by James Flynn
“Maybe she thought she could do with a break. Broads always need their beauty sleep at some point, although that one seems like she doesn’t need any help in that department.” Bobby giggled at his own comment. “Know what I mean, my man?”
Luke was focused intently on the entrance, waiting for an empty 4x4 or limousine to pull up, giving the green light; he knew that Razor would be doing the same.
17.
Seona was glad that she had packed her old running shoes; she had managed to delude herself that she would take to the park and exercise on her trip. She’d had these shoes since she was sixteen years old; they were stored with more secrecy than the Holy Grail. If her friends or associates knew that she possessed them, then there would be some serious ridicule. They would be perfect for an early hours stroll, and as she slipped them on they felt like a comfort blanket. She never missed home when she was travelling, quite the opposite, but tonight the trainers allowed her to be close in her mind with her family and Viktor.
Zipping up the black-hooded, pink-trimmed tracksuit, Seona grabbed the white complimentary robe from the back of one of the sofas and threw it around herself. Stepping softly over to the guarded doorway she was trying to make as little noise as possible, so as not to wake the other two sleeping Russians. She gently opened the room door and saw the surprise in the two guards as they swivelled to face her. Being careful not to open the door far enough for them to see she was wearing trainers, Seona rubbed her eyes for effect.
“Erm…I really want some food, I’m starving.”
The two guards looked at each other; Seona could sense their discomfort at being presented with what appeared to be yet more emotion.
“Well, what are you waiting for? I said I want food, and room service will only send me up the dregs at this time of night. You need to go down and make sure they make me something fresh.”
Whether it was through lack of understanding or reluctance the two Russians seemed to be debating internally about the demand.
“Well? You work for me, remember? If you want to continue to be paid by my father get your asses down and sort it.”
They quickly conferred in low whispers, and then the taller of the two nodded and headed off down the well-lit corridor, past the flowers decorating the tables.
Seona had hoped that the threat of emotion may cause both of them to take a trip down to the night porter to sort out her food.
As the remaining bodyguard turned to face the opposite wall of the corridor, Seona stretched out a hand to touch his shoulder gently. He turned his head and stared at her, she was sure that his eyes were roaming from her face slowly south; instinctively she pulled the robe tighter, keeping her feet out of view.
“One of your friends in there said he wanted you for something. Think he just wanted to get an eyeful of me as I was getting changed … pervert.” His eyes were now definitely roaming at the image she had just put into his head. “I said I’d come and get one of you, and it looks like you’re the lucky one.”
The guard didn’t shift.
“Well come on then, I’m not waiting up all night for you lot to sort things, hurry up!” She pulled the door wider whilst still keeping herself hidden behind it, inviting the guard inside.
Taking the bait, the Russian stepped through the door.
“They’re in the room.” Seona quickly moved the door to close it, keeping herself behind the Russian as he strode toward the adjoining door between the suites. Seona heard the door handle rattle as the Russian headed towards his colleague. She knew that it was her chance and silently slipped through the remaining gap in the door and sped off down the corridor.
She soon emerged into the lavish foyer. The whole space dripped with elegance, beauty and money. Seona pulled her hood up over her head. The coast was clear. There was a night porter standing chatting to the small dark-haired women behind the counter whose name was Marion. She had been there to greet Seona on several mornings as she had rolled in after a night out.
Stepping into the lobby, Seona put her head down and made strides toward the glass-panelled doors leading out onto 59th Street.
“Evening Miss Latvik. Heading out alone tonight?”
“Yeah, just fancied a bit of air, Tony. Do me a favour, if my Russian friends come looking, you haven’t seen me.” She stuffed $30 into the night doorman’s hand.
“Of course Miss Latvik, but make sure you keep your wits about you, these streets aren’t any place for a young lady at this time in the morning.”
“Thanks Tony, I’ll be fine.” With that Seona bounced down the steps and took in a deep breath. The air contained a sharp bite, it felt like a nice relief. Turning down 5th Avenue, she allowed her mind to wander. She didn’t see the two men in balaclavas gaining on her from behind.
18.
“Want one man?” Bobby shoved a Reece’s Piece in Luke’s face.
“I’m good.” Luke didn’t even look at the offering; he kept his eyes facing down the road.
The time was now 2.35 a.m., the air inside the Mazda was becoming a little heavy; even the slight gaps in the windows weren’t helping. Bobby was slowly munching his way through chocolate after chocolate.
“So come on Leon, what you got your sights on with the payload on this one?”
“Let’s just get the job done first, shall we?” Luke didn’t fancy talking dreams with Bobby.
“Dude, I am going to buy myself a nice little fishing boat, and head out to grab some peace from this crazy planet, every weekend. It’s nice to just sit and bob up and down with the waves.”
Luke was about to divert the conversation when he noticed the concierge look toward the entrance; a moment later a person in a tracksuit appeared at the top of the stairs.
Bobby noticed the movement as well, and the atmosphere within the Mazda became focused. Luke was sure that the person was female, the body shape and the way they stood were very feminine, but the hood was up, blocking Luke from making a positive ID at distance. What female would leave at this time of the morning alone?
Luke’s eyes were flitting between the entrance and the Ford Focus. Razor and Lennon were much closer, but she still had her back to them, there was no way to be positive about who it was.
“Is it her? Is that our broad?” Bobby was trying to read Luke’s mind.
It was nothing more than instinct yet Luke had a feeling that the woman chatting to the concierge was the target, something about the way she held herself. Where are the bodyguards? His hand slowly gripped the handle of the Browning.
The seconds ticked by, still no sign of the Russians. Why is she alone? Is it her? The woman placed some money into the concierge’s hand and turned to move down the steps. Luke was thinking fast, maybe Bobby could drive around so they could get a better look. If she was alone then it would be easy to lift her. The lack of bodyguards still worried him. Were they protecting from a distance?
No sooner had he had the thought than he saw the passenger side door of the Focus swing open and Razor leapt out.
Luke exploded into action. “Shit, it’s her! Right, we take her nice and quiet. She’s heading down 5th, when you see us moving in put your toe down and bring the car to us. Got it?”
“Got it.” Bobby shifted with adrenaline in his seat.
Luke placed the balaclava on top of his head, ready to pull it down over his face when necessary, then he exited the car. Once out of the car he suddenly felt very exposed in the artificial light, as if it made his intentions transparent. He had the same edgy feeling he had experienced in several cities around the globe, never knowing which set of eyes were watching with the intent of harm.
He kept his eyes split between Razor and Seona, every step expecting the big Russians to appear from the entrance in front of him. He checked the pistol was still lodged in the waistband of his jeans. She was just about to disappear around the corner onto 5th Avenue and Razor was in the process of crossing the road to take up a line just in front of Luke’s.
P
assing in front of the Plaza, Luke felt the lights burn into his right cheek. He took a sharp glance at the concierge, and was certain the man was giving him a suspicious look. Luke just shot a smile and carried on his path. Razor disappeared around the corner, no more than ten paces in front, and as Luke followed onto 5th he heard the engine of the Mazda start up and begin its track toward them.
Around the corner Luke could now see that he and Razor were gaining fast on her. She walked with her hooded head down, apparently oblivious to her stalkers. Like a well-rehearsed team, Luke matched Razor’s pace. Both pulled down the balaclavas and sped up to close the distance.
Razor reached her first; taking up her left side. Luke mirrored him and headed to her right shoulder. His body was alive with adrenaline and fear. Luke had been in enough dangerous situations to know that fear was a positive emotion: it kept you alive. He heard what he hoped was the Mazda turn the corner behind them heading down 5th. There were many cars parked at the kerb, Bobby would have to pull close next to them.
Razor grabbed her left arm. “DOWN! On the floor NOW!”
Luke knew that Razor was being excessively forceful. It was critical to take control of the target; they are often shock-ridden and unable to process what’s happening. Luke stepped around and forced her face down onto the ground.
“Get the tape!” screamed Luke as he kept her down; he bent over and put her arms tight behind her back, applying pressure. The Mazda had screeched up next to the line of cars and the engine was running. The target wasn’t really squirming or making much noise, but she was letting out an involuntary moan as he applied pressure. It was a myth perpetuated by films that targets scream and shout in these situations.
The screeching of the tape as it was unreeled by Razor caused her to flinch; the tape was wound tightly around her hands twice, then Luke lifted her head so the tape could be wrapped around her mouth. The instant Luke replaced her head back onto the concrete, the quiet morning air was shattered by the sound of automatic gunfire echoing around the buildings.
19.
Luke turned toward 59th Street, the gunshots were in three-round bursts, and he knew that Lennon had opened up with his M4 rifle. That meant that the Russians were now in the game.
“Shit, let’s get her in the car!” Bobby shouted through the car window.
The gunfire was now telling of a serious exchange at the Plaza. The operation had gone noisy; without doubt the police would be responding swiftly, making their haste ever more crucial. Luke popped the Mazda’s boot and dropped Seona inside. She immediately adopted the foetal position, and Luke slammed the boot shut.
Luke turned his attention to Razor. “The Focus is out of the game, sounds like serious exchange, you’re better off just getting out of here. Lennon knows the score.” Luke scanned Razor for a reaction.
“I don’t know, my best chance is still …” before Razor could finish 5th Avenue exploded with more automatic gunfire.
Luke instinctively dropped below the car line, pulling out his Browning as he scuttled towards the rear of the nearest car. Using the rear window to eye the origin of the fire, he noticed that a Russian guard stood peering out from a car at the top of the road.
Luke could see Razor taking up a firing position behind a VW van on the opposite side of road with his MP5 at the ready. He sprayed bullets toward the crouching Russian as he ran. Luke cocked the Browning to automatic, took one step to the side and let off three rounds, shattering the window of the Russian’s hiding place. It was a reduction shot; he wanted to keep the Russian where he was.
The distant fire still sounded as Razor unleashed a barrage of bullets at the Russian, tearing holes in the car’s bodywork.
“Dude, let’s get the fuck out of here! Come on, we’re out of time!” Bobby was now hanging low out of the passenger door shouting at Luke to shift.
A bullet cracked the internal door panel of the Mazda, causing Bobby to cover his head and disappear back into the car. Luke was now concerned with Seona’s position in the boot, the Russian didn’t seem to care about hitting any part of the car, and Luke knew that the job would be a write-off if she died.
He lay down flat on the concrete and tried to focus in on the Russian’s legs through the tunnel of cars; there was not enough light for Luke to make out what was shadow or person. Then he saw movement, he brought the Browning up to aim and released two rounds at the moving darkness. The Russian’s cries raged above the exchange.
“We’re off, the target’s the priority!” Luke shouted over to Razor.
Razor didn’t take his face away from the MP5. “Do it, I’ll see to peg-leg here and I’m off.” He released more rounds off towards the downed Russian.
Luke, crouched, scuttled toward the open passenger door and jumped in, slamming the door as he landed in the seat; Bobby floored the accelerator.
Winding down the window, Luke stared into the wing mirror, seeing the Focus screech around the corner with Lennon firing shots one-handed with the M4 through the passenger door. Closely behind him a second Russian bodyguard appeared, taking up a shooting position, unloading his Bizon sub-machine gun at Razor as he scrambled to dive into the Focus.
Bobby flung the Mazda down West 56th Street and the carnage vanished from sight.
“Holy shit, my man. Those guys look like they may just have stepped in a heap of shit.” Bobby was breathing heavily.
“Not our concern. They knew the score; our aim now is to hit that airfield, so keep focused.” Luke spoke with measure; he had been trained to contain emotion.
As he kept his eyes on the rear view mirror looking for tails, he heard the faint whine of sirens.
20.
Sir Peter loved the tradition that found representation in London’s architecture. It gave him purpose to roam amongst historic buildings and it reminded him on whose shoulders he was standing. He was travelling on his favoured method of transport through the city; a private boat had picked him up early that morning from the SIS building and now he silently crept through the dawn light along the winding river.
It always amazed him how different the city looked from the river; everything was seen at a different angle, at a distance. The bends and meanders of the Thames could never be fully appreciated from land, but travelling by boat highlighted the fierce turns and curves. At the far easterly point of the city stood the Thames Barrier; Sir Peter had read that it was the second largest moveable flood barrier in the world, second only to the gargantuan Oosterscheldekering in the Netherlands which stood nine kilometres wide.
Sir Peter stiffened his back, puffed out his chest and breathed in the air as it mixed with the spray. He felt akin to the Thames Barrier; they both existed to prevent floods: the Barrier to stop the surge of water, and himself to stop the surge of terror.
As the vessel slipped under bridges and past buildings, Sir Peter went over the speech he was to give later that morning. He would be addressing an assorted mix of civil servants, back-bench politicians and various quango members. Sir Peter shook his head; ‘Q.U.A.N.G.O.’ stood for Quasi-Autonomous Non-Governmental Organisation and it was another governmental idea with which he disagreed.
Perhaps he was getting old, but setting up ridiculous sub-groups that were apparently independent of government yet couldn’t make any decisions without the say so of their primary government body seemed utterly pointless. Sir Peter stopped his thoughts before he became angry, the system was changing and he had to get used to it. What wasn’t changing was his purpose; the country faced more threat now than it ever had, both from foreign and homeland entities. The Prime Minister was a fool if he couldn’t see the vital importance of keeping a robust counter-intelligence system in place. Sir Peter knew it was his place to make people aware of the plight. It was his cause to protect the nation at all costs. Nothing could stand in the way.
The boat passed under the shadow of the Houses of Parliament. Big Ben reached skyward. The Millennium Wheel edged imperceptibly round on the South Bank of the river
and the captain slowed the engines as the boat crawled under the Hungerford and Golden Jubilee Bridges and expertly came to a stop at the foot of a wooden jetty. The Royal Festival Hall was an unfussy building located on the river’s South Bank, its block design and large concrete concourse reflected the 1950s conception. As a venue it held a wide variety of events from awards ceremonies to concerts.
As Sir Peter walked along the jetty the building gaped at the river. He smiled as his feet touched concrete. He was early.
21.
Luke pressed the button on his watch to illuminate the dial, it was 3.20 a.m. and they had made it through the Lincoln Tunnel and over to the second vehicle. It was a back-lot surrounded by wire mesh fencing. The only entrance was through a large wire-meshed gate. Judging by the weeds growing around the open gate it was never shut. There was a single searchlight trying its best to light up the whole lot, but there were many patches of darkness. Bobby pulled up alongside the abandoned Volvo S80; it was stood alone on the far right-hand side.
Bobby had done well up to this point, apart from Luke needing to remind him to slow the pace as they went through the tunnel. It had more cameras inside than the Big Brother house. Bobby had got his foot down and directed them straight to the back-lot. Luke had to admit that it was a good location, just off the 495 main road; it would be a quick changeover then back on the route up to Hamilton.
An old decrepit sign nailed to the side of the empty warehouse stated that they were on Shippen Street.
“Keep it quick, you switch her, I’ll dispose of the car.” Luke was still pumped with adrenaline.
