.

  He then swung his glasses to the Inner Courtyard, but again there didn’t appear to be anyone around. Mamba frowned and moved the glasses quicker and quicker to other parts of the Tower.

  “There’s no movement anywhere,” Mamba said, still looking.

  “No, none,” Sami agreed. “Are you sure they were here?”

  “No, but where else could they be?” Mamba replied.

  He looked at the entrance at Middle Tower and was surprised to see the red London bus which he had been used as a barrier had been moved to one side and that the portcullis was up. He scanned along the drawbridge and saw that Byward Tower was similarly wide open.

  “Fuck!” Mamba shouted. “They’ve gone.”

  “Where?” Sami asked.

  “How the fuck should I know?” Mamba raged. “See, I fuckin’ tol’ ya they were guilty ‘n now they’ve done a runner.”

  Sami looked suitably chastised.

  “What are we going to do now?” he asked.