by Jack Higgins
JACK HIGGINS
WITH JUSTIN RICHARDS
SURE FIRE
Contents
Title Page
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
About the Author
Copyright
About the Publisher
Prologue
Two intruders moved through the oil storage depot, dark shapes against the black night.
One of them moved like a panther, silent and dangerous, leading the way through the jungle of pipes and cables, walkways and stairways. The other man had a limp and walked with the aid of a stick. Huge circular metal tanks rose up either side of them as the two figures made their way towards their target.
“Jammer seems to be working,” the man with the limp whispered, consulting a small device strapped to his wrist like a watch. A small red light flashed rhythmically where the dial should be.
His colleague nodded. His smile was barely visible in the black of the camouflage make-up that smeared his face. “No skimping on this job. Come on, they’ll realise there’s a problem if we hang around too long in one place.”
The jammer scrambled the wireless connection between the cameras that were nearest to the intruders and the security control room on the other side of the complex.
The effect would be to make the security monitors in the control room flicker on and off, seemingly at random.
The two men paused. The one with the stick pressed a button that turned off the jammer on his wrist. “No cameras in this area. We’re in a blind spot. Should be safe for a minute.”
The other man nodded his agreement. “Let’s have a look at the map.”
On the ground between them, they unfolded a detailed map of the complex. The man without the stick pulled something from the pocket of his black trousers: a packet of cigarettes and a lighter.
“You’re joking!” the man with the stick said. “You can’t light up here, John.”
John smiled. “Might seriously damage my health, you think, Dex? I didn’t bring a torch – this is to read the map.”
“Yeah, well, I do worry about my health. And yours.” Dex produced a pen torch and switched it on. “Now stop mucking about and put that lighter away.”
The lighter glinted as John put it away. It flashed in the torch beam for a moment, an engraving on its side visible for a second – a simple outline of a heart.
“You always were the cautious one,” John said.
“For all the good it did me,” Dex muttered. “The one time I try it your way, and look what happens.” He tapped his walking stick against his leg.
John didn’t seem to notice. He was tracing a route on the map with his finger. “Looks easy enough. Turn the jammer back on. Let’s do what we came for and get out of here.”
The building they wanted was a boxy, concrete block with no windows and a single metal door. A red security light cast its glow over the doorway, illuminating a uniformed guard standing outside. The shadow of a holster at the guard’s side left the intruders in no doubt that he was armed.
“Might as well put up a notice,” John whispered. “‘Stuff worth stealing is in here.’ Back in a moment.” Like a ghost, he disappeared into the night.
Seconds later, a sound like a stone falling made the guard move from his post. He drew his gun and walked cautiously along the front of the building. From the opposite side, a dark shape moved quickly, creeping up behind him. The first the guard knew of it was when a handkerchief was clamped over his mouth.
John laid the sleeping guard on the ground in the shadows next to the building. He returned the handkerchief soaked in anaesthetic to a small plastic bag and sealed it shut, before stuffing the bag back in his pocket. Dex knelt down awkwardly by the door and set to work picking the lock.
“Hold my stick, will you?” he asked. “And keep the torch steady.”
Red light spilled across the threshold to the inside as the door swung open. John helped his friend to his feet and gave him back his stick, then handed him a headset – infra-red goggles attached to a set of straps that fitted exactly over their heads and held the goggles tightly in position.
The view through the goggles was remarkably clear, and showed a large room criss-crossed with pipes that came in and out through the walls. A long narrow bench stood in the middle of the room, covered in glassware like a school science lab. Along one wall was advanced electronic equipment – computers, centrifuges and spectroscopic analysers. Several drum-shaped canisters stood at the far end of the room – smaller versions of the huge oil tanks outside – that were linked together by narrow pipes, which then joined a larger pipeline that disappeared out through the side wall.
“You set the charge on the pipeline,” John whispered, handing Dex a compact device. It looked like a plain black box with a small screen set in one side. “I’ll get the sample.”
Dex took the device and found the point where a number of the pipes converged and joined. He set to work, attaching the device just below one of the valves where the thin pipe from the canisters joined.
Meanwhile, John was examining the canisters at the other end of the room.
Carefully, he unscrewed the top of one of the canisters and saw that it was filled with a pale, viscous liquid. He glanced over at the laboratory workbench for something to put the sample of the liquid into. There were test tubes and beakers and jars, but all were made of glass. His eyes wandered round the room, looking for anything that might be of use.
Set high in the corner of the walls, a video camera swung slowly towards him. A thin wire emerged from the camera and disappeared into the ceiling above. John stared at the tiny red light on top of the camera and the wire emerging from the back of it. The camera moved round until it was pointing straight at him.
“We’ve got a problem,” John said. He grabbed the only container he could think of and reached into the open canister. “I think you should hurry.”
The sirens started – a sudden, high-pitched wail of sound. Dex gave John a thumbs-up and they ran for the door.
“That camera must be linked direct to the control room,” Dex said. “So the jammer didn’t work on it.”
They could hear the footsteps and shouts of guards behind them.
Dex was limping badly now and John had to help him along. “Leave me,” Dex said. “I’m only slowing you down.”
“I didn’t leave you in Afghanistan and I’m not leaving you now. I’ll throw you over the perimeter fence if I have to.”
Searchlights snapped on.
“They can’t shoot,” Dex gasped. “Not with all that fuel about.”
Before John could answer, there was a loud crack from behind them, and a bullet ricocheted off the concrete pavement close to their feet.
“Maybe someone should tell them that,” John said. “Come on!”
The security centre was in chaos. Uniformed guards shouted into phones and radios. People hurried from monitor to monitor, working the cameras. Then the door swung open and a man entered. The room went quiet.
“Tell those idiots
to stop shooting,” the man said. He spoke with the trace of an Irish accent.
He did not speak loudly, but his words were clearly audible across the whole room. He was a short man, very thin, dressed in a simple dark sweater and jeans. His features were narrow and angular, and his hair was a grey crew-cut. There was a distinctive round scar under his left eye, faint white lines splaying out from it so the scar looked like a pale spider on the man’s face.
“I want those intruders caught,” the man ordered. “I want to know what they were doing and who sent them. I want to talk to them before they die.”
No one in the room doubted that the intruders would die – once the man got hold of them. His name was Ryan Stabb, but everyone called him Stabb. The name was short and brutal, like its owner.
“Why isn’t that camera working?” Stabb demanded, pointing at a screen of static. As he spoke, the screen cleared.
“Don’t know, sir,” the guard at the main console said. “They keep cutting out, just for a few seconds. It always happens when there’s a storm.”
“There isn’t a storm,” Stabb pointed out. “But there will be if you don’t get them. They must have a jammer. That’s why the screens cut out.” He leaned over the guard and jabbed a finger at one of the many monitors as it crackled to static. “That’s where they are. You can trace them by the cameras that are affected. Work out where they’re heading. And stop them.”
* * *
The intruders heard the barking before they saw the dark shape of the dog emerge from the gloom. It was bounding towards them, teeth glinting in the searchlights as it snapped its jaws in anticipation.
Dex swore, but John faced the dog and raised his arms. He gave a strange, high-pitched whistle. As he lowered his arms, the dog slowed. It stopped in front of John, panting heavily but no longer snapping. John stooped down beside the dog, reaching for its leather collar.
“Good boy!” John said. “I picked that up from an old Irishman who used to go to the same pub.”
“Hurry up,” Dex urged.
“All done,” John assured him. “Aren’t we, boy? Off you go.” He ruffled the dog’s fur and gestured for it to be on its way. The dog bounded off into the darkness.
“Right then, back this way, I think.” John headed back down the alley between several oil storage tanks.
“You’re almost there,” the guard said into the microphone. “Camera 11B just went. Looks like they’re making for the south exit gate. That or the kennels.” He turned to smile at Stabb. Stabb did not smile back. “They’re going at quite a lick. Must be sprinting along,” the guard said, turning back to the monitors.
“But they must know the main gates will be guarded,” Stabb said. “What are they playing at?” He frowned at the control console as another monitor snowed across. “What were they doing in the lab? Has it been searched?”
“They got out of there straight away, sir,” another guard said. “No point searching for them there.”
“Not for them,” Stabb said. “I want to know what they were doing.”
“Sabotage?” the guard asked.
“Search it,” Stabb told him. “That’s the only treated sample we have.” He considered a moment before deciding: “Pump it out. Get it to another storage tank outside the lab. Just in case.”
“Which tank, sir?”
“I don’t care,” Stabb said.
“Number three is empty and sterile,” the guard said. “I can work out which valves need opening.”
“Just do it,” Stabb told him. “Do it now.”
Further down the room, the guard at the main monitors said with satisfaction into the microphone: “That’s it. You’ve got them now. They’re coming right to you!”
The security guards had their weapons levelled. They could hear something moving, coming towards them out of the glare of searchlights. Moving fast.
“Ready, lads?” the leader asked.
“Ready for anything,” the man next to him said.
Then they both stared in astonishment as a shape appeared out of the glare and came towards them.
Following Stabb’s orders, a valve inside the laboratory was opened remotely from the security control room. Pale, viscous fluid slowly started to flow from one of the canisters, along the pipe and towards the junction where the black box was attached.
A cold fluorescent light flickered on inside the room as the guards entered.
“What the hell’s this?” a guard asked, bending to examine the black box.
“Don’t touch,” another warned.
“It’s all right. Doesn’t look like it’s been primed.”
“Anything could set it off. Remote trigger, change of temperature… Just be careful.”
The guard leaned forward to remove the black box from the pipe.
“A dog?”
Stabb stared at the image on the monitor. A security guard was holding a large Alsatian dog by its collar. In his other hand, the man was holding what looked like a wrist watch.
“This was strapped to its paw. I’ve turned it off now.”
Stabb said nothing. He was thinking. If the intruders were that clever, then they would have predicted every detail of how the guards would react. “Stop the flow,” he shouted. “Close the valves on the sample canisters – now!”
The pale fluid in the laboratory reached the open valve that led into the main pipeline.
As it flowed through, a tiny circuit in the black box attached to the outside of the same pipe registered the distinctive vibration in the metal of the pipe – a vibration that could only be caused by the movement of fluid under pressure. The circuit sent a signal to another component in the box.
The guard leaped back as the readout blinked into life. It showed a number: 10.
“What the…” The guard’s voice dried in his throat as 10 became 9.
Then he was running – grabbing his colleague by the arm and dragging him along towards the door.
8.
In a small service road outside the complex, a car was parked. It was a very ordinary car – unremarkable make, normal sort of model, nondescript colour. Inside it were two extraordinary men.
John was smoking a cigarette. “We’ll wait a moment,” he said to Dex, who sat in the passenger seat. “Until they’re distracted.”
“Should be any second now, if they’re on the case.”
The whole security control centre shook with the power of the explosion. Monitors flickered and died. Those that stayed on showed the fireball ripping through the heart of the installation, the ball of black smoke billowing into the air.
Stabb struggled to retain his balance as another larger explosion tore through one of the main tanks. Then another went up.
And another.
He gritted his teeth and scratched at the spider-like mark on his face. It itched like hell – as if his anger was about to erupt through the scar. That anger was not diminished in the slightest by the sight of a car on one of the monitors. It was driving slowly along one of the service roads, back towards the main road.
It didn’t have its headlights on, but the orange glow of the fire lit up the sky.
Stabb shoved aside the guard in front of the monitor and reached for the camera controls. The picture zoomed in – showing two dark figures silhouetted inside the car. There was another explosion as the whole complex caught fire, illuminating the car’s number plate.
Smoke drifted across the picture, and the car was lost to sight.
1
Sandra Chance never saw the car that killed her. Just back from several years working in New York for a multinational computer company, she looked the wrong way as she stepped off the Manchester pavement. It was an easy mistake – she was so used to the traffic driving on the other side of the road. The driver was not to blame, but he didn’t stop to find out.
The funeral was a quiet affair at the local church in the Manchester suburb she had moved into just a few weeks before. Though she was originally from th
e area, she had no family there – no family anywhere. Except the children.
Richard and Jade were just fifteen when their mother died. Twins, they had always shared everything – toys, games, books, arguments, and now grief. Rich kept it bottled up, but it was there. His eyes were welling with tears as he stood with his sister in the front pew. Jade let the tears run down her cheeks as they listened to the priest’s words about their mother – about their loss, their bravery and their devotion – but Rich preferred to keep his emotions to himself. Jade would know how he felt – she always knew how he felt – and that was all that mattered. He didn’t care about anyone else. He didn’t have anyone else.
A few other locals had turned up, out of respect rather than love, but none of them had known Sandra Chance or her children. Mary Gilpin was the only person who knew her at all, as a neighbour and childhood friend. The children were staying with her now, but Mary’s husband Phil had never liked children, and had been quick to involve “the authorities”. He hadn’t even come to the church.
As the priest mentioned Mary Gilpin’s name, she looked up. Jade glanced at her, smiled sadly and looked away again. Rich didn’t react at all.
Then the door at the back of the church creaked open. The sound seemed even louder in the still moment of silence. Rich looked around. He stared at the man who stepped quietly into the church and closed the door behind him.
Rich watched the man cross himself and go to the nearest pew at the back of the church. He was a big man, but he moved quietly and easily. When he sat, there was a stillness about him, but also a contained strength. He looked about forty, with a rugged, experienced face and short blond hair. He was wearing a black suit and might have passed unnoticed and unremarked in a crowd except, Rich saw, for the man’s eyes. They were blue – like Rich’s own – and moved in a slow arc, as if he were taking in every detail of the church and people around him.
Jade had also turned. She too saw the man. The man’s eyes met hers, just for a second, then moved on to Rich. The two children looked at each other and frowned. Jade squeezed her brother’s hand. She flicked her head to get her blonde hair out of her eyes, and they both knelt to pray.
