He bumbled along the sidewalk opposite the hospital, already guarded by police officers. These were trained security personnel not tired office workers.
“No doubt the N.I.S. will be close at hand too,” Cope thought. He took an imaginary swig from the empty drinks can in his hand and then dropped it lackadaisically.
A police patrol car turned onto the street catching Cope in its headlights, he shuffled into a shop doorway like a cockroach scurrying for cover. It drove past unaware of its lack of vigilance leaving Cope unmolested.
He waited in the doorway for a moment listening to the noise of the evening traffic. His heart thumped in his chest as if it wanted to escape and run back to the hotel. Although the explosives were cunningly designed to mimic refuse he knew that they could never pass anything more than just a cursory look.
Cautiously he checked no one was watching, and satisfied he was unobserved scattered some of the rubbish and stepped back out onto the street.
He traipsed passed the hospital entrance looking weary with the world, a slump to his shoulders, dragging his body on like it was weighed down with woe. He finished off another drinks can and discarded it.
At the entrance to the hospital two policemen were talking to a man in civilian clothing. Cope couldn't make out anything that was being said but they all looked friendly and relaxed, “Neotran Internal Security,” Cope guessed.
Finding a large doorway that looked like it led to an abandoned building Cope smiled.
“Good,” he thought, “If I dump explosives here there'll be no one interested in cleaning it up.”
He shuffled into the doorway to find it was already strewn with litter. He opened one of his bags and cast out the remainder of its contents.
As an extra deterrent from someone cleaning up he urinated on the shop door. The trail of piss pooled and trickled steaming down the step onto the street.
Lights swept over him casting his shadow onto the rubbish.
“You there!”
Cope shook off the drips and turned round. Peering through the glare of the headlights he recognised the dark blue uniform of a policeman. Cope mumbled incoherently playing to his disguise.
The officer strode up from the parked patrol car, his flashlight dazzling Cope's eyes. Cope could feel the tacky sweat coating his palms and the clenched fist of nervousness in his gut.
“Come on now,” the policeman's voice was stern.
“Huh?” Cope grunted at the officer.
“Move it,” ordered the policeman.
A voice from the patrol car called out, “Cuff him and let’s get him down the cells for vagrancy.”
The policeman closed on Cope shining a flashlight in his face, “I don't recognise you, you new in town?”
Cope nodded.
“What's in the bag?”
Cope involuntarily tensed and pulled the bag away from the police officer’s reach.
“Gimme that!” the policeman held out his hand.
The policeman in the car gibed his fellow officer, “You know what we were told about the hospital. We need to get him off the streets.”
Cope suddenly noticed that he was shaking with fear.
“What am I going to do?” he thought, “I can't fight my way out, could I run for it?”
The officer watched the tramp looking up and down the street trembling as he did.
“You on something?” the office asked.
He pulled the bag from Cope's wavering hand and opened it.
The officer shook his head at the vagrant and dipped his flashlight into the carrier bag.
The light caught a wrapper and illuminated it like an x-ray.
Cope could see the circuit board etchings and the wires in the plastic explosives light up like a Jack-o'-lantern.
“Come on, stop horsing about and get him cuffed,” the policeman from the car got out and started walking towards Cope.
Distracted by his colleague the officer searching the bag called over his shoulder, “I think we can let this one off with a caution,”
The second policeman from the car drew level with his buddy and sniffed the pungent air.
He waved his hand to waft clear the stench of stale beer and snorted out the offending smell, “Sure, I ain't cleaning up after him.”
“He's tanked up and got the shakes, we pick him up an we'll have to get the social services involved,” the policeman turned back to Cope, “I'm guessin' you don't want that, pal?”
Cope dredged up the presence of mind to shake his head and muttered, “Bastards,”
“Look you can't sleep it off here. It's going to get pretty cold out here tonight, you ought to get off the streets.”
Cope with his eyes lowered shrugged and made a mournful grunt.
The policeman switched off the flashlight having failed to examine its contents and passed back the bag, “There's the mission down by the South Bridge, they close their doors in about an hour, shouldn't take you more than thirty minutes to get down there. They'll give you a square meal and a bed for the night.”
Cope nodded and doffed an invisible cap to the officer before shuffling off, bag in hand.
“Hey!” The policeman from the car shouted.
Startled by the cry Cope stopped dead.
“Shit they spotted the explosives!” beads of sweat dripped from Cope's brow as he shook with fear.
“It's the other way.”
Cope exhaled the stale breath he'd been holding and turned round.
“Aye,” he spluttered at the officer and trudged off.
It was three blocks down the street before he stopped shaking. Cope found a quiet alleyway on his way back to the hotel. Breaking open the soap and the water he took time to wash off the worst of the grime. He dried himself as best he could with the towel and returned to the hotel.
The morning sun tried to bring some warmth to the winter's day but failed miserably. The cold wind and the dark clouds on the horizon threatened snow. Cope walked from the hotel with his overnight bag and briefcase just another faceless businessman leaving his temporary berth. He was on his way to the shop to make the last few preparations before the assassination. As always he took a convoluted route to avoid being followed. Cope was sensitive to the fact that last night's expedition had exposed him far more than he'd expected. It had gone well, but his ever-present paranoia nagged at him making him wary of the apparent ease of his mission.
He ran through the past couple of days in his mind trying to find points where he could have been compromised. The hotel, the shop, being the tramp, he looked for clues he might have missed that could indicate he had been marked.
One thing kept coming back to his mind. It had been a different receptionist this morning when he had left. That on its own would not have brought concern but she had been adamant that he filled out one of their customer care questionnaires. The receptionist had asked a lot questions, like what line of work he was in, where he was from and so on. None of the other staff had been so chatty with him during his stay. Cope happily conveyed his cover story to the young woman, it was dangerous to converse with strangers but he didn’t want to arouse suspicion by being too curt either. But something kept coming back to him about the situation something he couldn't place a finger on.
“Could it just be the stress of the mission fuelling a well-developed paranoia?” Cope wondered.
A man in a brown leather jacket and a thick woolly hat caught his eye in the street.
“He looks familiar, where have I seen him?” Cope thought.
Cope turned a corner into a side street, and to his relief the man didn't follow him.
“I'm getting too skittery,” Cope said to himself and continued with his circuitous route to the safe house.
His walk was coming to an end; just off the next main road was the lane leading to the shop. Cope stepped onto the busy street and started looking for a place to cross. He looked to his left to see the man in the brown leather jacket slowly walking down the main street.
“Shit!” Cope cursed, “I am being watched!”
This was too much of a coincidence and besides there was no way the man could have caught up just by walking.
If this was a bust Cope knew that the assassination team would already be in place and there was no way of standing down at this late hour.
“What can I do?” his mind raced, “I can't go back to the shop. If I do I'll jeopardise the team's chances of escape. But for all I know the shop could have been raided by the security forces already.”
Cope wasn't carrying any weapon with which he could take out his shadow. Carrying a firearm in the street was an unnecessary risk. The reason he never carried one on missions like this was common sense. If you were unarmed and stopped and searched by the police you might bluff your way out and leave them thinking nothing of it. With a gun in your pocket you had to fight.
Cope walked past the opening that led to the safe house. A quick glance showed no sign of a struggle, from that Cope surmised they were not aware of the shop.
“Keep moving, I can lose this tail in the rush hour traffic,” Cope walked briskly down the main street.
He craned his neck peering through the wash of commuters. He wasn’t looking for anything specific just something to give his escape inspiration.
“If the Neotran Internal Security are watching me I'll have to stretch their surveillance net to breaking point,” Cope reasoned, “They would hope that they could follow me to my destination and spring a trap on all of the terrorists in my cell. If I keep moving they will have no choice but to apprehend me or lose me. Either way my men in the safe house would have time to effect an escape.”
Then he spotted the sign to the station. Down an adjacent thoroughfare was a transits stop. The throng of workers flooding into the centre of town would be coming from there. Boarding a train may be a good option to escape and the sheer number of people in the station’s vicinity would make it physically more difficult for the Neotran security to follow him.
Cope stopped to cross the road, he looked left and right to check for traffic and using the motion to disguise his intent he glanced behind. The man in the brown leather jacket was still behind him.
“If I don't return as scheduled the boys in the shop will go to their own backup plan and leave Jala. Even if I get picked up the rest of them will be fine. I don’t know the other routes out of town as long as I can stay quiet for a few hours I won’t be able to give anything away.”
Cope had left the safe house far behind and was leaving the main shopping area. Unlike the chain stores on the main street these were smaller and more specialised. He kept a watchful eye out for trouble as he made his way along the road but the increase in foot traffic was working to his disadvantage now.
“I can't simply get on a train and go home. They might be watching the stations and airports,” he thought, “If I’m on a train or a plane I lose control. They go by set routes it would be to easy to get corralled.
“I'll steal a car, no!” he corrected himself, “I'll hire one. A stolen car could be reported in minutes. A hire firm wouldn't suspect anything. Hire a car for a few days and I’ll be long gone before they report anything.”
Cope pulled his wallet from his pocket. Looking inside he estimated its contents before tucking it back into his pocket. There was about nine hundred in cash, more than enough to get out of the city.
Cope came to another crossing and looked round, there was no sign of the man in the leather jacket.
“Did I imagine him following me?” Cope scanned the busy crowds.
There were no familiar faces or suspicious figures.
“Maybe I've overreacted?”
He turned onto a large avenue with gigantic glass fronted buildings. This was Jala's central business district.
“I must have been wrong,” Cope made a deal with himself, “I'll head on down here and find a café. I'll have something to eat and if I still think I'm being followed I'll leave town, if not I'll head back to the safe house.”
A dark blue car screeched up in front of him and mounted the pavement. Three of the four doors opened and the man in the brown leather jacket stepped into Cope's path.
As he left the car he raised a pistol at Cope.
“N.I.S. On the ground, now!” his I.D. swinging from a lanyard around his neck.
Without thinking Cope threw his bag and briefcase at the man and barged passed him into the street.
He darted across the road away from the unmarked police car.
“Freeze!”
Cope kept running.
There was a hard slap against the back of Copes thigh as he tried to mount the pavement on the other side of the road. His first thought was that a baton or truncheon had hit him. As he strode forward the pain rippled out in waves from the impact point. His foot came down onto the kerb but his leg couldn't take the weight. He buckled over and fell face first onto the ground. Not realising he'd been shot he tried to pull himself to his feet. The injured leg was limp and useless making it impossible to run. Cope hauled himself along the pavement scrabbling and lurching. The fear and the injury blocked out the sound of sirens and the panicked screams of bystanders.
Suddenly he was being lifted off the ground and dragged back to the car. Cope weakly struggled against his captors' grasp. He broke loose and landed hard on the road. Undeterred The Neotran Internal Security men picked him up again and carried on.
Section 24
“News has just broken about the battle for Greda.” Zinner announced looking at a screen, “The battle has been numerically indecisive, with both sides suffering massive casualties.”
Speg called over, “ So Admiral Jager has overseen another fuck up?”
“In a nutshell yes. Jager’s fleet should have annihilated the Neotrans,” said Zinner.
“So why didn’t he?” Orr asked in a sour tone.
“The Gredan defences held,” Zinner thumbed through the summations, “Jager’s fleet was broken up by a combination of mines and suicidal assaults and the Netorans have taken full advantage of the planetary support to present a consolidated defence.”
“In short they fought like bastards,” Speg summarised.
“Never give your enemy no option other than to fight, Jager’s backed them into a corner.”
“Arrogant dick,” Speg mused, “why the hell didn’t he just corral them in? Would have had the same effect.”
“Maybe he wanted to free up the ships so we could get orbital cover?” Orr chipped in.
“Well he won’t be making any more bad decisions either way. The T.W. Carrhae was struck and he’s listed a casualty.”
Orr handed over a report to Zinner, “The President is going to proclaim their success in a speech after his visit to the war wounded.”
“Pyric victory at best,” Zinner scoffed.
”We could hold off the attack until he’s in front of the cameras.” suggested Orr.
“No,” Zinner said handing the report back to Orr.
“No? Just No?”
“That’s right.”
“Why not? Think of the impact killing him on camera will have,” Orr pointed out.
“I don’t disagree but this mission will be difficult enough as it is. If we try and adapt the plan on the hoof we increase the number of variables out with our control.”
“Isn’t it worth the risk?”
“The outcome the Alliance wants is Onedrea dead with the minimum amount of collateral damage. I’m not going to jeopardise the mission and our safety for some dubious political gain.”
“Think of the impact it would have.” argued Orr.
“It will have a huge impact on or off camera and I’m not willing to take any more risks than we have to and that's the end of it”
“Come on...”
“This is not a discussion.” Zinner stated.
“Got an other ambulance coming in,” Telfor announced.
“OK everyone get ready,” Zinner commanded as they watched an
ambulance screech into the hospital grounds.
The throng of police and soldiers at its entrance had parted and the ambulance had sailed passed the checkpoint.
Although Jala was gripped in the icy chill of winter a large crowd had gathered to catch a glimpse of the President.
For all his popularity there was a small but vocal group of anti-war demonstrators. The protesters were cordoned off and being barked at by police dogs away from the crowds of well-wishers.
Zinner switched off the monitor and looked around the cramped interior of the cabin.
There had only been fifteen minutes to install the infrasonics and the global positioning equipment on board.
Fifteen minutes was about the length of time they reckoned they had before questions were asked about the whereabouts of the medical vehicle.
They had acquired the ambulance simply by breaking into a private residence and placing an emergency call. When it had arrived Zinner and Orr quickly overpowered the crew and took their uniforms.
Telfor had feverishly linked up the hardware on the way, but the job had required a stop in a secluded alleyway to align the emitters and receivers in the siren housings.
“All ready?” asked Zinner.
“There's a lot of military about,” Orr said nervously.
“There are,” Zinner admitted, “but the majority are forming the cordon around the hospital. It'll be a lot quieter on the inside.”
“What about getting out?” Orr asked.
“Once the first shots are fired the civilians will panic,” Zinner said confidently, “The majority of the security forces will be overwhelmed by the stamped of bystanders. The rest won't know how to cope with the situation and freeze up with indecision.”
Zinner smiled, “We slip out in the confusion,”
“You make it sound easy,” Orr commented.
Zinner pulled the medic's cap on over his blond hair, “OK, let's go.”
Telfor flicked the sirens on and drove at speed towards the hospital forecourt.
As the wailing grew audible to the guards they started pushing the protesters aside.
From the Torment of Dreams Page 16
