THE BROTHERHOOD

by Steve Jovanoski

  ‘Rafique, tell the other guard you’re taking a break.’

  When Bill pushed the button the guard said with a cracked voice, ‘Ali, I’m going to the toilet.’

  ‘All right, but hurry up.’

  Bill shoved the receiver in his jacket and took out the access card. He ordered his captive to walk inside the building, pressing the gun against his back to make sure there was no misunderstanding. Another guard sat at the reception desk in the middle of the foyer, surrounded by video monitors displaying key points of the building, including the three lifts. The echo of heels hitting the marble floor announced the entry of his colleague and a companion. Glancing at his calendar, he didn’t see any scheduled visits. In an instant he rose from his seat and reached for his weapon, then saw his colleague’s empty holster.

  ‘Don’t move.’ Bill held his captive in a hand choke and used him as a human shield while he trained his gun on the new target.

  The man behind the desk seemed to waver, threatening a tense standoff.

  ‘You’re not getting paid enough to die. Remove your weapon, place it on the desk and move over here where I can see you.’ Bill cocked the trigger. He could tell he was dealing with a proud man, probably ex-military.

  Seeing he was out of options, the guard swore and followed his demands. Bill gave his captive guard a firm shove towards his colleague while he hurriedly walked behind the reception desk. He searched through drawers until he found masking tape and ordered the two to place their hands behind their backs. When they were tightly bound he fastened a strip of tape across their mouths and guided them to a storage area for the cleaners. He ordered them inside the confined space and jammed a metal hook on the outside door handle.

  As he walked back to the front desk monitors he searched the screens for others in the building. On one monitor the oblivious guard strolled outside the building but the other screens showed no activity. Shots of office cubicles flickered in black and white but no room fitted Aazim’s description. In the foyer, apart from the two exits there were elevators and a door leading to the staircase.

  Realising he was on the mezzanine level, Bill headed for the elevators. He pressed the ground button a number of times but the lift didn’t move. He tried swiping the card reader with the access card and the doors finally closed. Within a few seconds they reopened and he found himself in a smaller foyer. It soon became clear which door he was heading for. Out of three only one stood out: a solid-looking fireproof door with a CCT camera above it. He held his gun in one hand and the access card in the other, ready to face the unknown.

  Shit. A prompt for the access code. He moved away from the door and out of view of the camera, removing the receiver from his jacket and switching it on.

  ‘Can you open the data room door for me, I need to come in.’ His attempt to mimic the guard’s accent was terrible but he hoped the static crackle would disguise it.

  ‘Who is this?’

  ‘It’s Rafique. We ordered some food and I’m coming down the elevator but I need someone to open the door. I don’t want to leave it on the dirty floor.’ Bill winced and waited for a reply.

  ‘About time. Just wait there, I’m on my way.’

  He listened to the locks retract and then the door swung slowly towards him. A middle-aged security guard stepped out halfway while holding the door open. Using the butt of his gun Bill knocked the guard hard in the back of the neck before he even realised there was someone there. Collapsing on the floor, the man fell in the doorway, preventing it from closing. A beeping alert was triggered: the door had a warning mechanism when left open for a period of time. Bill pushed the guard out of the way and entered the server room with his gun drawn and senses on alert. Inside, the air was cold and dry and the room well lit.

  Servers, cables and other expensive equipment were housed in racks that were taller than Bill and snaked around the room. Rack rows were arranged in an L shape across the floor and a glass section marked off the observation room. Dubbed the fish tank, it was used to monitor systems, giving occupants protection from the dry cold air generated by the air conditioners outside. No one appeared to be there but Bill didn’t have a view of the other end of the server room from where he was standing. Steam coming out of his mouth from the cold air, he moved towards the first row of racks before deciding to search around them instead. There were only two exit points between the racks and he could easily be trapped if he were to walk through them.

  Sparks and fragments of metal suddenly clanked and dispersed near him as he emerged into an open area. Bullets whizzed past and ricocheted in every direction. He pulled back behind stacked servers and risked a look in an effort to locate the shooter before being forced back by automatic gunfire. He was completely covered from the west side of the room and would have to go north along the racks if he was to get a clear shot.

  He peered around the rack and pulled back instantly; another gunman opened fire and a number of shots came within inches of his head. He protected himself as much as possible from shards of metal hitting him in the face and body. Trapped and too far from the southern exit to make a run for it, he stuck out his hand and fired back randomly. Superior firepower from his enemy chipped away at the metal boxes and shut down his every attempt to fight back, and he knew it was just a matter of time before he ran out of ammo or got shot.

  The observation room was close and the guard had left the door open. If he were to make a run for it he needed a distraction. Looking around the room he saw thick cabling leading to a power source next to the exit door. He heard one of the shooters speaking to his partner in Arabic and the gunfire subsided. He guessed they were reloading their weapons in preparation to surround him and knew he had to move.

  He bent his knees and crouched, and with his back against the rack he put all his force behind him. It slowly lifted off the ground, and it took all his energy to tilt it just enough to make it come crashing down. Gunfire from the west side of the room focused on the rack while he aimed at the power supply and fired five shots. His direct hits demolished the high-voltage cable, killing the lights. He knew he only had a couple of seconds before the generator kicked in and the lights came back on. Bright flashes of erratic gunfire illuminated sections of the room and aimed in his general direction. He ran towards the glass room and threw himself in just as the power came back on, kicking the door closed and withdrawing behind a cupboard. Seeing no escape in the tiny observation room, he realised he was trapped like a rabbit in a cage.

  Outside the fish tank the smoke was clearing and the two gunmen spotted him. Half hidden, each one fired at him, only to find the glass absorbed their bullets, leaving tiny holes and cracks that spread outwards. Had they maintained their fire, eventually the glass would have shattered as it was built to withstand high temperatures in case of fire and not bullets.

  The shooting ceased and from rows of opposite racks two men walked out in the open, guns trained on him. A third man later revealed himself. Bill hadn’t seen Sam for some time but he remembered his cool demeanour from their brief encounter.

  ‘Mr McKane, I’m impressed with your resilience.’ Two-way speakers allowed them to communicate. ‘I wish I had men like you working for me.’

  ‘I do work for you, Sam. You hired me, right?’ Bill reached into his jacket and took out the receiver.

  ‘I’m afraid our contract expired a long time ago.’ Sam turned to one of his men and gave an order in Arabic. They scattered in different directions while Sam approached the door of the fish tank and locked it. He stood in front of Bill and watched him through the glass, cold and detached.

  Bill stared back and saw him for what he was: a template of so many others, intelligent yet irrational. ‘What happens to guys like you, Saeed? The smarter you are the crazier you become.’

  ‘The problem with people like you, Mr McKane, is that you don’t understand people like me. The day you do is the day you will understand yourself.’

  ‘I’m not a religious nut like you.�
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  ‘Don’t offend me, Bill. I’m not a common “towelhead”, as you people call us. The world is changing and Islam is awakening. The West is too preoccupied with secularism and its weak political system to see what the future holds.’

  ‘You mean you’re not a Muslim extremist?’ Bill replied sarcastically.

  ‘Saddam was an atheist in his Ba’ath regime. Just before Iraq fell he enticed the population with Islamic rhetoric. He realised they were no longer motivated by anything else and he wasn’t the only one. Secularism no longer appeals to the Muslim mind and a new regime will emerge: the caliphate.’

  ‘Not all Muslims think the way you do,’ Bill said. ‘Arabs love Western wealth. They won’t abandon their BMWs and skyscrapers for your crazy fantasies.’

  ‘This is where your limited thinking fails you. Western goods don’t interfere with Islamic beliefs. It’s your way of life that’s discarded, not your DVDs and satellite dishes.’

  ‘People will never accept your backward caliphate system.’

  ‘It’s not a system, it’s a way of life. Muslims don’t care for your immoral democracies and degenerate capitalism. The caliphate is ours, our way of life.’

  ‘It’ll be over before you can start.’

  ‘We say when it’s over, and I have no more time for you, Mr McKane.’

  Behind Sam the two bearded men carried four boxes around the server room. Black and the size of desktop computers, the electrical devices came with large digital counters. They placed one in front of him and another next to the exit door.

  ‘What the hell are you doing?’ Bill exclaimed. Getting out of this one was not looking good and he doubted whether Aazim could get backup in time. He searched desperately for live frequency on the receiver but the signal was too weak from so much electrical interference. There was no dial tone on the landline phone: the wire was connected to the power supply, which lay in charred pieces.

  One of the men started a countdown clock on the black boxes.

  ‘You have five minutes before the explosives are triggered, Mr McKane,’ Sam said before he and his men exited the server room.’ Good day.’

  Aazim entered the post office and found a fax machine. ‘This is it,’ he whispered. He placed the printouts in the tray and dialled the number Bill gave him. Ten minutes later he called the director.

  ‘This is Rodney speaking.’

  ‘Hi, this is Aazim. Have you received the files I faxed?’

  ‘Yes, I have but I’ll need a few minutes to confirm the information. Where’s Bill?’

  ‘He’s gone after Saeed. You have to hurry, we can’t waste a minute more.’

  ‘Where is he, Aazim?’

  ‘He went to Aust Global Fund to stop Sam before he leaves the country. I’m going there myself.’

  ‘No, stay where you are. I’ll send my men to pick you up. I don’t want any more incidents.’

  ‘Until I hear from Bill I’m not going anywhere.’

  ‘I will personally attend to this matter, Aazim. Do not take further action, do you understand?’

  ‘I understand.’ Aazim hung up and contemplated his options for a moment. There was nothing more he could do but he wasn’t going to sit around either. Instead of feeling relief that things were coming to an end, he was anxious. He stared blankly at the printouts and wondered what to do. The last page of the transaction list contained a date entry from two days earlier; it was the last one on the list. A large sum of money had been deposited to an aviation company operating private jets based at the Essendon airport, an airfield just off the freeway for light aircraft.

  That’s how he’s leaving the country, Aazim realised. Energised into action, he gathered the printouts and ran outside to hail a taxi.

  Chapter 23

  ‘What’s your assessment?’ Blunt turned to his anti-terrorist team sifting through the data.

  ‘Sir, there’s a lot of information we need to confirm but I believe it’s authentic.’

  ‘I agree. A number of names on this list we’ve suspected and investigated ourselves.’ Blunt picked up the phone and dialled his dispatch officer. ‘Assemble all available units immediately. We’re on our way.’

  Blunt had no doubt something big was happening without their knowledge. The information coming through the fax disturbed him. It was more data than any intelligence organisation would dream of having on such a complex organisation. Further complicating matters was the involvement of his deputy: that was mud in his face. He would never have suspected Barry of sinking to such levels. Information gathered by ASIO on The Brotherhood had either been doctored or wiped. Blunt was surprised at the thin file he received from his agent. Only someone with a high level of security clearance could manipulate data that thoroughly without being noticed, and the evidence led to Barry.

  Bill slammed a plastic chair into the window using all his strength, but not a hint of a crack appeared. He wasn’t surprised, as the glass was thick enough to resist bullets. Remembering his lock-pick kit, he patted his jacket and was relieved he still had it with him. He was also relieved to see that the door had a conventional locking mechanism; security inside the fish-tank was primarily for video-monitoring equipment and access cards. Bill noted the four minutes displayed on the bomb clock and hurriedly inserted a couple of lock picks into the cylinder. A hasty twist caused him to fumble with the picks and drop one of them, and he picked it up and took a deep breath before trying again. A minute later he heard the cylinders aligning, a sound that gave him immense satisfaction.

  Weapon drawn, he rushed towards the exit and out through the lift. Reaching the foyer, he found it deserted. Halfway out and with two minutes to spare, he heard loud banging on doors as he bolted across the marble floor. He realised it was the bound guards. Running back to the storage room as fast as he could, he removed the metal hook, opened the door and pulled them out.

  ‘Get out now, the building’s about to explode!’ Bill screamed.

  The frightened guards swore under their gags and ran past him. Just as they neared the outer exit an enormous explosion shook the building. Fragments of concrete erupted in all directions and the floor in the foyer rose, crumpling from the force of the detonation. A raging inferno underneath released oxygen-starved flames and engulfed the entire interior. A shockwave threw the three men in front of the building, and cowering in foetal positions they covered their faces. Shattered glass and metal debris was blown in their direction before the explosion eventually subsided.

  Bill rose to his feet, dazed and bleeding from a head wound, loud ringing in his ears. As mute as a statue, his brain momentarily frozen, he stood before the devastated site while black smoke curled into the sky. A shadow emerged from the smoke and turned towards him. His body went numb, his breathing became laboured and he could do no more than surrender to his fate.

  Bill felt an arm on his shoulder, attempting to rouse him. The ringing in his ears was slowly fading, replaced by wailing sirens. He could make out the features of the figure beside him but he was uncertain if he was dreaming or looking at a ghost.

  ‘Bill, are you okay? We have to go. Come on, we have to go after Sam.’

  The smoke cleared and he saw Aazim yelling at him, attempting to shake him back into reality. He coughed out the inhaled smoke, his brain clicked into action and his legs obeyed. Holding onto Aazim, he limped away from the building and into the dust-covered government car.

  ‘Essendon airport Bill – that’s how he plans to leave the country,’ Aazim explained. He noticed blood dripping from Bill’s head wound. ‘You want me to drive?’

  ‘I’m okay, a little concussed but I’m okay,’ Bill mumbled as he turned the ignition.

  In the rear-vision mirror he saw other government cars swarm around the building. The director himself arrived, surrounded by a team of armed men. There was no time to go back. He sped through an intersection leading out of the city. Weaving through traffic, he darted in and out of lanes, coming within centimetres of other cars. Th
e smell of heated brakes and burnt rubber filled the car every time he slowed and sped up. Nearing the main road leading to the freeway, he cut through traffic lights when a tram passed through, narrowly missing their vehicle’s rear end. A startled driver rang his bell frantically, throwing passengers from their seats as he tried to bring the tram to a grinding halt.

  Aazim turned to see the havoc they were creating, but he decided that close calls were a small price to pay for stopping terrorists.

  Still at high speed, Bill fought with the steering wheel, struggling to keep the car under control as he turned onto the freeway on-ramp, drifting wide and coming close to the concrete barrier. He eased off the accelerator and regained control but couldn’t avoid clipping two cars, knocking them off the road before reaching the straight.

  Traffic on the freeway was spread along three wide lanes. Bill slammed on the gas pedal and the engine roared.

  ‘There it is!’ Aazim spotted the dark van nearing the freeway exit for Essendon airfield.

  Bill moved into the left lane and gave chase. Closing in on the driver’s blind spot, he recognised one of the men involved in the gunfight but the windows were too dark to make out the others.

  ‘Hold on!’ he warned as he collided with the van’s side, causing it to skid off the road and onto the emergency lane.

  The driver struggled but regained control and their chance to catch them off guard was lost. In retaliation, the other driver swung the van into their car, metal against metal as sparks flew and pieces of mangled parts tore off. The van’s large side door slid open and one of the shooters, brandishing a Kalashnikov, sprayed their car with bullets. But the bursts were random; he couldn’t get a good aim under such conditions. Bill swerved into the side door of the van, causing the shooter to lose his balance and nearly drop his weapon.

  ‘Get down!’ he yelled to Aazim and took his chance, firing two shots over Aazim to strike Sam’s man in the chest.

  In a spasm, the man fired the Kalashnikov, releasing a few rounds before falling backwards into the van.