Soft Target 02 - Tank

by Conrad Jones

  “I propose that we inform the Russian government that we have arrested Roman Kordinski, and that he has allegedly been passing top secret information to the Americans,” the Major held up his hand to stop any objections from the American agents before he finished his sentence, “we need them to snatch his businesses immediately. Without his millions he is just another criminal.”

  The Americans scribbled notes on their pads but they seemed to accept the story so far. Tank sat forward in anticipation of what was coming. He sensed that an opportunity to right a wrong was about to rear its head. Faz nudged his foot under the table, as she could see where this was going too. Tank looked at her and stared into her deep brown eyes. If this was headed where he thought it was, then there was no way he could take Grace with him. He loved her too much to risk losing her and it would be an extremely dangerous mission. That’s why the Task Force forbade agents being in relationships with one another. Grace would expect to be number two on the list of agents selected, and she would play merry hell if she wasn’t. That was one problem; the other consideration was that Faz was the best agent he had. She would go ballistic if she were excluded from an operation this big. Tank swallowed hard and waited for the Major to propose his plans to resolve the situation.

  “We will then approach the Saudi Royal family, and explain the advantages of returning the price of crude oil to its lowest level possible. Any stockpiles that Kordinski has stashed will be rendered valueless, and tensions in the Middle East should be relaxed somewhat,” the Major paused while people caught up mentally with his plan.

  “Why would the Saudis listen to us?” asked agent Shaw.

  “They wouldn’t listen to you,” the Major looked over his glasses at the agent, “you’re American and they don’t trust you.” The American agents flushed red with embarrassment. This had not been a good meeting for them at all.

  “They will listen to us however, especially if we return Jeannie Kellesh to them unharmed.”

  The room was once again stunned into silence. Tank almost cheered with enthusiasm, and he had to restrain himself again. He knew what the Major had in mind now.

  “We need to send a covert operations group led by Senior Agent John Tankersley into Dagestan, via Chechnya to extract the Saudi Princess,” the Major looked at every face in the room looking for agreement. His gaze was met with silent acknowledgment and nodding heads. Tank looked at Grace again and he could see the concern in her eyes. Fine lines creased the black skin on her forehead, which showed she was worried. Tank broke her intense gaze and looked directly at Major Stanley Timms. The Major and Tank were waiting for an opportunity to enter Soviet territory with a crack team of Special Forces, with the direct backing of both American and British governments. This was their chance to do it without causing a serious political crisis. Chechnya and Dagestan were Islamic extremist strongholds, but more importantly they were the last known whereabouts of the nefarious Yasser Ahmed. The time had come to collect on a debt.

  Chapter 38

  12 Months Earlier (Yasser Ahmed)

  Yasser Ahmed was born in Iraq and was the spiritual leader and inspiration to the Islamic Extremist group known as ‘Ishmael’s Axe’. The parable of Ishmael, who was descended from the line of great prophets, which included Moses, is told in the teachings of Islam. The worship of carved images or statues is forbidden in the Islamic religion. The story goes that the statues and wooden carvings of pagan gods in the temple where he lived angered the great prophet Ishmael. He placed plates of fresh fruit at the feet of the carvings as offerings to the gods they represented. That night he returned to the temple to find that his fruit had not been taken, and so having proved that the gods were false idols he smashed them up with his axe. So Yasser took the name of his organisation from the parable to represent the destruction of the enemies of Islam, as he saw them. They had once been affiliated to Osama bin Laden and his al-Qaeda movement but had split to form a splinter group under the influence of Yasser Ahmed.

  Eighteen months earlier Yasser had started his ‘Soft Target’ campaign, which attacked famous American tourist destinations killing hundreds and wiping billions of dollars off the stock markets world-wide. His campaign had brought him to Britain where he plotted to destroy a major oil storage depot, the plan was foiled at the last minute. Yasser deployed a fleet of ice-cream vans and hotdog stalls, which were converted into mobile bombs by packing them full of Semtex, to the world famous Anfield football stadium. The fixture was to attract over ninety thousand excited football fans onto the streets of Liverpool, where he had laid his deadly convoy in wait.

  Yasser had a younger brother called Mustapha who was identical to him visually, but who did not share his extreme beliefs. Tank had anticipated Yasser’s intentions, and employed Mustapha to help the Task Force by acting as a decoy to confuse Yasser’s suicide bombers.

  Tank had gathered his team around him before Mustapha arrived at the stadium, in an unmarked police car. They had identified a total of twelve ice-cream vendors working around the stadium, who could be potential suicide bombers. Four of them had men of Middle Eastern appearance working in them. In addition they had located 18 hot-dog stands dotted around the streets outside the stadium. Tank had ordered his men to commandeer the Liverpool Football Club souvenir shop for padded overcoats that would help the agents to blend into the football crowd, and hide the weapons that they carried. If the crowds of people saw a gun, panic would ensue, and the bombers would be alerted. If the bombers panicked then they may activate their devices early. Tank’s plan was risky but simple.

  Mustapha Ahmed was to approach the suspect vans from a reasonable distance and then signal the occupants to come to him. Once the suspects had left the vehicle they would be neutralised and the bomb squad could make the vehicle safe. It would be too risky to try and move the vans in case they were booby trapped with motion sensors or mercury switches. Mercury being a liquid metal could conduct an electric charge to trigger a bomb. It would also move like a liquid if the device was moved. It would make a circuit complete and trigger the booby-trap.

  Grace was in contact with the Anfield Stadium management and had indicated that there was a large security service operation in motion outside the stadium. Their cooperation would be required to make the operation run smoothly, and avoid the possible loss of life. Terrorist Task Force Agents were located inside the stadium control room monitoring the CCTV. Grace had also asked the ground staff to pipe music through the external sound system to nullify the nose of any gunfire. She had also insisted that it was turned up to full volume to make it very uncomfortable to remain close by the stadium. They could not risk the arrest of one terrorist alerting another. The music was blaring on the streets outside the ground making it very uncomfortable for sightseers to just wander aimlessly. The crowds started to drift slowly further away from the ground using the bars and shops located a safer distance from the stadium.

  The crowds had thinned significantly when Mustapha arrived. The music was deafening. Tank briefed Mustapha on the plan and they approached the first target near to the Shankly Gates. The gates were a memorial to one of the clubs greatest ever managers, Bill Shankly. Mustapha stood across the street from the idle ice-cream van, which tank had picked as a potential suspect vehicle, and leaned against the wall behind him. He looked through his darkened sunglasses toward the Middle Eastern looking man who was in the vehicle. Mustapha pretended to be making a call on his cell phone when the man appeared to recognise him. He looked intently at Mustapha and half raised his hand in a gesture of acknowledgement. Mustapha waved to him in a gesture of beckoning. The Asian man hesitated briefly and then opened the passenger door and climbed out of the vehicle. He crossed the road heading toward Mustapha through the crowd.

  Tank grabbed the man from behind crushing the breath from his lungs as he lifted him off his feet. He pinned both of the man’s arms to his sides in the vice like grip that he held him in. Agents rushed in and fastened the terrorist’s wrists and ank
les together with plasticuffs. Startled members of the public who were shocked by the incident quickly moved on when Task Force ID cards were displayed. The bomb squad cordoned the van off by parking a huge truck alongside it to protect innocent passersby from any potential blast. They quickly confirmed their worst suspicions. The freezer storage space inside the van was packed with Semtex and ball bearings.

  “That’s one suspect down with no weapons drawn ladies and gentlemen. Target two is two hundred yards away on Brecks Road,” Tank instructed his agents and Mustapha through their earpieces. He continued.

  “We have just received information that an attack on Stanlow Oil Refinery has been foiled. Suspect was neutralised. He managed to release an RPG but it exploded short of his intended target. Let’s get the same result here.”

  Tank indicated where he wanted Mustapha to go and he crossed the busy street and made himself visible to the occupant of the second vehicle. Inside the van was Ali and he stooped low to make sure that it was Yasser that he could see beckoning him out of the van. He was sure it was him but something made him suspicious. Ali took the safety catch off his Magnum .357 and pushed it into the waistband of his jeans. He opened the driver’s door and stepped down from the ice-cream van. Mustapha was sweating as Ali approached him, and he did not look comfortable as the man neared him. Football fans were hampering the Task Force Agents as they tried to approach Ali without alerting him to their presence. They could not be sure if the terrorists would have the facility to remote-detonate the devices until the bomb squad had analysed the first device. Tank couldn’t grab Ali and ensure that his hands was neutralised because of the crowds in his proximity. Mustapha wiped sweat from his forehead, and his sleeve removed the make-up that was covering a deep bite mark on his cheek. He was bitten in a fight with a Bosnian Muslim who had shot the woman he loved just days before. The Bosnian had left a deep wound in Mustapha’s face that would scar for life.

  Ali realised in an instant that this was not Yasser Ahmed although the likeness was uncanny. He pulled his gun from his waistband and aimed at Mustapha. Mustapha froze in fear as Ali fired three rounds at him through the crowd. The deafening music muffled the booming gunshots, and only those closest to Ali realised that shots were fired. Mustapha felt shattered pieces of house brick scratch his face and neck as the bullets from the .357 Magnum shattered the wall behind him. Tank reached Ali and placed his Glock 9mm against the top of the shorter man’s head. The gun was pointed vertically down at the floor. Tank fired twice. The 9mm bullets ripped downwards through Ali’s brain and into his torso. The devastating effect of the bullets liquidised most of the Iranian’s brain before he had even realised that he was shot. His legs buckled and he crumpled to the floor. Tank had to shoot down through the terrorist’s head to minimise the risk of a through and through bullet continuing on its journey into an innocent football fan.

  “A second target is down. Was there any response to the gunfire from the other vehicles Grace?” Tank asked as he made his way to Mustapha through the crowd.

  “Nothing at all, I don’t think they heard it at all. Bomb squad have just informed us that the devices are manually activated. There is no remote detonation facility on the first device,” Grace replied.

  Tank reached Mustapha and he noticed how pale he looked. He was going into nervous shock.

  “Are you feeling alright, there are only two more ice-cream vans that fit the profile? Can you carry on Mustapha?” Tank shook him a little trying to get a response but Mustapha was staring at the Ice-cream van.

  “Look it’s Pinky and Perky,” Mustapha said pointing to the driver’s door of the van.

  “Mustapha I need you to hold it together for just a little bit longer. Don’t you worry about the two little pigs right now.” Tank was getting annoyed. They needed to move on quickly.

  “You don’t understand what I am saying to you Tank. Both vans had Pinky and Perky decals on the driver’s door. It might help to narrow down the search,” Mustapha shouted over the booming music from the external sound system. Tank realised what Mustapha had noticed, and he reacted immediately.

  “Grace get every vendor checked for decals on the driver’s door of Pinky and Perky. If the same person re-sprayed all these vans then he may have left a pattern without even realising it. Chen, you pass the information on to uniform as soon as possible please.” Tank knew that Chen and the fat controller were coordinating events and information that was coming in from units all over the city. They had deployed the relevant assets to the relevant situations, and so far they were on top.

  Tank guided Mustapha toward the third target and pointed to the position that he wanted him to maintain. Mustapha looked at the ice-cream vendor and the man caught his eye. The Asian man took a double take at Mustapha and then bolted toward the back of the vehicle. Tank watched in horror as the man reached for the detonator in an attempt to blow the van, and the public around it to smithereens. For some reason the man knew that Mustapha was not Yasser straight away.

  Tank closed the distance between himself and the van in a few strides. He drew the 9mm Glock simultaneously and emptied the clip of sixteen high velocity bullets through the glass, into the terrorist. The bullets smashed through the man’s chest spraying blood and cartilage up the windows of the van. As he collapsed, three rounds to the neck area ripped his head from his body completely. The terrorist wouldn’t get the chance to detonate his bomb.

  The dead terrorist had realised that Mustapha was not Yasser Ahmed because Yasser had left the van just seconds before. Yasser Ahmed watched the action unfold from the safety of the crowds as his affiliate was gunned down inside his mobile bomb. He was fascinated as he saw his younger brother Mustapha being led away by a big man with a shaved head. Yasser backed slowly into an alleyway transfixed by his younger brother. Yasser hadn’t seen him since he was a small boy. Although there were six years between them he was stunned by their resemblance to each other.

  The shooting of the ice-cream vendor was witnessed by hundreds of people and word had spread around the pubs and bars that the police had shot someone. Speculation was rife that it was a potential terrorist. Why else would the police shoot an Ice-cream man at a football game? Customers from a local pub called The Sand Dune had come out onto the street as soon as they had heard what was going on. They stood holding pint glasses on the pavement outside the pub watching the bomb squad going in and out of an Ice-cream van that was parked just a few hundred yards away. Some of the football fans were just ten feet from a hot dog stand that was on the corner of Brecks Road and Anfield Road. Speculation was rife that a terrorist was shot. There was a nervous buzz around the stadium. No one was really sure if they themselves were in any danger.

  Two fans approached the abandoned hot dog stand still holding their precious beer in their hands. There didn’t appear to be anyone staffing it. One of the men lifted the lid from a stainless steel pan and looked at the hot dog sausages inside the steaming container.

  “Here we are lad free hot dogs. The bloke must have fucked off somewhere. Tell the rest of the lads and I’ll get some more bread rolls out of the bottom here,” the drunken fans pushed and shoved each other mischievously around the hot dog stand.

  One of them opened the stainless steel door beneath the stand and thought that it was odd that there were wires everywhere inside. He never thought of anything ever again. The stand exploded and the members of the Sand Dune took the full blast of the shrapnel bomb.

  Tank had instinctively pushed Mustapha to the ground when he heard the explosion and covered him with his own body. The crowds around the stadium scattered in all directions as realisation of what had happened struck home. The remnants of the bodies from the blast were strewn across the street like bloody confetti. Within seconds the immediate area was almost empty.

  “Take the last target down immediately,” Tank shouted across the airwaves. Three agents dressed in red Liverpool FC shirts drew weapons surrounded the remaining van, and pumped it full o
f bullets. The occupant was left dangling from the serving hatch where a pool of his blood spread on the road beneath him.

  The remaining hot dog stand bomb was cordoned off and a controlled explosion was carried out. It too was left unattended and unnoticed by the huge crowds that passed unaware.

  “Tank, uniform has reported two unattended Ice-cream vans next to the Anglican Cathedral. They both have the Pinky and Perky decals on the driver’s door. We are evacuating the building now and beginning a search of the building. Everyone leaving the cathedral has been searched,” Chen informed Tank of the breaking news.

  “What time is it? Get everyone away from the building immediately. Chen if you are right about the optimum time for exploding the devices being 3pm, then we only have five minutes left.” Tank realised that Chen was probably correct in his assumption.

  He lifted Mustapha off the road onto his feet. The Iraqi man was badly shaken by the blast. Tank walked him toward a police transit van that was parked on the pavement nearby, 70-yards away.

  Yasser watched from the safety of the alleyway as the big skinhead walked toward the van, carrying his younger brother. The police transit van had a white background with the distinctive orange stripes carried by police vehicles around the middle of it. Tank noticed that the police markings didn’t look quite right. He realised that the markings were upside down. There were two parallel orange stripes on a genuine police vehicle. The thicker of the two stripes was fixed above the thinner band. This one was upside down.