by Conrad Jones
“Salford Towers, she lives at Salford Towers, man,” he raised his hands to ward off another bullet.
“Is that the tower block on Cross Lane?”
“Yes, she lives on the fourth floor, number forty three,” his words came out between deep gasps of breath; he was slipping into tachycardic shock.
Jay pointed the gun at the Somali`s head and pulled the trigger. A fat nine millimetre bullet smashed through the brow bone leaving a ragged hole in the centre of the forehead. By the time the flattened bullet had finished bouncing around inside the skull his brains had been liquidised into grey mush. Death was instantaneous.
Chapter Fourteen
Westbrook/ Vigilante
A bedroom light flicked on. He counted the houses again, one, three, four, it was his target`s home. He waited long seconds before the first light came on downstairs. His target was on the move. He shifted his weight and nearly lost his balance, only lightening quick reactions saved him from taking another tumble. He shot out a strong arm and grabbed the thick branch of a bush, steadying him. He kept a hold on the bush as he bent over and switched on a remote detonator. A small red light glowed in the darkness. He stood upright and walked in the shadows toward the back of the cinema. The sound of an engine starting in the cul-de-sac indicated that his target was on the way as planned, responding to the alarm company`s notification.
The target was a Saudi exile, Rashid Ahmed. Rashid was the first born son of an incredibly rich family, who lived in the holy city of Medina, in the Hejaz region of Saudi Arabia. Medina is the burial site of the great prophet Muhammad, Muslim faith states that a prophet must be buried where he leaves the mortal world, and so a beautiful mosque was built on the site of his home where he died. A walled city was built around the holy grave in the twelfth century, beyond the walls people live in low houses with gardens and plantations which spread across a fertile river delta. Rashid`s family was intimately linked to the innermost circles of the Saudi royals, and they benefited greatly from the relationship by being granted very lucrative construction contracts, that involved building the country`s network of motorways.
Rashid was sent to university where he studied engineering, but his degree was given to him because of his family`s status, rather than for his academic achievements. He was lazy and arrogant, an exceptionally unpopular student with both the professors and academia alike. Things didn’t change much when he completed his degree. He walked into a senior position in his father`s company, but his incompetence and arrogant demeanour led to a series of disasters. Rashid wouldn’t ask for the advice of the more experienced engineers in the company when he was confronted with something beyond his capabilities, and when his many mistakes were highlighted his terrible interpersonal skills compounded the issues further. His father realised that his eldest son was becoming a liability, and he demoted him to a menial desk clerk position, and forced him to revisit his engineering studies. Rashid became more reclusive than ever, and threw himself into his religious studies with fervour.
At about the same time the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan was becoming headline news, and Muslims the world over travelled to fight alongside the Taliban mujahideen. Much to his father`s dismay, Rashid joined them. He was attracted by the glamorous ideal of being a religious freedom fighter, a soldier of Islam. The harsh reality of the war in Afghanistan however was far from glamorous, and he soon realised that he was a better engineer than soldier. He left the mujahideen in their mountain hideouts, and used his substantial wealth to bring arms into the country, selling them on at a profit to the Afghan rebels. It seemed that he had at last found his niche in life`s rich tapestry.
At the end of the Soviet invasion Osama bin-Laden brought a delegation of senior mujahideen leaders to meet the Saudi royals. Their purpose was to offer the Saudis a ready-made army of Afghanistan veterans based on their soil in Saudi Arabia, ready to fight any aggressor. The Iran, Iraq war was over, but the Iraqi`s looked poised to invade Kuwait, which brought their armies too close to Saudi Arabia for comfort. The Saudi royal family always portrayed themselves as devout followers of Islam, however they did not want an army of Islamic extremists camped on their doorstep. The deposal of the Shah of Iran by extremists was still a recent memory, and a warning to the regimes of Iraq and Saudi that extremism could destroy them if they allowed it to take root in their countries. The royals chose to protect themselves from Saddam`s sabre rattling in Kuwait by inviting American troops to be based on their soil. It was a decision which echoed across the Muslim world like a thunderclap.
Offended by the decision, Osama bin-Laden and his affiliates were banished from Saudi, and Rashid went with them. His father disowned him, not wanting his son`s action to tarnish his relationship with the Saudi royals. Rashid had made a fortune of his own during the war, as the arms trade is a very lucrative business to be in, especially during an armed conflict with the duration of the Afghanistan war. He also had a rich vein of contacts that he had made during the conflict, which he continued to utilise through the nineties. In early two thousand he used a false identity to enter the United Kingdom, where he created a financial institution which masqueraded as a high street bank. He used his huge financial assets to sell loans to people with poor credit ratings, obviously at extortionate interest rates, and he doubled his fortune in less than two years.
When the allied troops entered Afghanistan to topple the Taliban, Rashid once again began to sell arms to them. It was the actions of a disgruntled employee which brought his illegal activities into the public domain, and started the nation`s backlash against his bank that was dominating the country`s newspapers and television reports. The publicity had led to him being arrested and interviewed by the Terrorist Task Force, which were an elite Special Forces unit, set up to deal with Britain`s growing number of extremist cells, from both ends of the scale. Rashid had been in the arms trade long enough to cover his tracks well and there was little solid evidence to prove that he was involved in anything except banking. The public`s confidence in his institution however was shattered, and there was a week long run on the bank which wiped out its share value on the stock market.
The adverse publicity and allegations of sending arms to Afghanistan Taliban fighters, which would be used ultimately to kill British troops wasn’t just bad for business, it had also attracted the attention of some very dangerous people.
Chapter Fifteen
Manchester
Danny Holley and Brendon stood near the front doors of the Phallic Palace, and watched the remaining Yardie. Brendon was pacing up and down; his shoulders stooped making his appearance even more menacing to onlookers. He had a permanent snarl on his face, which was his shield against the world. If you always look angry then not many people bother you, especially when you`re big built with a shaved head and swastikas tattooed beneath the ears. The Somali was oblivious to the attention he was receiving. He was a tall slim man with very narrow shoulders, and a shaved head. His skin was deep black as only African skin can be. He had a white hooded top on and faded blue jeans, and on his feet he had a pair of brown canvas flip flops, which showed the skin on the soles was pale pink in contrast to the rest of him.
The Yardie was holding court at the bar to a group of young women. He leaned over the bar to make himself heard and ordered another round of Tequila slammers. The fact that his friend had been missing for nearly twenty minutes still hadn’t dawned on him. The drinks arrived on a black plastic tray, small shot glasses filled with potent clear liquid. The group of girls cheered as they were set down on the bar. The barman showed off in front of the young women spinning a salt shaker like he would do with a cocktail glass, and then he placed the salt pot and a bowl of lemon slices next to the glasses. The Somali began to distribute them amongst the group of giggling girls. He took his time, holding each one individually and pouring a pinch of salt onto the back of their hands. Once the salt had been distributed he handed each woman in turn a small slice of lemon, then they all clinked their glas
ses and cheered again.
The Yardie downed his Tequila and put the glass on the bar, grimacing at the sour taste. The girls giggled again and followed suit, each one of them screwing their faces up at the taste. The Yardie`s expression changed and he turned around looking for something that wasn’t there. He looked drunk and confused. Suddenly he realised his cell phone was vibrating in the back pocket of his jeans. Laughing he pulled the cell phone out and placed it to his ear, he cupped a hand over the other ear trying to shut out the noise of the music, but he couldn’t hear the caller. The Somali put a long arm around one of the girls and hugged her jovially, making his excuses for having to leave the party, and headed for the front door. As he passed the huge Brigade doormen he grinned sarcastically and made a gun shape with his fingers, cocking his thumb as he opened the doors.
Danny Holley was right behind him as he stepped outside, and Brendon followed. The Yardie put the phone to his ear and was about to speak when Danny Holley punched him hard in the back of the neck, where the spine meets the skull. The phone clattered across the cobbles toward the edge of the canal as the Somali`s legs buckled. Brendon grabbed him before he collapsed and the Brigade men bundled him down the alleyway. They had only gone a few yards when Jay appeared out of the gloom.
“Where`s your van?” Jay asked Brendon.
“At the bottom of this alley, It`s behind the club on Oxford Road,” Brendon replied.
“Tie him up and put him in your van, we might need him later on, and make sure nobody sees you,” Jay walked past them toward the bright lights on Canal Street.
“Where`s the other one?” Danny Holley asked, noting that there was no sign of the second Yardie.
“Don`t worry about that Danny, just get him to the van,” Jay didn’t turn round, as he barked out his orders.
“He gets right up my nose,” Brendon complained as he dragged the unconscious Somali deeper into the alleyway. His van was parked at the other end, and there was no chance of passing potential witnesses.
Jay stepped onto the cobbled canal bank and looked both ways, trying to think straight. There was a group of young men crossing a narrow footbridge which led to the far bank, and the reggae clubs. He walked after the young men, staying about ten yards behind them. The group were obviously drunk and in high spirits. One of them had a distinctive tiger print tee shirt on, and was as camp as Christmas. They approached the door of Marley`s bar, and the dulcet tones of the reggae master drifted across the canal, mingling with tunes from a dozen other venues. The group of young men walked in unhindered by the bouncers. The black doormen saw Jay approaching and they nodded a cautious greeting. There was a mutual hatred between the Brigade men and the black bouncers, but they had to work on opposite sides of the canal three hundred and sixty five days of the year, so they tolerated one another, plus Jay was huge, which always helped.
“Did you see the young lad in the tiger print tee shirt?” Jay looked through the glass of the front doors, and pointed to him.
One of the black doormen was standing next to an alcove, which was set back into the wall. It had a tall barstool inside it for the doormen to sit on when things were quiet. Above the stool was a wooden shelf. Jay spotted two mugs of steaming coffee on the shelf and a stack of old bodybuilding magazines, and some newspapers.
“I can see him, why what`s the problem?” the doorman next to the stool said moving away from the alcove.
“I`ve just called the police, and barred him from over the Phallic Palace across the canal. He`s dealing fake Ecstasy tablets, real nasty stuff, put two young girls in the general hospital last week. He`s bad news, him and his mates, you`ll have the law all over you if you don’t get rid of him,” Jay lied through his teeth.
The black doormen eyed Jay suspiciously from behind their mirrored sunglasses, and then looked at each other.
“Let`s get them out, we don’t need the police searching the place,” one of them said. The second bouncer nodded and pulled open the door, sliding his huge shoulders through the gap. His partner nodded a silent thank you to Jay, and then followed his colleague into the club.
Jay took two steps backward, manoeuvring his huge frame to the entrance of the bouncer`s alcove. He pulled his jacket up at the back and removed the nine millimetre Berretta from his waistband, and hid it beneath the stack of bodybuilding magazines. He noticed with interest that a one-time Mr Olympia winner from Warrington, Walter O`Malley was posing on the front cover. Jay knew him well and had trained in his gym for a while. He took the magazine and stuffed it into his jacket with a mind to read it later, and then placed the rest of them on top of the pile that was hiding the gun.
He stepped away from the reggae club and walked toward the footbridge. On the other side of the canal bridge Jay saw Danny Holley and Brendon walking out of the alleyway laughing; they high fived each other and went back inside the Phallic Palace. Jay crossed the footbridge quickly, and halfway across he dropped the silencer into the murky brown water; with a dull plop it disappeared. He walked toward the alleyway but stopped when something on the floor near the edge of the canal caught his eye. There was a mobile phone on the cobbles, the screen was flashing on and off, bright green, and it vibrated gently alerting its missing owner that someone was calling. Jay bent down and picked it up. There was no one around close enough to see. He looked at the flashing screen and smiled. The name of the caller was Omar.
Chapter Sixteen
Westbrook/ Vigilante
He heard the distant engine noise change as the vehicle was put into gear, and then saw two beams of light penetrating the darkness as the target switched on the headlights. The beams swung left to right across the cinema car park as the black Porsche Cayenne headed toward the narrow service road, which led away from the cul-de-sac. He reached the back of the cinema and headed for the rear fire escape door, and slid his fingernails under the metal bevel which ran down the middle, acting as a weather seal. The door had been left so that it looked closed, but it had not been locked, and when he tugged gently on the bevel the door clicked open. He entered the long dark passageway which was situated at the rear of the cinema, leading to the projection booths at the back of the auditoriums, and then turned to look back to the service road. His knee clicked and gave way, and he grabbed the doorframe to stop himself from falling. The Porsche was less than fifty yards from the explosive device in the bushes.
He took a cylindrical remote from his pocket; it looked like a battery, and he placed his thumb over the button at the top. The Porsche pulled almost level with the bushes when he pressed the button and closed the cinema doors at the same time triggering the IED, or `improvised explosive device` as the British press called them. Military personnel called them IFD`s or improvised formed devices, which was the more descriptive name for this type of bomb. He had used a thick piece of steel, cut into a square, which had once been part of a salad bar in a restaurant, as a base, and then he`d tacked a two foot section of a car exhaust pipe to it at a perpendicular angle.
The exhaust pipe was then packed with a home-made explosive material, which was popular with Britain`s modern Islamic terrorists. Hydrogen peroxide, which is a hair bleach, and brown cooking flour, when mixed together in the correct quantity make a powerful explosive material. The London tube and bus bombings on the seventh of July 2007, which killed over fifty commuters from all walks of life, were a sad endorsement of how effective it could be.
He knew only too well how to utilise its potential. The open end of the exhaust pipe was packed with a conical copper lump, which he had hammered into shape using every day plumbing pipe.
The effect on the Porsche was similar to the impact delivered by any other military road side device. The explosive material causes a devastating blast wave, which can only escape its confined space in one direction, toward the copper lump. The copper projectile is then propelled at six thousand feet per second toward the target vehicle, which in this case belonged to Rashid Ahmed. At that point the combined speed and density of
the copper means that it can easily penetrate armour plate, so the Porsche wasn’t really a challenge. It ripped through the metal door like it was made from rice paper, flattening the projectile on impact, and making it both fatter and flatter. Then the red hot softened metal bounced around inside the Porsche turning the driver into so much flesh and blood splatter that it took the forensic units three days to bag it all. The force of the blast had buckled the Porsche in half lengthways, making it impossible to open any doors or windows. It was only dental recognition that identified the driver as Mrs Mira Rashid Ahmed.
Chapter Seventeen
Manchester
“Hello, where have you been man? I`ve been trying to ring you for an hour, init,” the voice of the caller said, when Jay answered the cell phone that he had found on the floor.
“Am I speaking to Omar?” Jay asked laughing, and he wandered toward the alleyway at the side of the Phallic Palace.
“No, I`m using Omar`s phone, init, who is this?” the voice replied angrily, confusion made the man`s voice rise in pitch.
“Oh sorry, I`ve not explained have I? I found the phone on the floor; do you know who it belongs to by any chance?” Jay goaded.
