The Spear of Destiny

by Julian Noyce

  “Stay where you are! Nobody move!” one of the Romans was saying, “And nobody will get hurt!”

  Outside the museum it was pandemonium as the gathered crowds panicked and ran at the sounds of gunfire. One of the security guards near the main doors went for his gun. The Roman nearest him shot him at point blank range with his MP5 machine pistol. At this range the bullets entered the man’s chest, exited his back without slowing and smashed the glass doors behind him, to the screams of those inside.

  “Now everybody calm down!” the centurion shouted, “There’s no need for anyone else to get hurt.”

  From the crack in the door Peter Dennis tried to see what was happening. He could see Roman uniforms and then he saw Natalie who was looking his way. For a moment their eyes met. The Roman nearest the toilets saw her look and he turned with a puzzled frown as the door closed silently. The legionary next to him nodded and the first man cocked his gun and moved to the door. He pushed it open slowly and entered the toilets. There were taps and basins on one side, stand up urinals against the far wall and four cubicles, each of which had their door closed. The man with the gun looked at the signs on each door. Thay all showed ‘vacant’. He pushed the first door open firmly.

  Empty!

  The next two were also empty. He pushed open the fourth and Dennis threw himself at the man, knocking the gun out of his hands to slide across the tiled floor, and hammered his fists into the man’s face. They both crashed to the floor. The Roman hindered by the thickness of his costume.

  Dennis knocked his man aside, turned over, got to his feet and groped for the machine gun. The Roman grabbed Dennis’ legs and pulled the journalist back down. Dennis turned over onto his back and kicked the man hard in the face breaking the nose. The Roman legionary scrabbled at Dennis’ legs and Dennis managed to kick him away and reach the gun. He threw it up into the air, spinning it, caught it and brought it crashing down against the man’s temple knocking him unconscious to the floor. Dennis shouldered the gun, pulled the man who was heavier than he looked into a cubicle and locked the door from the inside, climbed up onto the cistern, over the partition and dropped to the floor. The smears of blood on the floor he could do nothing about. He went back to the main door and opened it a crack, again.

  Near the main doors of the museum Nguyen and Tom sneaked inside. Their feet crunching on the broken glass. The Roman nearest them fired warning shots into the ceiling.

  “No moving!” he ordered, not realising they’d come in from outside.

  They froze at his words and when he turned away from them Nguyen spoke.

  “Where’s the camera?”

  “Silence!” the man turned and brandished his gun at them.

  Tom nodded towards the plaza. Nguyen saw the camera laying on its side outside.

  “I left it running.”

  The man with the gun advanced on them angrily. Tom threw his hands up.

  “Sorry.”

  “Keep quiet!”

  Then the Roman peered outside. The square in front of the museum was deserted. He could hear the distant sound of sirens drawing closer. The centurion heard them also. He drew back his arm and smashed the glass instantly setting off the alarm on the pedestal. The Austrian ambassador started to go forward and received the barrel of a gun under his chin.

  “Now don’t be a hero.”

  The centurion took the spear firmly in his right hand, turned with it, thanked ambassador Schmidt and strode from the museum. He handed the ’Spear of Destiny’ to one of his men who shoved it into a holdall and the rest of his men followed backwards out of the museum. The last two fired bursts of machine gun bullets over the heads of everyone and left.

  Two police cars screeched onto the plaza, blue lights ablaze and officers jumped out but had to dive for cover behind their open doors as the men dressed as Romans opened fire. One policeman was hit in the face by bullets that splattered through the car window. He slumped to the ground bleeding profusely, his partner frantically calling for backup on the police radio.

  Peter Dennis came rushing up to Natalie with the machine gun over his shoulder. A woman near him screamed and he swung round on her, his finger to his lips.

  The security guards all had their guns out now and one of them pointed his at Dennis.

  “Put your hands up!”

  “Relax, “ Dennis said, “I’m one of the good guys.”

  The guard lowered his gun.

  “Are you all right? “ Dennis asked, cradling Natalie.

  “Yes. Yes. I’m fine.”

  “Have they hurt anyone?”

  “They killed a guard and they’ve taken the spear.”

  Nguyen and Tom ran up to them.

  “Peter are you playing the hero?” Nguyen said, nodding at the gun he was carrying.

  “Kim! What are you doing in here?”

  “You know me Peter. I’ll do anything for that blockbuster story.”

  Three black Range Rovers roared onto the plaza and screeched to a halt. The Roman re-enactors ran to them, still firing at the police. The centurion got into the first one.

  Peter Dennis took the machine gun off his shoulder.

  “I’ll be right back!” he shouted to Natalie.

  “Where are you going? It’s dangerous!” she shouted back.

  Nguyen watched him go.

  “Still got it then Peter,” she said admiringly.

  “Excuse me!” Natalie cut in.

  Nguyen enjoyed the look she received from Feltham. Was it jealousy.

  “Oh don’t worry love! I’m last year’s model.”

  A Metropolitan police helicopter swept in low over the museum and over the plaza. Its searchlight trained on the black Range Rovers which now sped off as more police cars arrived.

  Peter Dennis sprinted out to where the Range Rovers had been. He could see they had no number plates as they reached the corner and split up, going three separate ways.

  “Put down your weapon and put your hands on top of your head!”

  Dennis heard the order and turned slowly to see a dozen armed police officers trained on him. Dennis held the machine gun up as high as he could, his fingers well away from the trigger and then slowly lowered it to the ground. Dennis went down on his knees and placed his hands on his head with a smirk on his face.

  It was going to be a long night.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Peter Dennis sat quietly at the table in the interview room at South Kensington police station. A mug of hot coffee in front of him. Standing by the door was a uniformed police officer who hadn’t moved in fifteen minutes.

  Dennis stared at him. The man still not moving, staring stonily ahead. After a few minutes he lowered his gaze and met Dennis’ eyes for a few seconds and then resumed his staring at the wall opposite. Dennis rolled his eyes and sighed with boredom. Apart from the policeman, the steaming coffee, the chairs opposite and the tape recorders there was nothing else in the room to focus on. Dennis stared at the policeman again who sighed through his nose and moved his feet slightly which Dennis took as a sign of irritation. Finally and extremely bored, the journalist put his hands behind his head, his elbows pushed out at right angles, and rocked back in his chair until it was on two legs. He stared at the ceiling while blowing out his breath.

  There was a click and the door opened. A tall man in a dark suit and a very attractive, short haired, woman, also in a suit entered the room. The man carried a large folder which he placed in the middle of the table.

  “And about time too.”

  “Mr Dennis. Sorry to have kept you waiting. I’m detective Inspector Mark Jones and this is detective Sergeant Rachel Harding of the Metropolitan police.”

  Dennis smiled at the female, then said.

  “You haven’t introduced the goon at the door.”

  Jones, who was in the process of sitting, stopped dead in his tracks.

  “Mr Dennis this is no laughing matter and may I remind you that you are under caution.”

  “Y
es. Yes. I had my rights read to me. I have seen the movies. Have I been charged?”

  “Not yet. I would like to remind you Mr Dennis that you were arrested at the scene of an armed robbery where a security official was murdered and when arrested by armed officers you did have, in your possession, an illegal firearm….”

  “Which wasn’t mine,” Dennis cut in.

  “….Which is a very serious crime,“ Jones continued, “However for the moment let us just say that you’re helping us with our enquiries.”

  DS Harding broke the seal on a new audio cassette and placed it into the recorder.

  “If you’re going to start recording everything I say then I demand a solicitor. You told me I was helping with enquiries, nothing more. Now if you’ve dusted that gun you will find that mine aren’t the only prints on it. In fact, come to think of it, if it wasn’t for me you wouldn’t even have a suspect.”

  “Ah Yes,” Jones said pulling the folder to himself. He opened it and turned a few pages, “The man you beat up in the toilets….”

  “Beat up! He was a bloody terrorist!”

  “Terrorist?”

  “Armed robber then! Don’t tell me he has rights.”

  “He has the right to prosecute you for grevious bodily harm.”

  “Now you’re taking the piss.”

  “He is in a hospital bed with a broken nose.”

  “And you’re telling me I can be done for it.”

  Jones didn’t answer. Harding was looking at the coffee.

  “What’s wrong with this bloody country. I over powered a gunman who had a semi-automatic machine gun, part of a larger group who held a party of people at gun point, including a foreign diplomat and the Mayor of London, who shot a security guard and left a policeman, one of your own, in a critical condition and I’m the bad guy. Well do you know what? I’ve had enough of this shit….”

  Dennis suddenly slammed his chair back and went for the door shouting.

  “Get me a solicitor and my free phone call.”

  The uniformed officer moved across the door, blocking it. Jones hadn’t moved. He kept his eyes on the empty chair in front of him.

  “Mr Dennis please return to your seat and sit down.”

  “Are you going to move?” Dennis said to the officer blocking his way. The man just stared ahead. Dennis thought about assaulting him.

  ’Surely that will get me taken back to my cell’

  “Mr Dennis. Sit down please.”

  Suddenly the fight left Dennis. Slowly he returned to his chair opposite the two detectives.

  “What’s his name anyway?” Dennis asked.

  “Who?”

  “The piece of shit I knocked unconscious.”

  “So far he hasn’t spoke. He refuses to answer any of our questions.”

  “Is he here in the station?”

  “No he is in the hospital receiving treatment for his injuries under police guard.”

  “Giving him the five star treatment I hope. That’s the trouble with this country these days. The bloody criminals get more rights than the poor bloody victims. You should let me have five minutes with him. I’ll get his name out of him.”

  There was a knock at the door and both Jones and Harding turned to look at the small re-inforced square window. The door opened as Jones got to it and he talked quietly with the person outside who handed him another folder and a large plastic bag with something heavy in it.

  Dennis was staring at Harding who found it difficult to hold his gaze. She had found his behaviour unruly and disruptive, almost childish but at times she had found it difficult not to laugh at his attitude. There was something sexy about him she decided.

  “Mr Dennis we really would appreciate you helping us with our enquiries.”

  “I will if your boss has stopped being a dick.”

  Harding did allow herself an embarrassed smile.

  “He has his way of doing things. I have mine.”

  “The good cop, bad cop routine eh! Like I said. I’ve seen the movies.”

  Harding continued the smile as Jones re-took his seat. He placed the new folder on top of the other one and put the bag on the table.

  “Mr Dennis has decided he would like to help us with our enquiries.”

  “That’s provided of course, there’s no more talk of me being prosecuted for making a citizens arrest.”

  Jones nodded at him.

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Not good enough! I want a guarantee.”

  “Very well. You have my word.”

  Dennis smiled his best smile.

  “How can I help?”

  Jones pushed the plastic bag towards Dennis.

  “Can you tell me what this is?”

  Dennis leaned forward for a closer look.

  “I’m no expert but I’d say it’s a Heckler and Koch MP5 semi-automatic machine gun.”

  “The one that was in your hands when you were arrested.”

  “It’s not mine.”

  “Yours were the only fingerprints found on it.”

  “That’s not possible. The gunmen weren’t wearing gloves.”

  “No. The man in the hospital had a thin layer of latex on his fingertips which was removed by doctors at the hospital.”

  “Clever.”

  “How did you learn about firearms?”

  “I did a training exercise some years ago with the SAS. I could tell you all about it but then of course I’d have to kill you,” Dennis grinned, winking at Harding, “Also from the movies.”

  “Mr Dennis this is no joking matter. Luckily for you this weapon has not been fired recently.”

  “Well like I said it’s not mine.”

  “We must assume then that it belonged to the man you knocked out in the lavatories.”

  “Well of course it belonged to him. I went to the party in a tuxedo. Hardly room to hide that is there?”

  “We’ll get to the party in a minute. First,” Jones said, opening the new folder, extracting three large photographs, rotating them and sliding them over to Dennis, “Do you know anything about these?”

  Dennis looked over at the three separate images. Each of a different Range Rover. Each car was black.

  “These photographs were caught by the police helicopter. We’ve analysed CCTV footage but these are the clearest images we have. Can you tell us anything about these vehicles?”

  Dennis looked at each of them again. They were simply plain, black Range Rovers with no distinguishing marks.

  “Sorry no. Nothing. They didn’t have number plates.”

  “That’s quite all right Mr Dennis. Now to help us with our enquiries detective sergeant Harding will need to record our conversation, merely to record anything that we may miss but might get picked up at a later date. This is, you understand, merely to help us if we were to get a conviction.

  Dennis nodded.

  “Ok. I understand.”

  Harding inserted the previously opened blank audio cassette and pressed record.

  “Interview beginning at eleven fifteen pm with detective inspector Mark Jones and detective sergeant Rachel Harding both of south Kensington police station of the Metropolitan police. Would you state your name and age please.”

  “Peter John Dennis. I’m thirty eight.”

  “Thank you. Mr Dennis you understand why you’re here tonight?”

  “I do.”

  “For the record Mr Dennis was arrested by armed police this evening outside the British museum at around eight forty five pm in possession of an unlicensed Heckler and Koch MP5 semi-automatic machine pistol. Mr Dennis is this weapon owned by yourself?”

  “No.”

  “Can you tell me where or how you obtained it?”

  “I’ve already told you where I got it.”

  “Could you tell us again please for the recorder.”

  “Where do you want me to start?”

  “If you could begin with the events of your evening.”

  De
nnis reached for his coffee and took a swig, then putting the mug back, he began. He told them about arriving in the Limo with Natalie, briefly mentioned the conversation with the actor he offended and the phone call about Gaddafi with Tom.

  “I was watching the news clip when I heard gunfire from the exhibit. I opened the door slightly and saw men dressed as Roman legionaries with machine guns, similar or identical to the one on the table.”

  “That will be the Heckler and Koch MP5 currently exhibit ’A’,” Jones said for the benefit of the tape recording.

  “Yes.”

  “What did you do next Mr Dennis?”

  “Well as I said I was with my partner Natalie and I saw her across the room, she saw me, but one of the gunmen came towards the toilets, I think he noticed her looking, and I hid in one of the cubicles. I could hear him opening all of the doors one by one and when he opened the one I was in I sprang at him. I knew I had one chance and surprise was essential. We fought, but thankfully I was able to overpower him. I’m just glad he was wearing that heavy Roman toga which hindered him. I managed to get his gun, the one you’ve presented to me in that plastic bag, and I ran outside with it as they escaped.”

  “And what did you intend to do with the gun?”

  Dennis shrugged.

  “I have no idea.”

  “Did you intend to use it, to hurt any of them, to kill any of them.”

  “No I don’t think so.”

  “You don’t think so.”

  “No.”

  “But they’d threatened you, threatened your girlfriend,” Jones looked down at his paperwork searching for the name, “Natalie. That must have made you angry.”

  “Angry?”

  “Yes. I mean, “Jones continued, “You must have wanted revenge on them. They’d already killed a museum security guard and then came after you after having threatened your partner. You must have been a little angry. I mean who wouldn’t.”

  “Well I wasn’t. I don’t know what I intended to do. I wasn’t thinking straight. But revenge wasn’t part of it.”

  Jones stared at Dennis for several moments.

  “Very well. And you’re unable to give us any clues about the vehicles they used. Three black Range Rovers without number plates.”