by Geoff Wolak
‘You heard what he said!’ the Major bellowed. ‘That wording normally comes a minute or less before action!’
‘I have no authorisation yet, they’ve released hostages steadily, and you have the world’s deadliest soldier on the inside, and armed!’
‘Why doesn’t he just shoot them?’ someone asked.
‘Hostages, maybe,’ said Bob.
‘Or that bomb,’ someone else put in. ‘Maybe it’s strapped to someone.’
‘He would not give that message unless something was about to happen!’ the Major loudly insisted.
‘It might be,’ Bob began, ‘the he ... is about to move, not us.’
‘Yes, it could be,’ the Major conceded, a notch quieter.
When Rodos started back up the ladder I headed upstairs. Sneer wanted to follow. ‘Watch the hostages,’ I suggested.
‘No, I want answers.’
I hesitated, then moved past him and grabbed a heavy table, placing it against the door. ‘Be quiet,’ I told the hostages. ‘We will be just out here,’ Mr Sneer following me upstairs.
Rodos had moved back to the room with the body, wads of cash on the table. The fear was evident in his eyes.
‘That’s not sixty million,’ I noted.
‘It should ... should have been here,’ he stammered, his authority being stripped away second by second.
My pistol was in my hand, my arm straight down, Mr Sneer over my shoulder. ‘Who is your contact, the man who gave you this information?’
‘He is a trusted friend, and he funded much of this,’ Rodos insisted, avoiding eye contact.
‘Who ... is he?’ I repeated, Rodos now on the spot and being openly challenged. He had no weapon to hand, and the other three were waiting answers as much as me.
‘His name is Seppi Linderov,’ he conceded, and that surprised me, because maybe he was shifting blame.
‘And ... how long has he been ... passing you information about this job?’
‘Three months.’
‘But you have not met face to face in that time, have you?’ I pressed, and Rodos was shocked.
‘No, for ... security reasons.’
I slowly nodded my head. ‘You have not been talking with Seppi Linderov.’
‘Why ... do you say that?’ Rodos asked, his former bluster gone.
‘Because I killed him three months ago under contract,’ I informed Rodos.
All eyes were now on me.
I began, ‘You have been talking to a British agent, and we ... us four idiots, we’re going to die here today because of it. There never was sixty million. I bet he supplied the guns, yes.’
Rodos would not answer.
‘This ... job, was probably to catch some newspaper headlines, to make the security services look good, to justify their salaries, get a better budget. I told you before, I won’t be taken alive. Thanks to you, we’ll all die here today.’
I levelled my pistol and put two rounds into his chest, knocking him back. The others watched him fall, but made no effort to stop me, or to shoot me.
‘Can we still get out of the drains?’ Mister Sneer asked, now in a state of panic.
‘How much is there?’ I asked about the money.
‘We think one and half million,’ Square Jaw replied.
I heaved a sigh. ‘OK, you take one million for yourselves, go to the drains, I’ll send the hostages out, shoot a few, buy you ... twenty minutes.’
They exchanged looks. ‘And you?’ Square Jaw asked.
‘I follow with my cut. Best deal I offer you, and maybe in the future we work together if we live.’
Mr Sneer pushed past me, dropped his weapon and grabbed at the cash, forcing it into bags, the others copying in a mad scrambled, both hands used, pistols in holsters.
Fat guy first. I lifted and fired two shots in an instant, two shots into the chest of second guy as he looked back in abject shock, two rounds for Mr Sneer as he span towards me, all high chest shots, the echo of the concrete walls enhancing the sound.
‘More gunfire!’ came from an officer with headsets on. ‘That was six shots I think, sounded like two then two then two.’
‘Four double taps all told!’ the Major loudly announced. ‘Scratch four Russian gunmen then. Someone get the kettle on, he’ll be out in a minute.’
I checked the big metal door in the next room, confirming that it was still bolted shut. Turning back, I noticed a shiny black case, almost as big as a suitcase, and I froze. It had not been there before, and it had to be the bomb.
Lunging left in a hurry, and rushing through to the hole in the wall - whilst wondering if a blast wound catch me at any moment - I tore down the stairs and found the hostages as I left them. A few large strides and I had a hand to the table, dragging it away from the door, the bolts undone, the door opened twelve inches.
‘Everyone outside now!’ I shouted, and they scrambled for the door, bumping each other. And from the corner of my eye I could see that Pamela had not moved.
With the last hostage out I closed the door and bolted it. ‘Back way out,’ I told her, and she stood, her hands still tied.
‘The gunmen?’ she asked as we headed to the stairs.
‘Dead,’ I said as I put my pistol away.
A hand under her arm, and we rushed up the stairs, negotiating around the hole in the floor and ducking through the hole in the wall, and she stopped to glance at the bodies for a moment. Through to the next room, I reached for the door bolts whilst wondering who was the other side, and was Rizzo about to kill me by accident.
My left ear picked up a gasp, quite faint, and my left eye caught Pamela gasping at the sight of the big black shiny case.
I eased the metal door slowly out, seeing no one, and hearing no one. I inched outside and knelt, listening, and wondering if the lads were storming up the stairs.
She appeared at my side.
‘Get down!’ I hissed, and she knelt, her top coming undone. ‘Snipers out there,’ I said. ‘If they see movement they may fire by accident.’
She nodded, and I caught it out of the corner of my eye.
‘Down the stairs, drains lead across the street, there’s an exit route.’ Bent double, I dragged her forwards, soon moving as fast as we could past plastic sheets, her top opening and her boobs flashing me. We neared the stairs, and I had made up my mind.
I launched her, a scream issued and echoing.
As I straightened up I saw her head smash against the side of the lift shaft to be, and she bounced off all four sides as she went down four floors and two basement levels, landing at an odd angle and looking like her neck was broken, her white blouse covered in blood.
I stared dispassionately down at her broken body. ‘You almost made it, Pam, just the one small mistake. You gasped at the bomb case. How did you know it was a bomb in there? Could have been anything.’
Shaking my head, I returned to the bomb and stood staring at it. Next to it was a trolley with tools on, cables and rope. Hands on hips, heaving a sigh, I glanced over my shoulder - and considered myself just a little bit crazy.
Grabbing the trolley, I tipped it over and dumped the tools whilst making a racket, lifting a reel of green nylon rope. Moving the trolley, I placed it next to the bench holding the case. Heaving a sigh, and considering leaving, I made a choice and started to slowly inch the case across and onto the trolley, many minutes used up, a bead of sweat forming.
Still in one piece, and not a bloody mess up the wall yet, I slowly pushed the trolley out and towards the stairs, its wheels squeaking. Nearing the stairs I halted, and I tied off the rope to the top of the trolley.
Stepping back, I turned, focusing on breeze blocks before grabbing three and placing them on the lower level of the trolley; I needed momentum slowly built and maintained, and for that I needed a heavy trolley.
Picking up a very heavy cutter, I lugged it to a window some fifteen yards from the trolley and placed it down whilst straining out a breath. Running back, I played out the rope all the way
to the cutter, where I tied off the end. Running back, I gently pushed the trolley back till I had no room left, straightened it up, and I finally returned to the cutter.
Peering out of the plastic, and wary of snipers, I could see my target below. Getting the heavy cutter balanced on the window’s bare and jagged concrete, I took the tension on the rope and gently let the cutter ease out, the slack rope taken up.
‘Sir,’ an officer called. ‘Someone is ... lowering a metal cutter out the window of the building under construction next door.’
Bob exchanged a puzzled look with the Major.
With my heart racing, and wondering if this was a good idea at all – and realising that it probably wasn’t, I let go of the rope, turned and sprinted towards the metal door as the squeak of the trolley wheels confirmed a bomb in motion. I made it, no explosions to hinder me, and I ducked inside the thick concrete walls and dived down.
The trolley slammed into the wall, then ... nothing. I waited, hands over my ears, and ... nothing.
‘Sir, someone threw the metal cutter out the window, and now a black case attached to a rope.’
‘It’s the bomb!’ the Major shouted. ‘Away from the windows, get your men down!’
Easing up, I peeked my head out, the trolley hanging at an odd angle below the window, the case gone. I straightened, just as the blast hit me and knocked me back, but it was little more than a shove and a loud muffled sound, certainly not life threatening.
Lifting up, I was covered in white-grey liquid, everything was. Rushing to the plastic through thick grey smoke, the plastic sheets also covered in white-grey water, I smelt something familiar as I stole a glance outside, figuring the snipers to be a bit distracted right now. The water that the bomb had dropped into was deep, and it had dissipated the force nicely. The only downside was that every building in view had the white-grey water over it.
Smiling to myself, I finished what my accomplices had started and placed the cash in plastic bags, the bags in a large tool carrier. Pausing, I grabbed an AK47, unloading it first, but then placed it down as I frisked Rodos as he stared up through lifeless eyes. His mobile made its way into my pocket, his wallet, and that was all I considered to be useful.
With the heavy bag over my shoulder - and now looking like Santa Claus, AK47 in hand, I struggled along and down the stairs to the basement, the drain door unbolted, a sneak peek and a listen before I cautiously entered. But I had gone only ten steps when I heard approaching men.
‘Stand down! It’s Wilco!’ I shouted, a hell of an echo created.
‘How’d we know it’s you?’ came Stretch’s voice.
‘Because if you don’t lower your fucking weapons I’ll kick the fucking shit out of you! Coming forwards.’
Around the corner, their torches lit my face.
‘Made it out then,’ Stretch noted. ‘What’s in the bag?’
‘Million quid. And no, I’m not nicking it, and no – you can’t have any.’ I handed over the bag. ‘Make sure that the police or anyone else don’t see that, it goes to Bob Staines only. Got that!’ I handed Stretch the AK47. ‘Hide that inside your jacket, make sure it goes to Bob only when no one is around.’
‘What you up to?’ came Marsden, a troop sergeant.
‘Classified, can’t say, don’t ask, or I’ll end your fucking career. Come on, let’s go. And I’m going to need a jacket and a respirator from someone, the police snipers out there might just shoot me.’
At my usual hotel I put my damp clothes in a plastic bag, one of Bob’s men guarding the door. After a quick shower I pulled fresh clothes out of the bag I kept with Bob, and knocked on the kettle. I sat and sighed, a look exchanged with Bob’s guy.
An hour later, and after some room service, Bob appeared with two other men, plus protection. Three of them came in and sat.
Bob studied me for a moment. ‘I have the money, the phone and the rifle.’
‘Take my clothes there,’ I said, pointing at the bag. ‘Analyse the water, get a water sample before it goes, and do it tonight.’
He nodded. ‘And Pamela?’
I took a moment. ‘I threw her down the lift shaft.’
‘Unusual, even for you,’ Bob noted. And he waited.
‘She almost made it out, almost had me believing her.’
‘What gave her away?’ Bob pressed.
‘As we left, she caught sight of the bomb case, and gasped. But why would anyone gasp at a case that they had never seen before, there were other boxes and bags lying around, no one mentioned a bomb.’
‘She knew what it was,’ Bob stated.
I nodded. ‘She said that her boss had sent her to the deposit boxes, but my guess is she had authority and would not be sent like that. She’s a bit senior to be sent on errands.’
‘I’d send a trusted junior,’ Bob reflected. ‘Not go myself. You have a keen mind. And that rifle, it was logged into the police evidence vaults in Belfast twelve years ago.’
‘I still can’t figure it all out,’ I said with a sigh. ‘Best I can figure ... is that as soon as Rodos realised that there was no money there would have been a falling out, maybe they’d shoot each other – or the hostages, set off the bomb. But they were not hiding their faces from the hostages, and they didn’t avoid fingerprints. Very odd.’
‘Maybe they were planning on leaving and not returning,’ Bob said. ‘With sixty million ... I’d not be coming back.’
‘Could Seppi Linderov have been working for Pamela, before I killed him?’ I thought out loud.
‘Yes,’ came one of Bob’s men. ‘We had a suspicion.’
I held my hands wide. ‘Is that motivation to kill me?’
‘I would not have thought so,’ said Bob. ‘Maybe to discredit you, damage the Petrov character.’
‘She wasn’t in it for the money, she knew there was none,’ I pointed out. ‘So what was she doing there?’
‘I’ve spoken to her boss, shit storm going on, he’ll be forced out,’ Bob informed me. ‘Friday she came to him with a requisition for a rush job, he signed it off. Any large payment – that would be normal, but she could have sanctioned it and told him later, at which point he could have complained. But ... she did have the authority.’
‘She told me he set her up.’
Bob smiled. ‘I know the man, and if he set this up I would be impressed. He got where he is from old school connections, he’s a buffoon.’
‘So ... if Pamela set it up, then why? Why risk her own life like that.’
‘Do you think the gunmen would have killed hostages?’ Bob asked.
‘No, they were happy to let them go, no threats at all. I was overplaying the bad boy bit thinking that if I didn’t they get suspicious.’
‘That bomb would not have done much damage to the new building,’ Bob began. ‘But maybe inside the vault it would have destroyed evidence. Best we can figure ... the water created a short circuit and set if off when you lobbed it out the window. They drained what was left of the water, found no complex timer, no tilt switch.’
‘Whatever Pamela was up to, she considered it worthwhile,’ I said. ‘We just need to round up the shits working with her. This morning, as I went to around to the main door, I recognised a face.’
‘I’ll get the mugshots of her team – if I can, but we have to tread carefully here and not be seen to be trying to blame them.’
I nodded to myself. ‘Bob, it’s time to use my fame and good favour. I want to get a call into the Cabinet Office.’
He straightened.
I continued, ‘Pamela didn’t work alone, and those with a vested interest need to be dealt with ... before they come for me.’
After some persuasion, Bob made a call and passed me the phone, and I terrified the man at the other end with what I told him, Bob going pale as he listened in.
At 10pm the Major appeared with the Colonel, civilian clothes, my minders letting them in. They took in the room and sat, and I knocked on the kettle.
‘Pam
ela Houghton,’ the Colonel finally asked.
I paused. ‘She fell down a lift shaft. Never mind, she will be missed.’
‘And the reason ... she fell down a lift shaft?’ the Colonel pressed.
‘Setting me up to get myself killed, to get back at Bob Staines – would be one version. The rest is a grey area. She planned the whole thing, she supplied AK47s from a police lock-up in Belfast, and the bomb.’
‘Bad business,’ the Major noted. ‘Not least some little shit from Mi5 trying to kill one of ours over some petty jealousy. And organising something like this, she should have got the gallows!’
I told them, ‘I’m organising a meeting, tomorrow, please stick around, a meeting with the power brokers. I’ll hand them what I know, after that ... if they keep it quiet then fine, we don’t need this in the papers. They can clean up the mess internally.’
‘If they do,’ the Major complained.
‘My fame ... helps here. I spoke to the Chief Cabinet Secretary and he ... had a mild heart attack. By now the Prime Minister has been briefed, not least because if this got out ... he’d have a hard time.’
‘A very fucking hard time,’ the Major noted.
‘Is it possible,’ the Colonel began, staring into his tea, ‘that she just wanted a big show, to help justify her budget. Could they be that small minded, like 14 Intel setting off bombs?’
The Major turned his head. ‘Don’t under estimate how petty these shits can be, sir. Wilco made Bob’s career, there are powerful and jealous forces at work out there.’
The Colonel nodded, not raising his head.
The next morning, and I was informed that the meeting was on for 5pm, people being rudely called in on a Sunday, Bob nervous, yet happy to be at the centre of things as ever. He had a swagger about him that made me smile.
I stayed in the hotel room most of the day, then exited via the rear being well guarded – all of us wearing identical caps on heads, and we journeyed around to Chelsea Barracks, the lads still there. I recruited a few that fitted the bill, and were tall enough, and we all left wearing respirators and civilian jackets – an odd scene.
