Sterling

by Robert Cameron

  ‘The reason the police have asked for our assistance,’ the boss continued, ‘is that both have been known to set booby traps, so we will lead and clear the way for the police. OK, so if there are no questions, be ready to move in thirty minutes.’

  What followed was a flurry of activity as people rushed around getting ready. It may have looked from the outside like a confused melée but everyone knew their own part of the plan. Once ready, the individuals grouped together, forming up in teams by the vehicles, ready to go.

  As the convoy of undercover police cars snaked its way through Gloucester, Cam was aware of the surreal atmosphere in the car. Easy listening classics played softly as the heavily armed men drove through the streets. Shoulder to shoulder with the other team members, Cam began to feel claustrophobic in all his assault gear. The convoy split as the two separate teams headed towards their assigned targets, Cam watched the others disappearing into the distance.

  As soon as they approached their target’s address he forgot about the others and focused only on his and Spike’s task: get the police in safely, arrest the guy and get out.

  The team stacked up on the street corner, the police with their HK 36 rifles on their shoulders, Cam and Spike with their P226 pistols at the ready. Adrenaline running now, the police team-leader gave the signal to move towards the back door. Their movements slow and deliberate so as not to make noise, the team edged in, covering all directions as they reached the rear door to the premises. On closer inspection, the back door appeared to be a double wooden structure secured by a chain and padlock. Spike pointed at the chain and gave a signal to cut. A police officer used a pair of bolt-cutters to shear through the chain. Cam and Spike took hold of one end of the chain each, and moved it slowly through the door handles. They cleared it without a sound and Cam placed it carefully on the floor. Once down, he readied his pistol and reached for the handles.

  The door creaked and Cam stopped. He tried to lift the door by its handles, but still it creaked. Two police officers got ready to cover the room inside. Cam opened the door as fast as he could, trying to limit the amount of noise. As soon as it was open Cam knelt down and took aim through his pistol sights. The two officers leaned over the top of him and each swept the room, looking through the night sights of their rifles.

  Peering into the darkness, it became apparent that they had entered through the house’s shed. Cam clicked down his night-vision goggles and switched them on. The unique sound of NVGs powering up sounded in his ears as a grainy green image formed in front of his eyes. There was a door to the back left-hand side of the shed that led into the house. That was their way in.

  Piles of old furniture, rubbish and bicycles blocked their way, all of which needed clearing before they could enter the house. It was a time-consuming process but vital; everything had to be checked for devices. Trip-wires, pressure-mats, infra-red sensors – the list was endless. They had to check for anything that could alert the occupants that they had intruders. Nearly an hour after cutting the chain they were near the door to the house, when unexpectedly it opened.

  The light from the corridor blinded Cam and he flicked up his NVGs. The picture he saw would never leave him. There, in the light of the open doorway, stood a little old lady, her husband cowering behind her.

  ‘Can I ask you, just what are you doing?’ asked the old lady, as if unconcerned that a group of black-clad, armed men were breaking into and entering her home.

  ‘Um, is this twenty-four Huntley Avenue?’ replied Spike.

  ‘No, you want next door. This is number twenty-two.’ Cam felt he was among amateurs and a glance at Spike told him that he was feeling the same way. How could they have got it so wrong? He realised straight away that it wasn’t the officers’ mistake – they had been given the wrong information.

  ‘Fuck this. Follow me!’ Spike commanded. The team moved fast behind their new leader. Round to the front of the property they stacked up on the main entrance. Cam did a double check on the door, to make sure that it was twenty-four.

  Spike took the small metal battering ram from one of the officers. He was on a mission of his own. With two smashes, the powerful man had the door off its hinges and in they went. With a speed not generally seen in a man his size, he was off up the stairs, and Cam struggled to keep up. A man was silhouetted in one of the upstairs rooms, and he was obviously still half asleep as Spike’s huge frame approached him. With a punch reminiscent of a Rocky movie, he flattened the man and put him on his back. Cam thought he saw the man’s feet lift off the floor as he fell. Spike stood over the man, looking down as the police finally entered the bizarre scene.

  As the bemused police officers cuffed him and began to read him his rights, Cam looked up at Spike.

  ‘Well, I suppose that’s one way of doing it.’

  * * * * * * *

  The bleeping of the alarm clock woke him from his short but deep sleep. ‘Christ! I haven’t thought about that in a while.’ He swung his legs over the side of the bed, sat up and rubbed his eyes. Looking outside he knew it was time.

  The streets of Bradford were a world away from his home in the Lakes. At home there was an air of peace and tranquillity, but now a feeling he had not felt in years returned to him: war!

  He stuck to the back streets – it was scarier than walking down main streets, but safer. There he found plenty of hiding places – shadowy doorways, bins, skips, boxes. He could disappear there. As he gradually drew closer to where Jabara lived, it became harder to move unnoticed. After hours of what felt like playing hide-and-seek, he started to think that he might not be able to get close enough to survey the house.

  As he sat crouched in the shadow of a telegraph pole, he wondered why there were so many people on the streets. It almost seemed like they were on patrol. There was definitely an atmosphere there – it felt as if something was going on.

  It was getting towards the early hours of the morning and Cam knew he would have to make his way out and back to the safety of the bed-and-breakfast. Even if he made it to the house for a look, he would still need to get out under the cover of darkness. ‘Damn it!’ He looked around as if seeking inspiration, but it eluded him.

  He was glad he started back when he did; he had only just got out of the area when the sun started rising. Back at his accommodation he sat down to breakfast – another full English. He could get used to that. As he ate he pondered how he could get close enough to get in. He didn’t want to give up on the target, but he might be obliged to accept defeat.

  After a whole night out in the cold he was ready for a shower and a sleep. He would need his rest if he were to try again that night. He finished his breakfast and went up to his room. He stared out of the window, deep in thought. From this elevated position he could see most of the area where he had been sneaking around during the night. He looked at the buildings and realised that they all shared a distinctive style. Then it hit him – the rooftops!

  Chapter 10

  The next night was crisp and clear and the moon was full – not the best weather for moving around unnoticed. On the outskirts of the suburb, Cam found a corner shop with an alley alongside. Only just within the cover of the shadows of the alley, Cam climbed up to the roof using the rough brickwork. The gaps between the bricks were large enough that he could get a grip with his fingers and soles of his shoes. Once on the shop roof, he brushed the gritty dust off his hands. Crouching down to keep a low profile, he looked across the rooftops towards the target house. He shifted the weight of the heavy bag on his shoulders and headed towards it.

  Cam’s progress was slow and he thought he might be up on those roofs for most of the night. He had to move slowly to reduce sound and pick the right route. Going back and forward to find the safest way took time. Looking down over the edge of one building he realised he would have to make a jump from one roof to another. He leapt with all his might, flew over
the alleyway and landed on the angled roof of the next house. Once he had a good foothold he leaned forward, almost in a press-up position. Trying not to slide any further down towards the guttering, he inched round to the front of the building. The front of the house had a small wall running the length of the roof. He kept as low as possible as he sneaked along the wall to avoid silhouetting himself on the skyline. If anyone had been looking out of the windows in the houses across the street, they would have seen the outline of a head bobbing along the apex of the roof. He trod carefully to the edge of this building and came to rest in the corner; he leaned on the wall and peered over the top.

  From this position he could see down the street where Jabara’s house was. The other side of the street was lined with a block of flats; from there he could get a good view of his target’s home. He made his way around to the side of the flats; with a small jump he reached the metal bars that ran the length the balconies which gave him a firm hold, and he pulled himself up, hand over hand, struggling under the weight of his bag until he reached the safety of the balcony, one storey above the roof tops of the surrounding houses.

  The individual balconies of the flats were separated by low walls about three feet high. He could now move the whole length of the street, just by hopping over the low separating walls.

  As he neared the point opposite Jabara’s house he paused in the shadows of an empty flat to look down on to his target’s home. It was a run-down terraced house – nothing special. No wonder he was trying to sue the government; it looked like the man had no money. The doors were shabby and the old wooden window frames looked as if they had cheap, insubstantial latches – a plus point for Cam. There was some security in the form of an alarm, but the box on the wall might well have been a fake. Like most people who couldn’t afford a decent security system, he had probably alarmed only the windows on the lower floor. ‘That’s how I’ll get in, through an upper floor window,’ Cam thought. ‘Keep it simple – always the best way – means there’s as little as possible to go wrong.’

  A couple of doors down the street from Jabara’s house, he noticed a home was being refurbished – a building site, complete with rubbish-tunnel emptying into a skip, slung from the upper floor. He would use that to get up on to the rooftop on that side of the street, then he could move along the roof and most probably enter the house using a rear window. He would have to get to street level from the third floor to cross the road to the building site. A very narrow alley separated the block of flats he was on from the next. If he was careful, he could lower himself down it, cross the street and in. Easy.

  ‘It’s getting late – I’m going to have to leave it for tomorrow, so that I’ll have the whole night,’ Cam thought. He took one last look down at the house and up and down the street. He needed to check that no one else was watching Jabara’s house. The security services might well be interested in the guy, especially as he was trying to get money out of the Government. With what he had planned for him, they should thank him – he was going to save them a million pounds. One million pounds! How could he have the nerve even to try? How could he possibly think he deserved it?

  He might have been in Guantanamo Bay, but people aren’t put there without evidence. He wouldn’t have been working in B&Q and arrested and sent off to Cuba for no reason. He had gone to Pakistan, saying that it was a holiday – however, you didn’t go to the war-torn north and settle down for a nice relaxing time on the border with Afghanistan. He had obviously attended a terrorist training camp before he was apprehended.

  Apparently he was ‘mentally scarred’ from the torture he underwent while in Cuba. Pathetic! What he’d gone through would have been nothing compared with what one of our guys would have had to endure when captured by them. Cam remembered the time when two American soldiers were systematically tortured to death over the course of four days. When their bodies where found they were unrecognisable and it took days to identify them. At the same time, news reports featured a group of Iraqi teenagers getting a beating from British soldiers. It was all recorded on a camera phone and somehow found its way to the media. What it didn’t show was what those teenagers were doing before the beating. For an entire week British soldiers were demonised – the evil ones – and all the while those American servicemen were going through hell. They didn’t even make the national news. Cam intended to make sure the man would get nothing. At least his death would be quick; he wouldn’t even know about it… and that was more than he deserved.

  Making his way back over the roofs, Cam mentally listed the equipment he would need. Next time he would carry only what he needed for his mission.

  * * * * * * *

  The next night Cam was back, watching, and waiting. Jabara’s house was quiet, and a bluish light was flickering through the living room window; somebody was watching television.

  All day Cam had been mentally preparing for the night’s events. Could he take another life? Had he not taken enough? Throughout his time with the ambulance service, Cam had seen so many people who should have lived long, healthy lives, but had been cut down by some random accident or circumstance – and there were some who did not even deserve to live… who barely lived what others could recognise as a life, and they lived on. Usually claiming benefits…

  Tonight he would make Jabara pay for all he had done, and for what he was currently trying to do. It still burned Cam up inside that the man was going to claim against the British Government for his alleged torture, but now he had to remain calm, cool and clinical. In and out – nobody needed to know. Just like last time.

  He inhaled deeply and took in the smells of the local area. Cam remembered visits to his grandmother’s house, in an area where the comforting smell of burning fossil fuels permeated the air, but all he could smell that night was a community divided – a community caught between two cultures.

  He retraced his route of the previous evening, clambering up to the balconies of the block of flats across the road from his target house. He waited for the lights of one of the flats to go out, for the occupants to turn off their living-room lights, TVs and go to bed. Then, if he was careful he could sneak past unnoticed.

  He moved slowly up to the edge of the balcony window so he could just see in. What he saw was a frail old couple watching TV. Did it look like they knew what they were watching? He couldn’t tell. To pass the window he could either get down on his belly and kitten-crawl across, or do what was called a ‘Commando Cross’. Another expression Cam hated; it seemed so American. He had been shown how to do it by a US Navy SEAL, and he had to admit that it did work.

  It meant he could spin past without the unsuspecting couple spotting him. No matter what they had been through in their lives, they were now about to be part of something big – they were just not aware of it yet.

  He squatted with his back to the wall, immediately to one side of the sliding door opening on to the balcony. His movement had to be executed as fast and as smoothly as possible. The theory was to cross past the glass door while spinning a full three-hundred-and-sixty degrees, finishing up in the same position on the other side of the door – it was quicker and smoother than simply walking past and had the advantage that as you spun past you could briefly see into the room. That way he could watch for a reaction from the room’s occupants.

  Cam stretched his leg into the couple’s possible field of vision – un-noticed. They were still glued to the television. In one movement he spun across towards the other side of the sliding doors. He glimpsed the couple as he moved. They had no idea he was there. Probably the most exciting thing that would ever happen to them. ‘Ignorance is bliss,’ Cam thought.

  Now at the far side of the run of balconies, he looked down to street level. The alley was very narrow, just over a shoulder’s width. Arms outstretched, Cam lowered himself down, bracing his back against the wall with his feet on the opposite side. Taking his full weight on his thighs, he l
owered himself towards the ground, then repeated the process, pressing his back against the wall. In no time he was down. The alley was obviously being used as a tip by the local residents and was nearly ankle deep with rubbish, making it difficult to move without making any noise. He lifted his feet high to avoid disturbing the trash. It was then that the most unfortunate piece of bad timing occurred.

  Just as he was carefully placing his right foot down through the newspapers and plastic bags, a group of young Asian lads passed the entrance to the alley. A metallic crunch from a discarded can echoed down the length of the passage way.

  Cam froze. There was a brief muttering between the lads, then one of them peered into the alley. Cam didn’t move. He concentrated on being a shadow. He was no more than four or five metres from the young man, and he was conscious of his own breathing – could hear his heart beating. However, with the back-light of the street it must surely be impossible to see him in the dark passage. Cam felt comfortable once he realised that he was invisible. The group moved off, talking. To Cam it felt as if they were patrolling the neighbourhood.

  * * * * * * *

  Peering out from the shadows, Cam stared down the street. The left side was empty. To the right the gang of youths was disappearing out of view. Cam looked over the street to the building site, and thought, ‘It’s now or never.’ Leaving the cover of the alley he swiftly walked across the road, trying to look as casual as possible. He felt exposed under the brightness of the street lights. When he arrived at the builder’s tunnel he took one last look around. With the coast clear he climbed into the skip and entered the dusty plastic tunnel. On his hands and knees he clambered up to the second floor of the building.

  Dusting himself off, he looked over the rooftops to the target’s house and quickly moved along the row until he was on Jabara’s roof. He carefully climbed over the top to reach the rear of the property. Lying flat, he peered over the guttering and identified the window he would use as his entry point. It had a wide windowsill that looked strong enough to take his weight.