“Let’s stop the shooter and then we can deal with the drone operator,” suggested Jago. “I’ll drop you and then pull in behind and take the Northern approach. But let’s do this quick.”
“Sure thing, mate.”
Jago dropped Hunter as planned and Hunter cautiously closed in on the van from which firing continued. Jago alighted the vehicle and rapidly covered the ground to the blue van. He made eye contact with Hunter and signalled the count of three with his arm. They both attacked the vehicle, firing in unison, only to discover that there was no human shooter. They were presented with a series of cables and a crude looking electronic console. The automated gun fired again, sweeping left. Hunter took the opportunity to enter the van and started ripping out cables and disconnecting linked rounds of ammunition. The gunfire stopped.
“Come on, let’s get that drone operator,” encouraged Hunter.
The pair raced to the vehicle and across the grassed area and on to Leighton Place, the last point at which they had seen the four-by-four.
Chapter 3
The drone operator screeched to a halt in a small quayside area in the manmade canals. He jumped out, leaving his door wide open, and tossed a grenade into the vehicle before running.
As the four-by-four exploded, the man ran through the grounds of a house towards a waiting speedboat moored nearby. He let loose the mooring rope and tossed a grenade into each of the two other moored boats, before zooming off over the water, turning left towards the main inlet just as they exploded.
All these explosions and their aftermath provided Hunter and Jago with a target to aim for, and soon after, they arrived at the burning wreck of the four-by-four and one sunk and one burning boat.
“Over there, we’ll take that one,” said Jago urgently, pointing to a speedboat that was being worked on by an elderly man.
“I’m sorry, sir, but we need your boat. Is it full of fuel?”
“Why yes, it’s full. Are you after that bloke who just blew up those boats over there?”
“Yes, sir, we are. Did you get a look at what boat he took off in?”
“Yes, one of those low, sleek, fat things. It was white with green flashes along the sides. Take my boat, with pleasure. Just be sure to catch the bastard.”
“We’ll do our best.”
Jago took the helm. He loved being on the water at speed and was proficient at this. He’d had plenty of practice in his lifetime.
They arrived at the main inlet and Hunter directed Jago. “He must have gone towards the open water. Take a left here.”
They were travelling at around fifty knots on calm water. Knowing the open sea would make this harder, Jago sped up. The target came into view. Sure enough, he was heading for open water, and as he left the inlet, he turned north, towards Rockingham.
Jago and Hunter pursued the boat, getting to within 1,500 feet as it drew level with the point at Port Kennedy. Jago gave the boat more throttle and escalated their speed on the choppy sea. They made headway.
But as they rounded the point, a helicopter swooped down with a gunman hanging out of the door. He fired at Jago and Hunter. They took evasive action, turning their boat away from the helicopter, then circling to return fire.
Jago and Hunter noticed that a winch was being lowered to haul up the drone operator. While Hunter fired at the helicopter, Jago closed in on the boat – which exploded a few hundred feet ahead of them.
Jago slowed their speed and also fired up at the drone operator and helicopter. This level of fire forced the helicopter to leave the area, its catch dangling from the winch. It flew off towards the mainland.
Jago turned to Hunter. “Do you think you can get the TRG helicopter over here so we can give chase?”
“I’ll try them. Wait one.”
Meanwhile, they headed for shore.
They arrived at a small jetty in Port Kennedy, secured the boat and made their way to the car park. Next to the car park was a flat piece of scrubland suitable for a helicopter to land on. Hunter gave this as a reference for the helicopter he’d ordered.
They had only waited a few minutes when they heard the familiar sound of rotors approaching from the south. Hunter stepped forward and, in a well-rehearsed movement, with outstretched arms, marshalled the helicopter in to land. They climbed in and instructed the pilot and co-pilot to take off in pursuit of the other chopper.
“Can you get in touch with the local air traffic control and see what traffic there’s been in the area in the last fifteen minutes?”
The pilot responded, “Already done that, mate. There’s an aircraft unaccounted for heading for the Kwinana Beach area.”
“What’s up there?”
“There’s a couple of oil refineries over there, some quays and some light industry.”
“Let’s head there then.”
“We’re on our way, with an ETA of six minutes.”
As they approached the airspace around Kwinana Beach, they saw the helicopter take off from in between a couple of warehouse buildings near the coastline.
“Can you drop us off down there?” asked Jago.
“Yes, no problem, and then we’ll carry on and pursue the helicopter. You’ll be down in a minute.”
Jago and Hunter alighted the helicopter and went to ground in a back-to-back position, weapons at the ready. The helicopter churned up a load of dirt as it tore off into the sky in pursuit. They let the dust settle before talking to one another.
“Hunter, any signs in your direction?”
“Nope, nothing this side. What about your side?”
“Nothing yet. Let’s go over here. I’ll take point, you cover the back?”
“Sounds like a plan.”
They moved swiftly, advancing on what appeared to be disused warehouses. The helicopter’s landing had covered most of the tracks. As they got closer to the sizeable building they could see that its large sliding door was open. Whether it had already been open or had been opened by their target, they couldn’t tell.
“Let’s stop,” said Jago, going down on bended knee. Hunter did the same. This was a well-practised drill, with Hunter sweeping his arc of fire to the rear and sides as Jago surveyed the front.
“We’ll enter here and see what that brings us.”
“Roger that,” replied Hunter.
They swiftly covered the remaining ten metres to the large door and positioned themselves either side of the opening while looking about them. Jago ducked his head inside a couple of times while Hunter covered the space outside, which was open; it was about a hundred metres to the next building, from which a sniper could easily take a shot at them both.
Jago decided to enter. “Let’s go in on the count of three. One … two … three.”
Both men burst through the doorway and positioned themselves either side of it, scanning all around them. The old storage space looked deserted, with bits of metal clinging to the walls and floor where heavy machinery had once stood. Most of the high windows remained intact. There were three doors to the left, to offices, staffrooms and such like. At the far end of the building was a mezzanine floor, and beneath that, a single door.
They knelt, listening for the slightest sound in the wind that blew. They waited, and then they heard it: something metal being moved in the vicinity of the mezzanine. The wind wasn’t strong enough to move metal in here. It had to have been knocked by something else, perhaps the drone operator.
The pair advanced at speed along the wall in a low, bent-knee position, taking care to duck below the two blocks of windows. They reached the door under the mezzanine floor. It was ajar, and the room beyond was light. Jago nodded to Hunter and entered first. It was an L-shaped room, and all they could see was an old table and chair upturned on the floor and some metal debris. Then, as they turned into the L shape, they saw the body of a man. He was on a chair, slumped face down over a desk, with a bullet in the back of his head. In front of the body was a blood-covered computer and a games console joystick controller.
On the screen was a chilling view of the foreshore. There was an open door leading to the exterior and Hunter provided cover beside this while Jago checked the body.
“He’s warm. Our shooter must be close by.”
“Do you hear that? An engine, a boat or something.”
They peered through the door and immediately came under fire.
Jago changed his position to the window, about two metres to the left but away from the door.
“There he is – he’s heading off on the jetty. He’s got a boat waiting. Hunter, be a mate, will you, and stick your head out of the door for a second?”
“What?”
“You heard – go on, be a mate.”
Hunter obliged, and bullets rained all around the doorframe. Some even entered the office, and a couple ricocheted around the building. Jago aimed at the shooter and let rip a couple of short bursts, enough to put the shooter to ground.
“GO NOW, GO!” Jago screamed.
Instinctively, Hunter ran in a zigzag fashion and hit the deck after five metres. He positioned himself to give covering fire, watching for the shooter’s movements. There was the gunman. He was on the jetty, untying the mooring rope. Hunter fired, and without a word Jago emerged from the building, shooting from the hip. He manoeuvred himself and adopted a prone position some feet ahead of Hunter.
They watched as the shooter dived into the waiting craft, firing wildly in Hunter and Jago’s direction. They pursued him in a staggered formation, giving covering fire to each other while being mindful of preserving their rounds and avoiding any of the innocent bystanders on their boats.
Hunter drew close to Jago. “What kind of boat is that?” he asked.
“That, my friend, is a Seabreacher. I have one back home. They’re marvellous, and we’ve probably just lost our man. He’ll be out of reach and underwater in a couple of minutes. We need a helicopter or a speedboat, like, now if we’re to have any chance of catching him.”
“I’ll recall the helicopter; that’ll be quicker.”
The grey-painted Seabreacher was leaving the jetty area. Its canopy was still open, and Jago took careful aim at the cockpit.
“This is possibly out of range, but worth a try.”
He squeezed the trigger softly and fired a short burst until he felt the gentle recoil. His shots had struck left of the target, so he adjusted his aim. The Seabreacher was now not only gaining speed but also submerging. He fired again, but couldn’t tell whether he’d hit his target.
Jago and Hunter watched as the shooter disappeared beneath the surface, looking for the mini-periscope and ripples in the water that could indicate the direction the vessel was taking. They determined that he was heading north.
“Can you contact your bosses and lock down the area? And can we get the local navy involved to search for the craft?”
“I’ll see what they say.”
As Hunter contacted his superiors, Jago took a long, hard look at the warehouse and surrounding area and thought, Why was this location chosen? There’s always a reason, a connection of some sort. But what is it?
Seeing that Hunter had finished his call, Jago asked, “Any luck?”
“We’ll have to wait and see.”
“Okay, let’s check out our man indoors and see what we can turn up while we wait for the heli.”
Chapter 4
Making their weapons safe, they re-entered the building, and Jago started to take photographs of the scene with his phone camera.
“Hunter, hold his head up. I want to get a better view of his face.”
“We should leave it for forensics. We shouldn’t touch anything,” replied Hunter.
“I used to believe in all of that,” said Jago, “and I still do in the right context. But right here, right now the race is on, and we don’t have hours for crime-scene analysis and days to wait for a report. Our man has a head start on us, and I’ll do anything I can to catch this killer. If that means moving evidence, so be it. Don’t forget he’s also responsible for shooting Linda too.”
Hunter needed no more sermons from Jago, and he lifted the corpse’s head to a position where Jago could get a better facial photo.
“Hold his hand so that his fingertips are facing downwards while I scan them. And let’s check the labels in his clothing.”
As Jago set about scanning the fingerprints and photographing the clothing labels, he noticed that the man’s hands were rough and calloused, and his skin was berry brown, showing that he’d worked outdoors for long periods of time. There was pale skin in a tan mark on his left wrist where he’d obviously worn a wristwatch. Jago questioned why it was missing and where it was now. He also noticed that the man would have been about six foot two or six foot three, and his loose clothing – a pair of well-worn blue jeans and a checked shirt – suggested that at one time he had been thicker set. Jago thought that maybe he’d been ill, or into drugs, drinking or smoking, or any combination of these.
“I want a photo of his wrist and then some of the computer system. Can you move the monitor and tower around so I can snap the serial numbers?” asked Jago.
Hunter obliged, and then moved the modem around so Jago could photograph the serial number.
To the left side of the computer was a small kitchen worktop with a dirty, stinking sink. There was a kettle, tea and coffee, and three mugs on the filthy, fly-covered surface. There was also a dispenser of artificial sweeteners. On the other side of the room was a table with a small box fridge on top, inside of which was fresh milk and ten bottles of Coca-Cola. Jago photographed all of the labels and their dates.
Hunter checked the small, foul-smelling bin, which was full of pizza and fast-food boxes and wrappings. He opened each in turn and found a single receipt.
“Here, Jago, photograph this.”
Jago snapped the items and then rifled through the dead man’s pockets. They were empty. A small two-toned blue haversack with an unfamiliar emblem on it was leaning against the desk leg, its flap half-open. Jago opened the other side of the flap and peered inside. He saw a couple of photographs: one of two girls, aged about six and ten, and the other of the dead man with a woman, taken some years earlier, judging by the hairstyles and the man’s current features. There was also a vaping kit and a small digital radio and headphones.
Jago photographed everything and sent the photos, along with a short account of the incident, to Abi, his right hand back at his team’s base in London which they affectionately refer to as the Ranch.
Hunter peered out of the open doorway. “The chopper’s here. Are we done?”
“I think so. Let’s see what Abi and the team turn up.”
***
They hunted in the helicopter for four hours in the blazing sun, tracing possible courses for their target. They drew a blank on all of them. Hunter’s bosses had persuaded the state government to enlist the help of the navy, and they had at least deployed a couple of cutters and a marine intelligence unit to what was likely the worst massacre in the country’s history.
Then a radio message came across the helicopter’s communications system. A policeman on the ground had received a description of the Seabreacher used in the escape, and had reported seeing at least half a dozen matching that description at the Fremantle Ocean Review Festival. He was keeping his distance and watching the crafts, which were being used in a display.
The helicopter headed for Fremantle.
Jago asked the pilot, “How long before we arrive?”
“About nine minutes. We’ll drop you off as close as possible without being too overt for the crowds. It will be busy down there, as the festival draws in thousands.”
“Thanks for that,” replied Jago. He turned to Hunter. “Can you get some of your guys to mingle in the crowd and stay on a secure channel?”
“Sure, I’ll get it sorted now.”
As the helicopter drew close to Fremantle, the occupants could see the vast number of cars parked for the event, their windscreens shining in the sunli
ght.
The helicopter hovered a couple of metres above the ground while Hunter and Jago disembarked with a jump and roll. The pilot then circled the area, searching for the missing chopper, while maintaining radio contact with the pair.
Jago and Hunter walked through the crowds, scanning the faces of everyone they met. They made for the water’s edge, where the display was ending. Two Seabreachers remained in the water, leaping and revolving in unison like a pair of synchronised swimmers. It was quite a spectacle.
Jago and Hunter split up, with Jago taking the quayside, where four of the craft had moored up and where their pilots were being mobbed by the crowd. He checked out the pilots. They were all fresh-faced young men, none of whom resembled the man they were pursuing. He knelt down to examine each craft at close quarters, looking for bullet holes. There were none.
Jago waited for the remaining two craft to come alongside. Neither of the pilots was his target; one was a young woman and the other old enough to be her father. He checked their craft too. They were free from bullet holes.
Jago approached the older pilot. “That was quite a show out there. How many team members do you have?”
“Why thank you. We practise as much as possible. There are six of us and one reserve; he’s our mechanic. He keeps the other three boats ready in case we have a problem or in case any of the folks watching want a ride later.”
“Is he around? Because I’d love to chat with him about the mechanical side of things.”
“Sure, he’ll be over on the other quay, the south quay I think it’s called. He’ll be glad of some company, I’m sure. His name is Dan.”
“Thanks, mate, I appreciate that,” said Jago, who had already set off for the south quay.
“Hunter, this is Jago. Over.”
“Go ahead. Over.”
“Meet me one hundred metres short of the south quay in five minutes. Over.”
“Roger that, the south quay in five. Out.”
***
Lethal Promise Page 2
