After all, it would solve all their problems in one simple finale, since the whole damned business depended on his being kidnapped alive.
The commander of the secret service contingent turned around in the presidential vehicle and addressed the president.
‘It’s hopeless sir, unless we concede they’ll kill us all one by one until they get you.’
President Garner looked at the crumpled figure of his chief of staff and then glanced at his wide eyed security advisor.
‘What do you think we should do guys -- shall we give in peacefully or what?’ Ellen Monard blinked mechanically, trying her best to pull herself together.
‘It depends what they have in mind sir...if they just want to kill us, they would have done it by now, we’re a sitting duck for that rocket launcher.’
The president looked at his personal secret service agent sitting in the rear with his pistol drawn ready to defend his boss. He put his hand on his shoulder.
I didn’t want to instigate this Steve, but I think now is the time,’ the agent nodded knowingly, replaced his gun in its holster and removed his jacket.
Government House Lawn
A police helicopter landed just two metres short of the driveway on the carefully manicured lawns of government House, Roger Jansen jumped out, laying his head low to avoid spinning rotor blades. Seconds later he was standing in front of the defence and police ministers with the PM shaking his hand, the FBI director hovered sullenly in the back ground.
‘Welcome commander Jansen, we’re terribly pushed for time so I’ll hand you directly over to Harry Lincoln the FBI director for briefing,’ Lincoln quickly explained the situation and the acting US presidents plan for using the marker bullets on president Garner. Jansen couldn’t suppress a laugh and likened it to the embedding of an identity capsule into a pet dog. In a way he admired the Americans for their forthright objectivity and lack of emotional sentimentality, but worried about the political and moral implications of implanting their top politician with a device, which spelt almost certain death for the ailing president. Still, they had their duties and he had his, it was just a matter of putting the two together.
The PM finally stepped forward, and took Jansen by the arm, speaking quietly in his ear, as he lead him to the door.
‘We are very grateful for this commander,’ Jansen grimaced slightly.
‘Maybe I shouldn’t be asking this sir, but why haven’t we picked them all off with sniper fire?’ The FBI director looked meekly at Jansen and reluctantly answered his question.
‘Because commander, they thought of the idea first, as a result the secret service has been practically annihilated by BIB sniper fire. The president’s life is now very much in danger...beyond that, lets just say some things are better left unsaid,’ Jansen pursed his lips and looked straight ahead.
‘Right then -- lets do it gentlemen,’the defence minister issued a few more instructions.
‘We’ll take you in at the old Hyde Park railway end, there’s a disused rail tunnel leading to a steel door which opens half way along the cross city tunnel. Its normally kept locked for security purposes, its handy for maintenance of the tunnel and the odd emergency. Jansen smiled wryly.
‘You mean like this one sir?’
‘Exactly.’
‘Good, well we’ve certainly got the odd emergency sir,’chided Jansen, trying to make light of the situation. The PM smiled a genuine smile and shook Jansen’s hand.
‘I wish you the best of luck commander, we are all counting on you,’ Jansen raised his own feeble smile which came out looking like a twisted grimace. The defence minister lead him into the outer office where a police car and a sergeant stood waiting.
‘We’ve organised sergeant June Thompson to go with you, she has extensive experience in Sydney’s old railway tunnels. Jansen shook hands with the forty year old female sergeant who wore a gray denim overall, with her hair tucked under a matching ski hat, she looked pleased to be in the loop.
They both climbed in the car and headed for northern entrance to Hyde Park dodging a build up of traffic along the way, Jansen ran the police vehicle up the curb and onto the park turf, stopping the car in the middle of the Domain and cutting out further traffic hassles.
Taking cloth kit bags from the boot, Jansen locked the car and Sergeant Thomson lead the way across the park, and down the subway steps, moving into a side tunnel, which came within fifty metres of the cross city tunnel. A large rusting steel door blocked their way.
Sergeant Thompson patted the door...’Beyond this sir, is a partly finished passage, which leads directly into the cross city tunnel; there’s another steel door at the end of it, there’s no lighting beyond this point.’
‘Okay sergeant, open her up,’ Thompson inserted a key in the large pad lock securing the door and pulled the lock from the retaining steel flanges. They both grasped the handles attached to the door and pulled as hard as they could -- the door barely moved. Jansen retrieved a crowbar from his kit bag and shoved it in the gap between the two doors.
‘You pull as hard as you can sergeant ...at the count of three,’ Jansen counted to three and rammed the crowbar harder in the small opening, jacking it open with all the force he could muster. The right hand door groaned like a bass organ pipe as it scraped along the rough cement floor -- a drastic demarcation appeared where the concrete slab ended and raw brown earth began. Jansen peered into the dark void and shone his flashlight down the burrow like passage.
‘I see what you mean by an unfinished work,’ the air was dank with an odorous tinge of mold, ancient cobwebs littered the uneven roof and pools of moisture dotted the floor. Thompson sniffed the air gracefully and grimaced, ’That’s residual tear gas sir...its managed to get onto the disused tunnel.
‘You’ve better smell than I have sergeant, I can’t detect a thing.’
‘Maybe its because your male sir...we women tend to have a nose for scents.’
‘That’s just as well sergeant, we might just need it at yon end,’ he pulled the lift hand door open, and they both wearily made their way down the passage.
Chapter Thirty-two
The second steel door was coated in dowdy battleship gray with paint peeling off in large streaks; rust stains corroded the metal, even though this door had obviously received much better care than its cousin. Jansen likened the rust pattern to a Jackson Pollack painting he’d seen in a Canberra art exhibition -- nature did have some hidden talents of her own he mused. Thompson used the same key to open the verdigris coated padlock. Water vapour and traffic pollution had taken its toll on the fixture. Jansen looked solemnly at the sergeant.
‘We’d better kill our flashlights, I’d hate to get shot at this stage.’
They struggled with the door in the inky blackness and a shaft of fluorescent light from the city tunnel found its way in. Reflections from off white tiles on the city tunnel walls cast scintillating flashes of light off the steel door. Jansen crept into the tunnel keeping closely pressed to the walls. He motioned Thompson to follow.
The scene was absolute devastation, with twisted and blackened vehicles running the length of the tunnel road way. It was the equal of the worst scenes of any global war he had ever witnessed -- a veritable microcosmic Armageddon
Mist and vapour tainted with cordite filled the air. Bodies, most of then in black jump outfits and police uniforms, peppered the roadway. The occasional terrorist corpse stood out by way of its casual attire and unshaven countenance.
Jansen checked his bearings, they had obviously entered half way along the city tunnel, and the action, if any, was further up front. He could see two silhouetted figures approaching and he drew his Glock pistol for the first time.
The leading figure whispered as he approached... ‘We’re police officers commander...don’t shoot.’
It was commander Steve Dennison of the federal police who had been expecting Jansen and sergeant Thompson.
‘You’re just in time commander, we ha
ve a lull situation, they have given us thirty minutes to.clear the tunnel or they’ll shoot the US chief of staff, and we only have fifteen minutes left.’
‘I see, can I speak to the leader of BIB.’
‘Yes we have him on mobile...just press re-dial,’ Jansen pressed the re-dial button and listened intently. The earpiece crackled and an accented, impatient, male voice came over the line.
‘Hello...we’re still waiting for confirmation of our demands.’
‘This is commander Roger Jansen speaking, we are conforming with your request, but we have a problem.’
‘Well you’d better bloody well solve it then hadn’t you, or it’s good-bye to the American bigwigs.’
‘You must understand...we can’t just let you go like that. We must at least have some conformation that you have the American president...for all we know he may be dead.’
‘He will be if you don’t stop wasting time.’
‘Please let us see him in the flesh; we will not come any closer than ten metres...I give you my word,’ Farid Kazeni laughed harshly into his mobile.
‘You are in no position to demand anything commander. Now get the fucking tunnel exit cleared or we will shoot the chief of staff, the security advisor, and the four security agents we have captured.’
‘Listen to me...we are both rational men, you want the president, we accept that one hundred percent, and we are willing to give you total freedom of action to wherever you want...if that is Tehran, then you have carte blanch all the way there. All we ask is that you let all other hostages free in exchange,’ Kazeni stiffened and held his pistol to the Ellen Monard’s head and started to squeeze the trigger. Sharazi laid his hand softly on Kazeni’s shoulder.
‘Don’t shoot her Farid...this will only escalate matters and harden their resolve. We have the president -- he is our ticket to Tehran -- as long as we have their top man we will be safe.
Kazeni stared at his number two with a mixture of hate and frustration. He detested ambivalent situations but he knew Sharazi was right, in spite of the standard tactics of the BIB when dealing with hostages.
The BIB had duplicated most of the FBI procedures, and they had taken them from FBI information releases over the years. The important ones were rigorously applied, especially two of them: .keep the opposition off balance by keeping communication short and succinct, and the second was supremely simple - let them know who was in charge.
Kazeni had smirked often enough over the FBI public domain news issues, which revealed their tactics and methods in most situations...they thought they were so bloody smart, but it was collective conceit by way of bragging to the public, which gave their secrets away.
Paradoxically, the more hostages you had, the poorer were your chances of getting away cleanly. It was a fine balance and anything which provoked its stability could be fatal.
Kazeni relaxed his grip on Ellen Monard and spoke firmly into his mobile.
‘We have a deal commander, but it will be done on our terms. You will immediately clear the tunnel exit and allow our helicopter to land on the freeway. All hostages will be retained until we reach the helicopter. You will allow us total free passage out of your country and safe passage to Tehran; any interference will result in the presidents instant death.’
‘Agreed,’ Jansen hastily replied, ‘but you must let all other hostages free...I personally guarantee you free exit direct to Tehran. But first we must check that you actually have the president alive and well,’ Kazeni immediately cocked his weapon and put it to the president’s head. Sharazi placed his arm once again on his leaders shoulder.
‘We have the president, these extra hostages will only slow us down. Let us now get out of here while we still can,’ Kazeni remained stony faced and shoved his weapon into the presidents neck.
‘All right, but this guy stays glued to me dead or alive.’
Jansen squinted at his sergeant and commander Jones.
‘You two advance towards the president’s car and check that he is okay, don’t go any nearer then five metres,’ Dennison pulled a face.
‘Where are you going commander?’ Jansen produced the high power, silenced air rifle, from his back pack.
‘I’m hoping for a bulls eye...keep them occupied for at least four minutes,’ he crouched low and scurried behind the nearest burnt out motorcade vehicle, then made his way slowly towards the lead car.
He could see the two terrorists near the bonnet of the president’s large bullet proof Lincoln limousine. A tassel haired man with gray beard had a mobile to his ear and a gun pointing at the two US politicians. The second man was younger, with shaved hair and pock marked face, he held the president in an arm lock with a pistol in his back. There were two disarmed security agents laying on the floor their hands behind their heads. Both were bleeding from face and head wounds received from several severe pistol whippings.
Ellen Monard had a profoundly shocked air about her features and stared morosely at the floor. The chief of staff, the largest man in the group, crouched over her and held her hand, seemingly comforting her.
Jensen moved silently amongst the vehicle wreckage until he had a good view of the president’s rear, but remained well hidden from the terrorists. He took careful aim at the US politicians buttocks, which were just level with the Lincoln limousines bonnet. The car was heavilly marked with shrapnel, and bullet holes, which had ricochetted off the special armour.
Easing off the trigger of the rifle for a second sighting, he wiped his sweat coated hands on paper tissue from his jump suit pocket. It was then he had a sudden brain wave as his hand brushed against his holstered Glock pistol.
He was at that moment in target range and two dissidents stood with their backs against him -- it would be a simple matter to shoot both men in the back in quick succession with his Glock, then rescue the hostages in one final swoop.
He checked himself -- was this an ego impulse -- the egotistical desire to save the day and be top dog regardless of the effect on others.
More seconds ticked by as Jansen went through his possible options keeping his ego in mind. He’d been focusing on the immediate action, but his peripheral vision revealed Sergeant Thompsom and commander Johns directly in his line of fire. A check around the tunnel also revealed groups of men with RPG’s standing in the background at either end of the tunnel, as well as police personnel at the rear of them.
Any attempt at a violent rescue would almost certainly end in a catastrophic shoot out between all parties. It was actually possible to save the president from BIB’s clutches and his subsequent trial -- but the price in police lives would be too high, which lead to his next question. How many lives was a US president worth?
The question lingered in his brain as he took careful aim at the president’s glutimus maximus muscles and the answer to the question forced him to squeeze the trigger.
There was a faint pop and the president suddenly dropped a little, as if his legs had temporarily given way. Ellen Monard snapped out of her morbid trance and propped the president up with her right arm. The president smiled weakly, reassuring her with a pat of his hand, that he was okay,’ Jansen beamed, the FBI director was right, the special bullets had the propensity to enter tissue without provoking excessive pain. Garner must have accepted the slight stabbing feeling in his buttock as a symptom of his general condition.
Jack Magnus stared hard at Monard as the president’s legs started to buckle again and a dark stain appeared down his trouser leg. Liquid began to pool around his shoes.Monard returned his stare and whispered in his ear.
‘Sorry sir...but bodily functions continue 24/7 even for a president,’ Garner felt a twinge of embarrassment as he caught the small talk between his remaining staff members. He was now waxing and waning between basic consciousness and a semi-stuporose state. Although still aware of his surroundings; he found it difficult to communicate verbally.
The close presence of his female security advisor was reassuring along with the comfor
ting aroma of her L’Oréal perfume as it wafted past his nostrils. Involuntarily his lungs expended and he breathed in deeply savouring the relaxing scent.
Jansen took one last lingering look at the situation, then pressed the re-dial button on his mobile phone. The prime minister answered.
‘HQ, PM here...’
‘Hello sir, the bullet has been successfully embedded,’ Jansen could hear shoots of joy at the other end of the line as the PM passed on the news. It was as if the whole ghastly incident had suddenly been solved, when in fact, the crisis had hardly begun.
‘You can tell the police minister to get everybody out of the tunnel immediately,’commander Jones passed on the order and signalled to the terrorist that the way would be clear for them to go. Kazeny and Sharazi looked relieved and seized the president, dragging him between them towards the tunnels western exit.
Jack Magnus and Ellen Monard reluctantly let go of their top man; both with tears in their eyes. Garner, his face drawn and body sagging, showed no emotion as he was swept away from his last civilized anchorage point, his fate now cast to the machinations of the BIB.
Magnus and Monard both walked into the arms of sergeant Thomson and commander Jones, hugging each other as the BIB horde exited the tunnel. Three of the secret service agents joined the group as they comforted each other. For the Australian authorities the worst was now over, but for the Americans, the worst was yet to come.
Jansen watched the two terrorists drag the president down the tunnel, followed by the rest of the BIB team shouting and shaking their RPG launchers and machine guns in the air in triumph. They had won their battle with the Australian authorities but the price had been high...too high for the Americans, recrimination, accusation and retaliation would now follow.
Chapter Thirty-three
Tehran Decree Page 12
