Soft Target 01 - Soft Target

by Conrad Jones

  Nasser was now just five feet below the surface of the river, the motor patrol boats couldn’t sail this close to the riverbank because of the dangerous shallows and mudflats. Nasser could see the silhouette of a remote drone in the air above him. He aimed his Scorpion machine pistol and fired a volley of shots at the wasp like machine from under water; the high calibre bullets shattered two of the rotor blades and the drone started to spiral out of control. Smoke poured from the rear of the stricken craft as it plunged toward the river. The drone crashed onto the bridge of one of the motor patrol boats, scattering debris in all directions. The patrol boat suddenly exploded in a fireball that climbed sixty feet up into the air.

  Nasser was waist deep now and running for his life across the salt marshes. The thick mudflats were covered in indigenous river grasses that offered Nasser little cover. He ran in a zigzag pattern, trying to avoid enemy fire. Nasser crouched low in the now ankle deep water and opened the carry-case for his RPG-29. A Special Boat Service diver had followed Nasser out of the water and opened fire at him with his underwater assault rifle. The stainless steel bolts had no range or accuracy out of the water and the bolts whistled past Nasser’s position. He placed the RPG-29 onto his shoulder and aimed at the row of huge white storage tanks.

  Nasser saw a muzzle flash coming from the top of one of the white metal structures. He squeezed the trigger and released his Rocket Propelled Grenade, with a loud whooshing sound it sped off toward the petrol tanks. As the grenade sped away it passed the high velocity bullet from trooper Bob Duncan’s sniper rifle coming the other way. Nasser never knew if he had hit his target or not. Trooper Duncan had sent his bullet expertly through Nasser’s forehead, leaving an ugly round hole the size of a walnut. The exit wound was more the size of a coconut and Nasser’s brains sprayed the salt marshes around him for more than ten yards.

  CHAPTER 57

  Anfield/ Anglican Cathedral

  Tank had gathered his team around him before Mustapha arrived in an unmarked police car. They had identified a total of twelve ice-cream vendors working around the stadium. Four of them had men of Middle Eastern appearance working in them. In addition they had located eighteen hot-dog stands dotted around the streets outside the stadium. Tank and his men commandeered clothing from the Liverpool FC souvenir shop so that they would blend into the crowds of football fans that packed the streets. They wore padded club jackets to conceal the weapons that they carried. If the crowds saw a gun, panic would ensue, and the bombers would be alerted. The plan was risky but simple; Mustapha Ahmed was to approach the vans from a reasonable distance and then signal the occupants to come to him. Once the suspects had left the vehicle they would be neutralised, and the vehicle could be made safe by the bomb squad. It would be too risky to remove the vans in case they had been booby trapped with motion sensors or mercury switches. Mercury is a liquid metal which can conduct an electric charge to trigger a bomb. It moves like a liquid does. If a device was moved, the mercury moves too, making a circuit contact complete.

  Grace had been in contact with the Anfield stadium management and had informed them that there was a large security operation in motion outside the stadium. Their cooperation was required to make the operation run smoothly. Terrorist Task Force Agents were located in the stadium control room monitoring the CCTV. Grace had also asked the ground staff to pipe music through the external sound system to nullify the nose of any gunfire. They could not risk the arrest of one terrorist alerting another. The club cooperated and music was blaring on the streets outside the ground. The volume was so high that it was making it very uncomfortable for sightseers to just wander aimlessly. The crowds started to drift slowly away from the ground. People chose to use the bars and shops located a safer distance from the stadium.

  The crowds had thinned significantly when Mustapha arrived. The music was deafening. Tank briefed Mustapha on the plan and they approached the first target near to the Shankly Gates. The gates were a memorial to one of the clubs greatest ever managers, Bill Shankly. Mustapha stood across the street from the idle ice-cream van and leaned against the wall behind him. He looked through his darkened sunglasses at the man who was in the vehicle. Mustapha pretended to be making a call on his cell phone. The ice-cream vendor appeared to recognise him. He looked intently at Mustapha and half raised his hand in a gesture of acknowledgement. Mustapha waved to him and beckoned him over. The Asian man hesitated briefly and then opened the passenger door and climbed out of the vehicle. He crossed the road, heading toward Mustapha through the crowd.

  Tank grabbed the man from behind, crushing the breath from his lungs as he lifted him off his feet. He pinned both the man’s arms to his sides in the vice-like grip that he held him in. Agents rushed in and fastened the terrorist’s wrists and ankles together. Startled members of the public quickly moved on when ID cards were displayed. The bomb squad cordoned the van off by parking a huge truck alongside it to protect innocent passersby from any potential blast. The bomb squad confirmed their worst suspicions. The freezer storage space was packed with Semtex and ball bearings.

  That’s one suspect down with no weapons drawn, ladies and gentlemen. Target two is two hundred yards away on Breck Road,” Tank instructed his agents and Mustapha through their coms earpieces. “We have just received information that an attack on Stanlow Oil Refinery has been foiled. The suspect was neutralised. He managed to release an RPG but it exploded short of his intended target. We need to get the same result here,” he continued.

  Mustapha crossed the busy street and made himself visible to the occupant of the second vehicle. Ali stooped low to make sure that it was Yasser that he could see beckoning him out of the van. He was sure it was him, but something made him suspicious. Ali took the safety catch off his Magnum .357 and pushed it into the waistband of his jeans. He opened the driver’s door and stepped down from the ice-cream van. Mustapha was sweating as Ali approached him, he did not look comfortable as he neared him. Football fans were hampering the taskforce agents as they tried to approach Ali. They could not be sure if the terrorists would have the facility to remote-detonate the devices until the bomb squad had analysed the first device. Tank couldn’t grab Ali and ensure that his hands had been neutralised because of the crowds in his proximity. Mustapha wiped sweat from his forehead and his sleeve removed the makeup that was covering the bite mark on his cheek.

  Ali realised in an instant that this was not Yasser Ahmed, although the likeness was uncanny; he pulled his gun from his waistband and aimed at Mustapha. Mustapha froze in fear as Ali fired three rounds at him through the crowd. The deafening music muffled the booming gunshots and only those closest to Ali realised that shots had been fired. Mustapha felt pieces of house brick scratch his face and neck as the bullets from the .357 Magnum shattered the wall behind him. Tank reached Ali and placed his Glock 9mm against the top of the shorter man’s head. The gun was pointed vertically down at the floor. Tank fired twice. The 9mm bullets ripped downwards through Ali’s brain and into his torso. The devastating effect of the bullets liquidised most of the Iranian’s brain before he had even realised that he had been shot. His legs buckled and he crumpled to the floor. Tank had to shoot down through the terrorist’s head to minimise the risk of a through and through bullet continuing on its journey into an innocent football fan.

  A second target is down. Was there any response to the gunfire from the other vehicles, Grace?” Tank asked as he made his way to Mustapha through the crowd. “Nothing, I don’t think they heard it. The bomb squad have just informed us that the devices are manually activated. There is no remote detonation facility on the first device,” Grace replied.

  Tank reached Mustapha and he noticed how pale he looked. He was going into nervous shock. The exertion of his ordeal at South Stack lighthouse combined with losing his sister and his lover had just about finished him off, and being shot at by an Iranian with a Magnum .357 was just the icing on the cake. “Are you feeling alright? There are only two more ice-cream vans
that fit the profile; can you carry on, Mustapha?” Tank shook him a little trying to get a response but Mustapha was staring at the ice-cream van. “Look its Pinky and Perky,” Mustapha said pointing to the driver’s door of the van.

  Mustapha, I need you to hold it together for just a little bit longer. Don’t you worry about the two little pigs right now,” Tank was getting annoyed. They needed to move on quickly. “You don’t understand what I am saying to you. Both vans had Pinky and Perky decals on the driver’s door. It might help to narrow down the search,” Mustapha shouted over the booming music from the external sound system. “Grace, get every vendor checked for decals on the driver’s door of Pinky and Perky. If the same person re-sprayed all these vans then he may have left a pattern without even realising it. Chen, you pass the information onto uniform as soon as possible please,” Tank knew that Chen and the fat controller had been coordinating events and information. They had deployed the relevant assets to the relevant situations, and so far they were on top.

  Tank guided Mustapha toward the third target and pointed to the position that he wanted him to maintain. Mustapha looked at the ice-cream vendor and the man caught his eye. The Asian man took a double take at Mustapha and then bolted toward the back of the vehicle. Tank watched in horror as the man reached for the detonator in an attempt to blow the van, and the public around it to smithereens. For some reason the man knew that Mustapha was not Yasser straight away. Tank closed the distance between himself and the van in a few strides. He drew the 9mm Glock simultaneously and emptied the clip of sixteen high velocity bullets through the glass, into the terrorist. The bullets smashed through the man’s chest, spraying blood and cartilage up the windows of the van. As he collapsed, three rounds to the neck area ripped his head from his body completely. The terrorist wouldn’t get the chance to detonate his bomb.

  The dead terrorist had realised that Mustapha was not Yasser Ahmed, because Yasser had left the van just seconds before. Yasser Ahmed watched the action unfold from the safety of the crowds as his affiliate was gunned down inside his mobile bomb. He was fascinated as he saw his younger brother Mustapha being led away by a big man with a shaved head. Yasser backed slowly into an alleyway, transfixed by his younger brother. Yasser hadn’t seen his brother since he was a small boy, and so he was stunned by their resemblance.

  The shooting of the ice-cream vendor had been witnessed by hundreds of people and word had spread around the pubs and bars that the police had shot someone. Speculation was rife that it was a potential terrorist. Why else would the police shoot an ice-cream man? Chris Lampie and the supporters from compost corner had left the Sandon as soon as they had heard what was going on. They stood holding pint glasses on the pavement outside the pub watching the bomb squad going in and out of an ice-cream van parked just a few hundred yards away. They were just ten feet from a hot dog stand on the corner of Breck Road and Anfield Road. Speculation was rife that a terrorist had been shot. There was a nervous buzz around the stadium, and no one was really sure if they themselves were in any danger.

  Chris Lampie and mad Adie approached the hot dog stand still holding their precious beers in their hands. There didn’t appear to be anyone staffing it, and so mad Adie lifted the lid from a stainless steel pan and looked at the hot dog sausages inside the steaming container. “Here we are, Lampie, free hot dogs. The bloke must have fucked off somewhere. Tell the rest of the lads and I`ll get some more bread rolls out of the bottom here,” Adie said. Chris Lampie called the rest of compost corner’s regulars over and they pushed and shoved each other mischievously, around the hot dog stand. Mad Adie opened the stainless steel door beneath the stand and thought that it was odd that there were wires everywhere inside. He never thought of anything ever again, as the stand exploded and the members of compost corner took the full blast of the shrapnel bomb.

  Tank instinctively pushed Mustapha to the ground and covered him with his own body. The crowds around the stadium scattered in all directions as realisation of what had happened struck home. The remnants of the compost corner members were strewn across the street like bloody confetti, and within seconds the immediate area was almost empty. “Take the last target down immediately,” Tank shouted across the airwaves. Three agents dressed in red Liverpool FC shirts drew weapons around the remaining van, and pumped it full of bullets. The occupant was left dangling from the serving hatch where a pool of his blood spread on the road beneath him.

  The remaining hot dog stand bomb was cordoned off and a controlled explosion was carried out. It too had been left unattended and unnoticed by the huge crowds that passed unaware. “Tank, uniform has reported two unattended ice-cream vans next to the Anglican Cathedral. They both have the Pinky and Perky decals on the driver’s door. We are evacuating the tourists now and beginning a search of the building. Everyone leaving the cathedral has been searched,” Chen informed Tank of the breaking news. “What time is it? Get everyone away from the building immediately. Chen, if you are right about the optimum time for exploding the devices being 3pm, then we only have five minutes left.” Tank realised that Chen was probably correct in his assumption. He lifted Mustapha off the road onto his feet. The Iraqi man was badly shaken by the blast. Tank walked him toward a police transit van that was parked on the pavement nearby.

  Yasser watched from the safety of the alleyway as the big skinhead walked toward the van, carrying his younger brother. The police transit van had a white background with the distinctive orange stripes carried by police vehicles around the middle of it. Tank noticed that the police markings didn’t look quite right. He realised that the markings were upside down. There were two parallel orange stripes on a genuine police vehicle. The thicker of the two stripes was fixed above the thinner band. This one was upside down. The disguised police van exploded at exactly 3pm, as did the Semtex in the bell tower of the Anglican cathedral. The cathedral bell tower, weakened by the blast, had disintegrated beneath the massive weight of the bells. Huge sandstone blocks weighing tons, had tumbled into the cavernous building, crushing six members of the Terrorist Bomb Squad that had not had time to escape. The skyline of Liverpool had changed forever.

  Tank was blown across the street with Mustapha when the police van exploded. The two men were stunned into unconsciousness by the power of the shockwave.

  CHAPTER 58

  Tank/ Mustapha

  Tank had woken up in intensive care at the Royal Liverpool Hospital forty-eight hours later. He had woken just long enough to ask Grace, who was waiting by his bedside, what had happened. Then he passed out again and didn’t come round for another three days. The swelling to Tank’s brain, caused by the concussion wave, had nearly killed him. The surgeons had drilled a hole into his skull to relieve the pressure from the bleeding, and that saved his life.

  Seven Terrorist Task Force members lost their lives at the cathedral blast, along with the nine members of compost corner, near the stadium. Mustapha had never arrived at the hospital at all. Witnesses said that he was seen being helped away from the scene by an Asian man who looked like he was related to him. Tank, Chen, Faz and the Major, returned to duty as normal once all the scars had healed. The Terrorist Task Force tracked the alleged movements of the ghost-like Yasser Ahmed across the planet. Several reports of him were received from the Philippines and Afghanistan over the following six months, but nothing concrete ever surfaced.

  Eventually a report came in from an American black operations team that specialised in rendition. These people don’t officially exist of course, but they specialise in counter terrorism and interrogation under torture. This process is usually carried out on foreign soil. The American people are not made aware of such procedures being utilised by their government. Countries with a broader moral outlook are used to extract information. Western populations cannot prove the use of torture if there are no Western witnesses to tell the tale.

  The black operations team reportedly captured Yasser Ahmed in Iraq. They interrogated him for two months in a
prison in Chechnya. His heart had finally given in after eight weeks of intense torture and malnutrition. Tank cried when he saw the autopsy pictures and recognised the bite mark on the cheek of the corpse. Mustapha denied being Yasser Ahmed right up to the point where his heart stopped beating.

  Table of Contents

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  CHAPTER 29

  CHAPTER 30

  CHAPTER 31

  CHAPTER 32

  CHAPTER 33

  CHAPTER 34

  CHAPTER 35

  CHAPTER 38

  Chapter 39

  CHAPTER 40

  CHAPTER 41

  CHAPTER 42

  CHAPTER 43

  CHAPTER 44

  CHAPTER 45

  CHAPTER 46

  CHAPTER 47

  CHAPTER 48

  CHAPTER 49

  CHAPTER 50