by Rahul Sharma
As the van pulled out and gathered speed, the old man quickly got off his bench and slid onto his motorbike, which lay behind his bench. Within seconds, he was off, following the black van at a distance.
As the old man tailed the van, the driver did a very curious thing. Once he was a fair distance away from the bank, he pulled down the window and held a lighted cigarette lighter next to the body of the van. Bright flame ignited on the black paint, spreading steadily over the vehicle, burning away the black paint, leaving a white body beneath it, with the large words “Johnny’s Pizza” printed across the side.
The moment the bike riding old man caught sight of this, he pulled over, satisfied. He pulled out his cell phone yet again and rapidly typed out another text message: Route taken: West road. going 2 highway? White van- Johnnys pizza.
He waited for a reply, watching the white van disappear down the road. His phone beeped yet again. Good job! Dismissed! :)
With a quiet smile, the old man started his bike again, turned around and drove off to his home- for a good night’s sleep.
**********
The north-south highway was deserted at three thirty in the morning. During the day this very road tended to have major pileups and cause severe delays. But at the early hour of the morning, it was deserted. Cars occasionally zoomed through at high speeds, taking advantage of the emptiness.
About a hundred metres above the four lane highway, a single helicopter hovered. It was a rather odd helicopter, with two barrel like thrusters on either side. It hovered in the same spot, As though it was waiting for something. In the cockpit sat an Indian Sikh, complete with the turban. He carefully watched the road below him, scanning the few cars that went by below.
“What’s the status 6?” he called tersely into his microphone.
A calm voice crackled in his earpiece, he could hear it faintly from the cabin of the chopper as well. “Relax pilot. They should be here any second. This is the exit to West road, right?”
Pilot Singh nodded, not taking his eyes off the road below him “Yes it is. But why should they take a road so far away from their base?”
“Disorientation tactic,” 6 said casually, scratching his new, long beard and pattering away at the keyboard of his laptop, “The police, if they follow, will think the base is down south, and thus block the southern exits. But the crooks go high north, thus escaping. But just relax Pilot…”
But Pilot Singh remained as alert as ever, maintaining the chopper’s position above the highway. Within a few minutes, a white van whooshed silently below his chopper, continuing innocently down the highway, heading north. Pilot immediately came to life.
“They’re here. Get ready.” He called into his microphone as he brought his chopper lower and forward, tailing the car. He moved at a steady speed, above and behind the white van streaking down the highway, lit only by the lamps. As pilot watched, two black SUV’s drew up on either side of the white van, in a very casual manner. They were maintaining the same speed as the getaway car.
All of a sudden, in one sweeping movement, the two black SUVs converged on the white van, trapping it in between them. Pilot knew it was time to act, whether 6 and Jerry were prepared or not. With the expertise of a seasoned pilot, Pilot Singh brought his chopper almost vertically above the getaway vehicle, moving at the same speed. He flicked a few switches on the console and heard the metallic rumbling as the hatch of the helicopter opened. “6, Jerry, you guys better be ready!” he called into the microphone. “Antony you okay with the cables?”
“Fine.” Came Antony’s voice, hoarse after the night’s concert. Pilot knew that Antony was a singer by profession these days, and was doing 6 a favour by helping him right after a concert. “6 and Jerry have descended. Hold position for ten minutes.”
**********
The driver of the Getaway van swore profusely under his breath. Within seconds, things seemed to be going haywire. He had just reported to base that the schedule was working, when an SUV rammed into either side of his truck. His partner, seated next to him, gaped at the car right outside the window, the windows were tinted, giving them no clue of its driver.
The van continued to whiz down the highway. Soon, another sound was heard over the purr of the motor- The roar of a chopper. The driver paled. This wasn’t good. The chopper sounded extremely loud, almost as though it was right behind the van. The driver sped up a bit. His three pursuers matched his rise in speed. He looked up at the large green board above the highway. Twelve miles more in order to reach the exit near base. This was bad.
To add to the woes of the getaway driver, just after he passed underneath the large green board, he heard two whumps from the back of his vehicle and felt his back tyres lose air. Turning the steering wheel wildly, trying to keep control, the driver glanced at the rear-view mirror and roared with fury.
Behind the large green board, clutching his long rifle, crouched a small made sniper. He had just successfully taken out the escape van’s rear tires, leaving it to be controlled by its two large, black escorts.
The driver let go of the steering wheel and reached into the glove compartment. He pulled out two outdated but compact Glock 19 pistols. He handed one to his partner and nodded ominously. They were going to fight back.
**********
It had been five years since 6 last faced such action. He barely remembered his escapades at the Gates Plaza. But now, as he stood on top of the speeding van, he had no scope for memories. He watched as Jerry slowly landed beside him, trailing a cable back to the chopper, just like himself. There were two quick whumps, and the van shook a little bit- the tires had been blown. 6 gave a thumbs up to Jerry and said, “Lets go. Phase one.”
The two twenty-something year olds made their way to the back of the van, moving slowly to avoid falling. As they reached the back of the van, Jerry pulled out a small explosive from the pocket of his suit and planted it on the top of the door to the storage area of the van. 6 and jerry took a few steps backwards as with a small explosion; the two doors to the back of the van blew open and collapsed onto the road with loud metallic scraping sounds.
Jerry and 6 calmly drew their twin pistols and stepped off the edge of the van. Their cables lowered them in level with the floor of the fairly spacious storage area. “Take her a little behind the van Pilot” 6 called loudly into his radio.
Without a reply, the chopper veered backwards, maintaining its speed, but allowing the two men dangling below to look into the back space with ease. What they saw wasn’t pleasant.
Four large sacks sat against the back wall of the van’s cargo hold. But what made Jerry swear profusely were the four, fully armed guards in front of the bag, pointing their guns at him and 6. This was unexpected.
But the guards didn’t open fire. They had their guns up more as a defensive manoeuvre than as an order. They just looked at the two intruders, suspended from their backs. Then the man who looked like the leader nodded.
“UP!” 6 shouted a second before the submachine guns began to blaze. Just in the nick of time, Anthony operated the cable controls, lifting up 6 and Jerry, unharmed but shaken. The gunfire sounded loud, and created sparks on the road, followed by tiny bullet holes. 6 and Jerry stood on the roof of the van for about half a minute, still thinking what to do about the new and unexpected threat. That was when the third party joined the chase.
There was a loud wail of a siren and the distant flash of red and blue lights as the cop car roared towards the weird convoy of three automobiles and a helicopter. In the drivers seat sat a young night shift officer. In the passenger seat sat a man with dark hair, flecked with white. He had a square jaw and an air of determination about him. Unlike his partner, he showed no surprise on seeing the odd chase, for he was an experienced cop.
Stephen Frost had now been doing small jobs for the police department since his ordeal at the Gates plaza. He had switched to an advisory role in the Goodane police department. He had done night patrols, chased petty c
riminals and a lot of paperwork. He tended to stay away from the major scenes of action. His mental stability itself had been shaken up terribly after he witnessed the death of seven eminent businessmen and came and inch from death himself.
But Stephen Frost was nearly back to normal. He had regained his sense of humour, his mental alertness and had almost forgotten the dreadful memories of the tower. However, he knew he would never forget the face of the terrorist who put him through that torture. Though he knew that the man was disguised, he always associated the terrorist with the scarred cheek, thick glasses, red hair and steely grey eyes. Frost had made it his life’s ambition to rid the world of that young man.
**********
The four guards looked at the police car with mounting shock. They wondered whether the men on the roof were associated with the police as well. But it was no time for speculation. As the police car drew closer to the open backed van, one of the men called out to his comrades, “We take out the driver. That would set them back for now.” He heard noises of agreement from around him.
As the police car came closer to the fast moving convoy, Frost leaned out of his window, securely grasping a pistol in his hand, his hair flying about. He saw two men standing on top of the van, suspended from the chopper. He also saw the four guards aiming their guns at his partner, who was driving. He stood up in his seat, allowing his torso to stick out of the window and aimed his pistol directly at the biggest guard.
“Bring us closer!!” He yelled at his partner, waving his left hand wildly. His partner nodded determinedly, unaware that his life was about to be taken away any second by the largest gunman, who had waved a hand, dismissing the others from this task and had carefully taken aim.
Frost looked at the big guard and his heart jolted, his eye was in level with the barrel of his gun, taking careful aim at his partner’s head. Without panicking, Frost brought his gun forward and shot, from the window of a moving car. A red hole appeared on the burly man’s chest, forcing him to take a step back, and making him drop his gun in surprise. The periodic flashing as the convoy went under a streetlight did not allow anyone to see anything properly.
There was another bang, and another red hole appeared in the guard’s apparel. He looked up to see the middle aged officer smiling grimly. Before he could blow his head of with a burst of SMG fire, the guard felt a third bullet hit the base of his neck. He gave a strangled cry and dropped dead on the floor.
One of the other guards looked for a moment at the corpse on the floor. “Open fire!” he called. Gunfire rang out along with the noise of the chopper and the roar of the engines. Frost’s young partner swerved wildly trying to avoid the bullets. Frost returned fire to the van and managed to take out another gunman with a head shot. As the gunfire continued, pock marking the police car, a black-clad figure swung down from the roof of the van. Another larger figure followed behind him.
Before either of the two gun men could react towards the new arrivals, their guns were wrestled out of their hands and they were thrown out of the van, crashing onto the road with two identical thuds. The police car swerved past them, still in hot pursuit of the van. The two young men were never heard of again.
**********
Jerry and 6 watched quietly from above as the middle aged policeman expertly fired a few shots from his window. They heard a dull thunk from below as the burly guard collapsed on the floor. They heard the hoarse cry of “Open fire” and the rapid fire sounds of the SMGs.
Jerry nudged 6. “Look, it’s the old cop from the Gates plaza. Recognize him?”
6 nodded, gaping at Stephen Frost. Of all cops in the city, he was the one who was unfortunate enough to pursue these robbers…and meet 6 again. But there was no time for reflection. The two young men heard the sickening splat as the second guard died. Nodding to each other, they swung down from the roof, despite the blazing guns and wrestled their opponents into submission.
Once the two had dumped the guards onto the road, they busied themselves with the four large sacks propped against the back. An occasional bullet pinged against the metal walls of the van as frost shot a few bullets at the two new thieves, but none reached their intended target.
Quietly and swiftly, 6 and jerry unlatched their harnesses and fastened them around the mouth of a large, money filled, sack. 6 quickly gave the command to Antony and both the sacks left the van, were dragged to the opening of the storage area and were lifted out into the cold night air, less than a metre above the road.
There was a lull in the back of the van for a few seconds as the bags were being reeled up to the helicopter. The police car was closer than ever now and 6 saw Stephen Frost clearly through the windshield of the car. He seemed to have aged sufficiently after his ordeal at the Gates plaza. As he locked eyes with the square jawed officer, 6 doubted that he would recognize him. 6 had been disguised during the encounter at the Gates plaza. Also, ever since he started growing his beard, 6 looked quite different.
But despite all this, something passed between the two men as they locked eyes. Frost’s eyes widened with shock and fear. After a minute second, he nodded, as though confirming to himself that this was the same person. How he knew, 6 didn’t know. Frost lifted up his gun and, with vengeance making his aim more precise, he shot four bullets from his pistol. 6 dropped onto the floor of the van with a shout, narrowly avoiding the four bullets that shot out of Frost’s pistol.
“He’s calling for backup!” Jerry cried, as he saw Frost reach into the car and talk into a mike.
“Antony!!” 6 called into his mike, “how is it going? Things are heating up down here!!”
Antony, who was once part of a psychologically disturbed group called “Team Murder” called tersely into his mike, “The empty cables should be reaching you any second. Send the bags first. The winches can’t handle more than that.”
Sure enough, the two cables swung down in front of the van’s rear door. Jerry lunged out, grabbed the two cables and swung one to 6, who, like Jerry, began fastening it to the mouth of the remaining two bags. More bullets pinged the walls. 6 began to sweat, this was going to be tough.
**********
There is more than one way of recognizing a man. And Stephen Frost knew all of them. Despite the five years gap between the previous incident and this, despite 6’s thick beard, Frost recognized him as the man who caused him endless nightmares. His sharp eyes, which last glared at him from behind horn rimmed spectacles, his slight slouch, his style of walking, his excited expression, all reminded Frost of the terrorist at the Gates plaza.
He shot several times, but the youth managed to dodge them. Frost ducked into his car to reload his pistol. His young partner gazed at the road, pale with sweat. As frost reloaded his gun, however, he heard a squawk over the car radio. With a flash he realized that he could call backup and kill the young terrorist once and for all. Frost yanked the mike and began to order immediate back up to their co ordinates, informing base that the situation was dire.
He heard confirmation that backup was on its way and felt mildly reassured. But that was when his windshield exploded with a loud shatter.
“Duck!” he called to his partner, who did not hesitate to oblige. His partner sank down, grasping the steering wheel with outstretched hands and crouching on the accelerator. Frost, however, had different plans. With a swift motion, he slid onto the bonnet of the police car, holding his pistol in front of him, his hair flying in the wind. He watched as the two youngsters sent off the second batch of stolen goods. With a flash of an idea, Frost began to shoot the large sacks which were now suspended slightly above the van. But it didn’t matter. The holes were too small. And now the occupants of the van had begun shooting at Frost, small sparks were erupting all around him.
“Bring her as close as possible!” Frost roared at his driver, who nodded hastily. He could now hear the distant sounds of the approaching police vehicles. But they were not going to be fast enough. The two sacks had already disappeared into
the helicopter. Frost’s car was now almost bumper to bumper with the getaway van. He began to move slightly on the bonnet to avoid the bullets, which now drew closer and closer to his body. He fired more shots into the van, blindly, and was happy to hear a loud bellow as he hit the terrorist in the arm.
And that was when things went from crazy to haywire.
**********
The driver of the van was having a bad time from the start. He was trapped between two large cars, his back tires were blown, and the helicopter descended over the whole scene. Then he heard the siren of the police car. He listened to the voices of the four guards on the radio with mounting terror as two of them were killed by the cops and the other two hurled unceremoniously out of the van. All this time, he was maintaining the same speed- maximum. Once his guards were dead, it was only him and his quiet partner in the getaway van. They listened in tense silence, as the men in base decided what to do about the situation.
“Sorry men,” came the voice over the radio, from the base “The guards tell us that you’ve lost the loot as well. Sorry guys, you’re on your own…” and the communication was cut.
The two men looked at each other for a moment, both looking orange in the periodic flashes of the sodium streetlights. “We’re deserted.” The driver said softly, summing up his disastrous situation. “They’ve left us for dead. If we go to base now, we’ll be shot. So we’re dead in any case.” His partner nodded. Then, in a weak voice he said, “I’m jumpin’ Bob. I ain’t got the guts to fight. I’m jumpin’!!”
With that, he frantically scrabbled at his door, managed to get it open and hurled himself out onto the road rushing beneath him, narrowly missing the bonnet of the SUV on the van’s left side. Bob was not sure if he had survived the jump or not, but he ploughed on regardless.
Once Bob knew he was about a kilometre away from the point where his partner made the jump, he decided to fight back. He cast one glance at each SUV on either side of him and decided what he was going to do.
Bob slammed the breaks.