by Matt Lynn
Zone G. Nothing.
Zone H. Nothing.
Then Alex realised.
The gas would be released under Zone M. Directly beneath the PM and the Queen. Just to make sure they killed them even if the assassin with the sniper pistol didn’t get a clean shot.
“M,” he snapped towards Jack. “Bloody run.”
The two men tore through the tunnel. A huge roar from the crowd outside shook the building as they spectators reacted to the unfolding spectacle, but Alex ignored that and kept running.
His breath was short, and sweat was pouring off his face.
Then he saw him.
Fifty yards away. Crouched over a small device, and pulling a gas canister from his rucksack.
“O’Connell,” he hissed.
Jack saw him in the same instance.
Both men started to run towards him. For the first few yards, the din of the crowd outside muffled the sound of their approach. But as they closed to within twenty yards, O’Connell glanced up. He looked into their eyes, and realised at once that he had been discovered. He reached for the gas canister and started to turn the screw cap that connected it to the disseminator.
“Stop right there,” shouted O’Connell. “Or the gas is released.”
“No,” screamed Jack.
He pushed harder, then flung himself forwards into a long jump that would have been impressive even if it had been performed a few yards away on the Olympic track itself. His body collided with O’Connell’s with a terrifying thump. The two men tumbled against the wall, and, as they collided into one another, the gas canister was released. Alex flung himself across the floor, sliding over the concrete. He noticed that O’Connell was wearing a face mask ready to slot over his mouth. If the gas escaped, anyone coming into contact with it was going to be dead within seconds.
Caught it, he realised as he his right first gripped the canister.
He reached for the valve, and double-checked that it was closed.
Then he looked up towards Jack.
He was locked into a close-quarters battle with O’Connell. Jack was the strongest fighter Alex had ever met. But O’Connell was almost as brutal, and was fighting for his life, and that made him a formidable opponent. They were trading blows with a savage ferocity, and blood was starting to stream down the faces of both men.
Alex pulled the Browning from inside his jacket.
As Jack threw O’Connell against the wall, he steadied his hand and shot. The bullet was aimed straight at the left kneecap. On impact it twisted the bones and shattered it in a hundred places.
O’Connell dropped to the ground, screaming in agony.
As he did so, Jack dropped on top of him, sitting down on his chest. “Where’s the other fucker?” he spat.
“Fuck off.”
Alex knelt down and pointed the gun at the left knee-cap.
“A man can walk on crutches with one leg. With neither, he’s in a wheelchair.”
“Fuck off…”
Alex cocked the gun.
“You’ve got three seconds…just tell me which Zone.”
O’Connell remained mute.
“One…two….”
“M…he’s right above here.”
Alex smashed a first into his face, leaving him unconscious, then looked up at Jack.
“Let’s move.”
Chapter Fourteen
The man with the light brown hair was holding a Heckler & Koch USP Elite pistol discreetly in his right hand when Jack spotted him. Normally, a sniper would use a rifle, because a long barrel was necessary to ensure any kind of accuracy. But a full-scale rifle would be impossible to obscure inside the stadium, and the high-precision barrel on the H&K made this weapon of choice for anyone who need to make an accurate shot across three hundred yards with just a hand gun.
And the PM and the Queen were sitting only two hundred and fifty yards away.
Within range….
“Take him carefully,” said Jack to Alex as they both spotted him. “He can shoot from here.”
The pillar was concealing the man from any of the security guards, and the crowd was too transfixed by the spectacle unfolding in the arena below to pay him any attention. The gun was tucked back inside a loose-fitting jacket, and the man was glancing down at his watch. His expression was growing more anxious with every second that ticked past.
The attack should have started by now, reckoned Alex.
He’s wondering why the people down below aren’t starting to fall down dead as the poison gas gets released.
But there will be a back-up plan, we can be certain of that. If the attack isn’t launched on time, he’ll try to complete the assassination anyway.
“I’ll go left, you right,” hissed Alex. “He won’t recognize me.”
Jack slipped behind a couple of spectators, obscuring himself from the man’s view as he closed down the few yards that separated them.
As he did so, Alex walked right up to him, so that he was standing at his side. The man glanced at him anxiously. “You’ll get a better view from over there,” he said.
He spoke in a light Dublin accent, noted Alex. Calm, but with a hint of impatience. Impressive, in its own way, for a man who was expecting to assassinate both the Prime Minister and the Queen in the next few minutes.
“Then why aren’t you over there?”
“I’m fine here.”
“Then so am I.”
The man grimaced. His hand was fidgeting inside the jacket. Jack reckoned he was making a calculation: whether to attempt the assassination now, and hope the irritating man at his side would be frightened off. Or else wait for him to move away.
For the moment, he was waiting.
Mistake, pal, thought Alex.
On the other side, Jack was stepping forward, nodding towards Alex. With a sudden brutal movement, Alex smashed his right elbow into the man’s face. Delivered with enough force, and by a man who doesn’t mind getting hurt himself, an elbow can do a lot of damage: the pointed bone turns into a cross between a spear and truncheon, inflicting crunching pain on the face it collides with. The man yelled with pain, and started to pull the Heckler & Koch from his jacket, but in the same moment that Alex struck Jack had flung himself at the man’s feet, bringing him crashing to the ground in an ugly collision of bodies. As he fell, he managed to whip the handgun out but Alex had already anticipated that, and launched a double-fisted blow into his right hand, knocking the weapon clean from his grasp, and sending it skidding across the floor.
“Fuck, fuck…”
The man was screaming, a mixture of pain and frustration, as both Alex and Jack completed their task. He was strong, as Jack had already discovered back in Islington. But it doesn’t matter how tough you are. Put up against two men of equal strength in close-quarters combat and there is little chance of winning a fight. Alex delivered a pair of sharp boot kicks to his ribs, while Jack stamped down hard on his chest, emptying the air out of his lungs, and bringing blood spluttering to his chest.
Around them, a crowd was gathering. Most people were backing away nervously, but a few were watching. Alex could hear a group of security guards start to run towards them, shouting at them to stop, but ignored them until the man was lying unconscious on the ground.
One security guard grabbed hold of Alex’s arm, and yanked it backwards, making him cry out in pain. “You’re under arrest mate,” he snapped.
“Whatever,” muttered Alex.
As the guard started to lead him away, he glanced towards the VIP box opposite. Neither the Queen or the PM had noticed what was happening.
They were concentrating instead on the thundering climax the Opening Ceremony was about to reach.
Chapter Fifteen
The cell was cramped and uncomfortable. It had been built inside one of the service tunnels to hold any members of the crowd who had too much to drink or were causing trouble and needed to be stored away somewhere by the security guards.
In the distanc
e, Alex and Jack could hear the sound of fireworks popping as the Ceremony reached its triumphant – and peaceful – climax.
“What do you reckon we’ll get?” asked Jack. “A couple of years in jail? Or a medal and tea with the Queen?”
Alex grinned. “Right now, I’d settle for a beer.”
“That we can probably arrange,” said Helen Greenway, striding into the small, cramped room. “Tea with the Queen might take a little longer.”
Alex glanced up. They’d been led straight down here by the security guards, whilst the man with the light brown hair had been carried unconscious to a separate cell. Neither Alex nor Jack had bothered to complain or protest. Their job was already done, the attack foiled, and the guards weren’t important enough to make any decisions.
After what they’d been through, a cell was as good a place to relax as any.
“Did you find O’Connell?” asked Alex.
“Yes, we found him, and he’s already in custody,” Greenway replied.
“What was in the canister?” asked Jack.
“It’s been sent to the labs for testing. No one wants to open it here. But at a quick glance Major Harford reckons it is a variant of Sarin, one of the deadliest chemical agents ever created.”
“Well, it’s not like he’s ever been wrong before,” said Alex with a sly grin.
He wiped some of the blood and sweat from his face with the sleeve of his sweatshirt.
“We were both wrong,” said Greenway. “We acknowledge that. O’Connell must have slipped through the security net somehow. If it hadn’t been for your actions, there would have been a catastrophic attack on the Games.”
“Maybe next time you’ll believe me,” said Alex.
“Maybe next time you’ll learn how to follow orders.”
“We were talking about an early discharge,” said Alex. “If I haven’t earned it by now when the hell will I?”
“We’ll see.”
“I might take it up with the PM.”
“I wouldn’t advise it.”
“When are we getting out of here?” asked Jack. “I’ll settle for that.”
“Just as soon as the necessary forms have been filled in.”
Greenway started to walk from the room, but paused by the door, glancing back at both men. “And one other thing,” she said severely. “Don’t ever, ever try and pull a stunt like that again.”
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