Locked and Loaded: A Riz Sabir Thriller Omnibus

by Charlie Flowers

  The consensus was that our EDL sniper would go for the main road. Queen Mary University or the East London Mosque as they were turning out. Nothing fancy. Just Anders Breivik as the crowds turned out. Blam, blam-blam.

  With that in mind, Fuzz decided our sweeps would begin south of Commercial Road and west, across the rooftops. Towards the hospital. Snipers to overwatch.

  She nudged my arm as I manipulated the controls on the TV screens. ‘Rizbhai. We’re just waiting for the OK from all these cops here, and the MOD, and then we’re going to start clearing each block north of here, one by one. In the meantime we’re looking at everything south of Commercial Road and west towards the mosque.’ She tapped a screen showing a traffic camera feed aimed west down that road. ‘I sent Slooky and Sunara on one last little house-to-house trawl around that neighbourhood, between here and Cable Street. Maybe they might jog someone’s memory.’

  The Domino’s pizzas arrived, on a scooter which swiftly departed the same way it had come. Mishy took an armful of pizzas and left. Ten minutes later she radioed in. ‘Handing ‘em out. We’re looking across the rooftops towards the hospital and the mosque. Can’t see nothing. I’m now going to put the trigger in on Bravo One, come back.’

  ‘Have that Mish, thankyou. Hang tight.’ I switched channels to the Met control room and asked if we could rustle up a helicopter. The short answer was yes, but not for a few hours. They were all tasked elsewhere, thankyou and ask again in a few hours. Behind me, some of the Blackeyed girls were talking about getting Fuzz to go and get a helicopter. I leant back and talked them out of it.

  The clock hit 3.30pm. I realised I was chewing at a nail. A call came in from our van. ‘Mishy’s triggering Trevor away from his flat. Wanna listen in?’ Of course I did. God knows what she was disguised as, but she was two streets away from us and she’d stuck to suspect number one like Velcro. I took the headset and listened in. The Blackeyes were doing a far better job than the Met had, that was for sure.

  Static, then three blips. ‘Blackeye Five Triggering. That’s Bravo One and Two away from Alpha One. This callsign is following. Complete and heading down Green Four-One.’ That meant Trevor and his wife had left their flat, Alpha One, and Mishy was following them in a car, down the Commercial Road. Fuzz acknowledged. ‘Base. Have that. Follow ‘em in.’ Click-click. Mishy was hashing the radio pressel in acknowledgement.

  At 4.21pm the MIT technical team arrived in one of those big black panel vans enamoured of American police forces. They deployed their kit and fussed round Bang-Bang in her hooker gear, just like the night before. She laughed and nodded downwards. ‘This is ridiculous. Airwave handset, and induction loop, torpedo pressel, a Taser in my Claymore bag, and my pistol in its holster stuck in the back of my waistband. Done up like the Christmas fairy. I’m probably rattling as I walk.’

  I had my own radio set and earpiece. I hadn’t checked it yet to see if today’s channel was working. The tech people were conferring. ‘APLS on and working Riz?’

  ‘APLS is on and working. Good signal.’

  I spoke. ‘Holly. Jump up and down.’

  She started jumping. Once. Twice. ‘Hear anything?’

  ‘Yeah. Something in your bag’s clinking.’

  She rummaged and pulled out a cigarette case. She handed it to me with a triumphant look and walked to the rear of one of the police vans. She returned with a stained, motheaten white stab vest. I stared at it. ‘Where did that come from?’

  ‘It’s their last one. DS Cammack gave it to us. Right. Now, you, Sabir. Put your stab vest on.’ I shook my head.

  ‘Riz. Put. The. Stabby. On.’

  ‘I’m not wearing one if you’re not –’

  ‘Bas!’

  ‘Bu –’

  ‘CHUP! Put it on or you’re sleeping on the sofa.’

  Around us, the team was laughing and trying not to catch my eye as I looked around helplessly. I put the cotton-and-Kevlar vest on and secured the Velcro waist straps around my ribcage. I looked down at her. ‘Happy? This’ll only stop knives, you know.’

  She adjusted the shoulder straps. ‘I know. OK. Now say the shahada.’

  I rolled my eyes. ‘Only if you say it with me.’

  We recited it together. ‘La ilaha illa-Allah.’

  By now the team was looking at both of us incredulously. Bang-Bang stepped back and placed her internet glasses over her eyes. I watched her pupils dilate as the datarush hit. She breathed in and nodded to herself. ‘Yeah…’

  I started to say ‘What –’ but she just pressed a finger to my lips, took the glasses off, and set them over my eyes. ‘Look southwest. What do you see?’

  I turned my head and watched the simulation rear up. I let it settle. To the southwest, just above the rendered buildings and glowing green markers, a dark blue swarm with the Greek Alpha symbol above it, shimmered in the air. ‘I see the hive. Swarm Alpha.’

  ‘Yeah. It’s working. And it’s above Ambush One.’ She did a little clicky-heeled dance and recited Surat An-Nahl. ‘“And your Lord said to the bee, “Take for yourself among the mountains, houses, and among the trees and in that which they construct. Then eat from all the fruits and follow the ways of your Lord laid down for you!” Aren’t bees great hun?’

  She grinned, placed the glasses back on and went to gaze at her creation.

  47.

  The afternoon wore on into evening. Mishy followed Trevor and his gang from mosque, to wholesalers, back to mosque…

  Fuzz and the cops made a corral of the vehicles on Buckhurst Street. The cops had a series of briefings. Bang-Bang went off to check Ambush Two again and returned shrugging. Fuzz came back from Bethnal Green Road with the head from a shop window dummy and artfully placed it in the rear of one of our vans. She said nothing, so we said nothing. We just looked at it. Obviously all would become clear at some point.

  At 5.40pm a cheer went up from the police mobile command centre. The databases and cameras were all finally back online. Shortly afterwards, the go-ahead came through to start sweeping the blocks north of us. Fuzz grinned.

  And then Bang-Bang gave a low trilling whistle and called out softly. ‘Wait one. Guys… wait one. Stand to.’

  The second she said “stand to”, everyone grabbed their weapons and moved into alert positions. They all watched her. She jumped onto the low wall she’d danced on, and walked to the end. She stood on tiptoes and gazed across the park. She shaded her eyes. ‘Ah. I can see black flags. Here comes al-Muhajiroun, people. They’re obviously setting up their little demo.’

  Calamity spat. ‘Good luck to ‘em.’

  With much fanfare and noise, twenty or so al-Muj lads, hauling banners, flags and an oversized PA system, were converging on the centre of the park, where there was a low grassy mound topped by a kid’s slide. We watched through Fuzz’s binoculars as they struggled to set up a dais and a working sound system. After a lot of fussing the equipment finally sparked into life and the usual nasheeds blared into the air. Then Trevor jumped onto the makeshift stage. The main attraction, resplendent in a white turban and dishdash. We could just see him through the fluttering black flags as he got up. A small, curious crowd had gathered in the park.

  The Blackeyes gave him an ironic cheer from our overwatch positions. Calamity drew a bead on him with the telescopic sight on her rifle and then put it down. She called across the park. ‘Knock yerself out Trevor! Please… Wahaabi twat.’

  The PA system screeched and everyone winced. Trevor tested the mic. ‘One two. Takbeer!’

  We all laughed and shouted back over the noise of his converted audience joining in. ‘Allahu akhbar!’

  Maryam spat. ‘Yeah, Allahu akhbar Trevor, you prick.’ She went back to cleaning her AK.

  Trevor was grinning. He had a crowd and he was happy. He launched into a speech I’d heard him make, several times. Back in the day, when I’d been in al-Muhajiroun, we’d called this one the “Cats and Dogs” speech, as that was the centrepiece of his argument. I sat back
and decided to award myself a cigarette if he mentioned it.

  He began. ‘Brothers… I want to talk to you today about law and justice. Or the lack of it in the UK.’

  A TSG commander, the sergeant from the office, sauntered over and nodded at the demo. ‘Always been a busy boy, that bloke. I was at the meeting where he started on John Reid.’

  ‘You mean the “how dare you come to a Muslim area” speech?’

  ‘That’s the one. You’ve got to admire the fella’s sheer brass neck.’

  ‘Yeah.’ He gestured back at the boarded-up pub, its ground floor now wrapped up like some obscene cellophane-wrapped sandwich. Forensics officers came and went. ‘And now he’s having a demo within eyesight of a major crime scene that he may be responsible for. The bloke’s taking the piss.’

  I laughed. ‘That’s al-Muj guys for you. Provocateurs.’

  I looked into the park. Trevor was on a roll. ‘Those who do not believe in Allaah, have a predisposition against the Muslims. Quote-unquote “terrorist cases”, brothers.’ He let that sink in. ‘It’s innocent until proven Muslim! Think about it. They even stopped me and my brothers in my car yesterday, just over there. For nothing.’

  I took Raggydoll to one side. She was checking the breech on her sniper rifle. ‘How’s Mishy? She OK? You know...?’

  She shook her head. ‘Still a bit punchy. That's why we gave her the radio.’

  Next to her, Fuzz recited from the printout to a wary-looking firearms officer. ‘“The decision to deploy service personnel would be authorised by the Defence Council and they may be given the power to requisition equipment and other facilities...”’

  The ARV commander laughed and finished from memory. ‘“Under Section 2 of the Emergency Powers Act 1964, the Defence Council may authorise the temporary deployment of service personnel on urgent work of national importance.” OK as long as you lot are squared away with the powers that be... what do I know, I only work here.’

  The ARV commander quickly tapped on areas on his map book. He was pointing at areas to the south of the main road, over towards Sainsburys and beyond. ‘Right. Containment. Outer cordon is unarmed officers and roadblocks, inner cordon is us, or as many of us as we can muster – armed officers. Got that?’

  The Blackeyes nodded vacantly. ‘Good. Now arcs of fire...’

  One of his men was holding the car radio mic out toward him to get an ongoing record of the hasty briefing. ‘We’re just waiting for Rifle Section and we can head south. OK. Riz. I want your assessment of this EDL guy we’re all meant to be looking for. Is he mad, or on drugs?’

  I thought about it for a bit. ‘No. I think he’s just really, really pissed off.’

  He shook his head. ‘Pissed off. Alright. Here’s some copies of his ID photo, we’re going to get handing them out.’ He handed me and Fuzz a sheaf of A4 colour copies of Jerry Hanlan’s face.

  Trevor’s PA crackled over the way. ‘Let me tell you something. When I was in Paddington Green police station, for alleged terrorist fundraising…’ Trevor stopped to let that sink in and got a laugh. Hey, this guy could do Vegas. He waited for the beat and carried on. ‘When I was in there, two officers from British intelligence came to see me. Yes they did. Nathan and Daniel were their names. They said to me there’s a system we have in UK, that if we assist them…’

  Behind me, the Blackeyes command were clustering and going over the callsigns. Personal radios were being checked. Mishy was tagging along beside Fuzz with an Airwave radio and a Genesis One public order headset half-hanging off her head. She was listening to one earpiece, held to her good ear, and was speaking into the boom microphone. She waved half-heartedly. She had one of those white flowers artfully placed in her hair, and a pistol tucked into her belt. Her eyes were carouseling all over the place. She looked at me. ‘Done your radio check yet Riz?’

  Christ. I’d forgotten. She spoke into her headset and her voice pinged into my earpiece. ‘Hear that? Got the right channel?’

  ‘Yep. Thanks Mish.’

  Out in the park, Trevor was building up to his finale. I borrowed Mishy’s mini-binoculars and swept them over his little crowd. I did a quick headcount and then tried to identify the ringleaders, just to pass the time. Trevor pumped his fist in the air. ‘Yeah. Can I get a yeah?’

  ‘Yeah!’

  ‘If you work with them, you get a lower sentence. Or no sentence whatsoever.’ He paused. ‘But what would that make us, brothers?’

  The TSG sergeant came back and tapped my arm. ‘News just in. We’re just waiting for the DNA to come back. They’re speedballing it.’

  ‘Reckon it’s him?’

  Down in the park, Trevor was building to his main point.

  ‘I dunno. It certainly all points his way.’

  ‘What do we do if it comes back positive?’

  ‘We all rush down there and arrest him.’

  ‘Ah. OK.’

  Trevor spread his arms. ‘What would that make us, brothers? Traitors. Down in the depths with the kuffaar!’ A cheer. ‘Down in the depths. With the cats, and the dogs!’

  A massive cheer. I tapped out a cigarette from my pack and saluted him. Bingo. Cheers Trev, I thought. I lit the fag.

  Fuzz came over and nodded at the throng. ‘So what are the odds that local news call him the Ripper tonight?’

  In the park, Trevor had hit his main theme. ‘But it’s not about me. Or you. Look around you...’

  The crowd dutifully looked around.

  ‘Murders. Fitna everywhere. A neighbourhood where women of easy virtue… prostitutes… drug-crazed…’

  I laughed and half-turned to Fuzz. ‘That’ll never happen without –’

  Trevor raised his hand. ‘Licentiousness! And the solution is –’ Bang!

  A rifle shot rang out. Smack. Blood spumed a metre from Trevor’s head and he hit the makeshift podium liked a dropped sack of Jello. His microphone arced through the air. The crowd screamed and scattered. His colleagues hit the dirt or took cover.

  The cigarette fell from my lips. I stood, drew my pistol to cover people, and then wondered what the hell to do. Calamity ran past me and aimed her rifle over a parked car, up, towards a block of flats. Fuzz stood up and shouted ‘Contact! Enemy right!’ and ran to cover Calamity with her shotgun. Next to her was a screaming woman and an overturned shopping trolley. She swore at them and edged left to place herself between them and any fire. Another round cracked and hit Trevor’s prone form. More blood and gristle flew into the air. His arm dangled off the edge of the podium.

  I hit my radio pressel. ‘Going mobile.’

  ‘Copy. Incoming fire is from Orion House to your right, come back.’

  ‘Got that.’ I ran forward, aiming my pistol at something, anything. A round struck on the tarmac five metres before me. Bad idea. Calamity skidded to a halt in front of the children’s centre and started returning fire, over the grass mound and Trevor’s corpse. The air shivered under the deafening onslaught of high-velocity rounds screaming in both directions.

  The balcony above us took incoming fire in a shower of broken glass and screams rang out. I ran left to Calamity’s side. ‘What do you see?’

  She sneered as she looked through the sight. ‘Fuck all.’

  ‘Hang on –’

  ‘Get ‘em down and stay down!’ Calamity broke cover and started blatting rounds into the balconies, anywhere, at something none of us could see. Incoming fire thwacked to her left, ricocheted and caromed into a bystander’s leg. They dropped, howling. I stood and emptied the pistol in the direction she was firing. I couldn’t see shit. I dropped to cover, slapped another mag into my pistol and hit the slide release. The working parts chinged forward and the weapon was in battery. It was ready, but was I? This was turning into a waking nightmare.

  Behind me Bang-Bang was talking into her radio. She winked at me and rolled a smoke grenade out into the play area. It fizzed and popped. Red smoke began to billow. That was her cue. She jumped up and started firing her p
istol into the left-hand side of the tower block, two shots at a time that puffed masonry and concrete dust. A return flash and a puff of smoke and a round spanged off the car not two feet from where we were standing. I ducked. Jesus Christ. ‘That’s him! Third floor Orion House Contact! Kill him!!’ yelled Calamity and everyone opened fire again.

  Fuzz ran up behind us, levelled her auto-shotgun and started shooting over the car roof. This was ridiculous. Incoming fire splattered around her. Dust flew. She took no notice and carried on shooting. I ran the three short steps and pulled her back down into cover by grabbing that canvas loop. Fuzz had that insane look in her eyes that Blackeyes got in a fight. ‘Fuzz! You’re not gonna hit him with that.’

  ‘I know. Just keeping his head down, bhai.’

  There was a whoop of sirens behind us as an ARV bounced down the gardens path and the doors whacked open. The crew took cover behind their opened doors and levelled their carbines towards the balconies. The driver yelled towards us. ‘Who is shooting?’ Their rooftop lights flared blue over the estate. Fuzz whooped and fired a twelve-gauge round into the air. ‘Let’s go!’

  Oh shit. She ran for the dumpster by the stairs of Orion House and Bang-Bang howled in delight and emptied her pistol towards the flats. Incoming fire shattered the ARV car windscreen. The commander cursed and his deputy fired one wild round. Women screamed. Christ. I ran forward to join Fuzz and Bang-Bang and two rounds pecked and whizzed around me. I zig-zagged and dived behind the dumpster.

  Bang-Bang slapped a new mag into her pistol and waved. ‘Hello!’

  I looked back at the square. ‘OK girls, what’s the gen on that gun up there?’

  Fuzz took a look and ducked down. ‘That missing L86 Light Support Weapon. 5.56 NATO, thirty round box mag…’

  Bang-Bang continued; ‘SUSAT magnifying sight, 610-770 rounds per minute, accurate precision fire at ranges over six hundred metres…’