Scion

by Murray Mcdonald

  The butler, having insisted on carrying Hunter’s bag again, handed it back as he sat in the car and bid him ‘a good day’ in a clipped English accent. As the car sped away, Hunter looked round once again at the bizarre country scene which less than a minute later was lost in the greyness of London’s busy Marylebone Road.

  “Let’s go past Downing street,” suggested Hunter to his driver who accepted the instruction with a nod.

  Eight minutes later, Hunter was driving down Whitehall and looked casually at the gates and police guard that separated Downing street from the rest of the world.

  ***

  London’s Luton airport was the second smallest of the five that served the city and lay 35 miles to the North of London. With over 99% of its flights servicing European destinations, primarily by budget and charters airlines, Luton was never seen as a major security threat. Its ownership by the local council further enhanced this and the distinct difference between the three major BAA operated airports was tangible.

  The timings of the six arrivals had been planned to avoid any potential conflict with the Moroccan arrivals, the only flights that caused more eyebrows to be raised by Passport Control, Immigration and Customs than any other. As such, the six individuals arriving from Malaga, Paris, Dortmund, Geneva, Berlin and Amsterdam slipped into the country without anyone knowing that six of the most sought after and highly skilled assassins had converged on one city. Had they been detected, alarm bells would have rung across every one of the UK’s security agencies and the country put on high alert for possible terrorist activities.

  The last to arrive was the Amsterdam flight and fresh from her activities in Aruba, the previously named Miss Martinez was greeted by the UK official as Miss Green. Her UK passport did the trick ensuring only a cursory glance to confirm a photo match.

  Her task, unlike the other five arrivals was to go straight to Downing Street and await further instructions. Of course straight to Downing Street did involve one stop at a safe house to secure the necessary equipment for the task. She boarded the bus that would transfer her to the nearby train terminal at Parkway where she could catch a train to London King’s Cross. She would then catch the London Underground. Commonly known as the tube, it is the oldest and still one of the largest underground networks in the world consisting of 253 miles of track and 275 stations. Despite the city’s congestion, nowhere was really more than thirty minutes away if it was served by the tube.

  By the time she reached King’s Cross tube station, the morning rush hour had subsided and she boarded a ‘Circle Line via Paddington’ train and got off at Bayswater station. A short walk from there was a row of tall Victorian houses, one of which was her London safe house. Entry through the first door was simple and required nothing more complicated than the key secured behind a loose piece of door frame. However the second door was a different matter and required a 12 pin keycode that if entered incorrectly would lock out the code for twelve hours. Although it appeared to be made of wood, the door and frame were made entirely from steel and covered with a wooden facing. It was, to all intents and purposes, a vault.

  Once inside, she secured the various tools of her trade and was back out and lost in the bustle of London’s West End within five minutes. She had a rough idea where to position herself but after an hour of surveillance, she settled for the one location that would give her an unrestricted view of Number 10. The only problem would be getting there without being noticed or discovered. Although not easy, she was in position within the hour and had a perfect view of everything to the rear of the building, the business end of Number 10.

  Chapter 54

  The massive aircraft approached the runway in complete darkness. Only at the last second were the runway lights illuminated as the C-5M Super Galaxy touched down. Ernst had spared no expense in fulfilling his promise to Sam Baker to take care of Eduardo Ramirez. The largest air lifter in the US military, each aircraft cost a massive $180 million and as long as Ernst got it back in one piece, the cost would be reduced to a mere one million for the 24 hour loan. If anything did happen, The Unit would not only have to fund a replacement but somehow prevent the general who had leant it to them from going to prison.

  The rear end was already opening as the C5 came to a halt at the end of the runway and the roar of five powerful diesel engines kicking to life could be heard from the hold. With the aircraft stationary, the plane began to lower, its ramps extending and the five Strykers moved out onto the now darkened runway. As the drivers pulled the vehicles to a stop, the heavily armed members of the unit began to file into the vehicles, each dressed from head to toe in black. It was only thanks to their night vision equipment that they knew everyone was aboard and accounted for. Ernst gave the instruction and the five vehicles sped off into the darkness, no lights would be used on the forty mile journey.

  As the vehicles disappeared, the ten guards left behind took up defensive positions around the aircraft. Their orders clear. Anybody who saw the C5 was to be killed on sight. The first of two fuel trucks arrived, driven by the advance party. They had landed just before the airport closed for the night in a small Gulfstream jet and had quickly secured control. It was they who had ensured the runway lights were on for the landing and it was they who would ensure the C5’s gargantuan fuel tanks were full and ready for departure when Ernst returned in less than 2 hours.

  The Paraguanan Peninsula on the Northern tip of Venezuela was deserted at the best of times but at 3 a.m. it was devoid of any life whatsoever. The Strykers were the army’s newest troop carriers and the eight-wheeled 18 tonne vehicle came in a number of variations. For this trip, Ernst had selected two M1128 MGS’s with their 105 mm cannon and three M1126 ICV’s with their 50mm machine guns. With a further nine heavily armed ex-special forces Unit members in each, the firepower available to Ernst was enough to ensure an overwhelming advantage against Ramirez’s guards. However, Ernst was leaving nothing to chance. In addition to his overwhelming force, he also had visual superiority. A KH-13 satellite was stationed over the Ramirez compound and would stream the exact location of every one of his guards in real time to small computer screens located in eye pieces worn by each of the Unit members. The small eye piece was attached to each of the soldier’s helmets and could be lowered and retracted as required. Each unit sent a signal to the satellite ensuring its own image stood out from the crowd in bright blue, other units showed up as green and thermal sources with no unit glowed red. The image cast onto the screen therefore highlighted for each of Ernst’s soldiers exactly where they were, where their colleagues were and most importantly where Ramirez’s guards were and quite literally allowed them to see round corners and through walls.

  At 3.50 a.m., the first of the MGS Strykers drew to a stop just out of sight of the main gates. Another two ICV’s stopped closely behind. The other MGS had taken a slightly different route and was drawing to a halt near a service entrance accompanied by the final ICV. Ernst in the lead MGS, surveyed the satellite image displayed on the MGS targeting system. He designated the targets and sent the details to the second MGS. Each had three targets. As Ernst checked everyone was ready, he signalled to open fire. The first round from his MGS was a fragmentation round, its target one of two barracks housing a number of guards, all of whom could be seen from the image on his screen lying in horizontal lines on bunks. The other MGS had a similar target and within a second, two flashes on the screen confirmed direct hits.

  The second round from Ernst’s MGS took out the guard tower over-looking the main gate. The second round from the other MGS was a high explosive round taking out the generator and plunging the compound into darkness. Red dots were running wildly all over the screen. Chaos had descended on the Ramirez estate. The final MGS round obliterated the main gate and sent the ICV’s off and running with their 50mm machine gun cutting down anyone in their way. The other MGS destroyed the Service gate and the final ICV sped on up into the compound. The two MGS’s following quickly behind targeting and f
iring at anything in their way.

  With half his guards wiped out in an instant, the fight was already over. The second rate druglord guards stood no chance against the 21st century all seeing elite soldiers. As the ICVs drew to a stop at the main house, 75% of Ramirez’s guards were already down. The MGS’s delivered a few well placed rounds that reduced the numbers further and within five minutes of the first shot, Ramirez and only ten of his men were left standing.

  Ernst had been clear that Ramirez was to be captured alive and therefore the final assault on the house would be on foot. The doors of the Strykers swung open and Ernst and 44 of the Unit’s best men began to sweep through the massive villa. Every room was systematically cleared and checked. The KH-13 vigilantly scanned every inch for any thermal signal and sending the data down to each of the soldiers ensured the job was as simple as shooting a line of sitting ducks. The only check before killing was that the face did not match Ramirez.

  Ernst stood and watched as his men swept through the first floor with ease. Five more down. The second floor, three more down. As he made his way up the staircase, it was obvious that the last room on the third floor held Ramirez and two other bodies, either his guards or his family. Whatever, the mission was almost complete.

  Ernst moved to the door and standing to the right of the door behind the wall stretched over and knocked on the door, quickly pulling his arm back. As predicted, the door erupted into shards of splinters as a volley of bullets crashed into it from inside.

  Waiting for the gunfire to stop, Ernst shouted.

  “Ramirez, you’re surrounded. If you want to live, throw down your weapon and come out.”

  The offer was met with silence. Ernst checked his watch, he wanted to be out of there in the next ten minutes. It was imperative they took off before daylight. He counted to thirty and with no response, cocked his MP5-10, spun and dived through the door. Firing two bullets as he entered the room, sending Ramirez’s bodyguard and a woman straight to hell. Before Ramirez could respond, Ernst was already aiming a bullet straight at his head.

  The soldiers around him looked at each other in surprise, none knew Ernst could even shoot, never mind pull off some crazy manoeuvre that none of them could replicate. Ramirez dropped his gun and raised his hands.

  “Who the fuck are you?” he screamed looking at the woman’s lifeless body.

  “I’m what happens when you fuck with the wrong person,” replied Ernst.

  “Mother fucker, Baker,” spat Ramirez.

  “That’s Mr President to you,” smiled Ernst.

  “Not yet,” smiled Ramirez knowingly.

  Ernst instantly thought back to Baker’s warning of the father being a sneaky bastard and that there may be documentation that could damage him.

  “What the fuck does that mean?” Ernst slapped Ramirez hard across the face as he asked the question.

  “It means exactly that,” Ramirez spat a mouthful of blood defiantly at Ernst’s feet. “And you never know maybe he won’t win.” He smiled into Ernst’s face blood trickling down his chin.

  Ernst suddenly realised exactly what he meant. When he had threatened to kill Baker, he wasn’t meaning it literally, he was going to kill his chances of becoming president.

  “Where are they?” asked Ernst sinisterly.

  “Where are what?” asked Ramirez.

  “The documents?”

  “Ah you know about the documents,” smiled Ramirez.

  It took all Ernst’s strength not to smash the butt of his gun into Ramirez’s smiling face.

  “Yes,” he replied through gritted teeth.

  “They’re safe but if anything happens to me they won’t be if you know what I mean.”

  “I’ll warn you once and only once. I don’t bargain. Where are the documents?” Ernst raised the gun to Ramirez’s knee.

  “I told you…”

  Ernst pulled the trigger and Ramirez’s kneecap exploded into a cloud of blood, tissue and bone. As Ramirez screamed Ernst moved across to the other knee.

  “Where?” he asked coldly.

  Ramirez struggled to focus as the pain swept through him.

  “I tooolldd youu..,” he stammered.

  Ernst’s pulled the trigger and the other kneecap exploded.

  Ramirez passed out from the pain but was brought round by a slap from Ernst who made sure Ramirez saw the gun now pointing at his crotch.

  “Kneecaps can be replaced, cocks and balls can’t!” explained Ernst. “Where?” he asked again.

  Ramirez was struggling to remain conscious. His body in shock from the trauma wanted to shut down and heal but Ernst was keeping the mind alert enough to realise further trauma was likely if the right response was not given. But he also knew the right response was the truth and the truth was they were too late the documents had already been sent to America. Nothing they could do could stop them. Ramirez didn’t know where they were or who they were going to.

  “You’re too late they’re…they’re gone,” he mumbled.

  Ernst pulled the gun away, grabbed Ramirez and shook him awake. “What do you mean too late?” he asked.

  “I’ve already sent them…” Ramirez began to drift off.

  Ernst slapped him and instructed one of his soldiers to give him a glass of water from the nearby desk. Throwing the water in his face brought Ramirez round again.

  “Sent them where?” asked Ernst desperately.

  “To America!” explained Ramirez wincing as a surge of pain ran through his non existent kneecap.

  “Who to?”

  “I don’t know!”

  “Don’t fuck with me now, who the fuck did you send them to?!” shouted Ernst, panic rising.

  “My nephew took them…and is going to give them…to whoever he thinks…will stop Baker.” The moans of pain were breaking up his speech and driving Ernst insane.

  “What’s your nephew’s name?”

  “Eduardo.”

  Ernst looked at him in disbelief. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me, another Eduardo fucking Ramirez!”

  “No!”

  “So what then?” prompted Ernst irritated.

  Ramirez realised he was saying too much and decided enough was enough, he was going to die anyway and hopefully he’d take them down with him.

  “Fuck you and Baker, you’re going to kill me anyway,” he said defiantly.

  Ernst checked his watch, one minute to go. He raised the gun and shot Ramirez in the groin and then the stomach. Both bullets were lethal but not immediately. Eduardo Ramirez was going to die a slow and very painful death.

  “Your call. I can end it quickly, what’s his name? I’ll get it anyway!” Ernst offered the doubled over Ramirez.

  “Fuck you!” he coughed, spraying blood over Ernst’s feet.

  “No Eduardo, it’s you that’s fucked.”

  Ernst turned and with the wave of his hand signalled their job was done.

  As the ICV’s began to make their way from the compound, the two MGS’s opened fire with a number of incendiary shells. Nothing would be left of the Ramirez house by the time the sun rose.

  Within an hour, the vehicles were back on board the C5 and the massive airframe was using every inch of the runway to get back into the air.

  Ernst was already at a workstation barking out orders. The hunt was on. Eduardo, nephew of the recently deceased Eduardo Ramirez, was now the most wanted man in America.

  Chapter 55

  The old banker hadn’t stopped talking for twenty minutes and with every word, Scott became more and more entranced. His memory for detail was amazing and it seemed every detail could be recalled and replayed for any given moment.

  The first revelation for Scott was discovering his name, Kennedy. His father was James Kennedy and from what the banker understood was born and raised near Glasgow in the west of Scotland. Herr Meyer had first met him when Scott’s father had turned 21 and following a number of business successes had paid himself a substantial bonus and on the advice of
a business colleague had contacted Herr Meyer at Rothschild to open an account. Over the next ten years the two had got to know each other and as far as someone can be friends with a Swiss banker, they had become friends.

  James had started his business at the age of sixteen and it became evident his talent for business was unrivalled, buyout after buyout resulted in one of Scotland’s largest corporations by the age of 21, Britain’s by the age of 27 and just before he died, was making major progress in America and Asia. However, before his death, Herr Meyer had little contact with James who had met a woman and become almost a recluse. In his last few months, he had hardly been seen and after the birth of Scott he had all but disappeared. The first Herr Meyer had known of his death was when a client had called and told him about the tragic car crash.

  Scott asked a lot of questions about the car crash. Where, when, who else was involved, how it had happened. Herr Meyer knew little other than what the papers had reported. However, soon after the crash, a letter had arrived which had been sent by James before the crash. In it were instructions for access to his account by his son, details of the birth mark and a letter to be placed in the vault to be opened only by Scott if and when he came to claim his inheritance. The letter was business like and very different from the notes that Meyer was used to receiving from James. Meyer couldn’t emphasise enough how his father appeared to have died with the weight of the world on his shoulders.

  Scott then asked about his mother but Herr Meyer knew very little. After James had met her, he had never visited the bank again. Herr Meyer explained that his father had told him that he had met a very beautiful woman and was ecstatic about becoming a father but they spoke little after that.

  “I’m sorry, I don’t have any more I can tell you but he was a truly wonderful man. You can be proud of him. I have met very few great men in my years and your father was one of those few.”