Danger Close

by Charlie Flowers

  From across the street a skinhead in a green bomber jacket jogged towards us. He was one of ours, his name was Rico. He showed us a flyer and spoke to Marianne and Bang-Bang. Bang-Bang translated. ‘It’s a White Power House Party. They gave him a flyer and invited him in.’

  I studied the flyer. ‘Fantastic. White Power squaddies. Let’s hope they’re not all Parkour guys who come steaming out and up the walls as soon as we go in.’

  Tchéky looked at us. ‘Utilities are switching off the power to the block in thirty seconds.’

  He put a radio to his mouth. ‘Trente secondes. Aller.’

  Our teams ran across the street in two loose files and formed up on either side of the main doors to the block. I was with the two guys I recognised from GIGN, Bang-Bang was on the other side with Marianne. Marianne’s team placed the frame charge on the door, taping it down firmly, and paid out the firing cable. Suddenly all the lights on the block went out, along with the street lights, and there was a chorus of expletives and shouts from inside the block as the music died. Static and garbled orders came from the teams’ radios.

  ‘Cinq secondes, quatre, trois… se tenir pret…’

  We all cocked our weapons, flicked the selector switches to semi-auto, turned on the laser sights and flashlights, then turned away and covered our nearest ear.

  ‘Tire.’

  The frame charge took the door off its hinges and we ran in behind the two assault teams into the dust, screams and shouting. From outside in the street came the harsh bark of sniper rifle fire and upstairs windows smashed. The teams were throwing stun grenades into every room and thundering upstairs. Me and Bang-Bang hung back and let them get on with it. We jumped over the splintered front door which was now halfway up the hall and appeared to have an unlucky person underneath it. We stopped and looked at each other and looked back at the debris. An unspoken signal went between us. You never left a possible live one behind you. We ran back and levelled our rifles onto the remains of the door and the body underneath it. Bang-Bang fired. Two double-taps. The body jerked. Good enough. She heaved the remnants of the door off the body and we inspected the face. The sweet stink of arterial blood rose up to hit us. ‘Nah.’

  We went back down the hall and left into a kitchen area. We swept it with the lights on our rifles. Nothing here but smoke and dust. From upstairs came a cacophony of screaming and short, controlled bursts of automatic weapons fire.

  Bang-Bang turned to me, snapping gum in her mouth, and said ‘Reckon we should follow that lot upst-’

  A burst of gunfire crashed through the wall to our right, shattering all the kitchen utensils hanging above the surfaces. We both hit the floor and pans and plaster fell all over us. I could hear shouting from behind the wall. I checked my G36 was on full-auto, poked it up over the worktop and let fly. The assault rifle roared and knocked chunks out of the wall. Bang-Bang leaped to her feet, got her rifle into the shoulder and began loosing short bursts in the same direction, yelling like a crazy girl between bursts. Our mags ran out and the rifle bolts locked shut. I stood, up into a haze of blue smoke that hung at head-level. My ears were singing from the gunfire. ‘Reckon we got ‘em our kid?’

  Bang-Bang shrugged, probably unable to hear me, changed mags, worked her rifle’s bolt and went forward to a shattered door. I changed mags too, joined her and we pushed the door open with the muzzles of our rifles. In the light of our rifles’ flashlights two bodies lay on the floor with AKs next to them. One was very dead, gazing into space. The other was writhing in pain in the blood and debris. Bang-Bang nodded as she shone her light on his contorted face. ‘That’s Alpha Two.’

  Behind us Marianne and a squad of GIGN had arrived and were talking about what the Crazy English had bagged. Everyone leant in to look at the bodies. Bang-Bang knelt down, handed the guy’s AK back to me, and slapped the moving man hard in the face.

  Marianne looked at her watch and spoke. ‘Five minutes and we leave. The coroner will be here soon.’

  Bang-Bang gripped Alpha Two by the ear and started banging his head sideways off the tiles, hard. After five whacks his eyes flickered open. She spoke to him. ‘Soldat! Le camion. Il est où?’

  The skinhead grimaced, coughed an explosion of blood all over her t-shirt, and died. She stood, wiping the blood away in distaste. ‘Well that was a no-go.’

  I turned to Marianne. ‘Luv, what we need is a quick search of all bodies for receipts, ticket stubs, truck or vehicle keys.’

  She nodded and we got to it. Several minutes later we’d found nothing useful and the coroner’s vehicles were here. We left disappointed, through the Mobile Gendarmerie cordon and the crowd of locals, and Tchéky gave us a lift back to the hotel.

  Tchéky and I slumped into various Louis XV chairs in our suite. Our clothes smelt of blood and cordite. My ears were still whistling slightly. We didn’t even have the energy to take our body armour off. Bang-Bang flung herself onto the bed in a starfish shape, and then suddenly bounced back up. ‘Idiot!’

  ‘Hmmm?’

  She slapped the side of her head. ‘Guys. We’re not thinking. The truck’s in Paris, so they need to hide it under cover so it doesn’t get seen from the air or satellite?’

  ‘Yes…’

  Tchéky looked interested. Bang-Bang tapped at her netbook and the wall screen came to life with a website called “Parking Paris”. She tapped on the parking for trucks section. A map came up with six P symbols. She looked at us and grinned.

  I chipped in. ‘Tchéky. What was the make of the truck?’

  ‘Dutch Army Volvo, most likely an FL12.’

  I looked at Bang-Bang. ‘Babe, get us the dimensions for a truck of that type?’

  She tapped furiously. A three-view came up. I went and looked at the wall screen. ‘OK… three metres something. Say three and a half. Right doll, can you check the height restrictions on those six truck parks?’

  She ran the cursor over the P symbols, one by one. All were listed as three metres or under.

  Save one. Parking Garage D’Abbeville in Saint-Georges. She got a map up showing location and directions. Five or so klicks away near the Gare Du Norde.

  I looked at both of them. ‘What are we waiting for?’

  29

  “This large, well maintained car park which covers several floors both below and above ground, is open 24 hours a day. The Garage d’Abbeville is located 3 minutes from the Gare du Nord railway station, making it very practical, particularly for those who need to leave their car in a safe place for a few days. Another key benefit is that it can welcome one truck of up to 3,40m in height and 7m in length and two trucks of up to 2,90m in height and 6m long for short stays! When you arrive, leave your keys to the valet who will take care to park your vehicle and to fetch it in your return. THIS PARKING IS OFTEN COMPLETE: YOU MUST RESERVE 24 HOURS BEFORE ARRIVAL... ”

  I clicked off the BlackBerry internet connection and looked in the drivers’ side mirror and then back down Rue d’Abbeville. Our service Citroen was parked just on the corner of a side road called Rue de Rocroy, directly outside some shop called Sovitrat, whatever that was. Bang-Bang got off the phone. ‘Marianne and co will be here with the vans and the gear in ten. Tchéky’s plotted up just beyond the entrance.’

  I looked back down the street past the 24-hour garage and spotted the white panel van marked up in Exapaq livery. OK. We could do this. I put my hand out and Bang-Bang placed a set of miniature binoculars in my palm. I focused them and looked at the garage entrance. “Garage d’Abbeville Parking Autos Motos Velos Lavage, ouvert 7 jours/7 et 24h/24” read the sign on the right and a massive illuminated arrow pointed downwards saying “PARKING”. Bright light flooded from the inside. I could see a vending machine and, as I refocused the binos, a small car pulled in and a man in overalls came out to greet the driver.

  ‘Looks like a bit of a squeeze, Holly. Tight corner. You reckon they could have got a containered-up truck in there?’

  ‘Only one way to find out.’
>
  ‘True dat.’

  Traffic passed. I took time to appreciate the car that Tchéky had rustled up for us and had brought to the hotel concourse. A top-of-the-range Citroen C5 VTR saloon, topped off with fuel, satnav, CD player, leather seats. I could get used to this. Apparently it was ours to use until we left the borders of France. Nice.

  Bang-Bang stretched and sighed. ‘Babe – I’m gonna go to that Brasserie on the corner and get us some food and Cokes, and I’ll have a little shufti on the way down and up. Won’t be long.’

  ‘The one with the Stella Artois sign?’

  ‘That’s the one. Back in a bit.’

  I watched as she ditty-bopped down the street and cheekily tapped on the side of Tchéky’s team’s van as she passed it. I laughed to myself. That would keep them sharp. They were probably racking the slides on their weapons and securing everything.

  I got the binos back on the garage. Overalls guy was smoking a fag and chatting with someone from the kiosk inside. It didn’t exactly look like Nazi Trucks R Us. My view was obscured by two vehicles and I lowered the binos. Two sleek black people-carriers with tinted windows drove slowly up the street and away, and then pulled in just out of sight. Probably our lot. I craned my neck to see what they were up to but no dice.

  There was a rap on the roof and I jumped. The passenger door opened and Bang-Bang got in, grinning. I’d turned off the interior light earlier so all I could see was her in the light from the street and the dashboard. She was carrying two brown paper bags and started doling out cans of Coke and sub sandwiches.

  ‘You done good babe.’

  ‘The Only Way is Holly.’

  ‘See anything inside the garage?’

  ‘Yes. Two vans on the right, and two trucks on the left.’

  ‘Really? Better by the minute.’

  We got stuck in to the food and I told her about the black vans that had arrived. She nodded and took a long swig on her Coke can. I suddenly realised how shabbily we were both dressed. I was in the combats and sweater I’d bought from the hotel shop. Bang-Bang was wearing that horrible old Phoenix Program t-shirt, a pair of pink salwar kameez trousers and some complimentary hotel flip flops. And that manky gold nosering. What a couple we made. She reached into the rear seats and brought out the laptop configured for tracking our improvised device and began checking the connections, while trying not to get crumbs all over the keyboard. She was speaking with her mouth full. ‘Got a connection. Google Latitude on… Sony Ericsson online… OK. I can see it.’

  She showed me the phone symbol on the Google map. Good. I nodded.

  I suddenly noticed that both Tchéky and Marianne’s teams were forming up on the far side of our vehicle and half of them were wearing Police Municipale uniforms. We got out and went to confer. Tchéky spread a blueprint over the car boot and we looked at it in the street light.

  ‘Here’s the plan, my foux Anglaises. We go in as police and tax authorities and… harass is your word? Yes. Harass the owner and staff. We did this at the Paris Microsoft office not too long ago. While we do this, Rico and one other guy takes the equipment over to the trucks and they scan.’

  ‘Scan?’

  He nodded to a selection of large black kitbags on the pavement behind us. ‘Oui. Scan. This is very new experimental X-ray sensor equipment, based on the cargo scanners from ports. It can see through one hundred and eighty millimetres of steel and take 3D images. This is man-portable, and safe. Only 1.25 MeV gamma ray dose. Rico takes one pack. Do you want to take the receiver? You know what to look for.’

  I shrugged. ‘OK. I’ll do it.’

  Bang-Bang waved a hand in the air. She still had a mouthful of baguette so there was no way they were going to understand her. ‘Hey, hang on a sec, I don’t want my fiancé going Jaffa!’

  The French teams looked at her nonplussed and Tchéky spoke. ‘Jaffa?’

  She laughed. ‘Yeah. Jaffa. Don’t want my boy seedless!’

  Marianne convulsed in giggles. I looked at Bang-Bang. ‘Babe, it’s like an X-ray at the dentists. It’ll be fine!’

  She looked away with a moué of distaste.

  They kitted me out with a covert comms set, earpiece and throat mike, and tuned me in. I checked the channel. Rico spoke in my ear. ‘Check. Talk please… bon.’

  Then Tchéky handed me and Bang-Bang some pistols. We didn’t say anything this time. We didn’t need to.

  After that they handed me the receiver pack in its heavy black bag, and a digital endoscope for the slight chance that I could get to the rear doors of a container and get the scope inside to view the contents. I looked inside the bag for the controls. The receiver was already turned on. Good to go. Finally I showed Tchéky the mobile phone we’d rigged and explained our plan. He shrugged. ‘Good. Backup is always good. If this cargo reaches England you may need that, as we will have to switch off our transmitter when it reaches English territory. Or any territory outside France.’

  ‘Really? Tchéky, that’s ridiculous mate!’

  He just looked at me. ‘Yes. And it is what we deal with.’

  Around us the teams got into character. All of them checked their pistols. If it went wonky inside and the Nazis were still in there, we’d have to shoot our way back out. Some bright spark handed Bang-Bang an armband reading “Police Nationale” and she put it on her left arm with a huge grin. They’d probably come to regret that. And then we all walked down the road behind Tchéky, towards the target, as bold as brass.

  30

  We poured into the brightly-lit garage like the Untouchables, with Tchéky as our very own Elliot Ness. He was holding an ID card in the air and shouting and Marianne was pointing at the shocked garage owner and yelling at him. Rico and I eased our way past in the confusion and clocked the two trucks. OK. To my left, Bang-Bang had already taken advantage of the chaos and had run over to the overalls guy, smashed him against the drinks machine, grabbed him by the lapels and started shouting ‘MINKY! I want to see your liceunse for your MINKY!’

  The poor bloke looked like he was going to be sick.

  ‘Minky???’

  In my peripheral vision I could see Marianne pulling Bang-Bang away to more useful duties, back into the chaos of uniforms and people demanding documents. Rico and I walked down the ramp to the trucks. We had precious minutes to do this. Rico spoke in my earpiece. ‘Doucement. First truck. Walk slowly forwards and I say what I see on the display.’

  ‘OK Rico. Moving now. See OK?’

  We shuffled forwards up both sides of the truck container, into the darkness and stink of diesel. ‘I see OK… OK Riz. Stop please. Wait.’

  I waited. Behind us I could hear raised voices at the kiosk. Overalls guy sounded really upset now and Marianne was trying to stop Bang-Bang going back over to deck him. Good. We needed the chaos.

  A whispered voice in my earpiece. ‘No. Sorry. Nothing in this. Empty.’

  We moved further into the darkness and then turned left. I joined Rico at the front of the first truck. He shrugged apologetically. I clapped his shoulder. ‘Rico. It doesn’t matter. Next target, yeah?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  We moved slowly and carefully to the next truck. Which was a Volvo. I ran my thumbnail across the paintwork. It came away in flakes.

  ‘Rico, this could be…’

  ‘I know. Let’s go.’

  Rico softly called in the truck’s license plate details. ‘Oui. India Papa 501 Alpha Kilo. Moving.’

  We moved forward down each side of the anonymous, rust-brown container. Back at the garage entrance a minor fight seemed to have broken out. Someone from our lot had taken a load of files from the kiosk and dumped them all over the loading bay. Keep it going…

  We walked, slowly, like ghosts. The receiver was starting to get heavy.

  ‘Riz stop. STOP.’

  I froze. ‘Stopping.’

  ‘Back two steps please.’

  I carefully retraced my last two paces.

  ‘Rico. Talk to me. What is
it?’

  Nothing.

  ‘Riz for Rico. Come back please over.’

  ‘This is Rico. Can you lift the receiver up please?’

  Jesus Christ. I lifted the heavy pack and held it with aching arms.

  ‘Good. OK. Forward?’

  How conspicuous we looked I didn’t dare imagine. I walked forward, very slowly. Any minute now this was all going to come crashing in…

  ‘OK Riz. I have it. It’s there.’

  ‘What’s there?’

  ‘The guns, Riz. Rifles. Pistols, landmines, grenades. Everything.’

  I quickly got the tracker mobile out of my cargo pants pocket, stripped the vinyl off the glue pads, and stuck it under the nearest wheel arch. I heard a soft metallic sound as Rico placed his own department’s tracking device underneath the other side of the truck.

  A new voice hashed in our earpieces. ‘Tchéky to Riz and Rico, go for the rear fire exits to your left, NOW. GO!’

  The argument had obviously got out of hand. And then I ran as fast as I could for the fire exit, the receiver banging awkwardly on my leg. I checked the pistol was secure in my waistband.

  Another voice hashed in my ear. ‘Broadsword calling Danny Boy, over.’

  And then a mad giggle. Christ, they’d given her a radio as well. ‘Holly, just get back to our vehicles and make sure they have the take. And be careful with that armband.’

  ‘But of course. OK listen.’ I heard the rustle of a map and some conferring in French. ‘Go through the fire exit and head left, there’s a service tunnel. Go down it.’

  ‘Got that.’ We jogged down the tunnel.

  ‘See the double doors? Through them, there’s an underground park for cars. See the ramp? That takes you back onto the other side of the road.’

  We ran up the ramp and back up onto Rue d’Abbeville, and slowed to a walk. I glanced left to the brightly-lit garage ramp. The staff were arguing amongst themselves, probably pissed-off at being turned over so badly. Trying to control our breathing, we made our way back up the street to our vehicles.