Shadow of the Burj

by J Jackson Bentley

  Jamie reached into her backpack and took out the baby oil. She had been reluctant to waste good baby oil in action, but she acknowledged that she would have no need of it if she were dead. Reaching up to the hand rail, she dripped the viscous oil onto the plastic, where it spread across the surface before running down the steep slope to the half landing between the tenth and eleventh floor. Soon she could see, from the reflections on the handrail, that the oil had done its work. The rail was now coated with oil most of the way down the stairs and beyond the blockage caused by the desk.

  Discarding the empty bottle, she picked up a much larger container that held half a gallon of cooking oil. At least, it smelled like cooking oil. The label was entirely in Arabic. She liberally splashed it across the stairs leading down to the desk. She then scattered a little more around the landing she occupied, being careful to leave herself an escape route.

  She set the bottle down, with around half of the contents remaining, and hid behind the recessed wall which led to the door.

  Jez and his eight remaining men made good progress up to the half landing, where their momentum was abruptly halted by the desk. Three men were sent forward to remove the desk, with the remainder giving cover, but it was wedged solidly in position, and so they gestured to Jez that they were going over the top. He nodded his agreement.

  The three men carefully climbed over the desk, their nostrils picking up the subtle but pleasant scent of the baby oil. They helped each over the desk as silently as possible, and then all three made a rush up the stairs to secure the eleventh floor landing.

  The lead man slipped over first, smashing his face into the concrete stairs and breaking his front teeth. The second felt his feet go from beneath him and tried to grab the handrail for balance, but his hand simply slid down the slick handrail and he knocked himself out on the metal desk leg. His gun slipped through the balusters and clattered noisily down ten floors. The third man lost his footing, but somehow managed to scramble back onto the desk and began to climb back over it.

  Jamie ducked down, and in the confusion she fired five shots in the direction of the fallen men. The unconscious man took a slug in the thigh and groaned. The man with the bloodied face took a round in the head, and the third man took a shot into his exposed rump as he climbed over the table. The jacketed parabellum round entered between his groin and rectum, passed through his bladder and lower intestine, coming to rest in the larger intestine, where the searing white hot shrapnel cooked his insides. The man was in agony as he fell over the desk and onto the half landing below, screaming for help.

  Jez shouted to a colleague, “Shut him up, Scotty!” A large red headed man crashed the butt of his pistol into the injured man’s head, sending him into unconsciousness, probably as much an act of kindness as one of brutality. Jez dragged the other two men over the desk and out of the way.

  “Jeez! What the hell’s happening here? That bitch must be made to suffer, do you understand?” Jez spat at his remaining five men.

  Scotty dragged the injured none too gently down the stairs an out of the line of fire. Jez sat with his back to the desk and was joined in the cover by Dogger, a long standing friend from the army. They were discussing tactics when Jamie decided it was time to empty her last magazine and get to safety.

  Rounding the corner, she loosed her remaining rounds into the desktop and they all passed through. Jez took a round in the meaty part of his left upper arm and one in the back, which was stopped by his Kevlar vest. Leaping up, he joined the others in firing at Jamie’s position. He called out to Dogger to help, but Dogger didn’t move. He wouldn’t be moving anywhere ever again. An exit wound the size of an egg had left the old soldier with no face.

  Jamie grabbed the bottle of oil and turned to the door, but two bullets caught her as she turned, one just under her rib cage and one in her left arm. She fought the gathering unconsciousness and shock, and forced herself to get to the door. Pulling open the door was a struggle, and as soon as she was through she collapsed onto her rear, her back against the corridor wall.

  Jez ignored the pain in his left arm and gathered Scotty and his last two colleagues. “Let’s have proper cover this time.”

  “We got her good and proper there, guv,” a fair haired young mercenary declared. “There’s blood all over the wall.”

  Jez looked up and confirmed the hit. “OK, then. Up we go.”

  Jamie knew that she was fading fast and that they would be coming very soon. She tipped the remaining contents of the oil container onto the sliver of marble floor which lay between the door and the carpet and watched as it spread under the door, until the puddle of oil on her side of the door was no more than a sheen on the marble. She heard voices inches away on the other side of the door and lit the zippo lighter, dropping it onto the marble floor and the cooking oil.

  The flames leapt up quickly, scorching the door before they licked at the oil under the door and consumed it greedily. Jamie rolled over onto her knees and slowly got to her feet. She needed to hide.

  Jez, Scotty and their two friends were standing in a pool of oil by the door when the flash flames erupted around their feet. Scotty and Jez stayed calm, and removed their jackets, using them to beat down the flames before their trousers were consumed and their flesh seared. The two others were less controlled.

  One tried to beat out the flames with his hands in a blind panic, and only stopped when his hands caught fire. The other man flapped around and suffered severe burns to his legs. And then it was over. The oil was consumed and the flames died. The young fair haired mercenary was leaning against the wall in shock, crying as he looked at his ruined hands, which resembled uncooked hamburger meat.

  Jez knew they had no time to lose, and so they left their men behind and the two of them set off to clear the Gulf side of the building and make that bitch pay.

  Chapter 22

  Fasil Tower, Media City, Dubai:

  23rd February; 7:32pm.

  Eleventh Floor

  Todd and Max decided that they had done what they could and knew they would have to face the rest of the intruders on level ground. They slipped through the door, and Max led Todd into the room which served as an office. It was only a yard or two beyond the lifts. From the doorway they would have a clear view of the mercenaries approaching, but of course the mercenaries would be able to see them, too.

  Todd took up a position beside the door, looking down the hall, and asked Max to cover the door from behind a desk. It was only then that they noticed one of the desks had gone. They were puzzled, but were in no position to worry about a missing desk.

  Todd had an idea, but he realised that his knowledge of science was insufficient to understand the likely outcome of his little experiment. Still, what did he have to lose?

  ***

  Phil Clemens had managed to contact Jez in the other staircase and they agreed to leave the stairwells together on the count of three. Jez counted down, and they all pushed into the corridors. On opposite sides of the core the mercenaries each saw four doors. Just as before, each team had its job to do, even though they were down to six men in total from twenty two just thirty minutes ago.

  The mercenaries had cleared the first two rooms on Todd’s side of the building and were now gathering to clear the third room, which was now occupied by Todd and Max. With just a few rounds left in his machine pistol and half a magazine in his Desert Eagle, Todd knew they could be in trouble.

  With only emergency lights glowing, the corridor was dark and foreboding, but Phil and his three colleagues were familiar with this type of urban warfare. They crept along, weapons raised, as they headed towards the third of the four doors on their side of the building.

  ***

  Jamie struggled into her apartment, which enjoyed a great view of the Gulf when it was light, but now it was dark, and the lights of the beach residences spilled orange light into her room.

  In her apartment, Jamie’s three seat sofa was placed with its back towards the
patio doors which led out to the balcony. Jamie slid behind the sofa and withdrew her father’s old pocket knife. A lump formed in her throat as she thought of her father and his recent demise. She would never have thought that she could be joining him so soon.

  Placing the sharp blade under the bottom seam of the fabric that covered the back of the sofa, she slid the blade along, cutting though the stitching. When she had cut around half of the length she lifted the fabric flap and slid into the wooden framework of the sofa, letting the fabric fall back into place behind her. She reasoned that they could never be sure which of the eight rooms she would be in, and so they would not spend too much time in each room. Perhaps her concealment would work. In any event, she need to rest. She felt tired, so very tired.

  ***

  Todd sighted his target and hoped that he would get his shot off before he came under fire himself. The three men were now level with the bank of lifts and were moving very cautiously, one on point, three behind. Just as the first man passed the lift that had been wedged open, Todd fired a single shot.

  Clemens saw the muzzle flash, and returned fire before falling to the floor, a move that saved his life. Just behind him, Todd’s 9mm parabellum punched through the thin metal skin of the fire extinguisher. The pressurised container exploded, firing the valve with explosive speed and force into the ankle of one of the mercenaries. The mild steel valve passed through the flesh and bone without noticeably slowing and buried itself in the opposite wall, but in the meantime it had severed a man’s foot.

  The remainder of the canister disintegrated into sharp fragments of metal which flew across the corridor and forced themselves into the walls and ceiling, and shredding human flesh and bone. By the time Phil Clemens felt the sting of the fragmented extinguisher penetrate his boots and trousers, two of his men were dead and one was missing a foot.

  Clemens fired a volley into the door that had been concealing Todd, and plaster dust bloomed around Todd’s eyes, temporarily blinding him. A raging Phil Clemens kicked the door open, catching Todd kneeling on the floor and knocking him onto his back. Todd instinctively rolled behind a desk for cover as the intruder kicked Todd’s guns to one side and checked the room for other targets.

  Todd rubbed his eyes and coughed. Plaster dust covered his flour white face and choked his windpipe.

  “Todd Michaelson, this next shot is going to earn me a quarter of a million dollars,” Clemens snarled.

  “I don’t think you’re going to get that much for killing a Pommie journalist, mate.” The voice was coming from behind a partially closed bathroom door. The door was open just enough for Clemens to see another man reflected in the bathroom mirror. He was holding a pistol.

  Confused for a moment, Clemens redirected his automatic weapon toward the bathroom door, before taunting his target.

  “Well, the brave Aussie hides in the bathroom, while his friend takes a bullet for him.” Keeping his eyes on the bathroom door, he pointed the long barrel of his rifle at the head of the man on the floor.

  “Come out here, after throwing your gun out, or I shoot your friend right now.”

  In his best British accent, which Todd later described as “Home Counties” but which sounded more like a cross between something one would hear on Eastenders and Coronation Street, Todd said, “Don’t do it, Michaelson, he’ll kill us both.”

  Clemens swung the butt of his gun, catching Todd on the side of his head. Todd collapsed in a heap, and Clemens smiled.

  Slowly the bathroom door opened a little further, and Clemens sighted his weapon, looking down the barrel at the bathroom door. The handgun came out of the door and landed on the floor.

  “OK, I’m coming out, hands on my head. We need to talk before you kill me.”

  The Australian accent was precise, and Todd could hardly believe it wasn’t him who was talking. Max’s gift for mimicry was legendary.

  “Yeah, come on out and we’ll talk,” Clemens said, without taking his eyes from the target. As soon as he had a killing shot he would take it. He didn’t want to hear anything the Aussie had to say.

  Just as the bathroom door opened wider, and Clemens slowed down his breathing to take his shot, he felt an incredible pain in his leg. As he looked down he saw a fountain of blood shooting out of his femoral artery, and saw the floored man holding a fearsome looking knife, the blade stained red with his blood. Phil Clemens turned the gun towards the real Todd Michaelson, but Todd knocked the barrel away just as Clemens pulled the trigger.

  Ordnance was fired into the floor and into furniture in an uncontrolled burst. In the midst of the ricocheting bullets, a body flew through the air, knocking Clemens to the ground.

  Disarmed and unable to defend himself, Phil Clemens clamped his hand over his open femoral artery in a vain attempt to stop the bleeding. Max held the mercenary’s gun, pointing it in the general direction of the dying man. Todd spoke, using his natural accent.

  “This is the second time I’ve had to call Vincente Polletti to tell him his paid lackeys have failed to kill me. Don’t mind if I use your phone, do you, mate?”

  Clemens merely snarled by way of reply, which Todd took as confirmation that his guess as to who ordered the attack was correct.

  ***

  Jez and Scotty were entering Jamie’s apartment when they heard a loud bang from close by, and men screaming. Scotty wanted to rush off to their aid, but Jez held onto his arm.

  “Let’s finish off here first,” he said in a whisper. Together they cleared the lounge and the second bedroom. They had the master suite and en-suite to clear next. They were moving to the door when a dark shadow passed over the balcony.

  “You take the master suite and I’ll check the balcony.” Jamie heard the exchange, and saw Jez’s feet through a tiny gap in the flap of fabric which was concealing her. The patio door slid open and she felt the warm air flood into the air conditioned room, and heard the thrumming sound of rotor blades. She was just feet away from her would-be assassin.

  Jez Breaman uttered an expletive when he realised that the dark shadow had been caused by a helicopter passing between the balcony and the ambient light cast by the Jumeira Beach development. He guessed that their time was up, and that they needed to get away.

  Jamie could hear Scotty in the master suite and realised that she had just one chance. Her hiding place would be discovered as soon as Jez came back in and saw the back of the sofa flapping. Lifting the flap and trying to focus her ever blearier vision, she levelled her gun and used her three remaining rounds trying to disable Jez by shooting into his legs. She would then have a machine pistol in her hands.

  Such was her condition that only one bullet hit the target, passing through Jez’s thigh. The other two rounds missed him, shattering the glass panel which protected the tenants from falling from the balcony. Realising that she had not disabled her quarry, she rolled out of her hiding place and, using the last of her reserves of energy, she placed her feet behind his knees and pushed.

  Jez’s knees buckled involuntarily and his feet slipped out into the void left by the shattered glass panel. He landed on his bottom and let out a cry as his bullet wounds tore open a little more. Desperately searching for a hand hold, he grabbed at the slick round aluminium handrail, but his fingers soon slipped off it. With his hips acting as a fulcrum, he was precariously balance on the edge of the concrete slab that formed the floor of the balcony. Reaching out for something to save himself, all he could find was the smooth marble tiling. With one last effort, Jamie stretched out her foot and tipped the mercenary over the edge and into the dark abyss.

  Jamie heard him screaming for the first eight floors, as he fell with his back facing the ground. When he reached the third floor, the balcony of the Spa area jutted out, and his neck hit the handrail at such velocity that his head was detached. As his decapitated body crashed onto the foyer roof, his head bounced around obscenely like a discarded football, until it came to rest in the roadway.

  Scotty had heard th
e commotion, and was now standing over a semi-conscious Jamie. Letting his gun hang loosely on his hip, he withdrew his K Bar knife and leered at Jamie.

  “I want you to be alive and feeling every second of pain when I gut you, bitch!” he spat as he stepped forward to kill the helpless American.

  Jamie wasn’t sure if she was awake or asleep, whether she was hallucinating, or whether it was real, but in the second before he attacked her, the Scotsman’s head exploded in a mist of red. Jamie passed out.

  Chapter 23

  Fasil Tower, Media City, Dubai:

  23rd February; 7:56pm.

  Ambulance in the Basement

  Jamie was out for the count and, having been heavily sedated, she had saline drips and plasma dripping into her arms via tubes and needles. A paramedic had confirmed that she had two bullet wounds, both through and through, but he could not be sure what damage had been inflicted internally. Nonetheless, the wounds were temporarily sealed and the bleeding had stopped.

  Todd had been treated for his own injuries and was now sitting upright, dabbing his eyes with sterile fluid. Max was the only one of the three on his feet.

  “What happened to Jamie?” Todd asked, immediately adding, “She’s going to make it, isn’t she?” before Max had a chance to respond.

  “We won’t know exactly what happened until she wakes up, but it looks like she was shot defending the staircase. Some bloody great Scot was about to kill her with his knife when some commando type dressed completely in black blew his head off. At least, that was what the Brigadier was saying to the Sheikh.”

  Todd was moved off the tailgate of the ambulance and, with Max’s assistance, he stood shakily and watched as the doors closed and Jamie was driven off to Healthcare City.