Soft Target 02 - Tank

by Conrad Jones

  Chapter 8

  Terrorist Task Force/ Liverpool

  Grace Farrington hung up the telephone and clapped her hands together. The final pieces of the jigsaw were still missing but she had made progress. Faz had just spoken to Graham Libby at the coroner’s office and he had confirmed her suspicions. She looked across the street from her office window and saw the huge Liverbird statues perched high on top of the Liver Buildings. The giant birds were the symbol of the Port of Liverpool and were a welcoming landmark for mariners arriving home from the sea. Urban legend states that the giant bird statues will remain perched, protecting the city, until a virgin walks beneath them. Grace thought that they would remain there for some time yet. She picked up her file and headed to the progress meeting.

  Grace walked into the room where the rest of the team were gathered waiting for her. She placed a disc into the digital screen and it lit up. An aerial picture of the River Dee appeared on the screen.

  “Forensics has finished compiling the information that they have so far. This is where the boat was moored,” Faz said pointing to a charred section of the riverbank. “Three hundred yards down river is a tidal weir. The weir traps anything of substantial size, which has enabled us to recover boat debris and bodies that would otherwise have been washed away.”

  Grace changed the digital image from the river to the picture of a severed limb. The arm, which was severed at the elbow, still, had the hand attached to it. Attached to the wrist by a black strap was a digital camera covered in pondweed.

  “The arm belonged to a mature student called Peter Mcraenor. He was a member of the Metropolitan Police Force for ten years until he took study leave to complete a degree course at Chester University. His camera was water resistant so the integrity of the pictures was maintained,” Faz handed out copies of the digital stills that were recovered prior to the explosion. The images showed students boarding the vessel, and half a dozen group pictures of smiling happy young people enjoying the party atmosphere. In the background was a crowd of guests waiting to board the boat.

  “Watch the area to the rear of the crowd, specifically the two security guards to the right hand side,” Faz focused the image to enhance a small section of the larger picture. A black limousine appeared on one of the stills, and the two security men seemed to move toward the passenger as she joined the queue.

  “This is where it gets interesting. Peter Mcraenor must have seen something that made him become suspicious. It could be his police training, we will never know, however he switches to video mode here,” Faz started the video sequence. The two security men were stood over the female passenger that had alighted from the limousine. An ambulance arrived and two shaven headed paramedics placed the prone woman into the rear of the vehicle. As they picked the girl from the floor Peter Mcraenor had focused in on the paramedic’s wrist, it revealed the bottom half of a Swastika tattoo. As the vehicle left the two security men could be seen in the background walking quickly away from the scene then the screen went black.

  Grace looked at the confused faces that stared at her and she smiled. Her eyes sparkled mischievously as she started to explain her theory.

  “We have checked with all the function’s organisers and there was no security company engaged to work at the party. These two men are not genuine security guards, however their uniform patches match those worn by a company called Brigade Security,” Faz pointed to the company logo that she had acquired.

  “Brigade Security are the business wing of the 18th Brigade,” Tank interrupted, “they are a serious organised crime family with an extreme right wing political agenda. They run the door security and drugs trafficking across Liverpool and Manchester.”

  “Correct. That also fits in with the Nazi tattoo on the paramedic’s wrist. There was no emergency medical team deployed to the River Dee area that day, before the bomb exploded. The ambulance is a fake just like the security guards. All of the men involved resemble 18th Brigade members. We are scanning their profiles through police files to see if we can get concrete identification,” Faz cleared the image and Jeannie Kellesh appeared on the digital screen.

  “Jeannie Kellesh is the daughter of the next Saudi Interior Minister and a relation of the Arabian Royal Family. She was two years into her degree course and was always shadowed by Saudi Secret Service, which we believe brought her into conflict with her family and bodyguards. The security men had dropped her off at the boat and then retired to a car park in close vicinity to the dock. It was literally minutes between her arriving and being kidnapped. The good news is that everyone thought she had died in the explosion, obviously she didn’t,” Faz shrugged her shoulders to gauge the reaction from her fellow agents.

  “If we are to believe that a bunch of Neanderthals like the 18th Brigade have masterminded the kidnapping of a Saudi Princess then we must also assume that they have had help,” Tank said, “they don’t have the technology to build and detonate a bomb as sophisticated as this one.”

  “They certainly didn’t have before this incident, however, drug squad detectives that I have spoken to are convinced that the 18th Brigade is selling drugs brought in by Eastern European crime families,” Faz continued, “the Russian Mafia are predominantly of Jewish extraction but the Chechens are Islamic. We know that both these crime syndicates use ex-military and Special Forces personnel that have this type of explosive capability. The van that was burnt out in the car park was stolen a month earlier from the Bradford area which has a large Muslim community. Uniformed division interviewed the owner of the vehicle, who is a Pakistani man called Imran Patel, briefly and released him. It has since come to light that Imran Patel was, unbeknown to uniform, on an MI5 watch list. He was frequenting several extremist mosques and placed on a casual observation list twelve months ago. We have two agents on the way to his house to pick him up and bring him in. There could be an Islamic link to the explosion on the boat if the Chechens were involved.”

  “It’s possible. The 18th Brigade is a bunch of fascist bigots but they are also mercenaries so they would get involved in anything for the right price. Why blow up a boat in a violent gesture of Islamic Jihad and then kidnap a Muslim Princess? It doesn’t make sense,” Tank said, “it’s more likely that the bomb was a massive diversion to make everyone think that Kellesh was dead.”

  “Have we identified the body that was recovered from the burnt out van yet?” Chen asked. He took of his suit jacket, as he felt uncomfortable. This meeting was going to be longer than he anticipated. There did not appear to be any clear suspect.

  “No, we haven’t been able to recover enough usable DNA from the cinders but Graham Libby did find synthetic fibres welded to the skull of the victim,” Faz answered, “It seems that someone wanted us to think that the victim had black hair.”

  “Why would anyone want us to think that? I am not following your drift,” said the Major confused.

  “The forensic lab is certain that the charred remains from the van was wearing a black synthetic wig when it was set alight. They are also sure that the subject was alive when the fire was set. There is extensive damage to the lungs and stomach indicating that accelerant was poured down their throat. The only reason I can think of to put a wig on a dead body is if you were trying to hinder identification,” Faz said, “especially if the victim had no hair of their own.”

  Grace Farrington walked over to where Tank was sitting and she rubbed his shaved head with both her hands.

  “You could put a wig onto a corpse and set fire to it if you did not want anyone to think that the body belonged to a skinhead,” Tank said rubbing his bald head to demonstrate his point, “let’s prepare a raid on the 18th Brigade headquarters. We need to bring them in and question them immediately to find out if they are working with the Russians or the Chechens.”

  Chapter Nine

  18th Brigade/ Liverpool/ Manchester

  Pete Dodge had called a war council meeting. The council sat in a meeting suite that occupied the third flo
or of the Orford Arms. The council was made up of six Brigade Lieutenants and Pete Dodge. Any decisions made by the council were filtered down through the ranks of the18th Brigade and then out to other affiliated organisations that orbited the Brigade. Business with the Russians had always been risqué but in general it was a lucrative arrangement. Few disputes had resulted in violent confrontation because both parties considered money more important than petty feuds. Any friction was usually between rival gang members flexing muscle, and was quickly resolved via one-on-one violence. Fighting a rival soldier and defeating him publicly could rocket a gang members reputation sky high, visa versa, reputations could be destroyed just as quick. Racial tension always burned below the surface because of the Brigades Nazi ideals, and the Russian Organizatsiya being of Jewish decent. The bulk of the Brigade men had no idea that their superiors actually did business with the Jewish gangs. The kidnap plot was a diversion from usual business relations, which had gone badly wrong. The Brigade now had two key men in hospital suffering from gunshot wounds and two more missing. Ivan Coley and Matt Halt had never returned from the kidnapping, and both of their mobile phones were diverting to voice mail. Dodge was concerned that they had died in the blast or worse, turned traitor and become involved with the Russians. He had received his money from Alexis in payment for the kidnap, but it made no difference. A line was crossed and word had got out that the Russians had turned the Brigade over in their own headquarters. There had to be consequences and they needed to be severe.

  “Do you have all the information that I asked for?” Dodge asked the skinhead sitting to his right hand side.

  “Yes boss. I have the address of thirty-two Russian owned brass houses, twelve in Liverpool, and fourteen in Manchester, and six around the Oldham area,” the skinhead answered.

  The brass houses were operated in the guise of massage parlours but were actually brothels staffed by Eastern European sex slaves. Forced prostitution is wide spread across the western world and is usually the result of people trafficking. Traffickers use coercive tactics to deceive their victims into believing that they will be freed on arrival in their chosen country. Fraud, intimidation, isolation and physical force are used to control and enslave female victims who believe they are headed for a better life. Women are typically recruited by the promise of good legal jobs that never materialise. The traffickers arrange the travel and job placements then escort the victims to their destinations where their passports are confiscated. The women then learn that they have been deceived about the nature of their new jobs and that they have been lied to about the financial arrangements. Most are told that they now owe huge sums of money to the traffickers, which they have to repay before their passports are returned. They then find themselves in abusive situations where they are kept in a form of debt bondage from which escape is difficult and dangerous. Forced prostitution is huge business and the Russian Mafia controlled a large piece of the market. They relied on the cash rich business to provide them with a constant income.

  “We are going to hit them all at the same time. I want the women roughed up and the properties torched,” Pete Dodge snarled, “We are going to cripple the Russian bastards. Synchronise the attacks for nine o’clock tomorrow night. Three men at each address, make sure the tarts are bruised around the face. I don’t want them to be working for a while. If there are any punters in there then give them a good kicking as well. That should deter any regular customers from ever returning. Douse everything in petrol take any money that’s on site and burn them.”

  Dodge made sure that the message would reach all his men who would be working security positions across the two cities that night. Retaliation from the Russians would be swift and brutal but they would be ready for it when it came.

  “Make sure everyone has access to weapons, open the gunroom in the cellar and distribute the body armour,” Dodge said. The priority now was to strike first and strike hard.

  Chapter 10

  Imran Patel/ Manchester

  Imran Patel opened his eyes and winced at the pain that throbbed in his head. He tried to swallow but couldn’t because of the gag that was tied tightly around his head. He could feel motion around him and he assumed that he was in the rear of a lorry cab or something similar. He couldn’t move because he was bound with plastic bag ties. He heard the crunching of gears coming from the front of the cab, it sounded as if someone was unfamiliar with driving the vehicle. Imran heard the pulsating beep of a reversing alarm and then he felt the vehicle moving slowly backward before coming to a standstill. He turned his head to try and get a better look at who was driving the vehicle but he couldn’t see them. His face touched the bulkhead of the lorry and he flinched away from the hot metal surface. Imran thought it was very odd that the rear metal wall of the drivers cab should be so hot. The engine was nowhere near this part of the vehicle. The truth of the matter was that there was a large thermo-chemical reaction-taking place in the rear of the refuse collection lorry.

  Matt Halt turned the engine of the bin wagon off, and turned to speak to his Russian passenger.

  “What do we do next Yuri? I am not happy about this at all. Alexis has done nothing but fuck me about since day one. He told me I was going to be placed in a senior position but here I am arsing about in a bin wagon with a Paki in the back. What’s the score?” Matt was losing his temper but he knew it was because he was out of his depth. The Russians were too cold and too calculating for him to fathom them out. When he was working in the 18th Brigade everyone was informed about what was going on. Now he was always kept in the dark. The Russians used their own language when he was around excluding him from the conversation. Alexis told him to drive the stolen refuse truck to Manchester’s Piccadilly railway station but nothing further.

  “We need to fasten him into the driver’s seat,” Yuri said without looking at Matt. He checked his watch nervously as if he was concerned about the time.

  Matt reached around the driver’s seat and grabbed Imran by the hair, pulling him roughly into the front cab. The two men fixed Imran’s hands to the steering wheel with more cable ties around his wrist. The Russian man smothered Loc-tight super glue to the Asian man’s hands and pressed them to the steering wheel. The adhesive grips in seconds and Imran could not move them at all. He was starting to panic. Tears ran down his face into the gag and he sobbed uncontrollably. Matt placed three thick elastic bungee cords around Imran’s waist and fastened them behind the driver’s seat. Two more bungees were attached roughly around the weeping man’s legs and then fastened to the metal frame beneath the seat. Imran wanted to plead with the men but he couldn’t make himself understood. He squeezed his eyes closed tightly in a futile attempt to escape this horrific situation. He opened his eyes wide when he smelled petrol fumes and heard liquid being poured around him. Matt Halt doused the cab with petrol and then doused Imran Patel with the remaining liquid.

  “This is twice in one week I have done this so, don’t you worry. I know what I’m doing,” Matt said to the struggling man. Matt was working on autopilot as he covered Imran with fuel. It was his way of disassociation. Imran was no longer a human and this was just another job. “Right. We are ready to rock and roll. What’s next?”

  “Wait at the back of the truck,” Yuri said as he opened the passenger door and jumped down onto the pavement. The truck was parked at the top of a steep slope facing toward the main entrance of the busy rail terminal, which was situated at the bottom of the hill. The front of the terminus was built in crescent shape and was made of glass from ceiling to floor. Above the station entrance hall were six floors of expensive office space. Matt thought the idea was to roll the burning truck into the station with Imran Patel at the wheel, which would link him to the riverboat bomb and deflect attention from the Russian Organizatsiya. There was however more to the plot than he realised. Matt reached the back of the wagon and strong fumes greeted him. The smell was pungent and urine like. Yuri walked to the back of the bin wagon and looked Matt Halt in
the eyes.

  “It’s a real pity that you are such a fat fuck,” Yuri said smiling at the huge skinhead.

  “You said what?” Matt replied reaching for the blade that he wore around his neck. He knew that the Russians carried weapons all the time but he couldn’t understand why Yuri had chosen this moment to start an altercation. Yuri pulled out a 9mm Beretta with a silencer attached. Matt froze in fear when he saw the dull metal gun pointed at him. He thought that a brutal justice was coming to greet him. This was payback for becoming a murdering traitor. The gun spat three times and high velocity bullets smashed into Matt’s huge chest. He collapsed to the floor clutching his ruined body and the light started to fade from his eyes.

  “Like I was saying it’s a pity that you are such a fat fuck because now I have to pick you up,” Yuri said grabbing Matt’s dying body from the pavement. He lifted him over the edge of the bin wagon and into the crushing well of the refuse truck. Yuri pressed the start button and the metal crushing plate descended on Matt Halt squashing his massive body to a bloody pulp, and then it dragged him into the refuse hold alongside three tons of ammonium nitrate.