Soft Target 05 - Blister

by Conrad Jones

  “Major, there is an urgent priority here that we are overlooking,” Helen said. Everyone stopped and looked at her.

  “Quickly Helen, if you have a point then let’s hear it,” the Major tucked the handset underneath his chin as he listened.

  “The men on that gas rig have been exposed to a concentrated form of 2-chloroethyl sulphide, and they have no idea that they are infected yet,” Helen’s voice cracked again. “Given the amount of time that has passed and the strength of the chemical I would anticipate the first symptoms of infection to begin any time now.”

  The Major stood up and walked across the open desk area to his makeshift private office. He opened the door, stepped into the room and switched the light on. He summoned the fat controller to join him and Helen moved to follow them.

  “That’ll be all for now Helen, thank you,” the Major didn’t look at her as he spoke. He stepped aside as the fat controller approached and then closed the door behind them.

  Helen was aghast for a moment but no one paid her any attention as they set about their business. The bunker was now being used by all the law enforcement divisions involved in the evacuation and the place was a hive of activity.

  The Major leaned against the door and took a deep breath. “What’s going to happen on that rig?” the Major asked David Bell. He loosened his tie further.

  “The crew will be split into those who were off shift when the cloud past over and a smaller number of men who would make up the maintenance gang on board. Depending on who was outside and exposed to the concentrate then the symptoms should start to appear at varying degrees very soon,” he looked at his watch for effect as he spoke. He had a chronograph dial, which he set running. He was interested to time the imminent series of events.

  “We have to stop all communication from that rig,” the Major said. “Anyone making a mobile phone call from the Explorer could blow this whole thing wide open and we will have a national disaster on our hands.”

  “I can have all their signals jammed immediately, but you do realise that we are cutting them loose with no way off that rig don’t you?”

  “Of course I do you fool, look at the weather conditions out there. We can’t a send a helicopter to extract them, if we send a ship then they will become infected too. When men start getting sick onboard that rig they will call home on their mobiles. All merry hell will break loose and we don’t have any choice,” the Major looked tired as he spoke.

  The fat controller picked up the telephone and made a call to the intelligence agency’s listening post. He asked for details of all recent communications from the rig, and ordered them to jam everything coming from it. “That’s done Major. Shall we order the crew on the rig to follow the emergency drill and remain secured in the crew module?”

  “No David,” the Major face was ashen. “If the prognosis for infected victims is as bad as we think it is then I wouldn’t want to be locked in that pod with the infected men when the drinking water runs out.”

  Chapter Twenty Nine

  Uri

  Uri kept the Bentley on the beach and headed toward the city lights. His progress along the sand would be much quicker than it would be if he’d chosen to use the snow packed roads. He tried to stay on the flat compacted sand away from the softer sand near the dunes, but all the time he was wary that there were shifting pools of quicksand dotted all across the bay. The snow was thick enough to stop him determining a clear path, but the salt content was melting it quickly and made driving at speed relatively easy. The Bentley tore down the wide sand flats at speed toward Seaforth docks. Uri turned the windscreen wipers onto full speed as the snow piled up on the glass. He looked into the rear view mirror and caught the glint of headlights behind. They were far away in the distance but they were there none the less. It couldn’t be Victor, he was too stupid to follow him along the bay and Uri had his car after all. That meant that the government spook must have escaped and was now in pursuit. It would only be a matter of time before he caught up; the snow was making it impossible to travel without leaving any tracks. He didn’t want another face to face encounter with that government man, Uri was tough but he also knew his own limitations, and that agent would have destroyed him if it weren’t for his mace spray.

  Uri drove past a junction with the coast road. There was a wide access ramp, which led to a barrier and the road beyond it. He had driven past two similar entrances to the beach already and had expected the police to be there waiting for him but he had not encountered anyone at all. Uri turned up the radio and realised why he hadn’t been stopped by a police roadblock. The radio was broadcasting a recorded transmission advising everyone to evacuate the city centre immediately. For those adamant that they weren’t leaving, then they were instructed to remain in doors and close all the windows and doors. There was a brief link about a petrochemical explosion onboard a rig in the Bay of Liverpool but Uri knew better. He had also seen firsthand what the effects of the chemicals were on a human being. Headlights glinted in the wing mirror again but they were still miles behind him. He lowered the electric window and sighed deeply. This situation had gone pear shaped and he wanted out of it right now. The problem was that he hadn’t had a penny of the ridiculous financial reward he had been promised by Christopher Walsh. He needed to get to him quickly and insist on some of the money upfront then he could disappear and leave the lunatic to his crackpot plans.

  Uri was beginning to stiffen up and feel the bruising that he’d incurred during his fight with the government gorilla. He knew that he would be black and blue in the morning and that he’d feel ten time worse too. He lit a cigarette and breathed deeply. Underneath the soothing tobacco was an aroma that he recognised only too well. It had been etched into his brain as he’d cleaned up Christopher’s experiments onboard the lightship. It was the unmistakable smell of garlic. Uri realised the implications of being able to smell it and slammed the Bentley into a high speed hand brake turn. Snow and sand sprayed across the beach dozens of yards in a huge fan shape as he floored the accelerator and headed back toward the access ramp that he’d just passed. The Bentley swerved violently as it left the sand and hit the tarmac road. Snow had coated the roads and turned them into lethal skidpans. He approached the beach barrier and brought the Bentley to a sliding stop in front of it. The vehicle had barely stopped moving when he was out of the driver’s door and running to the barrier. He held his breath all the time and his lungs screamed for air. The barrier was a fifteen foot long metal pole with a heavy concrete block on one end. Uri pushed the concrete and the bar raised up. He was back into the Bentley in a flash and the vehicle fishtailed up the ramp and onto the deserted coast road.

  Uri was in a flap as he flicked through the radio channels searching for more information but there was nothing but static or the pre-recorded message. It was too much of a coincidence for there to have been a petrochemical incident as well as his employer’s own personal disaster. The odour on the breeze confirmed it to Uri that one of the wrecks had exploded releasing some of the blister agent.

  “How did I get into this shit?” Uri said to himself. The coast road was coming to a junction about half a mile ahead. On the right were the sand dunes, which separated the coast road from the beach. They were like a never ending mountain range of sand that went on and on into the darkness. On his left were salt flats and acres of green marsh land before the lights of civilization could be seen. Ahead of him the lights of the city were becoming obscured by a murky fog bank. The closer he drove to the city the stronger the odour of garlic became and the more his resolve was weakened. Uri flicked the headlights onto main beam and tried to work out what was happening up ahead.

  There was an army jeep parked on the kerbside facing him with its lights on. There were four figures in the road setting out traffic cones to block off the route into the north of the city. The figures were bulky and grotesque, and bright green in colour. Uri realised that they were wearing protective clothing of the type he’d only ever seen
in the movies. He slowed as he neared them and one of the men waved his arm in a circular motion instructing him to turn around and go back the way he had just come from. The insignia on the jeep identified it as a territorial army vehicle. They were part time soldiers who must have been drafted in to assist in the evacuation of the city. There had been several massive exercises carried out all over the country in the years following the September 11th attacks on the Twin Towers, New York. The Territorial Army were a key part of any reaction plans that the government had. Uri had met some of the part time soldiers at a football game a few years earlier and he remembered being told by them that the territorial soldiers did not carry loaded weapons on exercises. He smiled in the darkness as he approached the roadblock.

  “There’s no way through I’m afraid sir,” the nearest soldier shouted. Uri flicked his cigarette through the open window and eyed the army jeep. It had thick treads and wide tyres, and would be much easier to drive in the snow than Victor’s Bentley.

  “My wife and children are at home on their own two miles down the road there. They have no way of leaving the city unless I get them. Please they are my children,” Uri played the role of terrified father very well. The soldier turned to his companions who were still placing cones across the road. As far as they were concerned this was a precautionary evacuation and thus no one was expecting any trouble. The rumours were that the government had exploited the situation and blown it out of all proportion in order to practice their disaster management procedures again.

  “Sergeant,” the soldier shouted. His voice was muffled by his respirator and protective suit. “This bloke only lives two miles down the road and his wife and kids are home alone.”

  “Orders are orders, Corporal,” another suited form replied. “No one enters the city for any reason and that’s that.”

  The soldier turned to Uri and was about to repeat what his sergeant had said when a nine millimetre soft nosed bullet smashed through his clear visor and ripped a hole the size of a ten pence piece below his right eye. The dumdum round hit the back of his skull where it flattened before bouncing around inside his cranium. The grey matter that was once his brain was liquidised in seconds and the soldier crumpled onto the floor beside the Bentley. The gunshot alerted the others but their movements were hampered by the cumbersome protective suits. Uri moved out of the car and held the Glock at arm’s length level with his eye line. He squeezed the trigger twice and the sergeant was lifted off his feet as two bullets punched through his suit and hit him in the chest. His lungs and liver were shredded as the slugs ricocheted inside his ribcage.

  There were two soldiers remaining. One of them held his hands above his head in a gesture of surrender and the other one bolted for the jeep. Two high velocity rounds hit him in the back as he ran, knocking him clean over. He landed face down and tried to crawl away. There was a deep red smear in the snow as he inched forward, desperately trying to escape. Uri stood over him and fired a single shot into the back of his head and the soldier became still.

  “Don’t shoot,” the remaining soldier said as Uri turned to face him.

  “Take off the suit and the respirator,” Uri trained the gun on him.

  “What?” the soldier asked confused.

  “The suit,” Uri shouted. “Take off the fucking suit.”

  “Okay, okay please don’t shoot me, I’m taking it off, here you’ll have to do the back,” the soldier turned his back to Uri and he began to unfasten a series of zips and Velcro fixings. Uri unclipped the tag which fixed the head mask to the back of the suit and the soldier peeled himself out of the lime green material. He pulled off his respirator, which was worn beneath the suit and handed it toward Uri with a shaking hand.

  “Put it down on the floor,” Uri instructed him. He kept the soldier at a safe distance.

  “Let me go, I don’t know anything, and I certainly haven’t seen anything. I’ll say you knocked me out and I didn’t see anything, just don’t kill me,” the soldier rambled as Uri began to climb into the green suit.

  “I have three children, Mary, Natalia and little Susan, she’s the youngest, little monkey she is,” he began to shake as a mixture of the subzero temperature and fear hit him. Uri pulled the suit over his shoulders and zipped up the front panel.

  “My wife, Stacy her name is, she’ll be really worried about me being out here in the snow, she’s always worrying about me, heart of gold she has. I don’t know what I’d do without my girls. Have you got kids?” the soldier tried to smile but it looked more like a grimace because the muscles in his face were frozen with terror. Uri pulled the respirator over his head and then pulled the head mask over that. There was a clear flat visor to see through but it was very uncomfortable inside the suit and the field of vision was impaired.

  “Mary, she’s the oldest, she wants to be a ballerina, Marina Ballerina I call her, makes her laugh when I call her that,” tears ran down the soldiers face. The man with the gun hadn’t flinched all the time he was talking.

  “Where do your family live?” Uri asked. His voice was alien like through the mask and the respirator.

  “What?”

  “Where do your family live?” Uri repeated slowly.

  “Toxteth, Liverpool eight we call it, why?” the soldier stuttered.

  “Is it near the river?” Uri asked.

  “Yes, it’s on the edge of the city centre next to the river,” the soldier thought that maybe he’d made a connection with the gunman.

  “You’ll see your girls sooner than you think then,” Uri said. He raised the Glock and fired one shot through the soldiers left eyeball. A large blob of blood and vitreous humour hit Uri’s mask as the eyeball exploded. He tried to wipe it off with a gloved hand but only succeeded in smearing it across his visor. The soldier fell onto his back and his body twitched violently. Uri fired again into his forehead and he stopped moving.

  “Your girls will die a much slower death than you did, soldier,” Uri said as he climbed into the jeep. He started the engine and engaged first gear. The wind blew in from the sea and the snowfall became a blizzard as he turned the army jeep onto the tarmac and headed toward the docks.

  Chapter Thirty

  Grace Farrington

  Grace Farrington scanned the beach ahead through night vision glasses. The vehicle that they were following had turned back toward them for a few seconds and then disappeared. The glare of the headlights had appeared as a luminous green smudge and then darkness had returned. As they approached the turning point they could see tyre tracks in the snow which ran in a wide circle across the beach and then headed up an access ramp toward a narrow pass between the sand dunes. The pass was virtually a single track lane which joined the main coast road and the other side of the huge sand hills. Judging by the way the snow had fallen into the tracks Grace reckoned that they were about five to ten minutes behind their quarry.

  “Take the exit road, he’s gone that way,” Grace ordered her driver. The driver was a corporal from the Royal Marines called Barnes by his colleagues. Her voice was muffled by the respirator. “Take it easy when we hit the ramp.”

  “Roger that,” Barnes answered. It was difficult driving at speed with the mask on so he slowed the vehicle as it mounted the ramp. When they reached the top of the ramp there was a small hut in which a parking attendant would sit during the daytime hours manning the barrier. The barrier had been left up and they drove straight on. He followed the tyre tracks through the sand dunes until they reached the coast road. The tracks turned right toward the city. “Why do you think he’s left the beach?”

  “That’s what I’m asking myself, it doesn’t make any sense, it’s going to be much harder to make progress on the roads, and he’s far more likely to run into the police,” Grace replied. Barnes slipped the truck into four wheel drive and followed the tyre tracks. The tracks continued for about a mile when they saw something in the road up ahead.

  “What the hell is that?” Grace said to herself. She peered thr
ough the night vision glasses and tried to make sense of the scene.

  “What can you see,” Barnes asked. He glanced at her as he spoke and the truck shimmied.

  “Concentrate on the road corporal,” Grace said without looking at him. “We have casualties in the road ahead.”

  “Shall I call it in?” Barnes asked.

  “Wait until we know what we’re dealing with,” Grace answered. As the vehicle approached the scene it became clearer to her what had happened. There was a Bentley Continental parked in the road. The engine was running and the driver’s door was open. There were traffic cones across the road and a number of unidentifiable shapes lying near the verge to the left. On the right hand side was what appeared to be the body of a man wearing camouflage trousers and a white tee shirt. There was a dark pool of liquid in the snow surrounding his head. They were one hundred yards away when Grace raised her hand and Barnes brought the truck to a stop.

  “I’ll check it out, cover me,” she said as she opened the door and climbed out. She carried her Glock seventeen two handed and scanned the area before she moved. The truck’s headlights illuminated the scene and Grace sprinted over to the Bentley and ducked down low as she approached the open door. She paused momentarily before checking inside the vehicle. The Bentley was empty. Grace closed the door and sprinted over to the unidentified shapes lying in the snow. She quickly realised that they were military personnel in nuclear, chemical and biological warfare suits, and that they were dead. Grace checked the area again and then moved over to the other body. All the time Barnes covered the perimeter with his Brugger and Thomet MP9 automatic machine pistol. It was capable of firing over nine hundred armour piercing rounds a minute. The dead man wasn’t wearing any protective clothing and he certainly wasn’t equipped for the snowstorm. He was wearing dog tags. Grace checked the tags and then sprinted back to the truck.