Vengeance hh-2

by Jarkko Sipila

  Osku hurried to the window, pried the cardboard aside and saw the squad car at the curb with its cherries flashing. He pulled out the AK-47 assault rifle that had been stashed behind the sofa. There was no need to load-a full magazine was already inserted with a cartridge in the chamber. He pushed the safety all the way down, setting it on full-automatic.

  Niko and Roge, standing behind the bar now, were holding their handguns. Osku was positioned opposite them, near the pool table. Just as he was preparing to unleash a barrage of bullets out the window at the cruiser, a shout came from the stairwell.

  “Police!”

  Osku glanced at Niko, who raised his gun.

  In the corner of his eye, he saw an object fly about ten feet from him, bounce off the pool table and land on the sofa behind it. Another one hurtled toward Niko and Roge.

  The explosion was deafening and the image of the instant before the blast was seared into Osku’s eyes. He blinked frantically, struggling to locate the top of the stairs, then swung the assault rifle in that direction.

  Fuck, thought Osku. With his vision and hearing off line, it was the only thing going through his mind. If they were coming up the stairs, they’d be at the top right around now. He raised the weapon to his shoulder and squeezed the trigger hard.

  Fragmented thoughts swirled through Osku’s mind. This was just the situation Larsson had been talking about. Surrender to no one. Fight fire with fire. That was all that mattered. Only that.

  Osku couldn’t hear the shots, but he felt the rifle bucking against his shoulder. The rounds departed toward the doorway. In a few seconds his vision would recover. A second magazine lay on the sofa waiting its turn. He could find it by groping around with his free hand.

  Osku felt the lurching of the gun as the AK-47 spit out a volley of shells toward the doorway. He could see nothing but the ghosted image of the stairwell, and he paused briefly as the white light gave way to red. After that, he squeezed the trigger once more. The rifle fired the final bullets from the magazine.

  * * *

  The S.W.A.T. team poured up the stairs after the stun grenades. Despite having plugged his ears, Jack Saarinen’s were ringing. Just as he reached the top, a bullet ricocheted off his shield. The impact twisted his wrists, but the shield stayed put. He swung it toward the muzzle flashes and tried to retreat, but Eronen, who was charging forward just behind him, stumbled and collapsed on top of him.

  On the left, somebody unleashed another volley of shots. Jack couldn’t tell where the bullets were going, nor could he move with Eronen lying on top of him. He turned his head in the other direction, where the bar was supposed to be.

  Jack watched as a fat man behind the bar took a bullet in the forehead and half his face vanished. Where had the shot come from? Were the police shooting or was it the assault rifle? He wasn’t sure, but he didn’t think he had heard an MP5-all the shots had come from an assault rifle.

  He concluded that the hit had come from the shooter on the left. After that, the bullets zipped past well wide, but soon, the barrel swung back toward the door. The assault rifle rattled off another series of shots. The flash bangs had disoriented the man enough that he didn’t know where he was shooting.

  Jack tried to draw his pistol, but it was impossible with Eronen on top of him. The helpless officer could feel his partner shifting around.

  Downstairs, Eronen had ditched the shotgun and picked up his MP5. He spotted a man blindly firing next to the pool table and swung the barrel of the gun toward him. The red dot quickly found his face, then his forehead. Jack felt the muffled shudder of Eronen’s MP5 submachine gun.

  The man with the assault rifle collapsed to the ground. Jack knew that he was killed instantly. Eronen shuffled to his feet and Jack followed. The remaining officers piled in, stepping over the heavy shield. Jack drew his pistol from his belt holster and advanced into the room.

  Little by little, Jack’s hearing was returning to normal and he detected a faint whimpering on his right, like the whine of a dog. Eronen was kneeling down, pressing his knee into a muscled gangster’s spine. He twisted the man’s arms behind his back and slapped the cuffs on his wrists.

  “Anybody else here?” Eronen shouted.

  The whimpering continued and Jack realized it was coming from the man lying on the ground in cuffs.

  The officers quickly checked the upstairs rooms, but found nobody else. These three had been the only ones in the building, and of those, two were now dead.

  Jack snapped on the safety to his weapon and shoved it back into its holster.

  The unit leader grabbed Jack by the shoulder and looked into his eyes. “You alright?”

  He was still dazed, but nodded. “Yeah.”

  The unit leader put up his thumb and grinned faintly. “The guy emptied the entire magazine blind. Shit!”

  Jack heard the report through the earpiece. “All clear. No officers down. Two assailants dead and one under arrest. The other unit is checking the lower level.”

  The S.W.A.T officer pulled the helmet off his head and peeled the knit ski mask off his face. He lowered himself into the nearest chair. Only then did he notice one of the rear-guard officers dousing the flaming sofa with a fire extinguisher. Apparently, the flash bang had ignited the fabric.

  Jack began to cough from the smoke. His face was drenched in sweat, which he wiped away with his hood.

  * * *

  Takamäki stood in the yard of the Skulls’ compound, talking on his phone. The air had turned cold and the occasional fleck of sleet fell to the ground. Soon, it would freeze and the sleet would turn to snow, he thought.

  A half-dozen squad cars and an ambulance were parked in front of the building.

  “Two suspects are dead, and one under arrest,” Takamäki said into the phone. He’d been following the raid from the command vehicle a couple hundred yards away. As soon as they had gotten the “all clear,” the van had pulled into the yard.

  “What happened?” asked Honkala.

  “The S.W.A.T. team went in and one of the Skulls opened fire with a Kalashnikov. The Skulls’ bullets killed one of their own and an officer shot the guy with the AK. The third was arrested.”

  “Who were they?”

  “The fatalities were Niko Andersson, a full-fledged member, and Oskari Rahkonen, a prospect. This Osku is the one who shot Niko with the AK. Roger Sandström is under arrest.”

  Takamäki recalled his son’s stories about Osku’s little brother Ripa. A tragic event for a kid who idolized his older brother. The incident could affect him in two ways: either it would embitter him or it would frighten him. Difficult to say which way Ripa would swing.

  Honkala paused. “So Larsson and Steiner weren’t in the building?”

  Takamäki’s mind returned to the matter at hand. “No. We have no information on their whereabouts. I’ve been notified about the raids on their apartments. They found Larsson’s girlfriend, Sara Lehto, in his flat, and Steiner’s was empty. They’re bringing her downtown and forensics is going through both apartments.”

  “Son of a…,” Honkala growled on the other end.

  Takamäki glanced around the industrial area. So far, nobody but the police had arrived. “We raised quite a ruckus here, so I suppose the media will be here soon. We should probably make some kind of a statement.”

  “Yeah. We’ll put something together. I’ll call you when they have it roughed out.”

  The S.W.A.T. team filed out and the forensics team, decked out in white coveralls, was holding a briefing in the yard.

  “We’ll also need to inform the state prosecutor so he can evaluate the S.W.A.T. team’s conduct in connection with the fatalities.”

  “We’ll take care of that too,” said Honkala. “Have you heard anything from Nykänen or Suhonen?”

  “Not for a while now. They would’ve called if they found anyone.”

  “Pity,” said Honkala. “The undertaker’s tally for the day is two thugs, a police officer and a civilian.
This has got to stop.”

  Takamäki sighed. “You said it.”

  TUESDAY, OCTOBER 27

  CHAPTER 25

  TUESDAY, 3:20 A.M.

  SUHONEN’S APARTMENT, HELSINKI

  Suhonen awoke to his ringing phone. He groped around for it on the nightstand, coughed once, then answered.

  “Hello.”

  Suhonen heard the sobbing first. “Help me.”

  “Who is this?”

  “Salmela,” the man whispered.

  Suhonen bolted upright in bed. “What’s wrong? Where are you?”

  Salmela’s voice over the phone was quiet and halting.

  “They found me. The assholes found me…”

  “Who?”

  “Larsson and Steiner. They got me… But I got away… Hold on…” He fell silent.

  Suhonen waited. After about twenty seconds, Salmela whispered again. “It was nothing. They’re looking for me.”

  “Where are you?”

  “In the woods. Not sure exactly where. There’s a road nearby. Come pick me up.”

  Suhonen got to his feet and looked at the dark streets out the window. “I’ll come if I know where to find you.”

  “There’s some school over there. Probably that Russian school. I think…”

  Suhonen cut in. “You’re somewhere around the intersection of Beltway One and the Hämeenlinna Highway.”

  “Yeah,” Salmela whispered. “There’s some road…yeah…now I see it. I’m in the woods northeast of there. I see a kind of greenish house and a bus stop.”

  “How’d they find you?” Suhonen asked, pinching the phone between his shoulder and ear as he pulled on his jeans.

  “Over on Hämeen Street. In the courtyard of the employment office. They just appeared out of nowhere in a car. What happened to Ear-Nurminen? I don’t suppose he…”

  “Nurminen’s dead. They killed him.”

  “Goddammit!” He lowered his voice again. “I saw ’em go up the stairs. I didn’t dare go back.”

  “Good thing you didn’t. What happened after they found you?”

  “Hold on again…” said Salmela and the line fell silent.

  Suhonen pulled on his sweater. “What’s going on?”

  “Nothing. Just a car. I don’t really know for sure. They drove me here and started grilling me. I don’t really know, but at some point they left me alone and I got out the window.”

  “Go somewhere safe and hide. I’ll be there in a silver Peugeot in about fifteen.” Suhonen paused to consider his options. Were he to notify dispatch, the place would be crawling with cruisers and sirens. That could make Salmela’s situation even worse. It would be better if he picked up Salmela first and then sent in the troops to look for Larsson and Steiner.

  There was no time to explain the situation to the lieutenant on duty, Takamäki, Nykänen, nor Honkala. Every one of them would order him to wait. Waiting was not an option. The second Salmela was in his car, the tables would turn. His hiding spot was only about a ten-minute drive away. Suhonen pulled on his leather jacket in the entryway.

  “Listen,” said Salmela. “I didn’t know anything about the bomb.”

  “I believe you,” said Suhonen, twisting his feet into his shoes.

  “And that license plate. That Opel was at the Skulls’ compound a couple days ago. I saw it in the yard.”

  “Huh?”

  “Yeah, that agent said on TV that the license plate was AFR-something. Almost the same as my old Opel. I saw it in the Skulls’ garage.”

  “Lay low,” said Suhonen as he stepped out the door of his building. “I’ll be right there.”

  * * *

  The wet asphalt glowed in the pale light of the streetlamps. A thin layer of snow lay on the shoulder of the road and in random patches elsewhere.

  Suhonen parked his silver Peugeot at a bus stop on the shoulder and got out. According to the sign, route 47 stopped here. The green wooden house that Salmela had mentioned was on the left, and near that were several three-story white brick apartment buildings. The one-story buildings of the Russian-Finnish school were further back on the left. To his right was a dark thicket.

  This was the spot. Salmela was nowhere in sight, but the rows of street lights formed a bright tunnel from which it was impossible to see into the dark forest.

  Suhonen wondered if he should shout for Salmela, but if the gangsters were still out there looking for him, it probably wasn’t such a good idea. He lingered a while, but when Salmela didn’t show, Suhonen tried his phone.

  Salmela didn’t answer, but a text message came shortly.

  “Can’t talk. Hundred yards from bus stop. Red warehouse on the right.”

  Suhonen read the message and wondered why Salmela couldn’t talk. Was the situation that dire?

  Best to go check it out. He swung back into the car and headed down the narrow road. A good hundred yards up on the right was a narrow wooded road with no signs.

  He hesitated a moment, then swung the car onto the dirt road. Spruces flanked both sides of the road, which was covered in enough snow that he could tell no cars had been through lately. In the headlights up ahead, he saw the road curve gently to the right and end at a red wooden hut the size of a shipping container. There were no windows, at least not on the front. The wooden clapboards ran continuously from the foundation to the shed-style roof.

  Suhonen drove closer and waited to see if Salmela would come out. If the other side had a window, anyone inside would be able to see the glow from his headlights. But the little building seemed deserted. Suhonen wondered what kind of warehouse this was anyway. The location was strange. He knew that in the winter, snow was dumped in a nearby lot. Maybe the hut was used for that somehow.

  He stopped the car next to the hut. There was enough space in the yard for him to swing the car around.

  Suhonen stepped out and listened. The woods were quiet.

  “Salmela,” he whispered. Nobody answered, not even the trees. Suhonen had no intention of shouting.

  He waited there for a minute to let his eyes adjust to the dark. The zipper on his leather jacket was open for easy access to his Glock, which wasn’t drawn yet. Suhonen felt that a drawn weapon was a sign of fear. He wasn’t afraid of the dark, nor the unknown. Had he been, he may as well have applied for a desk job.

  He could see into the woods now, at least somewhat, and he circled the hut. As he reached the gable end, he noticed the red paint flaking off the walls. Aside from that, the building was in surprisingly good condition. He peeked around the corner. The back side had a door, and a small lone window on the far end, close to the eaves.

  Suhonen rounded the corner quietly. Only a few yards separated the building from the forest.

  He continued on to the door. There were two alternatives: either go straight inside or shout for Salmela. Suhonen thought briefly, drew his pistol, and without warning, jerked the door open.

  Salmela was kneeling on the floor. A piece of silver duct tape covered his mouth, but his eyes were directed to Suhonen’s right. Suhonen turned to look, dropped down and raised his weapon. In the corner, Rolf Steiner stood grinning, a pistol in his hand.

  Suhonen fired and the shot was deafening. The bullet hit Steiner in his right thigh and he fell to the floor.

  “Shi-it,” Steiner moaned, clutching his bleeding thigh.

  Suhonen kicked the man’s fallen gun into the corner and his eyes darted around the room. It was some sort of tool shed, or at least it had been, for all that was left was a vise, a couple of stools, some electrical equipment and ropes. Other than Steiner and Salmela, nobody else was there.

  Suhonen looked at the gangster. Blood was spilling onto the floor beneath his leg and the man was cursing in pain. With his gun off in the corner, Steiner seemed harmless, but “seemed” wasn’t good enough for Suhonen. He quickly checked the man’s pockets and tossed a bloody knife into the same corner, next to the gun.

  Suhonen knelt down in front of Salmela and jerked th
e tape off of his mouth. His hands were apparently tied behind his back.

  “You alright?” asked Suhonen.

  “Watch out,” Salmela managed to say, but Suhonen knew it was already too late. He felt the pressure of cold metal against the back of his head. Apparently, his ears were still ringing so loudly he hadn’t heard the door open.

  “Hello,” said Tapani Larsson coldly. “Drop the gun and put your hands behind your back.”

  Suhonen weighed his options. Larsson was directly behind him, but Suhonen was kneeling, and wouldn’t be able to turn quickly enough to surprise the gangster. Larsson would surely pull the trigger, and even if Suhonen managed to dodge the bullet, Salmela was in the line of fire.

  “Larsson, just shoot him and come help me,” Steiner groaned from the corner.

  “Just wait,” Larsson commanded. “Hands behind your back, Suikkanen.”

  “Suikkanen” referred to Suhonen’s alias, the same one he had used a couple of years ago when he arrested Larsson for extortion.

  Suhonen lowered his weapon to the floor and started to stand up. But the barrel of Larsson’s gun did not yield, and he was forced to kneel again.

  “I’m sure you know how to work these,” said Larsson as he handed Suhonen a pair of cuffs with his free hand. The barrel of the gun never left his head.

  If he was going to try something, he should do it now, thought Suhonen. But he had no chance. No matter what, Larsson would be able to pull the trigger.

  Suhonen put his hands behind his back and cuffed himself. Larsson hastily tightened them. At no point did he give Suhonen an opportunity to surprise him.

  “Get up,” he commanded, and Suhonen stood up.

  Without delay, Larsson shoved him into the wall, and the cop tumbled to the floor. Unable to use his hands to break his fall, his shoulder struck the cement floor hard.

  “Help me,” Steiner wailed.

  Larsson went to his brother’s side. His jeans were soaked with blood, which was now pooling on the floor. Larsson checked the man’s pulse-it was racing.