by Conrad Jones
The Shogun juddered as Grace’s foot slipped off the clutch and the vehicle stalled. The JCB lurched forward and began to gain speed as it hurtled towards them.
“Get out!” Grace shouted. She realised that there wasn’t time enough to start the vehicle. The JCB driver lowered the jagged bucket so that it was level with Grace’s window, and the huge machine accelerated towards her.
Tank opened the passenger door and rolled out onto the grass verge. He stopped for a fraction of a second to recover the Glock, but he couldn’t grasp it in time. Grace swung her feet out of the Shogun, and she dived to the back of the vehicle. The digger crashed into the Mitsubishi and almost removed the roof with the force of the impact. The teeth sheared through the door pillars and the windscreen as if they were made from rice paper, and Grace was showered with shattered glass. She placed her hands over her eyes to protect them as the digger engine screamed above her. The machine shuddered as the driver slammed the JCB into reverse, and a second wave of twisted metal and splintered glass shards fell onto her.
“Give me your hand!” Tank screamed over the deafening noise of the JCB. The yellow machine backed off twenty yards to ready for a second charge. Grace looked up and reached out a bloodied hand. The digger’s engine roared again and with a grinding of gears, the JCB thundered towards them a third time. Tank grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her to her feet.
“Run for the trees,” he shouted over the engine noise as they cleared the rear of the Shogun. Tank dived headlong into the trees, carrying Grace with him, seconds before the digger smashed through the wrecked Mitsubishi and spun it over onto its roof. The vehicle flipped as if it was a toy and it crashed against a sapling, snapping it before it finally came to a standstill.
“Give me your weapon.” Tank dragged Grace further into the trees as the JCB reversed clear of the shattered Mitsubishi. He reached under her jacket and removed the Glock from her holster. The yellow digger roared again as the driver tried to pinpoint them among the trees, but he couldn’t locate them, and so he switched on the machine’s headlights. The lights were dazzling and Tank was left exposed as the shadows disappeared.
“Move, Grace!” Tank hissed as the huge machine began to pick up speed as it careered towards them. There were fine rivulets of blood running down her face, mixing with the rainwater that soaked them.
“Split up,” Grace shouted. She turned and ran to the left, while Tank ran to the right, weaving through the branches as fast as his legs would carry him. The tactic confused the JCB driver enough to give them a few valuable seconds, then he swerved the machine to the right, picking Tank as his target. Tank stopped behind a large tree trunk, raised the Glock and fired three times. The bullets pinged off the huge metal bucket without leaving as much as a dent in the thick steel. The driver raised the bucket higher still, narrowing the angle of the shot and protecting him from the nine millimetre bullets. Tank darted to the right again, tying to make himself a moving target, but the JCB was closing the gap between them quickly. It bounced in the air as it hit the kerbstones and mounted the verge, and the bucket felled half a dozen trees without losing any momentum. Tank ran deeper into the trees, illuminated by the JCB’s headlights. Tree branches scratched his hands and face, and a small gash opened over his left eye. Blood trickled down his face and into his eye, carried by the rain, blurring his vision and impairing his aim. He could hear trees groaning and cracking as the huge machine pursued him relentlessly, and from the increasing noise of the diesel engine, Tank could tell that he was losing the race.
A gunshot rang out and suddenly there was only half as much light as there was before. Tank side stepped a sycamore tree and bolted in the opposite direction to which he’d been running. He risked a glance over his shoulder, costing him vital seconds. One of the headlights had been shot out, and Tank realised that Grace had recovered his weapon from the Shogun, and had stalked the vehicle from the shadows. The change of direction slowed the digger’s progress and Tank gained a few precious seconds to aid his escape from the massive machine.
He turned and raised the nine-millimetre, closing one eye and steadying his hand, and squeezed the trigger twice. The first bullet disappeared into the darkness but the second one found its target, and the remaining headlight was blasted to smithereens. He ran towards the roundabout, away from the sound of the roaring diesel engine, but the gargantuan digger kept on coming. The trees were thinning out as he ran at full pelt, and he was almost clear of the bruising tree limbs and branches when he caught his right foot beneath an exposed tree root. His own momentum flung him headlong, and his head struck the base of a chestnut tree, stunning him and sending bolts of white light through his brain.
The JCB thundered through the trees, and the noise of the huge engine and the splintering wood was deafening. The driver was steering the machine blindly, following a course that would bring him back onto the road. The volume increased tenfold as the machine neared him, and Tank tried to find his feet but concussion had dulled his reactions. His head span, and he felt dizzy. A wave of nausea swept through him as the digger threatened to run over his position and crush him to a pulp. He closed his eyes and waited for the inevitable.
Two gunshots rang out from the melee, barely audible over the noise of the approaching digger. Tank opened his eyes and through the darkness he could see a huge shadow looming, parting trees with ease, and crushing everything in its path. It was yards away when it swerved to the left and the brakes let out a high-pitched squeal that hurt his ears. The digger ground to a halt noisily five yards to his right, and the engine spluttered as it was turned off. The driver was sat slouched at the controls and as the cab door opened, his body tumbled out. It bounced off the huge rear wheels before crashing into the undergrowth next to Tank. The dead man stared sightlessly at him, and blood ran from his nostrils.
“Are you okay?” Grace asked as she stepped off the rear of the digger. She had waited until the machine paused to change direction, and then climbed up onto the rear arm of the machine. Two well aimed bullets had shattered the driver’s spinal column and sprayed his brain stem all over the cab windows.
“Fine, I was waiting for you,” Tank moaned, trying to make light of his near demise.
“Ah yes, the old decoy trick was it?” she smiled as she climbed down.
“That’s the one; you remember it from training right?”
“Of course, split up, make several targets instead of one, and then decoy and destroy.”
“Correct, I was the decoy.”
“Okay, so where does bashing your head on a tree trunk come into it?”
“I was improvising.”
“You’ve got a bump on your head, but it doesn’t look too bad,” Grace ran a thumb over the swelling, and Tank winced at the pain.
“I think we’re going to need a new truck,” Tank pulled himself up, and dusted his clothes down. They were soaked, cut, battered and bruised. The sound of a well-tuned Honda engine caught their attention. Through the trees, they could see the headlight of a motorbike, and they watched as someone exchanged a few brief words with the driver, before climbing onto the back of it. The engine purred and the motorcyclist weaved through the debris on the road before speeding his pillion away. They limped out of the trees and walked cautiously towards the shattered prison bus. Their Shogun was upside down on the verge to the left, and the small saloon car, which had blocked the road, was gone.
“They must have left the keys in the ignition,” Grace said. She realised that the prisoners from the crippled bus had probably used it to escape.
“Careless, to say the least,” Tank commented. “No prizes for guessing who the bike rider came back for.”
They stepped around the body of the police volunteer, and approached the prison bus. The vehicle creaked and groaned as the rain hammered down onto its shattered carcass. They peered into the wreckage; there was nothing to see but twisted steel and shattered Perspex.
Chapter Thirty-one
Delam
ere Forest
Peter Knowles had been the head of Cheshire’s Armed Response Unit for nearly eighteen months now, and things weren’t going too well. He had climbed through the ranks quickly, joining as a university graduate on a fast track programme. The programmes were designed to attract the brightest students into the police force by offering them accelerated promotion prospects, but the candidates were also targets for resentment and criticism from officers who had followed the traditional career paths. Knowles was confident and assertive, qualities which were translated by his critics as arrogance. He had his own ideas on how to run the elite firearms unit, and his own ideas on who should be selected to serve in it. When he’d taken over, the unit was full of long-serving officers who had been selected for the unit as a reward for their loyalty to the force, and not because they were the best candidates for the job. Knowles had a very different view of how the selection process should work. He was of the opinion that his team should the sharpest, fittest, and brightest officers in the force, and he had made enemies of both junior and senior officers as he rang the changes through the unit.
Now he was leading one of the biggest operations in the Armed Response Unit’s history. Four fully armed teams, plus dozens of uniformed officers in support, would be operating under the watchful eye of the Divisional Commanders and the county’s helicopters. The night had begun on a high when his unit had successfully captured the two men thought to be responsible for the kidnap of the Kelly twins. Unfortunately he had purposely left one of his unit at the hospital to guard the paedophile, Jack Howarth, and that decision had come back to bite him on the arse. He had never rated Constable Davis, his poor opinion of him had affected his better judgement, and now his superior officer was breathing down his neck.
“Why was Constable Davis left at the hospital to guard Jack Howarth?” The Divisional Commander asked in a crisp, no-nonsense tone. He had a twitch that made his eyes blink rapidly when he was annoyed, and they were twitching ten to the dozen.
“I’ve questioned his suitability for the firearms unit, sir, and so I thought that he would be best used at the hospital,” Knowles answered. His men were in position around the forest, and he was ready to move. He really didn’t need an inquest into what had happened at the hospital right now.
“So you have had issues with his performance?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then why did you leave an incompetent officer in charge of the most wanted man in the country?”
“With respect, I would hardly call Howarth the most wanted man in the country, sir.”
“Oh really, perhaps you could give me the benefit of your wisdom then, Knowles, what would you call him?”
Knowles struggled to answer his superior, and his face flushed red with embarrassment. He remained silent, rather than let the issue deteriorate into a slanging match. The commander wasn’t going to let him off the hook though.
“He’s obviously a high profile prisoner, sir,” was the best answer he could muster, without causing his boss offence.
“High profile?”
“Yes, sir.”
“The abduction of the Kelly twins has caused a national outcry from the public that is completely unprecedented.” The commander was so annoyed spittle was flying as he spoke. There were junior officers around in earshot, and rumours of trouble between the top brass were spreading like wild fire through the unit.
“I’m aware of the news furore that the case has created, sir. However with respect I do not make my decisions on the back of what the newspapers will think, sir.”
“Really and how do you make your decisions, Knowles?”
“I’m not sure now is the time for a debate, sir.”
“You left an incompetent officer in charge of a high profile criminal, resulting in the death of that officer, thousands of pounds worth of damage, and the subsequent escape of that criminal. I will take charge of this operation with immediate effect, and you will follow my orders to the letter, Knowles, do you understand?” His rant ended with a flurry of eyelid activity.
“Yes, Sir.” Knowles flushed purple with anger, but there was little point in arguing the point now. His decision to leave Davis alone was flawed, and the blame for the deaths and the resulting collateral damage would land squarely on his doorstep. He would deal with it when the job in hand was completed.
“Then get your men into position, and let’s get this farm cleared as quickly as possible.” the commander removed his flat peaked hat, and replaced it with a combat helmet. Then he took a bulletproof vest from the equipment rack and struggled into it. “Get me the helicopter on the radio.”
“It isn’t in the area yet, sir,” Knowles replied curtly.
“What, why on earth not?” the commander whined.
“We wanted to take the farm by surprise, sir.” Knowles was concerned about the engine noise alerting any remaining gangsters. The farm was situated in ten acres of valley clearing, surrounded by dense pine forest. The police had set up an operations centre in a mobile trailer which was used to control operations for major incidents. Across the road was a stagnant lake surrounded by the rotting trunks of trees that had been killed by the acidity of the water. The stable block was in clear view from their vantage point.
“You can’t allow your men to walk into that area without any aerial reconnaissance,” the Commander said.
“I have spotters on each side of the stable quadrant, sir, and we have scanned the buildings thoroughly,” Knowles stood his ground.
“What have they found?”
“The stable block is built in a wide U-shape, with an access track from the main road here.” Knowles pointed to an ordinance survey map as he spoke to his furious superior officer. “Our heat sensors are picking up four horses in this block here, a fire, which seems to be contained in an oil drum here, and two humans in this stable here.”
“Could it be the twins?” the Commander asked excitedly.
“No, sir, they’re adults,” Knowles spoiled his fun.
“Have your men secure the area, and we’ll move in and neutralise those targets,” the Commander ordered, and his eyelids fluttered rapidly. The two senior officers stepped out of the incident room and barked orders as they moved towards the farm to lead the unit into action. Ten minutes later the officers were lying face down in the grass, approaching the stable block from the north. The oil drum fire was still burning fiercely, and from the smell the police officers feared the worst.
“What do you think?” the Commander asked nervously. He had seen service with the Royal Navy in the Falklands conflict, where British ships were constantly the target of Argentine missile attacks. The unmistakable smell of burning human flesh would stay with him forever.
“I’m not sure what to think, sir.” Knowles didn’t want to admit that he thought the twins were probably dead already, and that the evidence of their demise was being torched in the oil drum inferno.
“Have our heat sensors picked up any movement from that stable?” The Commander asked, referring to the two humans that had shown up on the scanners.
“No, sir, they seem to be stationary, probably asleep.”
“Okay, let’s stop messing around. Send your men in.” The Commander stood up and began to walk towards the stables. Crawling on his elbows through wet grass was losing its appeal, and the driving rain had dampened his enthusiasm to return to the helm of the operation.
“With respect, sir, we don’t know who is in that stable, or what they’re armed with.” Knowles tried to restrain his superior. “A forced entry and frontal assault would be rash, sir, to say the least.”
“Nonsense!” the commander said. “Is the stable door bolted from the outside?”
The radio crackled as the spotters were asked for their opinion.
“No, Sir, the door isn’t locked,” Knowles replied uncertainly.
“Exactly, so whoever is in there is not a prisoner, and we must assume that they’re our targets. Send a unit in immediately,�
�� The Commander nodded his head to reinforce his orders.
“Sir, I think we should be very cautious,” Knowles stuttered. He wasn’t sure why he was wary, but he had a bad feeling about the situation, a police officer’s hunch.
“Move in.” The Commander brushed past him as if he wasn’t there.
A unit swept through the stable block in a silent formation, and another surrounded the area, blocking any escape attempts and acting as cover for their exposed colleagues. The first team reached the stable door without incident and positioned themselves to open the door and swarm the occupants inside. The commanding officers moved to the corner of the stable block, yards away from the stable door, as the unit moved in. The lead man opened the door and covered the immediate space inside with his weapon as his colleagues swept through the door in deadly unison.
“Armed police! Drop your weapons!” the response team members cried in unison as they barged into the stable. The combination of shock and awe threw suspects into a state of confusion. Two things became obvious as the armed unit assessed the situation inside the stable. One was that the two people inside were no threat to them, and number two was that they all had seconds to live.
There were two camp beds several yards away from each other. Tied to them with several rolls of gaffer tape were Patrick and Margaret Lesner. Hajj had taken them from their home as insurance against Alfie Lesner talking to the police. If he kept quiet, then no one would know about the farm. If he talked, then he would lead the police straight to the farm and his parents. Patrick and Margaret were surrounded by fifty kilos of fertilizer and hydrogen peroxide, which is a very unstable mixture. When the stable door was opened, the pin was pulled from a phosphor grenade, and when that ignited, it acted as the detonator of a massive fertiliser bomb. Patrick, Margaret, Peter Knowles, the Divisional Commander and two units of the Armed Response team were blown to pieces. Human remains were still being dredged from the acidic lake a fortnight later.
