Bank (A Tim Burr Thriller Book 2)

by Nicholas E Watkins

  The second man pointed his gun at Anne and she pulled herself up from the ground “Sit bitch,” he screamed

  Vadim was not at all happy with his helper and would have preferred Andrei. On getting to London, he had to make do with whoever he could get for hire at short notice. He had got hold of the pair, Boris the Serb and Ivan the Terrible, two wannabe big time gangsters, from the Russian club in Soho. Boris was the screaming idiot with him in the Rutledge’s front room and Ivan was waiting just down the road in the car. The more he thought about it, the more Vadim was convinced that hiring these two young hot heads was not going to turn out well.

  “For fuck’s sake, stop shouting and waiving your gun about,” he said.

  “What do you want?” said John. He could feel his heart pounding.

  “Where is the boy?” asked Boris.

  Anne and John looked at each other, neither answered.

  Boris went to strike John. “Stop that. We are here to do a job not beat up old men. The boy is obviously in bed. Just go up and get him,” Vadim said.

  Vadim could hear doors smashing open and screaming. “For fucks sake, they could not have made more noise if they tried,” he thought.

  Daniel’s memories of his Father coming back drunk rushed into his head. When the gunman entered his bedroom and pulled him from his bed he thought he was to get a beating as his Father had done and he knew the only way to avoid it was to run. Most children being dragged from their bed would have frozen with fear. Daniel’s thought was of only one thing, flight.

  Boris dragged Daniel into the living room. Vadim turned to look and in that brief second Anne, screaming in a frenzy of pure protective instinct, jumped from the chair and threw herself at Boris, clawing, kick, punching and biting. Daniel kicked and bit and Boris loosened his grip and Daniel ran screaming from the room and out the front door.

  Vadim was hit by John, who had thrown himself at him. John was no fighter, but this was his grandson. He may not have been a fighter, but he did weigh over nineteen stones, of mostly fat. He struck Vadim flat out in a rugby tackle and Vadim lost balance and hit the floor.

  Anne was clinging to Boris’s legs and stopping him chasing Daniel. He pointed the gun and fired. She lay still.

  Vadim and John stopped, both shocked by the sound of the gun. “What the fuck are you doing,” screamed Vadim, as Boris turned and pointed his gun at John, “Stop.”

  Vadim used the pause to punch John stunning him and grabbing Boris by the arm, pushed him into the street. Vadim could hardly believe the situation they were in. He felt like shooting Boris himself. All the idiot had to do was go upstairs and snatch a small boy from his bed, Instead he had smashed his way about like Arnold Schwarzenegger, playing the Terminator and now they were in the middle of the street with half the road out, looking at the commotion.

  The boy had gone. John was screaming for help from the doorway. Boris turned and fired at him. He fell but continued screaming for help. Ivan lost his nerve at the sound of gunfire, screaming and the neighbours opening windows and doors and drove off like a lunatic, leaving Vadim and Boris to their own devices.

  The sound of sirens was fast approaching and three minutes later a police helicopter was overhead. Vadim knew they were fucked. London was on high terrorist alert and nearly three hundred armed police were on the streets ready to deal with any threat. In Paris, a few armed ISIS inspired gunmen had roamed around, killing people at will. London had learnt from this and would muster and deploy specially trained officers to an incident within minutes.

  They ran toward Pinner High Road looking to highjack a car. The helicopter was above them and Vadim knew it was pointless, but ran any way. There were no cars moving. The area had been sealed. They stood in the middle of the abandoned street. It was so silent, it felt as though time was standing still.

  The silence was shattered. “Armed police lay down your weapons,” the command came through a loud hailer.

  Boris screamed as though he was some sort of animal and began shooting. Vadim’s last thought, before they both died in the return fire was, “What a fuck up.”

  Chapter 16

  “Gentlemen, I should like to open this meeting with a little pat on the back for all of us. The White House is more than happy with our recent successes in the War on Drugs,” said Hackensack. It was a hot day in Arlington Virginia and it was warm in the meeting room, despite the efforts of the air-conditioning. There were no jackets or ties around the table today.

  David Trist picked up the narrative. “As you all know we have been co-operating with the Rojas drug syndicate in this matter. The first shipment we intercepted was in Florida. It was a shaky start with a fully fledged gun battle. However, the shoot out actually was beneficial to the image of the DEA. The press picked up on it and portrayed us as modern style heroes. As they say Gentlemen, all publicity is good publicity and that seizure really upped the Agency’s profile nationally.”

  Henry Jacobs raised his hand slightly to gain the floor, being in charge specifically of the curtailment of the Mexican drugs industry, he felt he should make an interjection. “The first seizure in Florida was of drugs being shipped by the Rojas Syndicate. After the first couple of drug busts, it would be obvious to the drug Cartels that one of their number was ratting them out to the DEA. Rojas made sure he was not suspected, by setting his Cartel up for a big hit.”

  “Since then he has given up eight more massive shipments and some of the Cartel members have been hit multiple times. We are beginning to cause them real pain,” said Trist.

  “One Cartel member, Oscar Perez Rodriguez has not been targeted at all by Rojas,” added Jacobs.

  “He is Rojas’ biggest rival and Rojas has made sure that all the suspicion falls on him as the potential DEA informant. If Rojas could make the other Cartel members turn on Rodriguez, then it would consolidate his supremacy as the chief drug lord.”

  “Now he wants his reward. He wants the assassin, Annubis, who killed his Father and he would like us to arrange the assassination of Rodriguez using Annubis. He then plans, with our help, to capture him after he has killed his main rival,” said Hackensack.

  Brighthouse spoke for the first time,” We can’t go along with this, surely?”

  “We can to a point,” continued Hackensack. “We can certainly facilitate the death of Rodriguez, but it would be no bad thing if the same happened to Rojas. We’ll instruct this Annubis to kill them both.”

  “There is one small problem, is there not?” said Jacobs, “Annubis is a CIA asset and they do not seem to want to hand him over for our use.”

  Trist knew he had to somehow manoeuvre himself into control of this situation. The pious bastards sat round this table were only interested in their political careers and fattening their bank balances. They were sat round this table openly discussing murder, with a total disregard for the legality of it and with not a second thought for the judicial process. Neither Rojas nor Rodriguez had been anywhere near a court, yet their death sentences were being engineered by the group gathered here. In essence Trist was justifying his betrayal of the DEA to Rojas by condemning their hypocrisy, by overlooking his own. At the end of the day, Trist was just greedy and wanted the fortune offered to him by Rojas.

  “I have made overtures to Langley,” interrupted Trist.

  “I am not sure I authorised any approach,” said Hackensack. “In any event, I certainly do not remember asking you to get involved.”

  “It was informal,” Trist continued, he had to cast the die and get control of the operation if he were to be a rich man. “I put the matter to them in a different manner.”

  “How?” asked Jacobs.

  “I requested co-operation from them for myself in the form of their assassin.”

  “You volunteered to work for the CIA?” said Hackensack in almost total disbelief.

  “Sort of, I pointed out that our interest coincided. Their brief and interest in Mexico extend much further than the drugs trade. In fact the inc
ome generated into the Mexican economy by the drug Cartels are vital to the Government there although, neither they nor the CIA, could openly acknowledge that fact. Key among the issues that concern the US administration is the level of migration and social tensions it is causing. In essence they need the drug money, but could do without the control and influence exercised by the drug lords.”

  “So you volunteered us to work with them in intervening in the politics of Mexico?”

  “I volunteered to take down two drug lords that are responsible for addicting and killing millions of American kids with their cheap drugs,” said Trist.

  “Let’s take this down a notch, before tempers are lost,” said Brighthouse.

  Hackensack took a deep breath. He was seething that Trist had usurped his authority in having direct dealings with the CIA. His brain, however, was working overtime, wondering how he could take credit if it turned out well and how he could distance himself and pass the buck if it went tits up. “Go on,” he said.

  “They will lend us their asset in the form of this contract killer, Annubis, but we have to take the rap if the murder of Mexican citizens comes out. They do not want the shit to come back to them if it gets out.”

  “So they insist that the operation on the ground is run by us?” asked Jacobs.

  “Yes and I offered my services as our man in the field.” In fact the reverse was true, but Trist had to be there if he were to make good his promise to Rajas of delivering his Father’s killer’s head to him. It had been tense with the CIA, they were very reluctant to let Trist be out in Mexico with a gun in his hand and a contract killer. Somehow he had managed to convince them to go for it. They would give him access to Annubis’s services and he would make sure the CIA was in the clear. Of course, the costs would come out of the DEA’s budget. That fact had been the deal clincher.

  Even Trist had to admit the whole thing made little sense for the CIA or DEA, but he had done the ploy of telling the CIA that it was what the DEA wanted. Now he was telling the DEA that it was the CIA’s idea. Of course all he wanted was to get his payoff from Rojas, so he did not care as to the sense of it.

  “There doesn’t seem to be a downside,” said Jacobs.

  The rest of them nodded. Like most decisions in the end it was not a decision at all. Someone came up with something that appeared not to have any real downside and so no one actually vetoed it. They group round the table were all now focused on how they could take credit if it went well.

  “Alright, go to Mexico, take you assassin and don’t fuck up,” said Hackensack.

  Chapter 17

  Jackie and Tim were aboard the paddleboat moored back in Luxor. Their cruise down the Nile had been relaxing and enjoyable. The sights of Ancient Egypt were invocative and romantic. They were in love, relaxed and happy. They woke up however feeling a little apprehensive. Despite recent crashes, deaths and health and safety issues they had booked, against their holiday representative’s advice, a hot air balloon trip along the Nile.

  They were up early and were the only people from the SS Misr that had decided on this particular excursion. “Do you think it is safe?” Jackie was having last minute doubts as they waited on the quayside.

  “It is all a matter of degree. It is safer than base jumping and more risky than lying in bed,” said Tim.

  “You mean no,” said Jackie.

  “I mean it will be exciting and spectacular.”

  “And dangerous?”

  “Probably.”

  Before Jackie had time to talk herself out of it the mini bus turned up and they were loaded aboard. There were four other couples on board as they set off. The balloon trip commenced somewhere on the left bank and the bus set off at a break neck pace through Luxor.

  “I may have underestimated the danger of this particular excursion. In all probability we shall die in a car crash long before we get to the launch site,” said Tim.

  Jackie was not seeing the funny side as the bus nearly mowed down a couple of pedestrians. Clearly they were running a bit late and as the driver’s only job was to deliver the punters to the launch area, he was determined to arrive on time. It appears that he did not consider it part of his remit to deliver them alive or even in one piece.

  The mini bus turned off the road onto a gravel track and headed off into the sandy desert landscape. Tim feared he would sustain irreparable spinal injuries as they raced along, hitting divots and rocks at full pelt. In the distance was a cluster of balloons, five or six in total. They were surrounded by a group of Egyptians pulling ropes and herding people.

  They screeched to a halt and were ushered speedily from the bus. Some of the balloons were already airborne and rising high into the sky. It was a scene of total chaos, filled with milling tourists and shouting Egyptians. Tim was beginning to have real doubts as to the competence and organisation of the whole thing and started to think they should not have dismissed the holiday reps advice so perfunctorily.

  The balloons were enormous and the baskets held about twenty people. The basket was divided into sections and four people were squeezed in each. In the centre was the pilot.

  “English, Deutsch, Francais?” asked a ground crew member approaching them in a hurry.

  “English,” replied Tim

  “Please, quick to follow,” he set off in the direction of one of the balloons.

  They jogged behind their guide to a red and white balloon with eight men clinging to ropes as the pilot blasted hot air from the burner into the canopy. “In quick, in,” he shouted.

  Jackie was pushed into the basket landing upside down in a sector of the basket with another couple already aboard. Tim entered in the same unceremonious manner. Hardly had they got themselves the right way up when the ropes were released and they began their ascent.

  “Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, I am your pilot.” Tim looked across to see a young Egyptian wearing Aviator Sunglasses and looking every bit a Tom Cruise look-alike from “Top Gun”.

  “I am a commercial airline pilot, so rest assured you are in the very best of hands. You are all English, yes?” This was confirmed.

  “”Safety first, one do not fall out of the basket. Two, most importantly, don’t let me fall out of the basket,” he laughed as he turned up the burner to increase their assent.

  Suddenly the traffic noise was gone. The frantic hustle and bustle of the launch site was far below them. The silence was intense. It was so peaceful and beautiful, the sky deep blue above and the Sun shimmering red, gold and orange on the horizon as it began its daily rise in the east.

  Jackie was enthralled as she looked over the edge of the basket at the miniature scene below. The Nile stretched as far as the eye could see in both directions. The tourist boats could be seen making their way along it. Other boats from the small to large cargo vessels all moved silently along. All was so quiet and peaceful, they just stared and hugged each other.

  Tim became aware that the other balloons had blown off along the bank of the Nile, but theirs was being blown out over the river. “The wind has changed,” said the pilot, “You are lucky you are crossing the Nile. Usually the wind blows us up along one side. You are special and going for a better ride.”

  They drifted serenely over the Nile, the life blood of Egypt. They could see, even in the modern era, how the agriculture and buildings were spread out along its banks in a narrow strip. Beyond that the vast expanse of arid shrub and sand stretched for miles into the distance.

  They continued their quiet sail along and across the Nile passing fields and trees below on the opposite bank. “We need to find a place to land,” said the pilot. They had been in the air for just over an hour.

  He vented the balloon and it began to descend, slowly at first. It soon became apparent that landing may not be as simple as the pilot was leading them to believe. There were buildings, trees and fields full of crops, such as sugar cane.

  Their descent became more rapid and it was plain that the wind was moving them along m
ore swiftly the closer they approached the Earth. The pilot was doing his best to avoid obstacles, but his influence on the balloon’s path was limited. They skimmed the first of several trees but crashed into the next cluster. The balloon bounced off and continued to descend. There were a few gasps as more trees loomed even closer.

  The pilot deflated the balloon further and the hit the ground with a bump. It did not come to a stop but continued to be blown, dragging the basket behind it across a field. Tim found himself lying under Jackie and the other couple, as the basket fell onto its side.

  The next thing he realised was that he and another four passengers had been tipped from the basket into a field of very spiky cut sugar cane. He struggled to his feet to see that the balloon, still containing the other twenty passengers including Jackie, had risen up into the air. With the sudden loss of ballast in the form of Tim and the three others, also dislodged into the field, it was off again.

  He gave chase and watched as the balloon deflated further and crashed again. It was dragged along for a about fifty yards, giving the passengers a very bumpy ride. There was a roar of engines and horn tooting as a truck load of Egyptians arrived. The ground crew had raced over the Nile and tracking the balloon from the ground had caught up with it.

  They secured the balloon and the rest of the slightly unnerved passengers were helped out. They were shepherded to the road side where a mass of small children appeared as if by magic and started asking for money. Drums also appeared from nowhere and the usual cacophony ensued as they waited for the minibus to turn up. Tim was fascinated by the metal drums that seemed to be made for industrial grade metal ducting and weighed a ton. He could not understand how they just appeared. Did the locals just carry them around all the time in the hope of deafening some unsuspecting tourist?

  They bus turned up and they were driven back to the SS Misr. It would appear that having not managed to kill them by crashing the balloon, they were doing the best to finish the job in a road traffic accident.