‘It matches the one in the CCTV footage?’
‘Yeah – the angle of this photograph meant it could be enlarged so the analysts could get a partial read of the licence plate.’
Mitch picked up the report and began flicking through it, stifling a yawn as he reached for one of the coffee refills. ‘One of our tactical teams has been watching the place since nine this evening – they’ve only seen two suspects so far. One guy exited the building to walk to and from a shed nearby and came back with what looked like a car battery. The other’s only been spotted through the kitchen window.’
Dan pulled the house plans across the table. ‘Might explain why the van hasn’t moved for a few hours.’ He tapped his finger on the plans. ‘The kitchen has an exit into a back yard – the only other exit is the front door.’
‘What about the renovations?’
‘Looks like the owner pulled down a wall between the kitchen and dining room. The living room is separate. The front door opens into a hallway – stairs leading up on the right, living room to the left, with the kitchen and dining area at the back.’
‘There must be a cellar or something in a place as old as this,’ said Mitch, pulling the original plans towards him. ‘Look – under the main staircase – there’s another set of stairs leading downwards. Look at the thickness of the walls – they’d be near soundproof.’
‘It seems to cover the whole footprint of the upper levels,’ said Dan.
‘Perfect place to hide a missing genius,’ suggested David.
‘True.’ Dan traced his finger over the plans. ‘Three bedrooms upstairs, and a bathroom. Easy.’
‘Who’s going in with us?’ asked Mitch.
‘We sent in a six-man team to carry out a reconnaissance – they’re already on site so you’ll be meeting up with them,’ said David. ‘They’ve familiarised themselves with the layout and have a feel for the place. We haven’t time to organise another team and bring it up to speed on the situation so it’ll just be the eight of you.’
‘I’m coming too,’ said Antonia, striding round the table and interrupting them. ‘There’s no way you’re leaving me out of this.’
‘No.’ Dan shook his head.
‘But you need all the help you can get,’ Antonia protested.
David glanced at Dan and Mitch before speaking. ‘He’s not questioning your skills, Antonia – we can’t possibly have a non-UK citizen running around the countryside with a weapon of any sort. We’ve got too many people watching us, waiting for us to screw up. If you want to help,’ he said softening his tone, ‘why not go with the medical team. They might be grateful for an extra pair of hands if this goes tits up.’
Antonia crossed her arms in front of her. ‘I still say it’s a waste of my skills.’
‘Acknowledged.’
Dan raised his eyebrow at David, and then continued. ‘Okay, let’s get a move on.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘It’s quarter to one now so we should be on site within two hours. Me and Mitch will go and get geared up.’
‘Right,’ said David. ‘I’ll phone the team and tell them you’re on your way. I’ll get our medevac team mobilised to meet you there.’
As he opened the door, he turned and looked back at Dan and Mitch. ‘Just remember – if anything goes wrong, you’ll be held accountable. If you rescue Swift, it’s all good. If you shoot the wrong guy, you’ll be facing murder charges.’
Chapter 41
Dan shivered, the cold gradually seeping through the front of his black clothing and into his skin. He cricked the muscles in his neck and re-focused his rifle sight.
The eight-man team sprawled out silently across the snow in a line along a shallow ditch, lying prone, facing forward, their rifles pointing at the red brick farm house in front of them. Clouds passed silently across the waxing moon, casting shadows among the trees and surrounding fields.
It had taken over an hour to reach their positions. Walking in through the surrounding woodland, the men had fanned out across a fifty metre line, stepping carefully, using a heel-toe movement through the undergrowth to reduce noise and conceal their approach using the trees and shadows.
Since establishing their forward position half an hour before, they’d seen no activity within the building. No lights shone in the front windows – a brief scout around the premises by one of the team located the living room at the side of the building, a television screen throwing light around the edges of the curtains in an otherwise dark enclosed space.
The van traced through the country’s CCTV network was parked off to one side of the building – fresh snow covering its windscreen, roof and windows proving the kidnappers hadn’t moved from their hideout within the past eight hours.
A quiet sniff emanated from the end of the line of men. Dan glanced at his watch. Quarter to four in the morning. He flexed his fingers on the rifle, the thin gloves providing little warmth to his hands.
He breathed out, his breath sucked away by the respirator built into the gas mask covering his face, which with the black helmet covering his head gave his appearance an alien likeness as he peered through the eye sockets using the night vision cameras built into the helmet.
He put his finger to the earphone in his right ear as it hissed to life.
Extraction in T minus three minutes .
His heart rate began to increase, the adrenalin pumping through his body. He tugged at the scarf around his neck and pushed it down into his collar, to give better protection from the breach which would be used to get through the thick oak doors of the farm house. He fingered the Sig Sauer which he’d strapped to his right leg, checking it was secure.
The cold forgotten, he stretched his leg muscles, arched his back and began to replay the plan in his mind. He checked the safety on his rifle one final time. Off.
All along the line the men flexed as one, listening to the countdown reverberating in their heads.
Three… Two… One!
Six men rose, wraith-like, from the ground. Crouching down, keeping their body shapes as small as possible, they scattered to their allocated attack positions – two to the rear, two to the front and one man on each diagonal, covering the windows on two sides. Two remained in their original prone positions, ready to act as snipers if any of the kidnappers escaped the building.
Dan and Mitch ran silently across the snow, their boots crunching softly into the crystallised surface, their steady breathing loud in their ears through the respirators compared with the silence the snowfall had created. Ducking under the level of the window sills, they pushed quietly past shrubs and edged around the farm house until they reached the rear of the building.
Dan crouched down facing the back door while Mitch provided cover to his rear. He reached out and touched the door handle.
Locked .
He reached into a zippered pocket on the front of his vest, pulled out a length of detonator cord and fixed it to the surface of the door. Next, he attached a shock tube initiator, checked his watch, then tapped Mitch on the shoulder and gestured for him to move back.
In his earpiece, he waited until the team at the front door confirmed they were ready and then began the short countdown.
‘On my count – three, two, one!’ He activated the initiator.
A split second later there was a short sharp crack as the door splintered inwards, a wisp of smoke emanating from the new opening. A similar blast from the front of the building echoed in the trees.
They were in.
‘Remember, watch for weapons, not movement,’ ordered Dan into his throat microphone.
He pulled out a stun grenade, flicked the pin and tossed it into the opening. He turned his face away from the blast, which rocked the farm house’s kitchen and blew glass out of the window panes. Then, crouching low, rifle pointed in front of him, he entered the darkened building.
Smoke swirling in front of him, Dan crouched and checked through his rifle sight for movement. The kitchen area comprised a large stone sink to th
e right of the back door, gas oven and hob and fitted cupboards.
Dan walked over to the hob and oven, and checked the dials. Off.
A large central breakfast bar filled the remaining space. One of three stools lay on its side on the tiled floor, with no sign of its previous occupant.
To the left, Dan saw a small dining table, four chairs and the remnants of a Chinese takeaway spread across the table’s stained surface. Standing up, he glanced in the sink. Three plates.
Silently, he pointed them out to Mitch, who nodded. Quietly, they made their way across the room, their breath echoing in their masks’ respirators. As Dan approached a doorway leading through to the building’s central passageway, his earpiece crackled to life.
‘Team leader, this is Team Two – we’ve entered the front door. Rooms to our left and right are clear. Propose to climb the stairs. Over.’
‘Okay,’ said Dan. ‘We’ll continue down here. Out.’ He turned to Mitch. ‘Ready to check the basement?’
‘Copy that,’ Mitch nodded, Dan’s silhouette reflected in the eye sockets of his goggles.
Dan lifted his rifle to his shoulder and edged closer to the closed door under the staircase, his heart beating rapidly. He noted the hinges would mean the door would swing out away from him. He grunted in satisfaction, and reached out his hand towards the handle.
A piercing scream came from the cellar, nearly turning Dan’s insides to liquid.
‘What the fuck was that?’ hissed Mitch, his voice wavering over the radio.
‘I think we just found our project engineer,’ said Dan, unable to disguise the shaking in his own voice. ‘No time to waste. Team Two, we’re going in.’
‘Copy that.’
‘Got a flash bang, Mitch?’
‘Ready.’
‘On three.’
Dan counted in his head, wrenched open the basement door and stepped to one side.
Mitch leaned past him, tossed a stun grenade through the opening and moved out of the way as Dan pulled the door shut.
A loud crack filled the space, a cloud of dust billowed out from under the door, and then he wrenched it open and swung his rifle into the void. A dim light coursed up the narrow flight of steps. Dan switched off his night vision and located another button on the side of his helmet. Two torches sparked to life above his eyes, illuminating the staircase with a bright glare, pinpointed to Dan’s direct line of vision.
He walked slowly down the steps, his rifle sight sweeping the floor below. As he reached the corner of the staircase, a figure lurched into view on his hands and knees, coughing and retching.
Stunned by the flash bang grenade, the man turned to face Dan and began to raise a gun.
‘Put your weapon down!’ yelled Dan.
The man leaned against the wall of the staircase, shook his head once and released the safety.
Dan fired once, low, hitting the man in the chest.
The man cried out, dropping his gun, and fell, his body slipping down the steps.
Dan bent down, pulled off his gloves and felt the man’s neck for a pulse. Nothing.
‘Shit,’ he muttered. Standing up, he pulled on his gloves, glanced over his shoulder at Mitch, then began to descend the steps once more.
Dan glanced over his shoulder and held up a hand behind his back, slowing Mitch’s descent. Reaching the final tread, he turned and surveyed the room layout. It was plain, some eight metres square, with exposed beams and little in the way of furnishings.
As he stepped down onto the basement floor, he almost tripped over a figure lying prone on the stone floor.
The man wore faded brown suit trousers, his jacket thrown over the back of a nearby wooden chair, while the sleeves of his pale blue shirt were rolled up to his elbows. He wore suede loafers, the heels and toes of one shoe badly scuffed as if he suffered a limp. He was also out cold from the force of the stun grenade which had landed near him.
Dan slowly approached the man in the brown suit. At his feet, a car battery stood on the stone floor, wires protruding from its connectors. As he drew nearer and moved his head to look past the figure in front of him, Dan’s eyes followed the wires trailing across the floor.
His heart lurched.
A man hung from one of the exposed beams, his arms roped across the beam, his shirt ripped open, exposing large red welts. The car battery had been wired to his bare toes which dangled above the floor. Blood dripped from his mouth, a purple bruise developing across one swollen eye while the other remained closed, tears coursing down his cheeks.
As Dan watched, the man stirred and his eyes opened wide in terror at the masked figure now in front of him.
‘Help me!’ said Dan and hurried towards the man hanging from the beam.
Mitch ran down the stairs, pulled out a knife and began sawing through the ropes which bound the man, while Dan disconnected the clips from Grant’s toes, coiled the wires and threw them to one side.
After gently lowering the engineer from the beam, Dan glanced around the basement, located Grant’s shoes, then grabbed the man’s ankles to steady the trembling in his legs and tugged the shoes onto his feet.
‘Grant. Listen to me. We’re going to get you out of here.’
The man began to shake, his hands trembling while a tic developed below his left eye socket.
‘He’s going into shock,’ said Mitch. ‘We need to move fast.’
The man suddenly lurched towards Dan, grabbed hold of his Kevlar vest and started to tear at the mask on his face, yelling.
‘Get me out of here!’ He began to push past Dan, who grabbed him roughly by the shoulders, spun him round and slapped him across the face, hard.
‘Focus!’ he hissed. He held up his hand. ‘We’re going to get you out of here but you have to do what I say, okay?’
Grant nodded, miserably.
Dan pushed the man towards Mitch, who reached out, caught Grant by the arm and steadied him. Dan looked over his shoulder at the man he’d knocked to the ground, who was easing himself into a seated position, holding his head. ‘Do you know his name?’ he asked Grant.
The engineer blinked and took a deep shaking breath before answering. ‘I heard the others call him Baqir.’
‘Okay. Good,’ Dan glanced at Mitch. ‘Let’s get out of here.’
Mitch nodded, relaxed his grip on his rifle, and took Grant by his arm. ‘Come on,’ he said, ‘let’s go.’
Dan watched as Mitch dragged the man up the stairs away from the room which had been his prison. He glanced around the room, at the stinking bucket in the far corner, the stained mattress on the floor and the thin blankets strewn across it. He turned, kicked an empty water bottle and an instant meal pot out of his way and turned to Baqir, who was recovering from the stun grenade.
The man inched his way up into a sitting position, then turned and stared at Dan, grinning malevolently, exposing blackened rotten teeth. His ragged breath caught in his throat and he hacked uncontrollably before he spat on the floor.
Dan grimaced behind his mask, and began to pace towards the man, keeping his rifle trained on the torturer. ‘Stay still,’ he ordered.
The man cackled, shifted his position on the floor and held something up to the light.
Too late, Dan realised what he was looking at. The clips which had been attached to Grant’s feet.
The man held the wires to each side of his head and kicked out with his right foot, knocking the car battery onto its side, the connection made.
Dan closed his eyes and turned his body away as the man’s body writhed on the concrete floor from the force of the electric shock, a high-pitched scream escaping his lips.
Dan felt his stomach lurch, ripped off his mask and vomited over the floor. The air stank of burning flesh, assaulting his nostrils. He buried his nose into the sleeve of his jacket and concentrated on breathing through his mouth until he was certain he wasn’t going to be sick again, then wiped his eyes and replaced his mask.
He blinked and look
ed away from Baqir’s body, then turned towards the door at a voice in his earpiece.
‘You okay?’ said Mitch from the doorway at the top of the stairs.
‘Yeah.’
‘We need to get a move on.’
‘Coming.’ Dan repositioned his rifle and ran up the staircase.
Mitch stood at the top, one hand on his rifle, his finger on the trigger, the other hand on Grant’s shoulder, steadying him. He cocked his head to one side, his expression hidden behind his mask.
‘What happened?’
Dan shook his head. ‘Later.’
Mitch nodded, glanced into the passageway and began to pull Grant towards the front door while Dan covered their retreat from the rear.
A sudden movement at the top of the stairs preceded a shout in their earpieces.
‘We’ve got a runner!’
Dan and Mitch turned as one, pushing Grant down onto the floor behind them, their rifles pointed up the stairs.
A man dressed in black jeans and a blue sweatshirt launched himself down the top three steps, steadied his speed and stopped, glaring at the men below, sweat pouring from his brow.
As his pulse steadied, Dan levelled his rifle at the man.
‘Stop right there!’ he yelled. ‘Do not move!’
The man froze in position for a split second, and then began to run down the remaining stairs. As he reached halfway, his hands fumbled an object out of a pocket of the sweatshirt.
Without a second’s hesitation, Dan fired once – a clear shot to the man’s chest, sending blood and tissue up the faded wallpaper.
The man tumbled, lost his footing and slid down the last three steps into a crumpled heap. As the man slumped to the floor, Dan’s eyes opened wide behind his goggles. A small cylinder tumbled to the floor, its metal casing bouncing on the hard surface of the floor tiles.
‘Grenade!’ he yelled, and pushed Mitch and Grant sideways through an open doorway into the living room. Throwing himself in after the other men and covering his ears, he closed his eyes.
The blast shook the foundations of the building, blowing apart the wall they were hiding behind. Plaster fell in chunks from the ceiling, while in the passageway the wooden staircase splintered, sending its deadly shrapnel in every direction. Fire started to lick at the remaining furnishings, flames beginning to take hold of the building.
Under Fire: (A Dan Taylor thriller) Page 22
