‘Cool with that, Holly.’ We hugged. She gave me a slow kiss and a long look. ‘Fisabillillah. Make sure you say your prayers hun, and don’t forget your horror bag.’ I laughed as she handed me the standard British Army brown paper bag with God only knew what kind of packed lunch. She flipped out a salute and left for a van.
1012 Zulu
The sun rose on the city and the last battle began, although its participants didn’t know how bad it was about to get.
Our vehicles had been parked in Star City car park for the last three hours. I’d managed to pray between the vehicles and made extra duas for everyone today. We’d been working our way through our horror bags and thermoses and we watched through binoculars and TV monitors as the day unfolded and then rapidly unravelled as the demo elements slowly collided. We had the side door on the surveillance van open so we could watch the screens and the urban terrain towards the Bullring. Tweetdeck was going mental. Raggydoll was manipulating the desk controls, and a display zoomed in and held on dozens of banners. I could see an Infidels banner with the infamous Fourteen Words on it. “We must secure the existence of our people and a future for White Children.”
Another screen showed a local news running ticker. It was saying the EDL rally had been penned into Centenary Square and the UAF counter-demo had been contained in Victory Square. Shortly after 10am, the wheels had come off and everyone had broken free. Hundreds, thousands were swarming in. A mob had gathered outside the Brasshouse pub in Broad Street, and within minutes, fireworks had been thrown. Police had closed Broad Street to all traffic and re-routed buses.
The radio staticked. ‘That was Gold. Reserves committed. That’s it. No more police. They’re just about holding the line now.’
Another channel blipped. ‘Central for Riz.’
‘Riz here. What’s happening?’
‘Switch to 6. Tasked plane has spotted the two veh’s as you described, lead car and tanker. ANPR tallies.’
I jumped back in the van and toggled to feed 6. There they were, a white tanker as small as a cigarette on the plane’s camera, and the little dot of the fake police car leading it in, its blue lights flashing. ‘Where is this?’
‘Heading into city centre fast on Red Two-One. They’re going straight round the demos.’
I turned to Raggydoll. ‘You’ve got the van.’
I flung off the headset, ran from the van and jumped into Calamity’s Sierra. ‘Go, Priya! Red Two-One!’
She looked at me. ‘Fast or slow?’
‘Fast into town, warp speed. Then slow when we get there.’
‘OK. Talk me into Red Two-One.’
Calamity hit the gears and we left the Star City car park in a spall of grit and aimed for the city centre. We checked our radios. Sadie was reciting to herself in the back seat. We rattled round the roundabouts and down onto the A47 into the town centre, accelerating. I got the laptop and radios working. The displays sparked into life and our trackers began to blink. The orbiting spy plane’s video feed came up. ‘OK… I have the overheads… we’re coming up to the target vehicles.’
We sped faster and faster, past lines of police riot vans heading the other way, their blue lights flashing. We were heading into the inevitable. Above us one of the MH-6s thundered over and climbed, clawing for air and blowing litter out of the way. My secure radio beeped. ‘Cope for Riz. Heading in, waiting for weapons-free, over.’
‘Have that. Why are all the cops leaving over?’
‘All serials now out of action due to bringing in violent arrests. Line’s gonna snap in a minute. When we hit the demo it’s going to properly go off. It’s a lovely war. Out.’
Calamity spoke out of the corner of her mouth. ‘Head for the Bullring?’
‘Yep luv, Bullring.’ We screamed past Aston University and a slight turn in the road and there it was. The centre. And the demo. A mass of flags and banners. ‘Slow down some Priya.’
‘See the target vehicles Riz?’
‘I do. We’re close. They’re heading in. Slow it some.’
She slowed it. The engine grouched. We drove past a line of parked coaches. I could hear roaring crowds. We accelerated.
Priya whooped. ‘Here we go!’
And then screeched to a stop as we drove into the junction facing New Station and realised we’d driven into the riot.
Hundreds of people were running, smashing, looting, scuffling. A kid wearing a Burberry cap fell onto the car and looked shamefaced as the bonnet dented. A burly Asian guy hauled him up by his collar and smacked him one. Suddenly a police people carrier ran into the back of our car and shunted us forwards into the middle of the junction, straight over the chavvy kids legs. Plastic smashed and crunched, and the kid howled. To my left a whole section of white guys yelled and ran at our car. There was a mutter of disgust from the rear of our vehicle and then Sadie fired her Dragunov and we all went deaf. The left rear passenger window exploded outwards and the lead white guy smacked to the ground in a puff of blood. The cartridge case flew between our seats and whacked off the inside of the windscreen and smoked into my footwell. All around the car the crowds boiled away and sought cover. I flailed around in my seat. ‘SADIE WHAT THE FUCK!’
She shrugged and fired a second round through the police van’s mesh protector. Glass powdered everywhere. ‘Recognised him from the briefing photos. Target down. GO! DRIVE!’
Calamity swore, revved, and went for the nearest gap in the crowd, crunching straight over the unfortunate chav. Our Cosworth reached 65 on the way off the ramp and the revs hit the high reds. Calamity knew this car well enough to swiftly double de-clutch into the next gear as the revs hit 6800, a split-second before the rev limiter cut in. The car sprang forward and the insane torque power bit. I got my phone out and rang Bang-Bang. ‘Holly. Got everyone in the mosque?’
‘Hey honey! Yep and we’re setting up fields of fire.’ She broke off and started shouting at someone. ‘If you don’t fucking shut your row I’m gonna hit you with this!’
She got back on the phone. ‘Sorry doll. Some of the imams here are doing our heads in. I’m this close…’
I checked my kit one last time. Morphine. Radios. Binoculars. AK. Check safety.
The rev counter redlined again and the back of the car slid as we fishtailed through the intersection and went screeching sideways straight back into blare and noise of the demo. A molotov hit in front of us. Flaming petrol whooshed over the bonnet. Calamity floored it. Ahead were pedestrian barriers. I gripped the laptop and looked for the symbols, red and blue. There they were, two little arrows moving fast. ‘Priya, dead ahead, you’ll have it in thirty seconds-’
And there was the chase car, winnowed away from the tanker. Its blue lights were going as it accelerated away. We hit the second set of barriers with a clang and a crazy set of sparks. People ran in blind panic right and left. One didn’t make it. BANG. We went bouncing over a rioter with an almighty, teeth-jarring jounce and through some plastic traffic bollards. BANG again. We levelled out and the crowd scattered. Something in the car broke. The rear spoiler flapped in the slipstream. A UAF placard clattered off the windscreen and left a starring crack. We hit 60…70…80. Braking left onto Moor Street and the Gs pinioned me to the Recaro headrest. I held onto the laptop and watched the Google map realign as we swung round and left a trail of rubber. I yelled, or tried to. ‘South on Blue 3, hit Green 14 right and you’re ahead of ‘em Priya.’
She nodded. Her jaw was set. Up we whooshed and hit a line of yellow bollards, spuming over the bonnet and roof and pattering behind us. I gripped the map for this area and tried to stop the laptop from sliding into the footwell and read the spot codes as they juddered in my vision. The laptop screen was split so Google Latitude was showing our people but it wasn’t refreshing. ‘Repeat. South, hit Green 14 and right right right.’
She braked and flicked the racing wheel. G forces went downwards and I was flung forwards into the safety harness. ‘Hang on! Just hang on.’ Sadie braced herself
in the back with a trainer on the back of my seat in a flurry of swearing. A truck swiped into a van behind us and glass and plastic shattered. We veered right. Rubber smoked. I snapped my head left and right to check the approaches. ‘Clear left, clear right, burn it!’
We shot across the junction through a cacophony of horns. A marked cop car hit its lights and came after us and banged straight into a motorbike, its rider cannoning over the cop car’s roof into the road behind. And there was the chase car.
‘I can see it!’
‘See what?’
Calamity was yelling at me. ‘Where’s the truck? Can Roadie see the truck?’
I double-hashed my radio pressel and Roadrunner came online. ‘Close on the chase car, just lost sight of tanker. It was on the other side of the demo lines, running fast guys. We’d better step on it or we’ll lose it. Have the chase car in three, two’
From a sidestreet Roadrunner’s Capri jounced onto the main road, tyres smoking, and caromed into the side of the chase car. The rear bumper flew off and for half a second they ground together. Small arms fire flamed from the chase car’s window. They were heading straight for the counter-protest organisers and beyond was open road out of the city centre. Roadrunner’s Capri roared into high gear, and then gathered and sped behind the chase car in a hail of shattered windscreens. The chase car hit the UAF organisers like they were puppets, they bounced over the roof and Roadrunner’s car banged over them and roared down the road after target one. We howled through the junction of Rea Street, against the stalled traffic and skidded over the yellow hatchings on the road.
Straight into the path of a Network West Midlands bus from the Bullring. Everyone stood on their brakes and the air filled with burnt rubber and clutch. The world zoomed into close focus around us and I gripped the roof handhold and clung on. The chase car was a hair too late and clipped the front of the bus with an earsplitting bang, rolled in a fountaining hail of window glass and smeared through a gaggle of protesters. It slid into the front of Midland Lettings and Sales and stopped with the jerking legs of some unfortunate demonstrators under it, the blue lights still flicking. Roadrunner was on form, she porpoised her Tickford left and right and screeched to a halt just ahead of the carnage. There was a puff of smoke from her tyres. And with that, we were gone and all we could hear were cracks and pops behind us and nightmarish screaming. In my passenger mirror I glimpsed a yellow smoke grenade detonating. Good work, Roadrunner, I thought.
Calamity nodded and geared down and we roared forward. The buildings streamed by as we hit 70 again. I hashed the secure comms. ‘Cope! Cope. Do you read. We’re heading south on… the B4100 - sorry Red 12, getting ready to hit the tanker at the intersection, follow?’
‘Following and closing. We can see the tanker and the chase car but my shooter can’t get a clear-’
There was a spalling and cracking in the intercom. ‘Get them… TELL them ARVs to stop shooting.’
Calamity was laughing and shaking her head. The secure radio exploded in digital noise and then Cope was back on. ‘I have control. Sorry Riz, some ARVs on the ground are shooting at us and we just fired back. Stand by. I have no idea what’s going on. Tell Gold, stand them down over. What do you mean you can’t raise Gold? Sorry again Riz, it’s gone to ratshit here. Everyone’s shooting at everyone else.’
‘Cope, leave the chase car. It’s upside down and it’s Roadrunner’s problem.’
‘Have that. OK following the tanker.’
In the rear of the car Sadie checked the chamber on the SVD and sang to herself. Calamity was calling the junctions in for our benefit as the acceleration pressed us into the seats. ‘South…15. OK roundabout. Standby chicos, there’s an ARV parked up. Brass ‘em or go round ‘em?’
‘Stop stop stop. I’ll talk to them, Priya.’
She screeched to a halt and I exited left and ran round the bonnet. The ARV crew were looking at the Army helicopters and they had their guns out and pointed skywards. A stinger had been dutifully placed across the exit out of town. This was getting ridiculous. As I jogged forward a cop drew a bead on me and I tapped my Security Forces armband. I knew that Sadie was drawing down on them from our car as I saw the cop drop the weapon back to its three-point sling position. I raised my hand and shouted. ‘Those are Army choppers! We’re after a truck.’
‘The helos fired on a police vehicle, fella.’
‘That’s NOT a police vehicle, that’s X-Rays.. I give up.’
They looked at each other. The nearest one’s Airwave set chattered on his shoulder and he answered it. I carried on. ‘Guys! A petrol tanker with a mocked up chase car! They’re driving it to a mosque and it’s coming!’
‘OK fella. You lot Army?’
‘Yeah. Kinda. The helos are Regiment.’
Calamity had exited our car and walked up to my left. She squeezed my shoulder and gave me a low whistle. She was holding a pistol and the ARV crew noticed.
We all looked back and up, at the growling MH-6 in the distance. To our left, a West Midlands Police helicopter was hovering impotently. The cop gave us a final glance and spoke.
‘Alright. Let’s get moving, we’ll set another roadblock.’
There was a crackle of small-arms fire over the way. A green flare shot into the air, way over by the railway station. The cops jumped in their ARV and got moving. Behind us Sadie stepped out of the car and shot a flare into the sky with a whoosh… crack… it burst over our heads in a brilliant red glare, and arced down behind the lockups. She shrugged as I looked enquiringly at her. ‘Radios not good enough?’
‘Nope.’
I waved my hand like a baseball referee. ‘Enough of this! Do any of you lot know what’s going on? Why are we all firing flares and who is shooting down there?’
Another apologetic shrug went round. Behind us, a mushroom cloud of smoke erupted south of the Bullring and an explosion rumbled across the rooftops. Car alarms started going off in the street below. My BlackBerry rang. Duckie’s operational phone number came up. ‘Riz. I’m at the head of the marches. Yep Tommy’s here. Say hello. OK Listen. The Infidels march is going for Green Lane Mosque, that’s GREEN LANE, not Birmingham Central. Can you hear me?’
I could, just, over the roar of the crowd. ‘Got that Duck. We’re moving.’
I rang Fuzz. ‘Fuzz. It’s Green Lane Mosque.’
‘Moving, bhai.’
‘OK. Let’s go.’ Calamity jumped back into the driver’s bucket seat. The car engine coughed and roared.
I hashed the Binatone radio pressel twice and raised Roadrunner. ‘Blackeye Three what do you have. Are they contained?’
‘Riz do you read, I’ve got ‘em. I’ve got ‘em. Shall I light ‘em?’
‘I don’t know, Roadrunner. What can you see?’
I could hear the crunch of metal and plastic and then several sharp bangs. Shots. More tinny screaming. ‘Four….no, three pax in an upside down chase car, lots of dead civvies. Can’t see Lionheart. A stinger took out my tyres. Pax one has dropped the submachine gun. Light them?’
I hit the radio. ‘Yes. Roadrunner. Light them.’
‘OK. Going forward.’
I heard the tinny clack-clack of a bolt being drawn back and released. There was a flurry of gunfire and broken glass on the net.
‘Roadrunner. They dead?’
‘Yep.’
‘Move to Green Lane Mosque if you can.’
‘Have that.’
Calamity shouted at me. ‘Riz! Tanker’s onscreen going south on Glover Street, if we floor it we can cut them off here-’ she tapped the laptop screen- ‘Bordesley Circus.’
She handed the laptop to me.
‘Floor it.’ The tyres squealed.
We howled into the junction towards the Hotel Ibis car park and then the car screeched in a 180 as Calamity handbraked it to face north from Bordesley Circus. I hit the secure radio.
‘Cope. What d’you have?’
‘Tanker is southbound to you on Red Two-Four, ETA
two minutes. Crew can’t get a clear shot. Handing off to you, and good luck.’
Calamity and I flung the doors open and we got ready. Sadie jogged heavily to the edge of the roundabout and threw her sniper rifle into the aim, bracing herself on a street lamp. I got the binos to my eyes. The smell of burning tyre rubber hung in our nostrils. The truck came into view, huge in the binoculars lenses, scattering traffic as it came roaring down the wrong side of the dual carriageway. I called it in. ‘Target truck range 800 feet and closing speed 55 miles per hour…’ I looked for wind indicators. Flag there outside the industrial estate…
‘Wind about 10mph from our left. Hurry it Sadie.’
‘Slow is smooth and smooth is fast’, Sadie said, more for her benefit than mine. She breathed out and squeezed the trigger.
The first shot hit the truck grille in a mess of sparks.
‘Shit.’
‘Low six feet, target 600 feet closing 55 miles per... ’
The second shot punched half the windscreen in and a spray of blood flew around the interior. The truck began to veer and jink but kept coming, front tyres squealing. It smashed a small car out of the way. The car banged off the side of the industrial estate and window glass flew. The truck shook like an animal and accelerated.
‘Low three feet, target 400 feet… 300 feet, HURRY!’
‘OK. API loaded.’ Sadie breathed out. ‘API loaded…’
My panicked eyes flitted from the roaring petrol tanker to her trigger-finger.
The rifle bucked and smoked. The cartridge case spun skywards and caught the sun. The bullet streaked into the front of the tankage -
A bright spall of sparks erupted from the gas tank. The truck shuddered and skidded.
A blinding flash and a searing oven blast of shockwave rolled over us as we dropped down. On both sides of the road every window for a hundred yards blew in and pieces of metal dropped and clanged on the roundabout and a wall of dust rolled out. I picked up Sadie, who was laughing and trying to clear one ear. ‘Sadie, this is ridiculous, you’ll lose that thing. Come on. Back to the car.’
Locked and Loaded: A Riz Sabir Thriller Omnibus Page 33
