Liam said what they were all thinking.
“Holy shit! How the hell did that happen?”
Only Annette volunteered a reply.
“Bellner heard the shots on the ground floor and guessed what was coming next, so his men slipped out of the office while the lights were off and ambushed McEwan’s troops as they tried to knock down the door.”
It was as good an analysis as any Craig could think of and a situation that they had actually war-gamed that afternoon, so how the hell McEwan had managed to get captured when they’d planned extensively how not to was something that they would be covering at the debrief.
For now he focused on the problem in hand.
“OK. Three of Bellner’s men are either injured or dead, taking it down to five armed men inside that room who could give us trouble, including him. Four are occupied holding guns on Andy, McEwan and two ARC men, plus there’s another ARC who’s injured but still conscious on the floor. That’s five armed thugs against four fit and one injured unarmed cops.”
It was a statement of the obvious, but a way of processing while he thought of a strategy to get their men out. After a moment Craig realised he needed more ideas than just his own.
“Suggestions anyone?”
Liam added a point instead. “At least their wrists aren’t bound. Bellner mustn’t have thought ahead.”
“Well spotted.”
Aidan answered Craig’s call for ideas first.
“OK, so there are five of us, eight fit plain clothes and four ARC lads, including the two at the fire-escape. Once everyone’s tooled-up we’ll easily outnumber Bellner’s lot so we could charge the door.”
Liam shook his head emphatically. “We do that and someone in there gets killed, and it could be one of ours. I say we starve them out.”
Annette was horrified. “We’re not leaving D.C.S. White in there for days! And if we try it they could get angry and shoot our men on a whim!”
Craig waved them down. “You’re all correct in different ways. Yes, we’ll have the weapons and manpower advantage but we can’t risk a straight attack or one of ours could get shot, and starvation would take too long and piss Bellner off, which he might well take out on his hostages. Remember, this man’s a killer so one more death means nothing to him. Even if he doesn’t have the guts to pull the trigger himself we all know how good he is at ordering hits.”
He frowned, realising that their options had narrowed to two. He decided to float the first one and gauge the reaction.
“That leaves negotiation, and Bellner will ask for something ridiculous like a plane or boat-”
Liam objected noisily. “We’re not giving that bastard anything!”
The others joined in his howl, leaving Craig in no doubt of his way forward; it was the one that he’d been hoping they would support.
“I’ve no intention of giving Bellner anything, Liam, except a very sore head. Even if we did manage to negotiate a way out with him he would want to hold onto someone from our side to make sure we kept our word, and I’m not sending a police officer anywhere with that bastard.”
He moved towards the back door of the truck. “OK. I need to make a call. Aidan and Annette, check we all have the details we need on the civilians and then send them home with instructions that they’re not to speak to the media. Journalists are bound to be swarming around the barriers by now. Use threats if necessary, but keep them veiled. Liam and Andy, radio for some better weapons...”
And by better he meant big.
“... and get body armour for all the plainclothes people.”
He leapt out of the vehicle and moved up the lane to where no-one could hear him, then he took out his mobile and made the call that he always hated having to make.
Chief Constable Sean Flanagan had favoured a nap before dinner when he’d been a young constable and he still enjoyed one, the only change an added fifteen minutes in deference to his age. So it was his wife of thirty-five years who eventually answered the Flanagans’ home telephone, in an enthusiastic tone that suggested she always expected it to ring and got quite excited when it did.
“May I help you?”
“It’s D.C.S. Craig, Mrs Flanagan. I’m sorry for calling your home, but could I speak to the Chief Constable, please.”
A minute or so later her much less enthusiastic husband came on the line and got directly to the point.
“What’s wrong, Craig?”
“Sorry to disturb you, sir.”
“Yes, yes, all right. I know you wouldn’t have done if it wasn’t urgent. I take it something’s gone wrong on your casino raid?”
A slight emphasis on “your” left the detective in no doubt that he would be carrying the can alone if it had.
A few seconds later Sean Flanagan knew exactly what the issue was and it made him relocate to his study, where he’d motioned his still present spouse to transfer the call. But instead of the bluster and noise that would have followed from most senior officers, the bluff C.C. maintained an air of interested calm.
“Mmm... tricky situation... I’ll be having words with Commander McEwan about how he got himself in such a mess. But that will have to wait for later; right now, what’s your plan?”
Craig sighed. “Well, we can’t starve them out, and if we negotiate Bellner will ask for transport and try to hold on to an officer as guarantee, and I’m not having that. On the other hand... if we charge the room someone might get shot and we’ve already got some dead.”
Flanagan’s gasp was followed by an alarmed, “Ours?”
Craig was tempted to say, “I would have bloody led with that, wouldn’t I?” but he settled instead for a polite, “No. The dead men are all theirs. We have an ARC officer inside the room wounded but moving, and no civilians have been hurt.”
The senior officer’s relief was audible. “Good, good...OK...OK... so... I take it you’re thinking gas?”
Craig sighed heavily, his reluctance obvious. “Yes, unfortunately. I’d like your permission to explore what we have on that level. CS is the obvious one, but...”
CS gas is a tear gas used as a riot control agent, whose main ingredient is 2-chlorobenzalmalononitril. Exposure causes a burning and tearing of the eyes to the extent that the subject cannot keep their eyes open, and irritation of the mucous membranes that causes profuse coughing, discharge and difficulty breathing. With its additional burning sensation on the skin and disorientation, it incapacitates the subject for at least an hour and sometimes longer.
Flanagan dismissed his reluctance briskly.
“But you’re thinking that it will affect our people as well. That can’t be helped. Whichever gas you choose will.” Sentiment dispensed with he turned to the logistics. “Now, in order to debilitate Bellner’s men quickly you’ll need to flood the room fast, and that means pumping in a lot of gas at high pressure. Even then Bellner’s lot might still have time to get off a shot or two.”
Craig hesitated and then said what was on his mind. “Ideally we need something that will knock them out instantly. A sedative.”
He heard the Chief Constable inhale sharply and follow up with an emphatic, “NO”, caveating it more quietly with, “Sorry, Craig”, before explaining why not.
“They tried a sedative anaesthetic in the Dubrovka Theatre hostage situation in Moscow in oh-two and one hundred and thirty people died.”
Craig gulped as images of the worst case scenario at the casino filled his mind.“From what?”
“Respiratory depression accounted for most of the fatalities, but pre-existing conditions that meant some people just reacted badly to the gas accounted for the rest. We can’t risk it, and the days of being able to knock people out with ultrasonic waves aren’t with us yet, although I understand that Porton Down is looking at something along those lines. Either way it’s years off so for now CS is your best shot.”
There was silence for a moment while both men pictured the scene. Clouds of gas, providing they could gain good access to
the room for it, would spread through Bellner’s office making the occupants blind and sick. The CS wouldn’t discriminate between the good guys and the bad guys, so all he could do was hope that the cops in the room had the sense to cover their eyes and hold their breath when they spotted the coming storm.
Craig broke the silence first.
“I’d like to involve Doctor Winter if that’s OK, sir.”
“More than OK. I’d welcome it. Right, make your plan and call me back as soon as you’ve finalised it. Good luck.”
And then the man with more sangfroid than Frosty the Snowman cut the call, leaving Craig with an even bigger headache than he’d had that morning from drink.
Inside Hugh Bellner’s office Andy White knew exactly the dilemma his counterpart outside was being faced with. Craig had only one option and that was CS; he could never agree to let Bellner go free and he could never risk the possible fatalities in a shootout, so everyone in the room was going to have a nasty time pretty soon.
A quick sideways glance at Bill McEwan said that he’d guessed what the score was as well, and more than that, the ARC Commander’s darting scan of the office, undetected by the thug pressing a gun up against his temple, said that he was planning a more strategic approach.
As Andy followed the covert glances they led him to small vents set low on two of the walls, a vent set in the floor directly behind Hugh Bellner’s desk, and a fourth, even larger, access point, the glass fly-light at the top of the room’s front door. If gas was pumped in through all four openings at a high enough pressure then the office would be flooded in seconds, and visibility would be lost before that. Their best chance of avoiding getting a hole shot in their heads would come when they heard the first hiss of gas entering, and they had to be ready for it with a plan.
Meanwhile Craig was back in the Pangolin communicating his plan to the others and after they’d listened in silence for a moment, Liam gave a smirk.
“Boys-oh, the lads aren’t going to be happy with us. They’ll be throwing up and coughing for hours.”
Craig gave a resigned nod. “I know, but it’s the least worst option and the C.C. agrees. OK, while I call Davy and order the gas brought down, Aidan and Andy, can you contact the paramedics and put them on standby at the top of High Street ready to move. Liam, get gas masks and breathing equipment down here for all of the armed officers I mentioned earlier. We’ll all need boiler suits as well; I won’t want anyone getting that stuff on their skin.”
Annette shook her head. “I can help Andy sort out the medical end, sir, and I’ll notify Doctor Winter on the way past. Maybe Aidan could organise the equipment while Liam helps you here?”
It was a good point and she was a born organiser. Craig nodded everyone to move and lifted the phone to his analyst to organise the gas. They’d just begun discussing the ingress points to the room when his radio crackled suddenly and a man’s voice that he didn’t recognise called out, “Good evening.”
The detective realised who it was within seconds and passed his mobile to Liam to continue his call, waving him out of the vehicle and then lifting the radio to his mouth.
“Who is this? This is an official channel. You shouldn’t be using it.”
The accent had already told him it was Hugh Bellner but he wasn’t about to give a thug the respect of being recognised. The tone of the gangster’s next words said that the ploy had merely amused him.
“Very good. You managed to make me laugh, D.C.S. Craig Ha ha. Yes, I know who you are because one of your men told me.”
Craig winced at the blow the officer had undoubtedly received as encouragement.
“What do you want?”
“Come come, let us not play games. We have met before after all, and that makes us friends.”
The arrogance in the words made Craig want to throw up. When he said nothing in reply the gangster gave an exaggerated sigh.
“So you wish to be rude. It is of no matter. Already we both know that I am holding your men. So let us discuss the next steps.”
“You don’t have any, Bellner.”
A chuckle came down the line.
“Ah, but I have many if you do not want your men to die. And I know that you will not want that because you are weak. You think you are strong because your small country has suffered, but you are not. You are unprepared for the losses of war compared to my people. For us death is a friend that has walked beside us for generations.”
He had a point; the Baltic States had been invaded many times over the centuries.
Craig let the man ramble. The longer Bellner did so the more time they had to get geared up.
Eventually the gangster realised that he was being humoured.
“Are you not going to ask me what I want, Craig?”
No answer.
“No? Very well then, I will tell you. I want safe escort out of my casino to your City Airport where I already have a plane fuelled and ready to fly.”
A private jet. At least the scumbag wasn’t planning to escape on the tax-payer’s dime.
“I will give you thirty minutes to get me what I want, and then I will begin shooting your men one by one. If I spot any tricks I will move the timetable up. I will call back in thirty minutes.”
As the radio cut out with a loud crackle, Craig exhaled noisily, not even realising that he’d been holding his breath. Thirty minutes; they really needed to move. He leapt out of the truck to find his detectives there waiting for him.
“Right. Tell everyone they’re not to contact me by radio. I need the line kept clear. Now, where are we with the prep?”
Liam returned his mobile phone as he replied. “The Boy’s found four access points in the room, plus we could try and slip a skinny pipe under the fire-escape door. But the bulk of the gas is going in through two wall vents, a floor vent behind Bellner and the fly-light above the front door.”
“Show me.”
While the D.C.I. retrieved the smart-pad the others reported, telling Craig that everyone who needed to be would be ready in half-an-hour. The timing made him shake his head.
“I need them in ten. Bellner’s going to shoot his first hostage in thirty minutes, or earlier if he spots any traps.”
The others took off at a run just as Liam returned; holding out the smart-pad map of the room with its five possible access points marked in red. Craig shook his head.
“I don’t like that pipe under the fire-escape door. They could spot it coming in.” As his deputy removed the red mark with a tap Craig asked a question. “What did Davy say about the timing on the gas?”
“They’ll be here in five minutes.”
“With the right pipes?”
He had memories of such tiny details almost stymieing other raids.
“Everything. Aidan said the breathing equipment would be here then as well.”
“Good.” Craig glanced at his watch. Five minutes had already elapsed since Bellner’s call. “Bellner’s going to kill someone in twenty-five minutes so we need to be inside that room before then. And I want the ARC guys in from the fire-escape at the same time, so set a signal, and make sure they have a Big Key.”
Liam gave a low whistle. “What’s the bugger asking for to stop the shooting?”
“Transport to City Airport. He has a private jet waiting.”
“Do you want me to have the pilot nicked?”
Craig shook his head. “Not till the last minute. I’ll get some uniforms positioned inside the terminal building standing ready, but they’ll need to stay completely out of sight till we give the word. For all we know Bellner could be checking in with the pilot at intervals and at the first sign that something’s gone wrong he could kill everyone.”
Liam made a face. “Why would he?”
Craig scoffed at him. “Why not? He’s already killed three people that we know of and we all know Northern Ireland has the most lenient sentences for murder anywhere in the UK, so why not kill a few more just for kicks? Cops as well, now that would
really amuse the bastard, and probably give his gangster cred a considerable boost.”
Just then Aidan reappeared. “Everyone’s ready.”
He was followed by Annette and Andy, both wearing boiler suits and carrying three more.
“You three need to put these on. They’re special issue. The gas has arrived and they’ve brought our masks.”
Craig decided to task her with sorting the airport, then he nodded his deputy to help him check everything through again quickly and changed before calling the office again.
“Davy, we’ve got the gas. Did you give the operators all the details?”
“They’ve got everything they need to flood the room in three s...seconds, provided the pipes are in place from the outside. I’ve got the most up-to-date aerial images for you, and the CCTV’s live. Shall I s...send them through now?”
“Hang on a minute.”
Craig strode across to his deputy, who was fiddling with the neck strap of his boiler suit.
“Liam, we’ve only fifteen minutes left. We need those pipes and operators in position now, quietly, but the one at the fly-light needs to wait till we’re up there. If Bellner hears or sees anything he’ll get suspicious and move the timetable up.”
“No worries. Andy’s had an idea that might help. The squad cars and ambulances at the barriers are going to full sirens and lights now and they’ll keep it up until we’ve finished. Bellner won’t be able to hear anything except that, but he knows we’re all here so it won’t make him suspicious. Well, not specifically, put it like that.”
The solution made Craig smirk; a police siren had to be a gangster’s least favourite sound. The cacophony had started before he was back inside the Pangolin and Davy heard it at the other end of the line.
“What’s that racket?”
“Masking sounds to cover us. OK, send me through the aerial images and stay on the line.”
A swift perusal of the pictures showed that Bellner’s men were pretty much where they had been before. Unfortunately the CCTV confirmed that their guns were too, but now that he was looking for them specifically Craig took heart from the size of the vents.
“Right, Davy. On my signal you give the word for the gas to be pumped in at all four points. We’ll be positioned at the front door ready to knock it in, and there’ll be two ARC officers coming in at the same time from the fire-escape. Keep your fingers crossed that the cops inside have the sense to know what we’re likely to do and-”
Crossing The Line Page 40
