DD fired up a program from the laptop onto the network. It was small, very fast and acted like a search engine. Designed to search every document, database, spreadsheet and email, it could build a sophisticated index of every word and its position within the document. Once the index was complete DD could search the entire network for specific words or phrases. To signal how far the program had reached, a progress bar showed on the screen. Currently it stood at 34% and was slowly moving towards the halfway mark. DD figured that he would need another twenty minutes for the program to complete, but at this stage he felt secure in the knowledge that no-one knew they were here.
He turned to the sound of a muted explosion from outside the room. The feeling of security evaporated in an instant.
While DD was busy on the servers, Lomax made a tour of the computer room, noticing a safe sunk into the back wall. It was locked, but Lomax thought he could crack it in less than ten minutes. He checked the corridor again - it was clear. He wanted to be sure he had plenty of warning should there be a guard on the prowl and he pulled a flat round object out of his rucksack, the size of a portable CD player. Walking to the end of the corridor, he stopped just before it turned the corner and undid the tabs on the back of the device. He pressed it against the wall about a foot off the ground and the device stuck to the wall like a limpet. Lomax then pulled out a tab from the side, unreeling a hair-thin wire and fixed it to the opposite wall with a sucker. Anyone unfortunate enough to trip over the wire would get a nasty shock.
Working his way forward Lomax placed another two trip mines along the corridor, spacing them ten metres apart.
Back in the computer room, Lomax examined the safe. For all the sophistication of the equipment around him, it was the most basic device in the room, using a pure mechanical locking mechanism to protect its contents. Lomax dipped into his rucksack again and brought out a slim box, about the size and shape of digital camera. He smeared some gel around the dial on the safe and set to work with his miniature X-ray camera. As he opened the safe door, he heard a muffled boom. Lomax went quickly to the door and looked out carefully. He could hear faint cries. Very soon they would call up reinforcements and the game would be up.
‘How much time do you need?’ he shouted over to DD.
‘At least fifteen minutes’, came the reply.
‘Jesus’ muttered Lomax under his breath. The other traps might slow them down, but not for that long. He reached into his coat and pulled out his pistol. Sean might have reasons not to use firearms, but Lomax felt no compunction. Then the thought of word reaching London about this fiasco made him hesitate. London wanted no dead bodies left for the law or the media to investigate. London was sometimes a bit like a starched Auntie he had once known. She was very clear on what she wanted you to do and what she didn’t want you to do. And like Auntie, the Agency’s wrath would be felt for a long time if you were a bad boy.
Well, you haven’t seen how bad I can be, thought Lomax.
Just then he felt the air pressure blast from a second explosion. They only had seconds left.
‘Come on’, he shouted to DD. ‘Let’s go!’
Lomax glanced back into the room. He watched impatiently as DD grabbed his two small pocket computers and stuffed them into his rucksack. The leads were left dangling from the network sockets and it looked like DD was going to take those as well. Before Lomax could run back into the room to get him, DD dashed over to the opened safe and grabbed the contents. Lomax dragged DD to the door.
‘Listen shit-head’, Lomax ground out through his teeth. He forced DD into a crouch. ‘Stay low, follow me, and when I say run - run like the clappers!’
At that moment, a head peeked around the final corner to their corridor. Lomax could just make out a blue cap, before the head and cap disappeared. Lomax shoved DD in the back. ‘Let’s go!’
Sean saw Schaeffer fifty yards away, heading uphill for the ridge. Sean dived into the woods taking the trail he discovered earlier in the day. Even though there was a half moon it was difficult to see the path through the overhanging foliage.
He was exhausted and breathing heavily from the punishment he had taken. His side hurt like hell. He thought he might have a broken rib, but now was not the time to stop and take stock.
He held his hands out in front of him to stop himself colliding with the trees. After a minute his night sight improved and he moved more confidently over the ground. About halfway up the slope he hunted around for a side path that would allow him to approach the ridge from an angle. He found the path after a minute and carefully crept along it until he judged he was about fifteen metres from the top. He stopped, lay down on the path and used his elbows to pull himself along. He wasn’t sure if Schaeffer had a gun and Sean didn’t want to be silhouetted in the moonlight as he came over the ridge.
Cautiously he raised his head to peer over the top. He could make out a swath of trees on the down slope with the odd trail marked by breaks in the wood. He couldn’t see the man he was hunting. Sean made a huge effort to reduce his own rapid breathing to listen for the sound of Schaeffer’s progress.
There was nothing.
Slowly Sean felt for his rucksack and untied the PSG1 sniper rifle from its straps. Tucking it into his shoulder he peered through the telescopic sight. Dark leaves leapt into view. He quartered the area through the sights, moving in a regular pattern, forward and back, checking every part of the scene.
Several minutes went by and Sean was afraid he had lost his prey. Then a movement caused him to double check and sweep the sights back. He spotted a shape in the undergrowth. Even under the highest magnification it was difficult to make it out. The shape moved slowly and stealthily through the trees from left to right.
Sean gripped the rifle and quietly eased a round into the chamber. At this distance he was not confident of a lethal shot - he had no idea how the rifle had been set up.
The ground provided a steady platform and Sean gradually took up pressure on the trigger. Breathing lightly he moved the sight to keep track of the moving form. Then he stopped breathing and applied a little more pressure to the trigger. The gun went off with a sharp ‘crack’. Sean continued to look through the telescopic sight but nothing moved.
Slowly Sean slithered over the ridge. When he felt it was safe he stood up, shouldering the rucksack and carrying the rifle trail style. He approached the target area carefully. Initially he didn’t see anything. Crouching down he used his penlight to search the forest floor. He could see a disturbance in the littoral and light glistened from a thin trickle of blood on a green leaf. Sean followed the trail, swinging his penlight left and right. This wasn’t good practice – his quarry could use the light source to target Sean. But Sean felt he had made a significant shot and expected the man to be seriously injured.
For what seemed like hours, but was probably only ten minutes, he cautiously followed the trail. It lead around to the right and crossed back over the ridge lower down. He must be trying to find his way back to his car, thought Sean.
A few minutes later he heard the guard he had tied up earlier. The man was trying to attract attention through his taped mouth with inarticulate mumbling.
Sean listened carefully. The last thing he wanted was for his quarry to release the guard, because then he would have two men to contend with. On the other hand he needed to know what Schaeffer had in mind. Sean could hear the faint squeaks from the car’s suspension, as though someone had just climbed in. Schaeffer must be looking for the car keys.
Sean glanced around. The path was littered with pine cones. Apart from the PSG1 he had no other weapons. He crept back up the path and found a fallen branch with a knobbly end.
Sean hefted the stick and went back along the path towards the car. His quarry had given up the hunt for the car keys and was bending over his tied-up colleague, about to peel off the tape from the guard’s mouth.
Sean stepped around the car quietly. Some sixth sense made the man straighten up but Sean had allowe
d for this and the knobbly end of the branch hit the man squarely over the head. Sean took no chances. He had already hit him enough times tonight to have killed him three times over. He followed up quickly with a kick to the man’s calves, dropping him onto his knees. A punch to the base of the neck and Schaeffer keeled over slowly.
Sean had been tricked before and he wasn’t about to make the same mistake again. He placed his boot firmly on the man’s back and forced his hands together, swiftly cuffing them tight. Next he placed his boot over both of the man’s legs. He noticed congealed blood around the thigh where he had wounded him with the rifle. He cuffed the man’s legs.
Going back to the car he pulled out some nylon rope. Dragging Schaeffer to the nearest tree, Sean wound the rope around the base, each time looping it over the plastic cuffs. When he was satisfied, Sean rifled through the man’s pockets carefully out of range of a head butt. As expected there was no personal identification.
This posed a dilemma. It was unlikely the man would volunteer any information about how and why he had been sent. Yet the capture of four men tonight represented the best chance Sean had of finding the chief architect of the opposition and the real heart of his mission.
Sean’s experience of torture was fairly extensive. During his army days he had seen the effects on men in his regiment. At one point he himself had been at the receiving end over a five day period. But one thing he knew was that under torture the bravest men could spin a web of lies which would not be broken easily. Less brave souls would volunteer anything. Whether a man was brave or not, their story could not be relied on.
Sean sighed. He knew that torture would not achieve anything with this man, but there was no need to tell Schaeffer that. Sean withdrew his knife.
Captain Sheering could always tell when his XO was alarmed – his eyebrows would draw together making him look like a male version of Frida Kahlo.
‘What is it John?’
‘Sir, you never launched the torpedoes.’
‘Don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten. It’s just that I’ve had second thoughts about them. Imagine we did fire - which way would they go?’
The XO looked perplexed. ‘Why, towards the target of course.’
‘And what’s between us and the target?’ asked the Captain patiently.
‘Oh, I see what you mean sir. The torpedoes would be flying through the sound energy beam. They might explode before reaching the target.’
‘Correct John, I think that’s why the British sub found it so difficult to deal with.’
Captain Sheering studied his XO closely. ‘So what else can we hit him with?’ The Captain could almost see the cogs moving.
‘Well sir, there’s nothing else that is suitable.’
‘Is that so?’ asked the Captain.
The man’s forehead crinkled and his eyebrows knitted together. ‘You don’t mean the Tomahawks?’
Captain Sheering remained quiet.
‘You do mean the Tomahawks, don’t you sir!’ exclaimed the XO. ‘But TLAM’s are meant for long range work – not something as close as a mile away!’
‘They’re also only meant for surface or land targets’ said the Captain. ‘But there’s nothing to stop us using a Tomahawk anyway we want to – whatever gets the job done.’
‘How could you program the TLAM to explode under water – it’s never been done before!’
‘You should talk to the Weapons Officer. But I thought we might be able to offset the Tomahawk’s altitude gauge. Make it think it’s flying higher than it is. Then program it to ignore terrain following and dive onto the target at the last moment. That should do the trick.’
The Executive Officer scratched his scalp. ‘There’s another problem’ he said emphatically, as if this was the deciding point. ‘TLAM’s need a static target. They’re designed to hit fixed objects on land. Our rogue sub is moving all the time.’
The Captain nodded, pleased that his first officer had thought it through. However all his points so far were negative ones and he hadn’t been forthcoming with any solutions.
‘Well done John, you’ve spotted the real problem with this. We need to make sure that sub is in the same place we program into the Tomahawk. It’ll require some fancy footwork if we’re going to manage that - we’ll have to lead Cetus into the killing zone.’
The XO stared at his Captain. ‘Sir, if we do that we could be in the killing zone too.’
‘Correct’, the Captain grimaced. ‘Let’s get one ready for launch.’
Natasha felt light headed. Her hands shook with fear. She swept her hair back and surveyed the devastation in the room. All the furniture was overturned and two men lay on their backs, hands and feet tied.
Natasha set about straightening the room. The man in the blue ski pants struggled to sit up. Natasha went to the kitchen to retrieve a long wooden rolling pin. She came back and watched as the man in blue ski pants managed to sit upright at last. He looked at Natasha, saw the rolling pin and inclined his head in submission.
Natasha heard a noise from outside. It seemed like a distant shot, possibly coming from the next valley. She went to the door, opened it and looked out into the dark. The night was silent and she shivered. She knew Sean was injured and the shot could be meant for him. Quickly she put her coat on, felt in the pocket and brought out a flashlight. Looking around the cabin one last time she saw that the other man was beginning to stir. Without pausing, she ran out the door.
When Natasha was little, her parents used to take her up to this cabin once every few months. She knew all the footpaths for miles around. She loved the scent of the trees and the breathtaking surprise of coming across a clearing, or emerging from the tree-line to see miles over the intervening countryside.
But the presence of the men changed things. Every step she took she was afraid that a man would leap out from behind a tree and grab her. She began to shake again with fear and thought about returning to the cabin. The flashlight flickered weakly. She cursed herself for not replacing the battery, but she pressed on.
Five minutes later she heard a distant groan. She swung her flashlight around in the direction of the noise. Her pulse quickened and her mouth went dry. She broke out into a run, abandoning the path. Low branches whipped across her face and chest. She stumbled over a fallen log and her flashlight went spinning into the darkness. She managed to retrieve it after a short search. She continued on her way, hands out-thrust to ward off the branches.
She burst upon the group before realising she had arrived. Stopping, she looked around slowly, only then taking in the scene.
The man with the broken jaw sat with his back to a tree, hands tied behind it. His feet were bound together and his bloodied face was wracked in pain. Sean held the man’s hair in one hand and in the other he pressed the point of a large hunting knife into his neck.
Natasha stood transfixed. She was relieved and disgusted at the same time. Relieved that Sean was safe, but disgusted by what he was doing. She could not believe Sean was capable of this.
‘Glad you’ve arrived’ said Sean over his shoulder.
Chapter 24
Lomax hauled DD along the pavement. He could hear the sounds of pursuit behind, but didn’t stop to look. With his free hand Lomax patted his pockets and felt the hard outline of the gun. They hobbled past some scaffolding and a spark flew. A fraction of a second later Lomax heard the sound of the bullet ricocheting off the metal supports. He dived behind a stack of wooden planks, pulling DD with him. The car was parked just metres away. He left DD momentarily while he opened the passenger door. Going back for DD, he bundled him into the back seat.
At that moment he saw a man in a dark uniform appear round the corner. Without thinking Lomax had the gun in his hand and crouched behind the open door. The guard stopped. Lomax saw the arm raised to take aim and the glint from the firearm was unmistakable in the streetlight.
Lomax shot without hesitation. The round tore into the man’s gun hand and he fell. Lomax raced a
round the car, jumped in, switched on the engine and floored the accelerator. With the tyres screaming, he made a fast u-turn in the street.
In minutes he was on the outskirts of the town. With the tension easing off he began to think about DD’s injuries. DD had done everything asked of him. He was just too slow and had caught a beating from one of the guards. Lomax needed to get him to the safe house fast. How many times had he been in situations like this?
In one of his early missions, Lomax was told to bring out a dissident Chinese. At the last minute he received an order to terminate one of the gang leaders in a local triad. Lomax accomplished both objectives, but the dissident was hurt and never made it to freedom. From then on Lomax became the agent of choice whenever there was a mission requiring a termination.
Lomax became obsessed with eliminating risk from his mission. This eventually landed him in trouble with his masters when he returned from a particularly difficult and violent assignment. A former colleague took him to the pub one evening and told him the Service wanted him out. For an organisation that trained him in the black arts of assignation, he was surprised to find that they took exception to his methods.
He asked to know why and was told with unusual frankness that London could no longer condone his actions. When pressed they told him that his tactics were too brutal and too many non-players were becoming casualties.
Lomax wanted to know why London suddenly felt so morally indignant - was this a case of establishment hypocrisy at work, or had the politics changed? He insisted on knowing the answer. His colleague told him they had no qualms about the targets they had provided. What they couldn’t stomach was the fact that Lomax had begun to like the work too much. Lomax recalled his reaction to being told this harsh truth and the irony that London’s conscience was pricked not because of the people he had killed on their orders, but because London felt that at some point they would no longer be able to control him.
Silent Warpath (Sean Quinlan Book 1) Page 20
