Roadworks

by Gerard Readett

  Several metro lines were still without power. It was only when I checked the third that we had the first break of the day. One track had been repaired, the most important one, Ring line. I quickly brought the metro trains back on-line, and, using the mainframe, initiated the start-up program. Within minutes, Ring line would be running again, admittedly a little off schedule, but working, nonetheless.

  Hang on!

  Something was wrong here. Well, given the turn of events today, nothing should surprise me. I thought it out, but quickly came to a dreadful conclusion.

  I hope not. That changes things. A lot.

  No point in crying wolf before being certain. I gave it five minutes, by which time the metros on Ring line were working as expected. Aghast, I closed my eyes and whistled softly.

  Martin wheeled his chair over, and frowned questioningly.

  "Martin, Ring line is working."

  "Yeah, good." He was about to move away.

  "I initiated it from here."

  "Yeah, so?"

  Enough messing about, this was serious. If I was right, then today was not over by far.

  "Did you login?"

  "What? No, I just started--" His voice trailed off, and a look of horror crept into his face.

  "Michaux!" I yelled. Worried, he rushed over. "The OPA had control functions."

  "Okay." He thought about this for a while. "And what does that mean?"

  Maria stepped over. "It means, sir, that the OPA had help from someone who knew the passwords of the backup TMC computers." She had obviously been listening in.

  Michaux understood this time. "So someone who works at the TMC did help them."

  Return to Contents

  * * *

  Chapter Sixteen

  12.30 p.m. (OPA DEADLINE)

  The downtown Sightways Hotel was situated just below Central Station. It was a very effective location, since one of the biggest tourist attractions was nearby. Buildings dating back to the 15th Century surrounded the 'Grand Place', one of the oldest and most beautiful squares in Europe.

  A short man in a dark jumpsuit, wearing a large and apparently full backpack, stepped calmly out of the lift. He glanced to his left, then his right. Seemingly satisfied, he moved down the corridor of the thirty-fourth floor of the Hotel. He motioned silently at the lift, and another identically dressed man emerged.

  This man was a little taller, but looked younger, and sported a set of long sideburns. He tiptoed rapidly until he had joined his colleague beside the door to room 3405. Turning his wrist, he checked the number that had been taped there.

  Room 3405 was the room number they had been given by Wellens as the location of the courier, one of the four United States servicemen carrying a piece of the new laser they would be presenting later at the NATO conference. Their job was to take possession of this one piece to hand it over to Wellens. There was just one unusual proviso. Wellens had been adamant. None of the servicemen were to be killed. His plan was going to be complicated enough without having to deal with the trigger-happy secret service. They would still pursue the thieves, but probably not with as much gusto as if some of their fellow countrymen were killed.

  Shorty moved up to the door, putting his face right up against the eyehole. Sideburns turned and leaned his backpack against the wall, out of sight.

  Room 3405 was a suite with two other rooms running off the main one. Inside the courier's room, there would be at least two other servicemen. The adjoining rooms of the suite would hold three each. Eight against two. And that would be for about twenty seconds, the time for the fifteen other soldiers, located in rooms on the same floor, to arrive. The only advantage they would have would be surprise. They had mulled over this moment for a long time, and they had found only one way to succeed. It would have been easier if they had been allowed to carry machine-guns with live ammunition. Instead, they had the equivalent: semi-automatic rifles that could shoot five darts in the space of one second each time the trigger was pulled. Each dart had been filled with some kind of fast-acting sleeping agent, but they had been spared the details.

  Shorty stood on tiptoe and looked through the eyehole. With his left hand, he signalled to Sideburns to take the left-hand side of the room. Pointing to himself, he indicated he would take the right, then he made a motion like someone lifting up a suitcase, and pointed to himself again. Sideburns gave him the thumbs up, and readied his weapon.

  Shorty checked his earplugs, then swung his rifle from his back. He looked one last time at his colleague, then dug one hand in his pocket and extracted a stun-grenade. He faced the door, and knocked.

  Sideburns waited until Shorty pulled the pin on the grenade before moving. He stepped to the other side of the corridor, and spun round. Bending over, he ran forward and hit the door with his shoulder. Whoever was behind it was thrown backwards into the room. Sideburns continued his charge, and noticed the stun grenade sailing over him.

  He put his right hand to the ground to help him stay upright. Ahead of him, two men were reaching for their guns. He aimed at them, and fired twice. Both men collapsed instantly. Feeling a tap on his shoulder --Shorty indicating he was beside him-- he ran forward towards the window. As he ran past the entrance to the left-hand room of the suite, he kept his finger on the trigger, spraying darts inside. Shorty would be doing the same thing for the right hand room.

  Once past the entrance, he dropped his rifle and glanced round. Shorty was still running forward with him, but was stooping to pick up a long case --the one they had been told would contain the laser piece. Sideburns turned to face the window again, where he noticed a round wooden table. Without slowing down, he lifted it up, and, using it as a shield, he jumped.

  The table took the brunt of the shock as the window shattered, and together they both sailed out and down. Sideburns shoved the table away and looked below him. The ground was rising up to meet him, but it didn't seem to worry him. He reached for his chest, and grabbed the rip-cord of the parachute on his back. Picking up speed with each second he delayed, he nevertheless waited until the last possible moment before pulling.

  He felt the tug as his parachute opened. Five seconds later, he landed and rolled over. He undid the straps, and jumped to his feet. Shorty already had his parachute open, and would land just beside him. Sideburns raised his arms, and caught the case as his colleague dropped it. He grabbed the handle of the case, and ran towards a parking lot, stopping in front of a powerful motorbike with a large carry bag. He put the case in and strapped it down. As he started his engine, Shorty swung a foot over the motorbike beside his. They drove off together and out into the street. The cars in the traffic jam took up most of the road, so they took to the pavement. The pedestrians could hear them coming, and jumped eagerly out of the way. Shorty and Sideburns roared away with their prize.

  ***

  We spent two hours bringing each train track and metro back on line as soon as repairs on it had been completed. Unfortunately, that still left us the road traffic, still stuck in complete gridlock. Exhausted, I hauled myself up and headed for the kitchen. I downed the first coffee in one, and took a refill, then collapsed into one of the couches. With a moan, I rested my feet on the knee-high table.

  What a day!

  I had experienced stressful days before, but this one certainly got the blue ribbon. I wondered how Patrick was holding up. Today would probably be the equivalent of two months training.

  I was nodding off when Michaux and Maria sat down opposite me. Why did no one leave me alone?

  Under Michaux's disapproving stare, I sat up and took out a cigarette. Lighting it, I studied them. From the intense expressions on their faces, they either had something important to tell me or to ask me.

  Maria was the one who started. "Hugh, we've got something to tell you."

  "Why me? Tell Martin. At least he's still got the energy to work."

  "Because you're the one who has followed everything from the beginning. Also, you found the location of the O
PA when no one would believe you, and you've now unearthed another important piece of the puzzle."

  "We're playing games now?"

  "Look, you've been invaluable to this city and to Michaux and his men, despite what the Bourgmestre says."

  Michaux interrupted, "Right, if we've finished with the ego-boosting, we can move on. Hugh, you will agree that someone who has access to the passwords helped the OPA?"

  "I think that's what I meant when I said they had control functions."

  "Sarcasm doesn't befit you," Maria interjected.

  "What does befit me, then? A stupid lop-sided smile? Don't forget the Bourgmestre's advisor doesn't take us too seriously."

  "Hugh, you disappoint me."

  "Why? Because I say what I think? I'm worn out, and the day's not yet over. I've been called a fool by the city's highest office, shot at, and now, before we all go home, someone is going to want to question all the controllers. So, if you don't mind, I'll remain irritated."

  Michaux smirked. "Nice speech. Things being what they are, we still have a problem."

  "And what is that, pray?"

  Michaux left us momentarily, then came back from the TMC carrying a palmtop PC. He placed it on the table, but with the screen facing away from me. I frowned at him.

  "We have identified the sniper who shot Burlet and the OPA terrorist we captured. We contacted the TMC, and went through the personnel photographs."

  Obviously, they were expecting me to react in some way. I couldn't stand the tension any longer, I grabbed the PC and spun it round.

  What! My first reaction was to dismiss this as a practical joke. Without having to look at Michaux's grim features, I knew this was far from a joke.

  Incredible. I had thought the surprises were over today. Apparently not. The face that looked back at me from the screen was very familiar. I had seen it no later than this morning. I never would have thought him capable of the things we witnessed. I stared at the face intently. It looked innocent enough, but this was the face of the man who had betrayed the TMC, the Transport Authority and the city. The man who had turned this city over to the OPA.

  The face was that of Stephane, my colleague doing night shifts.

  Stephane and I had both started work on the same day, at the Transport Authority. Although that meant we were always in different teams, never working together, a kind of closeness had developed. During shift handovers, we spent more time chatting to each other than to other colleagues. With others, Stephane never talked about personal matters, but he constantly complained to me about his successive girlfriends. His record for a relationship stood at the moment at a month and seven days. Usually, he told me he became tired of his girlfriends' nagging and constant demands. He was born in Belgium, and so spoke French fluently.

  He had even admitted to me that he spent much of his time off work gambling. Racetracks, casinos, betting shops, he visited them all. However, he never told me whether he ever won or lost. Sometimes, I noticed a new jacket or new shoes, but nothing extravagant. Either he didn't bet high stakes, or he won nearly as often as he lost.

  All these things together had convinced me that we had the beginnings of a friendship going. For some reason we never managed to take it further. On several occasions when Sarah was alive, I had invited him over for dinner, but he always had an excuse ready.

  In the last six months though, he had invited me several times to join him for a drink, and I had gladly accepted. That is what made the facts harder. The colleague I had taken for an earnest, reasonably intelligent young man with an unusual hobby hid the real Stephane.

  What exactly that meant I don't know, but from what Michaux's men said the sniper had shot Burlet, as if he did things like that every day. Stephane had hidden his game well from us in the past weeks. Even knowing someone from the TMC had helped the OPA, I would never have thought of Stephane. The way Nys had been obstructive today, I had started to suspect him. Stephane must have known this. He was devious as well as callous.

  The last six months he had done his best to become my friend. That could only mean that the OPA attack and his role in it had been planned long in advance. He must have known he would work during the night shift, and I would relay him in the morning. Which would explain why he was in such a hurry this morning. The bugs in the TMC must have been his doing, too.

  "Have you caught him yet?" I snarled at Michaux.

  "No. He's vanished without a trace."

  "Great, just great," I muttered. "What about the black guy from the laser disc? The one who made his speech about the depredations of the western world?"

  "As you yourself noticed, it was a computer-generated image. But somehow I don't think we've yet encountered the leader of the OPA."

  Refilling my coffee mug, I remembered something that had seemed off-key. "The OPA had everything well planned. Didn't they?"

  "Down to the last detail."

  "Then why was it so easy for you to eliminate them? Didn't they even put up a fight?"

  "That's something I've not told you yet," Michaux said. "They had a defence system installed against intrusion. At the entrance, they had tripwires connected to claymores, pressure pads linked to wads of C-4 and proximity mines. All of it brand new military issue. They had enough firepower to blow themselves and us to the moon and beyond."

  "What happened then?"

  "All the traps had been deactivated. The tripwires were severed, the pressure pads were linked to deactivated bombs, the proximity mines were not armed, and the defence system itself--the motion detectors and heat sensors--had been switched off. They had the best defence possible, as good as the army would be able to come up with to protect a strategic location. Yet, when we did attack, they had no idea we were there until we were practically in the TMC."

  "What? That's insane."

  "No, that's what Stephane must have been here for. To deactivate the defence system."

  "Why?"

  Return to Contents

  * * *

  Chapter Seventeen

  2h45 PM

  Finally, it looked like things were calming down. The slowness with which the traffic network was being repaired was frustrating but expected. So much damage had been done that the repair teams were working flat out.

  We had eliminated the threat of any more buildings collapsing onto the traffic jam. Still, I could not escape the feeling that we had overlooked something. Thinking back, that had happened a lot today. We were a tad slow. I really don't think anyone can blame me, though. After all, for me a crisis was a car crash with no ambulances immediately on hand. Terrorists and collapsing buildings were not on the job description when I had applied. Others today, had not been quite up to specifications.

  The OPA had planned meticulously to ensure the maximum inconvenience. Firstly, they had managed to cut power lines to trains and metros. I would certainly like to know how they managed that.

  The only mistake they had made was the slip up when one of their trucks misfired. If they had continued talking about sixteen trucks, we would still be negotiating with them. That kind of error was, if not inevitable, at the least understandable. Keeping the timing correct on such a convoluted plan must have been a nightmare. They had even planned for the unlikely event that we discovered where they were, and they were ready for us.

  It was at this point that I did not follow. They installed all their defences, and then forgot to switch them on. That was too much to ask, not consistent. They planned the paralysis of Brussels, and then made a huge blunder like that. Not very likely.

  Either the OPA did not have the skills to plan this well, or someone else had come up with the plan, and brought the OPA on board. Which would mean that someone switched the traps off after they had been primed.

  Or, as Maria and Michaux would have it, the OPA were very good planners, and were confident that their defences were adequate. Which still meant that someone switched off the defences at the backup TMC. So, in both cases, Stephane was an important piec
e of this mess.

  Martin waving at me brought me back to practical issues. He showed me two of the major crossroads at the outskirts of the city; two of the fifteen crossroads where the OPA had delivered their booby-trapped trucks, to prevent egress from the city once the traffic jam was in full swing. The fire brigade had reopened them; the others were still contaminated or unusable owing to explosion damage. What with the one undamaged crossroad and the two newly reopened ones, we were able to start relieving the traffic jam, albeit very slowly.

  When it came to the OPA, I had to trust Maria and Michaux. They were more experienced than I was in these matters. So, if they were right, and the OPA had recruited Stephane to help them paralyse the city, there was another inescapable fact. He did not want them alive to talk to us. He made sure that when we attacked, the defence system of the OPA would be down. That alone would not ensure their deaths. Michaux's squads are known citywide for their precision and training. They rarely use 'extreme prejudice'. They do not usually need to kill anyone, just injure or immobilise them in some way.

  That would explain Stephane as the loose cannon, starting a shoot out before Michaux gave his orders. With his men caught off guard, he had had no choice, but to eliminate the risk of the OPA making use of their weapons.

  Stephane wanted the OPA dead.

  ***

  The parking below the building where Wellens had his office was dark. The lighting was subdued, and the walls reflected little. It had been a deliberate choice on Wellens' part to ensure people hurried to their cars, without pausing for conversation.

  He exited the lift with Sam, his security advisor and friend, close behind him. At a green Range Rover, he stopped. Sam entered the car to switch on the headlights, then rejoined his employer in the bright glare.

  They stood still until they heard the faint sound of two approaching motorbikes. The sound echoed off the walls down to them. Wellens snapped his fingers, an indication. Sam moved to the rear of the car, opened it, and came back with a small case that he deposited on the bonnet. After that, he took up position next to Wellens once again.