Deception (Powell Book 3)

by Bill Ward

  They had spent months in preparation and Phoenix said a silent prayer it was not a wasted effort. This was an opportunity to strike at the English political system not just the public. Killing a former Prime Minister, who was responsible for the invasion of Iraq, would strike fear into all politicians. It was proof no one was safe from the long reach of ISIS. There was also a good chance of killing some of the others who had been in government at the time.

  His comrades back home had been dubious about the plan, reminding him there would be a heavy security presence. Far better, they suggested, to attack a shopping mall, cinema or football stadium in the centre of London. Phoenix though would not be denied. The potential prize was too great. Despite the many attacks in the West, there had never been a single instance of killing a member of government, let alone a former Prime Minister. He had won the argument and now the day had arrived. He prayed he would be proved correct.

  As the two men reached the conference centre, they turned in towards the entrance and at that point they were lost from Phoenix’s sight. He turned away and started to walk back the way he had come. He had not gone far when a deafening explosion sounded from the direction of the centre. It was quickly followed by a second explosion. He cursed and looked back down the road to see smoke billowing into the air.

  What had gone wrong? There had not been time for them to have made it inside the conference centre. Had they been searched and the bombs discovered? He could only hope their sacrifice had not been in vain. At the least they must have killed the policemen on guard and the security staff. He couldn’t risk getting closer to check. Already, people were rushing in his direction, desperately trying to get away from the explosions in case there were further bombs.

  He could see that cars were strewn across the road in front of the entrance to the centre. The bombs had cut a swathe through the traffic and people were emerging from cars grasping at their injuries, looking for help. It was chaos and Phoenix decided he had a small window before the area was flooded with police. He jogged towards the centre, ignoring the shouts of people running in his direction, warning him of the danger.

  He twice shouted he was a doctor and as he came close to the centre he could see nothing but devastation. A policeman lay on the ground with his insides spilling out onto the pavement. Beside him lay a Heckler & Koch MP5 submachine gun, which appeared undamaged. He knelt beside the policeman and pretended to be administering first aid. He slid the gun towards himself and covered it with his robe. Then he reached down and through the pocket of his robe he took hold of the weapon. He took some spare ammunition and placed it in his other pocket. He stood back up and looked around. It may not have been a complete success but there were still a substantial number of casualties.

  “You, what are you doing,” a man in a suit shouted, who had appeared from inside the building.

  “I’m a doctor but I’m afraid this man is beyond help.” Phoenix turned his back on the man and started to walk away. He was worried he would attract attention just by his Arab looks and clothes.

  Sirens could be heard approaching but still there was only chaos everywhere. Phoenix found it impossible to properly conceal the gun beneath his garment. He was grasping it through the pocket in his robe, holding the gun pointing down by the side of his body.

  He was walking quickly and had arrived back by the cinema. He looked around, uncertain which direction to take. He could return to London as per the original plan but then he wouldn’t be able to keep the weapon. He liked the idea of dying with a weapon in his hand. He would take many of the enemy with him and the shock would reverberate around this God forsaken country, hopefully demonstrating to others, who would follow in his footsteps, it was possible to strike at the heart of the enemy.

  If Al-Hashimi was still free to carry out further attacks, then Phoenix was not needed. The illness was getting worse and soon he would be too weak to plan further attacks. He did not want to die in pain or unable to look after himself with his memory failing. It was not a fit way for a warrior to die.

  He was decided, the only question was where to make his last stand. He noticed the pier sticking out into the sea and thought it would make a good place to die. With its narrow entrance it would also be a difficult place for people to escape. They would be trapped and he was sure he could kill many before he died. His death would make a good headline in tomorrow’s newspapers.

  Phoenix crossed the road to be once again next to the seafront. Policemen were running past him heading for the conference center. Members of the public were standing around asking anyone walking from the direction of the explosion, if they knew what had happened. Phoenix kept his head down and avoided the questions.

  He smiled and knew he had made the right decision. He had always thought he would die with a gun in his hand. At last that would be proved true.

  CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

  Afina and Mara finished shopping and discussed what they would have for lunch. Afina suggested fish and chips and Mara readily agreed. As they wanted to visit the pier later anyway, they decided it would also be a good spot for lunch. Halfway along the pier was a restaurant, where they had eaten before, which exclusively sold traditional fish and chips. Afina had been introduced to the idea of having vinegar on her chips, which she now loved.

  Despite the pleasant weather, the pier wasn’t very busy. Most people with normal jobs were at work and all but the youngest children were at school. They sat inside the restaurant rather than have a takeaway so they could enjoy a drink. The young male waiter was eyeing up both girls as he took their order for drinks. As usual, Mara encouraged the attention.

  After lunch, they planned to try all the rides. One in particular was very scary and Mara joked she was in need of some Dutch courage. She had refused to try it the last time they visited the pier but today she had promised she would be braver. Afina enjoyed the scary rides and loved poking fun at Mara’s discomfort. As Afina was comfortable doing somersaults and back flips, a few twists and turns on a fairground ride were a piece of cake.

  They ordered a bottle of dry white wine and it had just been served when they heard the two massive explosions in quick succession. Everyone in the restaurant looked at each other, seeking an explanation for what they had heard. A couple of people ran towards the doors, intent on checking what had happened.

  “What the hell was that?” Afina asked.

  “I’m not sure. It sounded like a bomb.”

  “A bomb! Do you think it could be the bar?” Afina asked in a panic.

  “It sounded too near to be someone blowing up the bar.”

  Afina reached for her phone and dialled Powell. “Is everything okay?” she immediately asked, when he answered. “Did you hear the explosion?”

  “It sounded like a bomb but it wasn’t anywhere near us,” Powell confirmed.

  “Thank God.”

  “Hang on, I’ve just turned the news on. They’re saying something about it. They think someone just tried to bomb the Labour Party conference. Are you all right? Where are you?”

  “Yes we’re fine. We’re on the pier having lunch, although we haven’t actually ordered any food yet. What should we do?”

  “I’d come straight back to the bar. You can eat here. It’s going to get chaotic in town.”

  “Okay, we won’t be long.” Afina ended the call and turned to Mara. “Powell thinks we should get out of town. Do you want to come back to the bar?”

  “Let’s have some of the wine first,” Mara suggested, raising her glass. “You do attract trouble,” she laughed. “I spend one day with you and look what happens.”

  “Well, I’m not sure about which of us causes the most trouble. I had a very quiet life in Romania before I met you.”

  Mara looked serious for a moment. “I’m really sorry for everything that has happened to you, Afina.”

  “Don’t be silly, it wasn’t your fault. You’re my best friend. And you almost died saving my life.”

  “But everyth
ing you’ve endured was because of my family. I feel very guilty sometimes.”

  “Well in that case you can pay for the wine.”

  They explained to the waiter they were leaving without food because of the bombing and after a few minutes they had paid the bill and were ready to leave.

  Several of the diners had now left their seats and ventured outside, encouraged by one of the earlier men to leave, who had excitedly rushed back in, telling everyone there had been a terrorist attack. The staff were animatedly discussing what had happened and seemed to have forgotten about serving.

  As soon as they left the restaurant they could see the plume of smoke in the distance. They leaned against the railing and looked across the sea towards the Conference Centre.

  “I wonder how many people have been killed,” Mara said.

  “It looks bad,” Afina replied. “I didn’t think anyone would ever bomb Brighton.”

  “Why is the world so full of evil men,” Mara said. “My family are bad enough but even they aren’t like these terrorists.”

  Before Afina could answer there was a series of sharp cracks like firecrackers going off, coming from the entrance to the pier.

  “What was that?” Afina asked.

  “I think it was gunshots. What should we do?”

  “Quickly, we need to get away from here,” Afina said, taking hold of Mara’s hand. She started pulling her away from the further sound of gunshots, hurrying towards the end of the pier.

  CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

  Powell put the phone down on Afina and returned to watching the news. An eye witness was reporting how his car was thrown across the road and crashed into an oncoming car. He had been lucky all the traffic was going slowly at the time of the bomb because of the traffic lights up ahead having just turned red.

  Powell flicked through a few channels. There were no shortage of cameras and news reporters already covering the explosions as there had been hundreds of reporters in town to cover the conference.

  The phone rang again and this time it was Brian.

  “When I first heard there was a bomb in Brighton, I was certain it would be your bar,” Brian said. “I had quite a shock until someone explained it was at the Labour conference.”

  “Didn’t know you cared,” Powell joked.

  “Not about you but I do care for Afina. I have a horrible, nagging doubt that somehow it’s not a coincidence. This must have something to do with Lara and Al-Hashimi.”

  “I think we can again safely assume the bomber wasn’t Al-Hashimi as someone has hold of him. And according to Lara, he said the next target was the Conservative conference so it seems he didn’t know about last night’s bomb or this one. That means there is another cell operating completely independently of Al-Hashimi.”

  “Today’s bombs were set off by two suicide bombers so a different modus operandi to the other attacks.”

  “It was lucky they detonated outside the conference centre and didn’t get inside.”

  “There are metal detectors, like at the airports, you have to walk through to enter so they wouldn’t be able to get past them with a bomb. They are a new addition this year so someone made a good decision.”

  “They might not have realised that. So what’s the news on Brown?”

  “Brown has just been released.”

  “How is that possible?” Powell asked, shocked.

  “The Americans vouched for him. Said he was working for them and assured us the man they have interrogated isn’t called Al-Hashimi and had nothing to do with the Marathon bombing. They say he was a terrorist suspect they have been pursuing for a long time.”

  “Forgive me if I’m feeling slightly incredulous. Does the DG actually believe that bullshit?”

  “I said it was the official version. The DG has to keep the Americans sweet and isn’t entirely sure what to believe. He doesn’t trust the Yanks but he relies on their cooperation. And there is no trace of Al-Hashimi. No one has admitted knowing the name. We only have Lara’s word that the man even exists.”

  “How does the DG explain the attempts on Lara’s life?”

  “An overzealous Brown not entirely understanding his remit… The CIA trying to cover their tracks… It doesn’t matter. The Americans will get a severe slap on the wrist but that’s becoming a regular occurrence.”

  Powell was almost speechless. “Someone needs reminding this is the UK not the wild west.”

  “I agree but we are very reliant on the Americans for intel so our partnership with them is by no means equal.”

  “Do you think this means Lara is safe?” Right now she and Jenkins were back at his house.

  “Difficult to know.”

  “Surely Brown wouldn’t dare try anything now?”

  “Brown is on the next plane back to the States. I can’t say that categorically means she’s safe but the Americans will have a lot of uncomfortable questions to answer if anything happens to Lara. Problem is that’s not always enough to keep them under control…And they have no shortage of the likes of Brown to do their dirty work.”

  Powell froze as he heard the television news. “I have to go,” he interrupted Brian. “The news is reporting there’s been some shooting on the pier. Afina’s having lunch there with Mara. I need to make sure they are all right.”

  He ended the call and immediately tried to call Afina. The call went straight to voice mail. He left a message asking her to phone him back urgently. Then he called Mara with the same result.

  They should have been back at the bar by now if they had left straight away, as he suggested. Maybe they had difficulty getting a taxi. The roads would be chaotic. Or perhaps they were still on the pier when the terrorists attacked. He needed to get to the pier. If they returned while he was looking for them, the bar staff could call and let him know they were safe.

  Customers in the bar had left their tables and were crowding around the television to hear the news. He found one of the reliable waiters and told her he was going out and wasn’t sure when he would be back. She was in charge until he returned. She looked uncertain but he told her he had every confidence in her and she could call him if there was an emergency. He also stressed she was to call if Afina turned up.

  Next, he hurried to his office and collected his gun. It seemed to have seen a great deal of use recently, given it had previously sat for so many years unused in his safe. He walked at his fastest pace out of the bar, trying not to run.

  Once on the street he stepped halfway into the middle of the road to flag down a taxi. The driver had no choice but to stop and initially wasn’t keen to head towards the pier but Powell persuaded him with a fistful of money, telling him somewhere close would be fine.

  Powell called Afina twice more but each time the call went unanswered. He found Mara’s number but the result was the same. Why the hell was neither of them answering? He could only think of one reason and it made him feel sick in his stomach. He told the driver to go faster. If it had been a normal day, Afina would have been working in the bar and safe. Why the hell did he persuade her to take a day off? Was life trying to laugh in his face yet again.

  The taxi journey took only ten minutes and he ran the last hundred metres. Police had already cordoned off the entrance to the pier. There was chaos everywhere as people who had gathered to find out what was happening were being told in no uncertain terms, to leave the area as quickly as possible as there may be further terrorists.

  Once people got the message they started running in all directions and Powell was the only person still trying to get to the pier.

  A bulky police officer spied him and put his large frame directly in front of him. “You need to move away, sir,” the officer said forcefully.

  “My friends are on the pier…”

  “It wasn’t a request,” the officer shouted. “Go home and wait to hear from them.”

  Still Powell didn’t move. “Are there terrorists on the pier?” he asked.

  “Please move away, sir or I w
ill be forced to arrest you.”

  “Just tell me if there are fucking terrorists on the pier,” Powell demanded.

  “This is your final warning, sir. Move away now.”

  Powell could see the officer wasn’t going to be helpful. He was of a mature age, which suggested he had been passed over for promotion more than once. He was overweight and had a tired look, like he had seen it all before. He had probably heard every excuse ever invented. He would stand where he was told all day if necessary and no one would get past.

  Powell had a strong urge to simply knock him to the ground. It wasn’t a good idea. There were too many of his colleagues in close vicinity. The presence of so many police, and more were arriving every second, must mean one or more terrorists were indeed on the pier. At least there was no immediate sound of gunfire. Then he realised that could be because everyone was already dead.

  CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

  Afina and Mara ran towards the end of the pier, to get away from the gunshots but without any idea of what they would do once they reached the end.

  They stood breathless by all the amusement rides. Afina noticed the ghost train and wondered if it might make a good hiding place. There were few options for hiding. Other people were anxiously stood about not knowing what to do. Bizarrely, the Dodgems were still running and a few people were crashing cars into each other, oblivious of the imminent danger.

  Afina took a look over the side of the pier. It seemed a very long way down to the sea.