The two groups of GRRR men scampered in wide arcs across the lawn fronting the Dowd house, one to the left, the other to the right, with Ben and his canine partner bringing up the rear on the right. Charlie had his Hi Power in hand, and Angus and Chris had snub-nosed Heckler & Koch MP5 submachine guns at the ready. In front of Charlie, a man with a rifle slung over his shoulder stepped from the shadows.
‘Hello there, sweetheart,’ he said into his phone, not realising he had company.
Easing forward, Charlie jammed his MP5 into the man’s ribs with one hand and gripped the man’s throat with the other. ‘Tell her you’ll call back,’ he instructed.
The man tensed with fear. ‘S-s-sweetheart, I … I gotta go,’ he stammered.
Charlie immediately covered the man’s mouth to prevent him from yelling a warning to his comrades in the house. Angus slid in beside them and relieved the guard of his phone and rifle. Charlie then manhandled the terrified man back to the imposing figure of Chris Banner, who pushed him to the ground and clamped a large hand over his mouth.
‘One of the sentries?’ Angus queried in a whisper.
Charlie shook his head. ‘An extra,’ he replied. ‘Came outside to make a call. Looks like he left a living-room door open for us.’
‘That was good of him,’ Angus said with a wink.
Leaving the prisoner in Banner’s care, Charlie and the rest of his group shuffled forward. Charlie pressed against the outside wall of the house by the first French window. Looking in the direction of the front door, he saw Jean-Claude’s group in position to the left of the entrance. Charlie gave Jean-Claude two hand signals, the first to get his attention, the second as if bowling a ball underarm. In confirmation, Jean-Claude gave him a thumbs up. From a pouch on his belt, he then took out a stun grenade – what Special Forces troops call a ‘flash-bang’. ‘Ready?’ he whispered to Casper.
Casper nodded, then stepped up beside the Frenchman.
Charlie depressed his personal radio’s ‘transmit’ button. ‘Alpha Five,’ he said quietly. ‘Go! Go! Go!’
Casper moved to the front door, which was mostly glass. Using the butt of his weapon, he broke the glass, before quickly stepping away to the left. Jean-Claude tossed the grenade in through the hole, then flung himself back against the wall. At the same time, Charlie stepped to the French door left partially open by their prisoner. He lobbed a stun grenade in the direction of the sentry sitting on the corner of the sofa, then swung back against the wall of the house. With a blinding flash and head-ringing bangs, the two stun grenades exploded, milliseconds apart.
Charlie flicked on the torch attached to the barrel of his Hi Power, then heaved himself forward and in through the doorway in a fast crouching walk. He had his Hi Power levelled in his right hand, with his other hand clasping his right wrist to keep his aim steady. Angus was directly behind him, followed by Ben and Caesar. Inside, the sentry was bent over in pain, blinking hard in an effort to regain his dazzled vision. Seeing vague figures coming through the French window, he turned and attempted to raise his M16 assault rifle. Charlie fired once, hitting the gunman in the left shoulder. The impact spun the man around. He fell from the sofa, letting go of his weapon. In a heartbeat, Charlie was across the floor to him. Kicking the M16 away, he stood over the wounded man, with the business end of his weapon pointed at him and the torch on the barrel shining in his eyes.
‘Don’t move!’ Charlie instructed. ‘There’s a prison cell in St John’s with your name on it.’
The sentry responded by reaching to his belt and whipping out a long knife. With all his might, he plunged the blade into the lower part of Charlie’s left leg. Clunk! The man’s eyes widened in surprise as the tip of the blade passed through Charlie’s black trousers only to be met with solid resistance, as if Charlie was wearing metal leg protectors like an ancient Roman legionary.
Charlie smiled, then swung the butt of his pistol and knocked the knife from the kidnapper’s hand. ‘You just stabbed the only Special Forces man in the world who has two prosthetic legs,’ he said. After losing both legs in a battle against the Taliban in Afghanistan, Charlie had been fitted with carbon-fibre prosthetics. ‘Now, tell your friends to surrender.’
As it turned out, there was no need for that. The guard at the front door had been overpowered by Jean-Claude’s team and hauled into the living room from the entrance hallway. Apart from the two sentries and the man captured outside, there had been five other gunmen in the living room. They had all been fast asleep until the stun grenades had woken both them and their hostages. These five gunmen found themselves pinned in the beams of GRRR torches as they looked into the barrels of the weapons of Angus, Ben, Jean-Claude, Casper and Willy.
‘Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot!’ they cried.
They were quickly disarmed as the hostages leapt to their feet, crying out with relief.
‘Stay where you are,’ Charlie cautioned the hostages. ‘These blokes could have rigged the house with explosives. Don’t move until we check the place out. Ben?’
‘Roger,’ Ben replied, without Charlie having to say anymore. After many missions together over the years, they could almost read each other’s minds. Ben knelt beside Caesar and removed the labrador’s leash. ‘Caesar, seek on!’
Despite the fact that the room was only partially lit by a few candles and torchlight, the chocolate labrador, possessing four times the visual powers of humans in low-light situations, trotted around the room with sureness, his nose down. Ben took Caesar from one room to another. In a back bedroom they located an opened plastic package containing a cake of yellow C-4 explosive and a box of detonators, but there was no sign of live explosive devices.
‘All clear,’ Ben reported. He smiled tightly as another jab of sciatic pain shot down his leg.
Charlie radioed Baz out on the wall. ‘Alpha Eight, stand down. The hostages are coming out.’
‘Copy that, Alpha One,’ Baz said. ‘Nice job, you blokes.’
‘Beta One from Alpha One,’ Charlie radioed. ‘Receiving?’
‘Beta One receiving,’ Duke Hazard replied.
‘Beta One, all Teega One hostages and eight hostiles now secured. Proceed to deal with Teega Two and advise.’
‘That’s a roger.’
Duke, Tim and Toushi stormed the gatehouse, overpowering the three gang members there, one of whom was supposed to be on guard. In fact, all three had been asleep and were swiftly accounted for.
‘Alpha One, from Beta One,’ Duke radioed. ‘Teega Two secured. Three fish in the net.’
‘Nice work,’ Charlie replied. ‘Wait for local police to take them off your hands. Tell Teega Control we’re ready for them to send in the heelos for hostage extraction. We’ll deal with the IED at the gate. After that, the local police can move in.’ Brian Cisco was carrying the team’s VHF radio, which enabled the GRRR unit to communicate with their distant superiors. ‘One more thing,’ Charlie added. ‘Inform Teega Control we’re bringing in a hostile in need of medical attention.’
‘Roger that. Beta One will advise. Another neat op, people. Good job.’
From US Special Operations Command (SOCOM) in Florida, codenamed Teega Control for this operation, instructions would go out to the amphibious landing ship USS Wasp, sitting twenty kilometres off the Antiguan coast, to send helicopters to lift hostages and their rescuers from the headland. Once the hostages were safely aboard the US Navy vessel, the operation would finally be over. ‘Mission accomplished’ would be written on the mission report filed by GRRR Commander, Captain Liberty Lee, and handed to her boss, the Secretary-General of the United Nations.
Charlie turned to address the waiting hostages. ‘Okay, everyone, follow these two soldiers to the lawn out front.’ He indicated Angus and Chris. ‘We’ll have you all lifted out by helicopter. But don’t go anywhere near the front gate – the gang has rigged it with explosives. Our explosives expert will deal with it once you’re clear of this place.’ That explosives expert was Angus Bruce.
Ronnie Dowd, his family and friends gratefully accompanied the two GRRR members outside. The prisoners were handcuffed by Alpha Team to await the arrival of Antiguan police, and Willy quickly bandaged the gang leader’s shoulder wound. Charlie noticed Ben standing with his left leg projecting behind him at an unnatural angle, as if performing a strange exercise. Even in the dim light, he could see the pain etched on Ben’s usually impassive face. Caesar knew that something was wrong, too. He was looking up at Ben with an expression that seemed to say, Are you all right, boss?
‘What’s up, Ben?’ Charlie asked, walking over to the pair. ‘Were you injured in the assault?’
‘It’s nothing,’ Ben returned dismissively. ‘I landed hard after the jump. Willy thinks I’ve pinched a nerve. Nothing to worry about.’
‘Just the same, get the docs to take a look at it, mate. That’s an order.’
Ben nodded. ‘Roger that. But don’t worry, I’m fine.’
In the gloom, eleven men crawled along the tunnel carved through the earth. A metre and a half in height, and the same distance across, this tunnel ran from the Sereno Prison for men in Havana, Cuba, to the Separaro Women’s Prison next door. One by one, the eleven prisoners crawled on hands and knees through the dirt towards the women’s prison.
The men imprisoned in the Sereno would have done anything to escape this prison. The cells were hot, overcrowded and smelly, and rats were regular companions. Only one toilet in ten actually worked, and the food consisted of soup, rice and rotting meat. The Cuban authorities had planted microphones in the earth on three sides of the prison to detect the sounds of escape attempts by tunnelling. But, never thinking that anyone would want to escape from one prison to the other, no microphones had been planted on the side containing the women’s prison.
This tunnel had taken an entire year to dig. A prisoner who had once been an electrician by trade had managed to tap into the prison power supply to light the tunnel. Light bulbs positioned every few metres illuminated the way. After its completion, the exit to the tunnel had been discovered by a guard in the women’s prison, but he had been successfully bribed to keep his mouth shut. That guard would soon regret not giving the tunnel away. For, the eleven men now crawling along the tunnel were about to pull off one of the most brazen escapes in prison history.
A large man with a shaved head led the way into the side of a large stormwater drain. He crawled left a few metres, then reached up and twisted a manhole cover, sliding it aside. Sticking his head up through the opening, he looked around warily. The tunnel exited on one side of a sunlit yard. Parked close by was a tourist bus. Its front door was open, and a driver could be seen reading a newspaper behind the wheel.
‘Sí, Ricky, the bus is there,’ the large man whispered back down the tunnel.
‘Then go!’ hissed a small man with a neat goatee. ‘Rapido!’
The big man hauled himself up through the small opening and dashed to the bus. The bearded man quickly followed. The bus driver, hearing the urgent footfalls, looked up to find the big man grabbing hold of him and hauling him from his seat.
‘Make a sound, and I will break your neck!’ the large man snarled, wrapping a tattooed arm around the driver’s neck.
Terrified, the driver froze. The smaller, bearded man slipped past and began searching the seat pockets. He found what he was looking for halfway down the bus – a Makarov semi-automatic pistol, hidden in one of the pockets.
‘Bravo, Ana-Maria!’ he said to himself. Hurrying back to the bus door, he signalled to a man who was looking out from the tunnel. The man and eight others then scrambled up and, one after the other in quick succession, ran to the bus.
The bearded man chuckled to himself. ‘Now we will show them that no one can keep Ricardo Ramos behind bars.’
Stripped to the waist, Ben Fulton lay facedown on a hard, high bed in a US Navy doctor’s office in San Juan, the capital of Puerto Rico. Lying patiently by the door with his head in his paws, Caesar watched on with interest as the doctor bent over Ben and prodded his back in various places.
‘So, Sergeant Fulton, here’s the thing,’ said the grey-haired doctor, a lieutenant commander. ‘The sciatic nerve is certainly inflamed.’ Pulling off his surgical gloves, he returned to his desk to type up notes on his computer.
Ben sat up, relieved. ‘Inflamed? Nothing more serious than that, doc?’
‘Sciatic nerve pain is a serious thing, Sergeant. It can sure as heck interfere with your line of work. You don’t want to be in a life-or-death situation when that sort of pain hits. It could disable or distract you long enough to put lives at risk – your own included. I’m recommending to your commanding officer that you take a minimum of fourteen days to obtain complete rest.’
‘Fourteen days!’ Ben responded with surprise. Caesar, sensing Ben’s alarm, raised his head. ‘I’ve never taken two weeks’ sick leave in my life,’ Ben said, ‘apart from when I was wounded in action.’
‘Well, this may come as a surprise to you, Sergeant Fulton, but you’re not superhuman. You have sustained a painful injury and it needs time to heal. I’m going to give you some anti-inflammatory pills, but I’m also giving you a series of exercises to strengthen your back and stomach muscles. The tighter they are, the less strain on your back and the less pressure on the sciatic nerve.’
‘I thought I was pretty fit already,’ Ben said, patting his abdomen.
‘Buddy, we can all be fitter.’ The doctor handed a prescription and a leaflet to Ben. ‘This leaflet describes the back exercises I’m recommending. My all-time favourite is called the Astronaut. You lie on your back with your feet on a chair for ten minutes.’
‘Is that it? I just lie there?’ Ben asked.
‘You’ll be surprised how much relief it provides,’ the doctor replied. ‘Now, listen up. For a full recovery, you have to avoid lifting anything heavy – or even twisting or turning violently – for the next two weeks. You have to give that sciatic nerve a chance to repair itself. You got me, son?’
Ben sighed, buttoning his shirt. ‘Understood, doc.’
‘Two weeks. Complete rest. Take a genuine vacation.’
Once Ben was dressed, he thanked the doctor and led Caesar from the office. ‘How about that, Caesar? A vacation,’ Ben said as they emerged from the hospital building.
The chocolate labrador looked up at him with a questioning expression, as if to say, What’s that, boss?
The sparkling waters of San Juan’s harbour extended before them. At that moment, a massive cruise ship was sailing serenely across the water. It had a gleaming white hull and superstructure, with a gold crown and a large ‘K’ emblazoned on its dark-blue funnel. The ocean liner was heading out into the Caribbean, carrying thousands of smiling, waving passengers, who lined its upper decks. As the handsome vessel slid by, Ben suddenly had an idea.
At 3 Kokoda Crescent in Holsworthy, New South Wales, Ben’s children, Josh and Maddie, and Nan Fulton sat facing Josh’s computer in the living room.
‘Hi, Daddy! Hi, Caesar!’ Maddie sang out. ‘How did the opping go?’
‘It was a very successful op, Maddie,’ Ben replied via Skype from his hotel room in Puerto Rico. ‘Caesar, here, was his super-sniffing self.’
The Fulton family could see Ben sitting on a sofa with Caesar curled up beside him. At the mention of his name, Caesar’s tail began to wag.
‘Does that mean you’ll be coming home soon, Dad?’ Josh asked, yawning.
‘Well, that’s an interesting question. I’ve been given two weeks’ leave, and this afternoon I’ll be putting our four-legged friend in that place he doesn’t like to go …’ Ben said, avoiding to mention the place in question.
‘You mean quaramteem?’ Maddie asked. ‘A doggy hotel?’
Even though Maddie had mispronounced the word, Caesar recognised it. He knew from experience what this meant. He would have to spend time on his own in a special facility to ensure he was disease-free, before Ben could take him back home to
Australia. Caesar had to go through this every time he and Ben returned from overseas operations. Upon hearing the word, the labrador’s head shot up. He jumped to the floor and tried to squeeze under the bed, which was just a little too low for him.
Ben laughed. ‘We shouldn’t use that word around Caesar,’ he said. ‘He’s gone into hiding.’
‘Poor Caesar,’ Nan said. ‘But you are coming home this week, aren’t you, Ben? In case you’ve forgotten, I have a special birthday coming up next week, and I’d like you to be here for it.’
‘That’s the thing, Mum,’ Ben said. ‘I haven’t forgotten your birthday, but I won’t be there.’
Nan groaned. ‘Oh, Ben, I was so looking forward to having you with me for my special day.’
‘And so you will, Mum,’ Ben said, breaking into a smile. ‘Because I’m flying you over here.’
Nan’s jaw dropped. ‘What?’
‘We’re going on a Caribbean cruise together,’ Ben replied with a glint in his eye.
‘What?’ Nan gasped.
‘And Josh and Maddie are coming, too!’
‘Yay!’ Maddie squealed.
‘What?!’ Josh exclaimed.
Caesar, on the floor, poked his head up over the edge of the bed to try to work out what was going on.
‘But we’ve got school,’ Josh said, a little dazed by the news.
‘Yes, school,’ Maddie agreed.
‘I’ll be ringing your school principals,’ Ben said. ‘A week or two away from class won’t interrupt your school year too much, and a cruise around the Caribbean will be great for your education. You’re going to see people and places that other kids your age can only read about or see on TV, in the movies or online.’
‘Wow!’ Josh exclaimed, turning to Maddie. ‘We’re going on a cruise ship, in the Caribbean!’
Operation Black Shark Page 2