Soft Target 01 - Soft Target

by Conrad Jones

  As he ran toward the edge of the platform, DC Ruth Walsh fired her Glock 9mm three times. The first bullet hit Rasim in the lower back, splintering his spine into dozens of tiny pieces; the second hit his wounded shoulder, shattering the ball joint and nearly separating the damaged limb from his body. He stumbled over the edge of the platform and fell onto the dull metal rails. Rasim tried to lift himself up, but his ruined spine wouldn’t allow him to move. It took just eight seconds between Rasim Janet landing on the rails, and the 12.45 from Liverpool squashing his head against the dull metal. He had remained conscious as he watched the speeding express come toward him.

  CHAPTER 55

  Terrorist Task Force/ Liverpool

  Chen replaced the handset of the telephone and he slammed his fist against the desk in frustration. “What’s wrong now?” David Bell asked. Information was pouring into the taskforce office all afternoon. Uniformed police were deployed to identify the location of every ice-cream van and hot dog stall they could find. No one could approach the suspect vehicles in case the suicide bombers became suspicious and detonated their device. The streets of Liverpool were swarming with people wearing replica football shirts, enjoying the carnival atmosphere. Chen had sent a uniformed officer to a local sportswear warehouse to purchase two-dozen replica shirts. They were distributed to uniformed officers so that they could reconnaissance any potential vehicles without raising suspicion.

  Grace Farrington called Chen with some urgent developments; Faz and Tank had raided an address in Anfield. It was a basement apartment close to the football stadium and it was completely sterile. Everything had been wiped down and cleaned. In the middle of the living room of the apartment was a wooden coffee table; in the centre of the coffee table was the severed head of the old Mullah whom Yasser had entrusted with caring for Mustapha and Yasmine. The old man’s tongue had been pulled between his teeth and was left lolling out of the dead mouth, stapled to it was a photograph of Yasmine Ahmed.

  Grace also received a call from the diving centre at Carpenray. She had spoken to them previously when air tanks, marked with their brand, were found at the mosque in Warrington. The owner there had kept her number in case anything untoward happened. The owner informed Grace that a dry suit had been stolen along with all the relative equipment and a DPV. The name of the man that hired the equipment couldn’t be identified, but the staff remembered that he was of Middle Eastern appearance. The theft of the Diver Propulsion Vehicle was significant in the fact that the distance being patrolled along the River Mersey would now increase tenfold. This would dilute any attempts to search for a submerged diver.

  Uniform has found a car abandoned near the Mersey promenade. They say that it has a man’s clothing and shoes on the back seat. It could be a suicide drowning or we could have a diver in the river. This has to be related to the other incidents that we have.” Chen feared an attack from the river the most. The Coastguard was on heightened alert but they could not prevent a determined diver from reaching the water. Now that they had the information from Carpenray, they could only assume that an attack from the river was imminent.

  We need to launch every available unmanned spy drone and have them patrolling the River Mersey immediately. Order them to concentrate their searches around the John Lennon Airport and the Stanlow oil refinery. If we are correct in assuming that Ahmed is spelling Yasmine with his attacks, then Stanlow is the more likely target. The drones have infrared thermal imaging but it’s still nearly impossible to trace a diver in a dry suit,” before Chen had finished giving the order, four black helicopter drones lifted off from the roof of the taskforce building. They headed off to their programmed search areas like a swarm of huge black metal wasps.

  Coastguard control has three motor patrol boats fitted with specialised diver-detector sonar. They are widening the search area to include the approach water between Otters Pool and the potential targets. If the terrorists are using a DPV then they should be able to pinpoint the sound of the electric motor using high power passive sonar,” the fat controller had been tasked to borrow the sonar equipment from an American Warship. It was prototype equipment that was still in the development stage but it was far more advanced than anything the Royal Navy possessed. The Americans also had a trained sea lion and four dolphins that were used to locate scuba divers on behalf of a specialised Navy Seal Team. Unfortunately, they were in the Philippines, seconded to the government there looking for al-Qaeda trained terrorists. It would take the navy two weeks to fly the animals into Britain so the idea had been shelved.

  We have deployed sharpshooters at Stanlow and we have a team of Special Boat Service divers in the water near the refinery and the airport.” David Bell had struggled to get the British Navy to deploy the Special Boat Service initially, but once the terrorist threat seemed imminent, they had responded with two teams of divers. They were experts at maritime counter-terrorism. The Special Boat Service was responsible for the Liberation of the British embassy in Kuwait in the first Gulf War in 1991. On May 12th 2007, the British Special Boat Service killed Taliban leader Mullah Dadullah in Helmand province during a raid on his compound.

  The SBS divers were armed with APS Underwater Assault Rifles. APS stands for Avtomat Podvodnyy Spetsialnyy, which translates to Special Underwater Automatic Rifle. The underwater weapon was derived from the Russian made AK47. Because ordinary bullets are inaccurate and have a very short range if fired under water, the APS Assault Rifle is fitted with a magazine that holds twenty-six, five-inch long steel bolts that can penetrate even reinforced dry suits. If Nasser al-Masri was attempting to cross the River Mersey, he would have to avoid the Special Boat Service.

  What is the situation with Tank and Grace?” Major Timms approached the two intelligence agents.

  The address in Anfield that they searched is sterile, Major, apart from this,” Chen handed the Major a digital crime scene photograph of the old Mullah’s severed head. “That looks like Yasser Ahmed’s handy work. What is the situation regarding the location of the suspect vehicles?” the Major asked. The problem was there would be approximately four hundred ice-cream vans in the city that day. They could not risk panicking the public or attracting further press interest by ram raiding every ice-cream and hot dog vendor in the vicinity. “We have plain clothes officers all around the Anfield stadium. They are marking the position of every vendor of Middle Eastern or Asian appearance first. Once we have all the information back, Tank is going to eliminate each suspect site one by one,” Chen explained. It would be a painfully slow process but they had very few options without alerting any potential suicide bombers.

  What about cancelling the game itself, is that an option?” the Major mused.

  At the moment the imminent threats are from the river, and outside the stadium. The fans will probably be safer inside the ground. From the intelligence that we have, we could make matters worse. We are concerned that if the bombers get wind of the fact that we are onto them then they may just detonate their devices at random,” Chen was using a lot of supposition to support his theories, but his gut feeling was that the bombers would be aiming to detonate their bombs shortly before the stadium filled up. He was guessing that 3pm would be the time when the streets around the ground would be the busiest. It would be the optimum moment to explode a series of bombs. If they called off the game and alerted the bombers there was no telling what might happen. They still had two hours to locate and neutralise the bombers. The River Mersey was well protected from a maritime attack; the focus now was on finding Yasser Ahmed’s affiliates.

  We could use Mustapha to weed out the bombers,” Chen said. Everyone looked shocked at the suggestion but he continued anyway, “If we assume that any potential suspect bombers must know what Yasser Ahmed looks like, then we could disguise Mustapha and get him to signal the bombers away from their vans from a distance. If he wears dark sunglasses for instance, then the likeness is uncanny. From a distance of say fifty yards they would not know that it was not Yasser un
til it was too late,” Chen was talking quickly and using hand gestures to enforce his idea. He shrugged as he finished his suggestion and a bolt of pain shot through his shoulder making him wince. “I think that the idea might just work. We haven’t got much time left to try anything else. This could be our only realistic chance of identifying the bombers before they act. Get Mustapha in here quickly and let’s prep him with what we want him to do,” Major Stanley Timms knew that it was a risky plan but he could not think of any other way to lure the bombers from their vehicles.

  Mustapha was escorted into the taskforce office and briefed by Chen and David Bell. A pair of dark glasses were placed on him and a female officer applied some foundation to the nasty scab on his cheek. From a distance he could pass as Yasser Ahmed. Mustapha was frightened silly; he was still suffering from the effects of his adventure at South Stack lighthouse and his ordeal in the waters of the Irish Sea. The thought of being bait for a group of potential suicide bombers was not a pleasant one. He laughed with Chen and the fat controller about getting a ticket to watch the game if all went well with Chen’s plan, but on the inside he felt very scared indeed.

  We also have a mobile phone that was posted to your address in Holyhead. We are assuming that your brother sent it to you in order to make contact with you at a later date. Take it with you just in case. Please don’t worry about anything. Tank and Grace are already there and they will be with you every step of the way,” the fat controller placed a small micro-camera on Mustapha’s jacket lapel. It would record and transmit images and sound back to the taskforce. A tiny plastic, flesh coloured device was placed into Mustapha’s right ear. Chen tested it and now Mustapha could receive orders via the tiny speaker. Mustapha was stripped to the waist and he was dressed in a battle vest before getting dressed again. “The vest is just for safety sake - a precaution. I don’t think for one minute that you will need it, but it’s best to be on the safe side,” Chen said lying. Mustapha felt a little bit safer with the vest on, but was still very anxious. He placed the mobile phone into his pocket and followed the Major into the lift that would take them down to the car park.

  It was only three miles to the Anfield area of Liverpool but the streets were packed to bursting point with football fans dressed in red and blue. Mustapha felt his throat drying out and he suddenly felt very thirsty. It was the longest three-mile journey that he had ever had to make. It was quarter past one when he stepped out of the unmarked police car in Anfield and shook hands with Tank.

  CHAPTER 56

  Stanlow Oil Refinery

  Nasser al-Masri checked the dive computer on his wrist; it was like a big digital watch that told the length of time that the diver had spent under water, and the depth that the diver had reached. There was also a compass incorporated into the programme. Underwater navigation is very difficult, especially in strange waters where there are no recognisable landmarks beneath the surface to guide you. Nasser had been submerged for twenty-minutes and had been using the Diver Propulsion Vehicle to speed him across the River Mersey toward the Stanlow Oil Refinery. The waters of the Mersey were dark green and his visibility was just three feet in front of him. It would make him harder for enemy divers to locate, but it made his passage slow, and he had just twenty-minutes of oxygen left before he would need to start surfacing in stages to avoid decompression sickness. Nasser could hear the propellers of small craft passing above him and then fading into the distance. He knew that they were the motor patrol boats that he had seen trawling the river before he entered the water.

  Nasser knew that he had just one chance to destroy his target and he would be under intense fire from the moment that he was located. His journey had been hampered by the weapons that he had to carry with him. Strapped to his thigh he had a British made Scorpion machine pistol; it was fitted with a suppressor permanently, and was capable of firing short distances underwater. The magazine was waterproof, bulky and held sixty-two 9mm rounds. He could not carry any extra ammunition; once the sixty-two high velocity bullets were gone, he would be at the mercy of the British security services. His main weapon of destruction was an RPG-29. The plan was to reach the riverbank submerged, and then try to get close enough to fire his Rocket-Propelled Grenade at one of the huge petrol storage tanks.

  The RPG-29 that Nasser had was far more accurate and deadly than its predecessor. It also had a self-destruct timing device, which meant it could be fired from long distances and timed to explode. It was sealed inside a water-tight carry-case, protected from the murky waters of the River Mersey. The weapon had one grenade fitted, ready to fire, and in the case was a spare grenade to reload the weapon with. Nasser would need around forty seconds from leaving the water to being set to launch his first Rocket-Propelled Grenade. Under the intense fire that would be waiting for him, he knew that his chances were slim to say the least.

  Nasser heard the sound of a propeller belonging to a motor patrol boat closing in on his position. This time instead of fading into the distance, it maintained its location directly above him. He realised that the ship’s sonar must have located the battery powered engine of his DPV. Nasser checked his computer again and he estimated that he was five hundred yards from the shore. He checked his compass to make sure he was heading West. Once he had plotted West, he released the DPV. He launched the small machine into the opposite direction, sending it buzzing off alone beneath the waves heading East.

  Nasser swam away from the DPV in the direction of the riverbank. His weapons suddenly felt incredibly heavy without the use of the DPV. The engine noise from above drifted slowly away in the other direction. They were following the underwater machine which was barely out of Nasser’s vision. Suddenly the water around the small machine seemed to explode into a seething mass of foam and bubbles. The motor patrol boat had relayed the position of the DPV engine to the control centre at the old school in Woolton. The location was then passed to an armed remote helicopter drone already positioned above. The drone immediately opened fire on the position with an American made rotating air cannon. The air cannon looked similar to an old Gatling gun used in cowboy films from the 70’s. The cannon’s sixteen-barrels rotate at high speed powered by compressed air, unleashing a lethal barrage of high velocity bullets at the rate of one hundred per second. The effect was devastating and the DPV was shattered into a thousand pieces in just seconds.

  Nasser reeled away from the wreckage and dragged his heavy load along the riverbed toward the shore. He caught a glimpse of two small silver objects glinting in the gloom. They seemed to be descending slowly from the surface toward the area were the DPV had been destroyed. The two anti-personnel concussion grenades exploded in a blinding flash. The blast wave ripped Nasser’s face mask from his head and somersaulted him through the murky water. He reached for his mask and pulled it back over his face. He tipped his head backward toward the surface and exhaled through his nostrils to remove the water from the mask. He settled himself by breathing slowly and deeply. He regained his composure and thought that he could only be two hundred yards from the riverbank now. He checked his oxygen capacity gauge and assessed that he had approximately ten minutes of breathable air remaining.

  In the gloom ahead, Nasser saw air bubbles rising toward the surface, sunlight reflecting from them as they headed toward it. He knew that there was an enemy diver close by. Nasser stopped swimming and looked around, scanning a full circle. He saw the glimpse of a scuba tank in the dark water and he laid the RPG down to rest on the riverbed. He removed the Scorpion machine pistol from its leg holster and remained still, trying to reserve as much precious oxygen as he could.

  The noise of another propeller closed in above his position. The shadowy silhouette of a Special Boat Service diver appeared and then disappeared just as quickly in the murky green water. Nasser unleashed a spray of bullets in a deadly arc from his Scorpion machine pistol. A five inch stainless steel bolt whizzed past Nasser’s face fired from an APS underwater assault rifle. A second steel bolt was on target
and penetrated his dry suit. The hot metal stuck into his right calf. Water rushed into his suit and mixed with the gushing blood, his body temperature dropped dramatically as the ice cold water covered his exposed flesh. The suit had been breached and his body could not last any length of time under water at that temperature. Nasser knew he had just minutes to survive at this depth. He swam as hard as his injured leg would allow him. He recovered the RPG from the riverbed and pressed on. There could only be a hundred yards to cover now and the river was becoming shallower making it easier for him to make progress.

  The dead body of an SBS diver floated into view. His facemask had been shattered by Nasser’s bullets and red liquid filled it. Nasser ripped the respirator from the dead diver’s air tank and a huge plume of bubbles escaped, rushing to the surface. He moved away from the lifeless body as quickly as he could. The rush of bubbles hit the surface and the location was transmitted immediately to the old school. The coordinates were electronically sent to the unmanned drone, and it unleashed a sustained attack on the position of the bubbles with its lethal air cannons. The body of the dead SBS man was shredded into mincemeat in seconds.