by Ray Christie
‘It’s time to get noisy,’ Jack mutters to himself as he removes an M84 stun grenade from his jacket and holds it up to show the others. Jean-Baptiste checks everyone’s position then gives the signal. A furious bang erupts and all three of them spring to action. Jack lobs in the grenade, once it fires he steps over the door and into the room with his MP5 now taking over from the Sig Sauer. Turning left sticking to the perimeter Sam is next to enter turning right.
***
The lights are on in this grand room, as the smoke clears they remove the thermal NVG mode. The room was swept, no targets so Jean-Baptiste waits to be called inside. Two double carved marble baroque doors on either side of the room, a thick red Axminster rug covers the parquetry floors, a large carved mahogany table at one end of the room surrounded with William Kent giltwood chairs. Floor to ceiling bookcases lining the entire wall suggested to Jack it was a library in an English manor. Using his throat mic, he tries to contact Julie. Establishing a connection, he orders Sam and Jean-Baptiste to check the windows and doors then he provides updates as the tunnel water drips from his shivering body over the expensive rugs. Based on his calculation of around two thousand steps he averaged it to be a mile, east of the church. Relaying this back to Julie allowed her to get the satellite on his position. Just to be sure of his estimate Jack had an idea. He grabbed a fusee carriage clock from the mahogany desk and launched at the window, smashing the single pane of glass effortlessly. Then he unclipped an M84 and tossed it out the open window. A second later the blast sent shockwaves around Cambridge and Julie’s voice came back acknowledging his position. The satellite picking up the bright light quickly allowed the intelligence team to calculate Trevor’s likely destination.
“Jack he is now halfway to the airport, we thought he may have used the river to escape however he would know we are watching him, there are further tunnels connecting… Standby… Jack, we have movement… Standby, doing gait analysis, Jack we have located three targets walking east.”
Jack holds his hand up to attract attention, “Sam lead us to the street.”
Immediately Sam and Jean-Baptiste move to the door and clear the hallway, calling for Jack to follow, they methodically clear each area before proceeding out onto the street without any sign of human life.
Julie had provided a location and brief description of the men, who were walking in a file, with Trevor in the middle about three minutes ahead of them at a brisk pace. As dawn was not far away Jack wanted to get this over with before the town comes alive. As they jogged through the empty streets some house lights were switched on, curtains moved to the side revealed startled faces, the sound of the M84 stirring them from their dreams.
“Jack turn right at the roundabout, head up Coldhams Lane over the railway tracks which takes you to a large park. Trevor and his men are crossing that towards Coldham’s Common.”
“Copy that, can you see what the security team are carrying, long, short, NVGs?”
“Enhancing the images from the traffic cameras as we speak… standby… looks like they are carrying Sig MPX’s and no NVG, they are spreading out in the field, do you have visual?”
“Negative, we are approaching the bend, the clearing is coming up now, GET DOWN…”
The sound of gunfire erupting caused scores of blackbirds to lift out of the surrounding trees, the squawking continued as Jack looked for his men.
Jean-Baptiste was laying twenty meters in front of him, crawling towards a tree. He had been hit and Jack had no idea how bad it was. He switches on his NVG and through the thermal view he can see heat signatures left behind from were Jean-Baptiste took the rounds. The blood splatter shining brightly in his googles.
“Julie where is Golf?”
“He cleared the fence when the shooting started and is running across the field to the north-east, in three, two, one, he is now within the tree line approx two hundred meters from your position, do you copy?”
“Two hundred meters north-east, copy that. Foxtrot has been hit, he is giving me the thumbs up and looks to be administering first aid, where are the threats located?”
“Running south-east along the tree line on the eastern side towards Barnwell Road.”
Jack jumps up to his feet and charges past Jean-Baptiste giving him the thumb, he chases after the threat to engage them before they have time to set up and take further shots at his men. “Golf, this is Delta I am moving to engage.”
Sam heard the communication between Jack and Julie and with the knowledge the targets are South of his location he moves to counter their position. “Delta, copy last, I am on route to cover.”
Through his thermals, he can see three blobs of orange and red bobbing along about two hundred meters to his south-east. Making up good ground Jack prepares to dive for cover, but only when he sees a target stopping to fire. Trevor’s pace is slowing allowing Jack to close the gap. Through a gap in the trees, the men have now disappeared from view, now crossing the footbridge over the railway tracks. A few more gunshots ring out across the field forcing Jack to the ground. Rolling in the wet grass he counts to three then lifts his head to check if clear. An almighty knock to the head almost renders him unconscious. The round hit his NVG’s saving him from certain death, but the wetness dripping down his face tells him he did not escape without injury. The round hit the vision tubes shattering them instantly and spilling the chemicals inside which is now mixing with his blood. Jack quickly rolls to his left a number of times to avoid any further rounds hitting him and rips handfuls of wet grass from the field to wash over his face. Clearing the mess from his eyes he risks a quick glance up to find the gunman. Seeing nothing he snaps up to a crouch position MP5 raised before charging them once again.
“Delta are you hit?” asks Sam.
“Nothing serious, back on my feet.”
“Guys, targets crossed the railway tracks and are running south-east towards the path leading to the road, they will be back undercover by the trees in twenty, nineteen, eighteen.”
“Copy that, Golf do you have visual?”
“Delta, that’s affirmative.”
Sam had adopted the prone position, the bipod on the MacMillan TAC-338 firmly planted in the ground. With the fast-moving clouds allowing the moon to shine like floodlights across the wet grass, he catches the men easily in his thermal weapon system. From this distance he has no need to count for the drop, he lines up the white-hot figure in the centre dot easily. He wanted to wait until at least two of the men are lined up, but those protecting Trevor keep their distance. Not much time left… hold… hold... a soft exhale, pause and the rifle is fired.
The last man is hit in the centre of his back, smashing his spine with the round travelling through and catching the shoulder of the middle person.
“Trevor has been hit on the shoulder, one other target down.” Sam picks up his weapon and rushes towards his kill.
A volley of gunfire erupts from the tree line then stops. Jack ignores the danger and runs hard, the cold wet wind causes his lungs to feel heavier with each step, the burning feeling on his face has changed to a numbing sensation. ‘Something Émilie can tend to’ hopes Jack as he swings his MP5 from his shoulder back into his hands and up into the high ready position. Almost at the gap in the tree line when Julie speaks.
“Jack, there is a heat signature in front of you.”
Jack immediately dives to his left behind a clump of bushes and rolls to the base of a tree just as the explosion shakes the ground. The operator protecting Trevor had left a timer with the dying man, his objective was to kill his pursuers and to eliminate the identity of the mercenary. The blast stripped Jacks jacket from his arm, and the fragments of the device cut deep into this skin and bone. Pain in his lungs and ears are requiring him to use all of his focus and mental energy to overcome it. He must keep moving.
“Delta, what’s happening up there?”
“Golf, I’m good, my head is pounding, what’s your location?”
“I’m fi
fty meters away.”
“Copy.”
Jack sat there flexing his arms and legs, moving his head around to check for any other injuries. By the time he pulls himself up, Sam appears from the darkness. Both men look towards the road and take off once again guided by Julie.
“Guys, the two targets have run east through a business park and are cutting through a fence to the airport.”
“Copy that,” utters Jack as he runs through the path leading to the road, concentrating on his surroundings.
At the entrance of the property, Sam takes off to the south leaving Jack to follow the driveway towards the back fence. Running inside he takes cover behind the cars as he creeps closer to the fence. His eyesight is not the sharpest, at the centre of his vision he is seeing a white light, burnt from the explosion. His ears also fail him, unable to pick up the soft sounds of the chain-link fence being cut open. The noise stops suddenly as Trevor hears footsteps behind him, he gives the order for his protection to go and deal with it. Then he quickly cuts through the last few links allowing him to crawl inside the airport ground where his pilot is waiting. Dashing across the grass to the hanger Trevor is close to escaping, the Cambridge men have secured an early morning departure on their own private Gulf Stream to Rome. Guaranteed to leave the UK airspace unhindered such are their connections with the Royal Air Force In under three hours he will be in Rome, safe on his way to the Vatican under armed guard.
Sensing danger Jack raises his MP5. Remaining stationary he checks for reflections on the side of the wet cars, looking for any signs of movement. There, something moving slowly, three cars away. Jack lowers himself to the ground, careful not to disturb any stones or cause the slightest of noise. He places the MP 5 lightly on the tarmac and takes out his firearm. Holding it carefully under the car he waits until the leg comes into view. The target is moving slow, not making a sound. One more step, fire. The round hits him on the ankle, buckling his foot and causing a scream of pain. Jack pops up and fires a quick two rounds. One in his face the next in his forehead.
Trevor hearing the shots calls out to the pilot. A man in his sixties smoking a cigarette, steps out from the hanger. Wearing a navy jacket with white trousers he waves over to Trevor and quickly heads back inside. The Gulf Stream G650 has been fuelled and prepared to depart. All relevant departure information has been confirmed with the flight plan weather reports, distances, flight altitudes, fuel requirements all satisfied. An early morning VIP flight to Rome on behalf of the Catholic Church is nothing out of the ordinary. The lack of passenger screening and passport control is a different matter, however, the financial transactions that happen thereafter help to dismiss any concerns. Irregular passenger movements such as this have always been common and the cash it brings in has become a welcome addition to a pilot doing God’s work.
Jack slips under the chain fence and makes his way across the grass towards the bright lights of the hanger. Unsure of which of the open doors Trevor has entered he runs across the tarmac with his weapon pointed towards the light. A couple of men see him and scurry back inside. Wearing overalls complete with earmuffs, they cause no concern, aircraft maintenance engineers simply doing the nightshifts. Jack makes his way along the line of hanger doors until he spots Trevor. Climbing up the steps and pulling them closed Trevor spots his young pupil. The two men lock eyes, Jack is about to fire until the bright light from the Gulf Stream’s headlights is switched on causing temporary blindness to his already struggling vision. The plane begins its taxi out to the runway. Jack then secures his weapon and makes a dash towards the entrance door with Trevor watching his every move from the wide oval windows. He grasps at the door handle and realises there is no hope, the doors are operated electrically, otherwise a technician is required to open them manually.
The Gulf Stream has moved quickly in the time it took Jack getting off the ground. He ducked and rolled to avoid getting hit by the wings as it passed over him. Pushing himself up from the ground he reaches for his weapon, the jet has turned out onto the runway with the brakes long released and engines at full power. Jack cannot believe the speed of the jet. He fires a couple of rounds at the large wheels, nothing, firing again, nothing. Suddenly the sound of the engines begins cracking and banging. The jet veers to one side before correcting itself and then black smoke pours from one of its Rolls Royce engines.
“Golf, is that you?”
“Affirmative, hold two.”
Another shot rings out. Jack never even noticed them before such was his concentration on getting at Trevor. The two engines have now been shot out and damaged severely, trying to resume flying would cause an explosion. Sam had positioned himself at the end of the runway. The jet was now without power, using battery reserves only. Jack grabbed one of the technicians at gunpoint and ordered him to collect the tools required and to lead the way. A couple of minutes later he reached the entrance doors. With trembling hands, the technician made the appropriate adjustments to open the cabin and asked to be removed. Jack waved him away and dropped the steps. With an M84 in his hand, Jack was about to lob it inside when he hears Trevor shouting from the forward galley. “Drop your weapon or I will blast this man’s brains all over the plane.”
“I don’t care, I don’t even know him,” Jack responds in the hope to call his bluff.
“Me either, but I’m dead either way and an innocent man will be on your conscience, not mine, now piss off and save a life.”
“You know I can’t let that happen, Trevor…”
A gunshot rang out from inside the cabin, followed by a scared scream. “The next one will not pass by his ear; it will be through the back of his head.”
“Steady now Trevor, just come out with your hands up, I am sure you have great friends in the government, and you will be able to get this all cleared up.”
“The only thing I want is a fresh jet back there at the hanger. If your boy at the end of the runway does not disappear this pilot’s family will not see the sunrise. They are sitting in the back of a van at gunpoint, free to leave once I am out of UK airspace, and you and your stupid heroics will ensure they are killed. I am going to tell you one more time to pull back.”
Another shot rang out. The sound of screaming from inside the cabin sent a chill up Jack’s spine, quickly followed by anger. He lobbed the M84 inside and followed as soon as it detonated. Unable to see clearly he grabbed hold of the side rails and entered the cabin, bumping directly into the two men. He rugby tackled both and felt for the body shape of Trevor as they all lay on the ground. The screaming intensified, and he felt wetness cover his arms. Trevor’s body did not put up a fight as he wrapped himself around his neck to shut off circulation. No fightback, no kicking or scraping at his fingers which Jack expected. He rolls off Trevor and puts him in an armlock instead, waiting for the smoke to clear. As the light slowly returns through the haze Jack looks down at Trevor’s face and gags heavily at the sight of him. Trevor has blown his own face off, his lower jaw is the only part of his head in place. Feeling sick, covered in his blood, saliva and brains Jack rises to his knees shaking his head. He looks over at the pilot who is crying and making the sign of the cross, staring out the side window at something. Jack lifts his tired and smashed body up to look at the window and notices the smoke flowing out of a small hole. In the dark field beside the runway, he can see a lone figure coming out of the shadows.
Sam arrived first, inspecting his contribution to the firefight, two destroyed engines. As he stepped inside the cabin to see the carnage he was unprepared for the sight before him. Attempting to hold in his last meal he returned quickly to the runway. Jack emerged with the pilot and stood with him in silence as Jean-Baptiste hobbled around the front of the jet holding his Arctic Warfare Magnum sniper rifle. A smile on his face, “Sorry I’m late.”
The men erupted in laughter as the pilot was drying his eyes in disbelief.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Sardinia, Italy
Anchored off Porto Cervo in Nort
hern Sardinia Jack watched contently as Gordon and Ben raced each other through the crystalline waters like a couple of schoolboys. Downstairs Frank and Anjeze played the role of honeymooners. Laughing and toying with each other as they prepared a dish of scialatielli ai frutti di mare in the galley. The four of them boarded the yacht at Monaco, bringing with them the treasures of the past. Jean-Baptiste and Émilie, the new business owners of this yacht charter were busy loving each other in the master cabin allowing Sam to play captain. The past few days have been kind to their bodies and the long nights in Costa Smeralda proved helpful in releasing the stress of everything they endured. They all dumped their communication equipment in the English Channel as they set sail to the Mediterranean a week ago.
Laying on the sunbed Jack stares into the blue horizon. His body feels almost normal, shards of metal removed, the skin healed by the saltwater and oily fish, stiffness has long since passed, and his fitness is thriving once again. As he lays there considering his future he looks over towards Sam who is gazing at something in the sky. A reflection of sunlight glints off the reconnaissance satellite back towards him, shining brightly like a lonely star. As he picks up a glass of iced Mirto he smiles and shakes his head. ‘Not yet Julie, not yet.’
