Urban Assassin

by Jim Eldridge

  ‘Great,’ muttered Two Moons. ‘We get the ugly Russian. And Russian is one language I don’t speak.’

  ‘No need – I do,’ said Sparks, who now stood beside them.

  Gaz and Benny had opened their file, and Gaz showed the picture of the French explosives expert to Mitch and Two Moons.

  ‘Looks like I’m going to meet the guy who blew up my door sooner than I expected,’ said Gaz.

  Andrew Barnes, the agent tasked with being in charge of Gaz and Benny, didn’t look amused.

  He’s going to have trouble with Gaz, thought Mitch.

  Nelson and Tug closed their file. ‘We’ll head to the airport to meet our South African friend,’ said Nelson. He turned to Gerald. ‘I assume your people are already there, monitoring his flight?’

  ‘Of course. It’s on schedule.’ Gerald looked at his watch. ‘You should make Heathrow with time to spare.’

  Nelson nodded, then he and Tug left the room, followed by Miranda Jackson.

  ‘What now, Team Leader?’ Mitch asked Sparks.

  Sparks ignored the sarcasm in Mitch’s voice. ‘We follow the Russian and see where he leads us,’ he said. He picked up his headset and put it in his ear. ‘OK,’ he said. ‘Let’s just test this out. You two stay here.’

  Mitch and Two Moons watched Sparks leave the room. They adjusted the earpieces to make sure they felt comfortable. Then Mitch heard Sparks’ voice in his ear. ‘Red 1 to Red 2 and 3.’

  ‘Receiving you,’ said Mitch automatically. Then he asked: ‘Which one of us is Red 2, and which is Red 3?’

  ‘Order of rank,’ Sparks replied. ‘Sergeant Two Moons is Red 2. You’re Red 3.’

  Mitch looked at Two Moons, who smiled broadly.

  ‘Guess that makes me Second in Command,’ he said with a deep chuckle.

  Mitch and Two Moons followed Sparks to an underground car park, where a driver was waiting for them. The car was just an ordinary-looking saloon, a dark blue Ford. Nothing that would stand out and draw attention. But Mitch guessed that beneath the bonnet, the engine was supercharged, and beneath the paintwork the sides were armoured.

  They got in the car and headed off. As they travelled, Sparks brought them up to date on recent developments.

  ‘We’ve been keeping Pavel under surveillance since he arrived. Right now he’s sitting in a café not far from Euston station. We’re going to do this on a rotating watch: I’ll pick up Pavel on my own when he leaves the café and follow him for a block or two. Then I’ll disappear and Sergeant Two Moons will take over. Then you pick him up, Mitchell. That way he shouldn’t spot he’s being tailed. Whoever’s tailing him will keep in contact with the other two so we’re all ready for our change-overs.’

  ‘What happens if he hails a taxi?’ asked Mitch.

  ‘We have two taxis of our own on standby. They’ll be near us at all times,’ Sparks replied. ‘One will follow Pavel if he gets into a vehicle, the other will be ready to take over so he doesn’t notice he’s being followed.’

  ‘And if he uses public transport?’ asked Two Moons.

  ‘If it’s a bus, the taxis will be able to follow it. If he gets on a train, we’ll make sure we’re all somewhere on that train, too, but each in a different carriage,’ said Sparks. ‘It’s a tried and tested method.’

  Mitch had to agree. He’d used it many times before when shadowing a suspected terrorist. But with any method of tailing, things could go wrong, and often did.

  He checked his personal armoury: the pistol in the holster beneath his left armpit; a knife strapped to each of his lower legs.

  Sparks saw this and told him sternly, ‘No weapons to be used unless absolutely necessary. These are the streets of London. We don’t want innocent bystanders being hurt by wild shooting.’

  ‘If I shoot, it won’t be wild,’ Mitch assured him.

  The car pulled into a kerb near the entrance to Euston station and the team got out.

  ‘You two disappear down that side street until I call you,’ Sparks told them.

  Mitch and Two Moons nodded, but lingered just long enough to see Sparks head towards a small café. He hailed a man who was standing at a bus stop near the café – they could easily have been two old friends meeting up.

  That must be the MI6 watcher on Pavel, thought Mitch.

  He looked at Two Moons and nodded. The two soldiers disappeared into the narrow side street, as instructed.

  Two minutes later they heard Sparks’ lowered voice in their earpieces. ‘Red 1: Target leaving café. Heading to Euston station, using the steps in Eversholt Street. Red 2: stay out of sight outside the station in case Deacon is there. He’ll recognise you. Red 3: take position on the main concourse at the station.’

  ‘Copy that, Red 1,’ said Mitch.

  He crossed the road and walked up the wide stone stairs to the piazza just outside the station, and then walked into the station itself. The concourse was seething with commuters and tourists. Crowds of people stood looking up at the huge display boards, suitcases and bags in their hands, ready to rush for their train. Mitch joined them. He looked up and chose to watch out for the train to Glasgow. On a mission like this, it was important to look as convincing as possible. Mitch didn’t know how long he would have to wait. If Pavel was actually going to meet Deacon here, then it could be at any time: ten minutes or half an hour. Mitch didn’t think it would be any longer than that – Pavel had such a distinctive, beaten-in face that he would be easily remembered if he was here too long, no matter how big the crowd was. And Deacon wouldn’t want to risk that.

  The train to Glasgow wasn’t due to depart for another forty minutes. That should give Mitch lots of time to hang around on the concourse without arousing suspicion.

  He half-turned his head and caught sight of the tall Russian, entering the station. Sparks followed shortly behind him.

  Mitch turned his gaze away from the Russian, back to the Departure Board. In his earpiece he heard Sparks say, ‘He’s not stopping, he’s heading out towards the other entrance on the east side. Get in position, Red 2.’

  ‘Copy that,’ replied Two Moons.

  Suddenly Mitch heard a gurgle through his earpiece. It was an unmistakeable sound – a death rattle.

  He turned and saw Sparks tumble to the ground. The tall Russian was striding away, still heading for the side door to the east. Mitch saw him put something into his pocket.

  ‘Red 2 from Red 3,’ snapped Mitch. ‘Cover’s blown. Red 1’s down. Get on to HQ and get someone to him asap. I’m on this guy.’ Mitch set off in hot pursuit, dodging the commuters swarming across the concourse.

  9

  Even as Mitch spoke, a scream came from near Sparks’ body.

  Someone must have spotted the blood, thought Mitch.

  A crowd had gathered quickly, making it hard for Mitch to follow his target. Dropping a shoulder, he barged through a couple of men in suits and sprinted through the eastern exit. Pavel had already disappeared, but across the road he saw Two Moons on the move. His voice came through Mitch’s earpiece.

  ‘He’s changed direction again, he’s heading north. I’ve got him.’

  ‘OK, but be careful,’ Mitch warned his friend. ‘He’s either carrying a knife or a silenced gun.’

  ‘Trust me, this guy pulls a piece on me, I’m letting him have it,’ said Two Moons.

  ‘OK, he’s gone through a door leading to a construction site. Ain’t no way he’ll think I’m just a casual passer-by if I follow him. Especially when there’s no noise coming from the site.’

  ‘OK,’ said Mitch. ‘I’m right behind you.’ He broke into a run. He could now see the wooden wall that bordered the construction site, and Two Moons standing by the door.

  ‘I can’t risk losing him,’ said Two Moons. Mitch saw him pull out his handgun and lean back as he prepared to kick open the door.

  ‘We can’t risk losing you,’ said Mitch urgently. ‘For all we know he’s waiting for you on the other side of that door.’

&
nbsp; ‘Guess there’s only one way to find out,’ said Two Moons.

  He kicked at the door, smashing it open. The big Sioux stood for a second, waiting for a reaction, and when none came he leapt through the door, ducking down and rolling forwards. Mitch heard the familiar Phut! of a silenced gun behind the wall, and then Two Moons yelled in pain.

  Mitch jumped into action. He threw himself through the door, pistol at the ready, jerking from side to side to take in the situation.

  The Russian was standing abut ten metres away, holding a gun. Two Moons was lying on the ground, his face contorted in agony. Mitch’s eyes fixed on the Russian and he shouted the only Russian words he knew, which translated as ‘Drop the gun!’

  Pavel responded by swinging the gun to take aim at Mitch. But before Pavel could get his pistol centred on his target, Mitch fired off a round. His bullet whipped through Pavel’s hand, sending the gun spinning out of his grasp.

  The Russian stumbled back, but stayed on his feet. He looked down at his fallen gun and seemed about to grab at it, but Mitch fired again, smashing a bullet into the gun on the ground. Mitch then took aim at the Russian’s legs. Take him alive, he thought. He fired, but Pavel moved quickly and threw himself behind a large oil drum.

  Mitch swiftly scanned the site. It was clear of workers, but the space was filled with machines and oil drums and small site buildings, piles of concrete blocks, and mounds of piping. The place was a maze; a perfect hiding hole.

  ‘Call backup,’ Mitch told Two Moons. ‘I’m going after him.’

  ‘He might have another gun,’ said Two Moons through gritted teeth. Mitch now saw where he’d been hit, high on the left thigh. Blood was soaking through his clothes.

  ‘I’m OK,’ snapped Two Moons, noticing Mitch’s worried expression. ‘I can tie this up. I’ve been hit worse before. Go! But watch out for that other gun.’

  Mitch nodded and headed deeper into the site. He moved carefully towards the oil drum Pavel had ducked behind. He held his pistol in his hand, ready to fire. Suddenly he threw himself forwards, gun pointed. No one was there.

  What weapons would Pavel have? thought Mitch. A knife, probably – Mitch was pretty sure that’s what he’d used to kill Sparks. Possibly also a garrotte, a favourite weapon of assassins – a noose of thin, strong wire to drop over the victim’s head and slice through the windpipe and the jugular vein.

  Mitch stood and listened. The sounds coming from the station and the city outside made it difficult to pick out anything from inside the construction site. He looked around him at the piles of concrete blocks, the machinery, the portable toilets, the shed.

  Where would I hide? he asked himself. Not anywhere up high like a crane – too easy to get trapped. Somewhere at ground level, so I could make a quick getaway. Somewhere with shadowy areas for cover.

  The portable toilets or the shed. They were close to one another: about ten metres apart. He looked more closely. The door of the shed had a padlock on the outside. Not the shed, then. The toilets.

  He moved across the building site, keeping low, using the machines and piles of blocks and pipes for cover, just in case Pavel had a second gun or a throwing knife.

  He made it to the shed without incident. He looked back across at the entrance to the site. Two Moons had dragged himself out of sight, into cover. Mitch wondered how badly he was hurt. If the bullet had broken his leg, he would be out of the game for a very long time. Even if the bone wasn’t broken, there was the danger of severe blood loss. By rights he should be treating Two Moons, making sure he stayed alive. But he trusted his team mate. If he said he was OK, then he was.

  Mitch looked over at the two portable toilets. The doors of both were shut. Pavel could be inside one, or behind them, or even hiding beneath them. Mitch couldn’t use the target’s tracks to help him -the ground was a mess of builders’ footprints and ruts from the builders and their machines.

  Aiming his pistol steadily at the toilets, Mitch inched forwards from the cover of the shed. As he did so, he felt movement behind him. He went to dive to one side, but he was too late. The pistol was knocked out of his hand, and he felt a wire noose slip over his head. Instinctively, he brought his left arm up, palming the garrotte away from his exposed neck. The thin wire cut deep into his hand as he deflected the weapon but the soldier ignored the searing pain. He jerked his right arm back at where he guessed Pavel to be and felt his elbow hit something. His attacker grunted and Mitch twisted and turned to face the man. Pavel was close to him, hanging on grimly to the end of the wire garrotte with both hands. Mitch jerked forwards dragging Pavel with him. He had to break the Russian’s grip on the garrotte. In just a few seconds more the wire would slice through his hand to the bone.

  Mitch kicked out and felt his heel hit Pavel’s shin. The Russian cried out in pain, his leg buckling and his grip loosening on the garrotte.

  Taking his chance, Mitch tore his hand from the razor-sharp wire and hurled himself at the big Russian. Seizing his opponent’s wrist, Mitch pulled with all his strength, throwing Pavel forwards over his shoulder. The Russian crashed to the ground where he lay still. His eyes were wide open in a dead stare, a huge metal spike poking up out of his chest. Pavel wasn’t going to be fighting back.

  When Mitch had flipped him over he’d thudded down on to a piece of contractor’s equipment, and the spike had gone straight through him, killing him instantly.

  ‘You OK?’

  It was Two Moons. He’d dragged himself across the building site, pistol in hand.

  ‘Are you mad?’ demanded Mitch. ‘You could have opened up that wound. You might have died from loss of blood!’

  ‘I tried to get near enough to shoot him,’ said Two Moons. ‘From where I was I couldn’t get a proper sight on him, especially when the two of you started jerking around all over the place.’

  ‘He was trying to strangle me,’ protested Mitch.

  ‘Excuses, excuses.’ Two Moons grinned. Then he gave a groan of pain.

  ‘Bad?’ asked Mitch.

  Two Moons nodded. ‘Yup,’ he said.

  Just then they heard sirens approaching, and the sounds of vehicles screeching to a halt in the street outside.

  ‘Sounds like the cavalry’s here,’ said Mitch.

  10

  Back once again at MI6 HQ. With its metal table and chairs, and dark blank walls on three sides, Mitch felt like he was in an interrogation room. Actually, thought Mitch, this is an interrogation room. The fourth wall was a window made of black glass. Behind it would be an observation area.

  Mitch sat at the table across from Gerald. His hands were taped up and bandaged, but the deep cuts from the wire still hurt. Another man stood behind Gerald, and a third guarded the door. All three were stony faced. Mitch could see anger in their eyes, and he understood it: their colleague, John Sparks, was dead.

  Mitch would be furious and determined to find the culprit if one of his Delta Unit mates was killed.

  ‘What happened at Euston station?’ demanded Gerald. ‘Why did Pavel kill Sparks?’

  It was the third time Gerald had asked this same question, as if repeating it would make Mitch admit something. It was like he was the suspect.

  ‘Like I told you before, I don’t know,’ said Mitch. ‘Following Sparks’ instructions, my back was turned to them. We were in radio contact. I heard Sparks go down, realised he was in trouble and turned. I went after the Russian.’

  ‘Leaving Sparks to die,’ snapped Gerald.

  ‘My orders were to follow Pavel. I radioed Two Moons to raise the alarm, get help for Sparks. But by that time he must already have been dead. Look, the man we were dealing with was a killer. He knew what he was doing. What was it, a knife to the heart?’

  Gerald hesitated, then nodded. ‘Yes,’ he admitted, before quickly changing tack. ‘You were supposed to keep Pavel alive. Why did you kill him?’

  ‘It was an accident,’ said Mitch. ‘I tried to disarm him while he was trying to kill me. I flipped him over
to get him off me, and he landed on that spike. That was it.’

  Gerald said nothing at first. He was obviously weighing up the situation. Mitch gestured at the room.

  ‘Am I a suspect?’ he demanded.

  ‘In what?’ asked Gerald.

  ‘You tell me,’ said Mitch. ‘You certainly seem to be treating me like one.’

  ‘This is standard procedure,’ said Gerald. ‘A debriefing. You have them after a mission, too, I understand – especially when things go wrong.’

  ‘What went wrong here is that Pavel spotted Sparks,’ said Mitch firmly. ‘How, I don’t know. Maybe Sparks did something . . .’

  ‘Sparks was an experienced field officer,’ interrupted the spy angrily. ‘He wouldn’t have made a mistake.’

  ‘Meaning you think Two Moons or I did?’ Mitch snapped back. ‘Let me tell you, this wasn’t our mistake. Either Sparks did something that gave the game away, or someone gave Pavel the wink.’

  ‘You’re suggesting that someone in MI6 tipped Pavel off?’ asked Gerald, his eyes narrowing.

  ‘I’m not suggesting anything,’ said Mitch. ‘I’m just telling you what happened today. Finding out why it happened, that’s up to you.’

  Suddenly the door crashed open and Nelson stood framed in the entrance. Immediately, the man nearest the door pulled out his gun, but Gerald snapped a command and the man put the gun away.

  ‘You’re interrupting a debriefing, Colonel,’ said Gerald coldly.

  Nelson looked angry. ‘You’ve pulled me and my men off the case,’ he demanded. ‘Why?’

  Gerald looked at Nelson, then shrugged. ‘Because of what happened,’ he said. ‘Sparks and Pavel dead, Sergeant Two Moons in hospital.’

  ‘That wasn’t down to us!’ barked Nelson.

  ‘I don’t know that,’ said Gerald. ‘An operation went wrong. The only people outside of MI6 involved in the operation were your men. Until we’ve established the facts, Delta Unit are off this case.’