Double Bind

by Karen Bell

  It was not a question that required her to answer and Mila held eye contact although inside she was shrivelling. ‘

  ‘You have been told, I understand, that you will be coming with me on my private jet tonight? Have you ever been to Kiev Mila? I think you will fit right in.’

  At his comment, she felt the cold chill of fear settle through her. She knew enough about people smuggling, enough about the proliferation of crime in that part of the world to know how easily they could make her disappear. If he was planning to take her on his private jet to the Ukraine, there would be no rescue after the wheels left the tarmac. She could only imagine what might be in store for her and only pray that there would be some form of security to pass through before boarding. Mila wondered how they planned to get over the hurdle of her lack of passport and she silently vowed that she would not be getting on any plane without first giving them the fight of her life.

  She tried to meet Maslak’s gaze with as much courage as she could muster, given that she was sitting on the floor and he above her. Until now, he had viewed her only as a victim and possibly some of the other labels Robert had so lavishly applied, but if he could see her as something more, it might somehow improve her chances or better her circumstances if he succeeded in taking her.

  ‘There are people who will search for me you know, people who won’t stop looking. I have family, friends, and I am more valuable to you here, where I can access the money my husband owed, than if you take me with you.’

  ‘Your husband’s money is petty cash compared to the importance of this deal and you are far more valuable to me here now, and tomorrow back in Kiev where I have further plans for you. Your friends and family will get nowhere with their investigations. Money talks in the Ukraine and you will find that I am very influential over there. I too have family and friends, but they are all in high ranked positions in government offices, the Militsiya and the Polizia.’

  She didn’t doubt that he was telling the truth and she felt her bravado withering and said nothing more.

  Maslak picked up the plastic tape and handed it to Sergei. ‘Make sure she stays quiet while the deal goes down. Just a few more hours and we will be on our way.’

  Mila sensed more than one door closing when they left the room.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  Ryan tried to remind himself that it was a huge home side advantage that Mila had managed to get out the location of the warehouse in advance of the container delivery. It gave the SRG the whole day to get their men and plans in place ahead of the raid. Of course the success of the whole sting hinged on the location being genuine and not a carefully contrived set-up, but Jack’s interest in the place had at least convinced Ryan that Mila had been there at some time and he could only prey that she hadn’t been moved since.

  By seven am, thirty operatives including the special ops force and heads of all other relevant departments had gathered in the planning room. Ryan was impressed by how quickly they’d pulled themselves together.

  Tony chaired the meeting, having spent the previous two hours with Ryan drawing up a timeline and plan of action, the giant white board, now littered with notes and diagrams. Photos of the key suspects were copied and handed out too.

  It was planned to use the cover of darkness in their favour by not releasing the container until 8 p.m. by which time all systems should be well and truly ready to go.

  The consignees had arranged their own freight forwarding and truck transport. Tactical intelligence had come to the conclusion that the delivery driver would most likely be on the smugglers’ payroll and it was therefore too risky to replace him with one of their own. Instead, it was decided to stick with the original idea to track the container, allowing it to drive into the warehouse and begin offloading before the team moved in. The plan was to block the exit, and storm the premises with an armoured vehicle in order to catch them in the middle of the deal.

  There would be road-blocks ready to move in immediately after the delivery entered the cul de sac and snipers on the rooftops of the surrounding warehouses. Two search helicopters would also be ready and manned at Kingsford Smith airfield, waiting for a signal that the raid was underway.

  Ryan could only hope that Mila wouldn’t be caught in the inevitable cross-fire and knew that he was labouring the point when he went to great lengths to remind the team more than once that this was also a hostage situation. He couldn’t help sensing that some of his colleagues felt inconvenienced to have to think first, shoot later.

  Back at Port Botany an hour later, the search of both ships continued, for no other reason than to divert suspicion away from the real operation. Ryan finally took a break and picked up his phone to return Adie’s message. He had dreaded the call but could delay no longer and as expected, he found her frantic. Further, after not hearing from anyone for nearly three days, she had alerted Mila’s daughter Holly who was now on her way back to Sydney in a state of panic too.

  ‘I know you’re concerned but I can’t divulge what’s going on at this stage,’ explained Ryan, whose smoke screen was met with a barrage of what he could only imagine were Colombia’s finest swear words.

  ‘Tell me! Has she been kidnapped? How much danger is she in?’ cried Adie, her voice so hysterical that Ryan was forced to hold the receiver away from his ear.

  ‘I can’t tell you except to say that it’s serious. Very serious, but we have a big team of the best operatives working on it. I want her safely home as much as you do.’

  ‘It’s your fault she’s in this position isn’t it?’

  He was silent, the accusation not unwarranted.

  ‘I’m coming to the station, with my husband and Holly when she gets here. We want answers.’

  ‘I’m not at the station, but it will be safer all-round if you go and wait there until I call. Oh, and please don’t allow Holly to go to her mother’s home in between. We won’t know anything more until tonight. I’m sorry. I have to go now.’ He hung up, feeling even more responsible than before.

  The remainder of the day was spent in searching the last of the containers that they could get to on the list, but Ryan’s brain was elsewhere, trying to envisage and plan for every possible scenario and nuance within, every one of an infinite combination of occurrences and outcomes. The stakes would have been high enough, without the gnawing fear now chewing holes in his belly, trying to addle his thoughts and screw with his confidence. He was unable to put a hold on the terrible sense of inadequacy that was spiralling through him.

  He received updates, letting him know as the plan fell into place: men in position; early containers offloaded; unmarked cars parked in nearby streets with roadblocks ready inside. Ryan was edgy with anticipation, counting the minutes until he and Jack could get on his bike and head back to the warehouse.

  He’d had to beg Tony to be allowed to take the bike and beg again to bring Jack. Neither were standard police issue but Ryan wanted the Ducati at his disposal if it became necessary to give chase. He didn’t want to be hindered by their own roadblocks and preferred the capabilities and the advantages of the bike over a car.

  He’d planned to park next door, close to the hole in the fence, where he’d climbed though in the early hours of the morning. There was access from another street into that lot and once parked behind some signage there would be no chance that the bike could be seen from the warehouse compound.

  Was he doing the right thing by taking the dog along? Jack was well past his physical prime and he had risked his life in the line of duty more than once. Ryan was torn, wanting to put the dog’s safety first, but knowing that with Jack, they stood the best chance of finding her.

  Special ops forces would be manning the armoured vehicle, backed up from behind. Ryan planned to enter the compound through that same opening on the side of the property through which he’d gained access before. From there he could force entry from the back or head around the front into the thick of the fight if necessary. Three sides of the compound were full
y fenced off, ensuring that anyone trying to exit by car would have to make it down the side drive and out through the front, which was where the majority of their firepower would be.

  It was all brilliant in theory, but almost immediately, their well laid plans began to go astray. No sooner was the container with its hidden GPS attached, given the green light to leave the Port, when it took a different route than expected, leaving them scrambling to bring in additional units and deciding whether to redirect others. Ryan hearing all this by radio while en route, immediately got that cold, sinking feeling that the warehouse had been a decoy and the text message part of a clever ruse. He experienced the full rollercoaster of emotions when a few minutes later, the change in direction proved to be a simple detour, the driver stopping briefly to collect someone before getting back on track.

  The next he heard, surveillance had logged two more vehicles carrying a total of six passengers entering the warehouse compound and parking around the back. The passengers couldn’t be identified as they’d disappeared into the offices beyond view, but licence plates had been traced and one of the cars found registered to a high-ranking member of the Comancheros. Police hadn’t anticipated the cache being handed over immediately on its delivery to the warehouse. It was a double-edged sword, promising a bigger take-down if all went to plan, but exponentially increasing the risks of casualties and possible failure. Bikers, always armed, were an unpredictable and potentially deadly layer to contend with.

  Ryan’s anxiety was getting the better of him. He sensed himself teetering on some precipice at a breathless altitude; the straining wires of nervous tension digging deeply into his shoulders and back. He stretched his neck and shook his head to try and clear the demons.

  Under the cover of darkness, he pulled quietly into position behind the fence. He could already see two sentries positioned on the front corners of the building and a third at the front gate waiting for the truck’s arrival, now only a few minutes away. It was too soon to act and he indicated for Jack to drop to his haunches while they waited. Time stood still, measured only by the rhythmic pounding of Ryan’s heart behind his bulletproof vest.

  He heard the air brakes of the twenty-two wheeler before it came into view, rounding the corner, massive, and altogether out of place at that time of the evening in the dead-end street. The gates swung open and from his vantage point, Ryan could see the driver hand over hand several times on the steering wheel to make the sharp turn inside. The roller door opened, giving the marksmen, concealed on the rooftop opposite, their first glimpse of what lay inside.

  ‘At least ten in the warehouse, possibly more out back,’ the low whisper came through Ryan’s earpiece. ‘No sign of hostage,’ he added as though reading Ryan’s thoughts. The huge truck, hydraulic crane and all, was swallowed up inside the building. He heard the roller door come down noting that two of the watchmen had gone inside after the truck, leaving only one out front closing the gates and watching down the street.

  Ryan was at this stage the only man in a good position to take him down if he could creep up on him from behind, but it was too soon. The original idea was to wait for the container to be offloaded. He whispered the idea through his mouthpiece, and was instructed to go ahead once he could hear the sound of the crane moving. He motioned for Jack to stay, before easing himself through the broken fencing, and took cover again in the dark path alongside the building.

  The trouble with a sucker punch was that it was a fine line between not knocking the person out, and accidentally killing him. Ryan knew from experience that it wasn’t like the movies. There was no magic point on the head or neck guaranteed to deliver predictable results. Stun guns were great for disabling, but there was every chance that the victim would cry out in pain and it was never wise to clamp a hand over someone’s mouth while they had thousands of volts of electricity coursing through them. Ryan concluded - rightly or wrongly, because in that moment he couldn’t remember his training - that the safest outcome in a stealth situation like this one was to choke the guy out from behind, then gag and cuff him before he came to. He wasn’t practiced at the manoeuvre, and didn’t want to kill the guy, but with limited options, it was this one that he chose.

  A couple of agonising minutes later, he heard the sound of the crane’s hydraulics followed by the vibration of massive steel supports settling on the concrete floor. He didn’t hesitate, rushing up behind the solitary guard, putting his hands around the guy’s throat and squeezing while trying to avoid the flailing arms and legs. It was messier and taking longer than he would have hoped and Ryan abandoned the action midway in order to knock the guy out with a quick hook to the jaw after all. Within seconds, he’d dragged him to the side of the building and whistled for Jack to come through, before running back to open the gates.

  Seemingly out of nowhere, their own armoured vehicle hurtled into sight and through the gates. It picked up more speed before slamming into the roller door which came clean out of its tracks on one side, opening a yawning gap through which TRT operatives now poured, barking orders with guns poised.

  Ryan had hoped for enough time to get himself and Jack to the back of the building before the onslaught began, but he was less than halfway down the narrow side path with Jack in tow, when he heard the crash of the vehicle closely followed by the earth shattering sounds of gunfire splitting the night air. He didn’t wait for Jack as he rounded the corner, and was relieved to see the back hardstand with cars parked but no people. He ran to the door and shot through the lock, hurling a flashbang down the long corridor before him. Jack caught up just as two TRT operatives rounded the corner from the driveway to secure the back. The brief explosion of light had revealed numerous doorways on either side, and Ryan yelled to Jack, to find Mila. Every door he approached was locked and he began kicking them in one at a time, not wanting to risk a bullet in case she was inside. She was not in either of the first two rooms, and as he emerged, Ryan could hear chaos around him both through his earpiece and also through the thin internal walls leading to the main warehouse.

  The dozen or so police units that had followed the Tactical Response Team had immediately set up a blockade outside the compound to stop cars and gunmen on foot trying to shoot their way out, but they now found themselves under attack from the rear as well, as pickup vans, manned by Comancheros arrived, expecting to collect the cache. The bikies wasted no time in pulling out their weapons and opening fire on the unsuspecting police from behind.

  Meanwhile, in the main combat zone of the warehouse, the driver of the lorry had scrambled back into his vehicle and was trying to reverse it towards the exit, but the container was still hooked up and screaming with the drag of metal along the concrete floor. The whole rig jack-knifed before tipping over at a precarious angle, effectively blocking the warehouse entry from that side. Judging by the obscene level of noise and gunfire that assaulted Ryan through the walls and in stereo through his earpiece, there was carnage going on inside and no way for police reinforcements to get through.

  Over it all, Ryan heard Jack barking and he ran towards the sound. Like the others before, this door was locked and Ryan put his boot and a body full of adrenalin into the kick and watched it shatter. Stepping over splinters, he scanned the room but couldn’t see her, despair knifing through him, at the realisation that he was too late. For a dreadful moment he was at a loss for which way to go, where to look next, fear gripping him, when Jack gave a loud bark and disappeared behind the desk. Ryan followed, in time to see her cowering beneath, mouth taped and wrists tied tightly behind her, secured to the heavy desk. At the sound of Jack’s bark she had opened her eyes and looked to Ryan now, as if not quite believing what she saw.

  ‘Mila,’ her name choked in his throat as relief surged through him. ‘We’re getting you out of here.’ He lifted the corner of the desk with one hand and worked the plastic cables off the leg of it with the other. He slipped his arm around her back to help her stand, but before he could either cut the ties or remo
ve the tape covering her mouth, she began to make frantic noises, her eyes widening as she looked behind him towards the door. Ryan swung around, instinctively blocking her with his body while grabbing for his Glock, but before he could draw it, he saw the form standing in the doorway, arm raised and already squeezing the trigger.

  The bullet caught him in the ribs and blew him onto his side. Even as he hit the floor, Ryan realised that his vest had taken the brunt of a large calibre bullet, and dispersed the force across his chest, but that didn’t stop the radiating pain of the hit, lungs left deflated and screaming for air, his diaphragm paralysed by the blow. His mouth opened and closed his like a fish as his brain on a subconscious level willed him to breath.

  His gun had been knocked clean out of his hand and he watched wild-eyed, as Mila was dragged from the room and Jack was silenced with a kick to the head as he lunged after their attacker.

  It was maybe twenty seconds before Ryan could stand and another ten before he found his gun, and staggered out the office door. Thirty seconds in which Mila had been manhandled, down the corridor and out the back door. Thirty seconds in which she was thrown like a ragdoll into a waiting car that was now smashing through the hurricane mesh separating one property from the next and disappearing into the distance.

  Ryan saw it go, but had no time to shoot, no time to go back and check on Jack or to tell the dog to take cover. He tore down the side path towards his bike without slowing, screaming through his mouthpiece for backup. One of his own men had been lying in his path, just outside the back door, eyes open and vacant, a pool of blood on the hardstand ground beneath him. Ryan flinched at the sight but didn’t stop. His colleague was clearly dead, while Mila was still alive.

  He could see the searchlights of the two choppers on the move, rounding in over the mayhem taking place out the front. ‘Black Range Rover! Which way is it heading?’ he yelled frantically to the operator. Ryan was on his bike, throttle fully open as the bike flattened around the corner of the driveway and lurched into the street that led back to where he’d last seen the getaway vehicle.