Gray Salvation

by Alan McDermott

  He relayed the message on the comms, getting double-click replies from the pair in the back.

  At a hundred yards, the car began flashing its headlights. Gray told Doc to ignore them, but the estate car driver yanked the wheel to the left and came to a halt fifty yards in front of them. A large man with a barrel chest climbed out and strode purposefully towards them. Gray prayed that he’d choose the driver’s side. It looked for a moment as if he’d be disappointed as the approaching figure fixed his gaze on Gray, but Doc rescued the situation by leaning out of the window and calling out in Russian.

  The man changed direction and went to Doc’s side of the truck, waving and shouting, and even though Gray only knew a couple of rudimentary words, he could tell the Russian wasn’t happy.

  Gray watched Doc’s fingers tighten around the silenced pistol on his lap, and knew they were seconds away from an unwanted firefight. His own hand moved to the door of the cab, ready to leap out and unleash hell on the other occupants of the car.

  All he needed was Doc’s signal.

  When it came, it wasn’t in the form of a bullet to the Russian’s brain. Instead, Doc snapped off an awkward salute and put the truck into gear as the enemy soldier walked back to his own conveyance.

  ‘What did he say?’ Gray asked.

  ‘Only that my mother was a whoring baboon, and that we should catch up with the others sharpish.’

  ‘I have to disagree with the second part,’ Gray said with a chuckle. ‘Take the next right.’

  Doc followed the directions, and three minutes later Gray ordered him to pull over. The police station was only two streets away, but he’d already ruled out driving straight up to the front gate. The first thing he wanted to do was to try to confirm that McGregor was actually being held there.

  ‘Doc, you and Sonny get as close as you can to the jail and let us know what you see. If you come across anyone, try to talk your way out of it, but if it goes pear-shaped, we’ll be thirty seconds behind you.’

  Gray crawled over to the driver’s side as Doc got out with Sonny. ‘Don’t forget, eyes on only. No hero shit.’

  Doc Butterworth and Sonny walked casually around the corner, the dead Russians’ AK-47s carried casually in their hands. Lurking in the shadows would have drawn too much attention, but walking the streets in full uniform made for perfect camouflage.

  They didn’t come across anyone as they neared the street in which the police headquarters stood, but when they turned the corner they saw major activity. Russians were carrying their dead out into the street, overseen by a large man sporting a grey beard. Five bodies lay on the ground, and Doc could see another being brought out of the building.

  ‘Lots of activity here,’ Sonny said into his throat mic. ‘They’re clearing out the dead and seem to be in a hurry.’

  ‘Any sign of Mac?’ Gray replied.

  Doc watched the bearded man, who continually looked at his watch and seemed agitated. ‘It looks to me like they’re still waiting for him to turn up.’

  ‘Give me numbers,’ Gray said.

  ‘I count fifteen here. There could be more inside.’

  ‘Roger that. Wait one.’

  Sonny backed away from the corner, signalling Doc to follow.

  ‘I prefer the idea of taking them out in the open,’ Doc said.

  ‘Me, too,’ Sonny agreed, ‘but it’s Tom’s call.’

  It had been sheer luck that none of them had been killed storming the police station hours earlier. Doc had dressed Sonny’s shoulder wound, which hadn’t been as bad as first thought, but they didn’t dare push their luck by storming back into the bowels of the police building.

  ‘Sonny, Doc, on me. Now!’

  Both men broke into a sprint. ‘What’s happening?’ Sonny asked as he ran.

  ‘There’s a truck approaching,’ Gray said. ‘Hopefully with McGregor in it. We’re going to stop it and we’ll need Doc to do the talking.’

  Doc turned a corner and saw Gray and Smart standing near their own vehicle, which had been moved to form a roadblock. In the distance, a similar vehicle was approaching.

  ‘When they stop,’ Gray told Doc, ‘tell them the building was booby-trapped and is out of commission. You’ve been ordered to take the prisoner back to Russia.’

  ‘Can do,’ Doc said, walking towards the approaching truck and waving it down.

  Sonny walked over to one side of the road with Smart, while Gray took the other.

  Doc held his Kalashnikov across his stomach, hiding the bullet hole in the jacket that he’d taken from one of the corpses, and continued to wave with the left hand. The truck pulled up in front of him; the front passenger jumped down, clearly irate.

  ‘What the hell are you doing?’ he shouted in Russian. ‘The colonel is already pissed off that we’re so late.’

  ‘How come?’ Doc asked.

  ‘We had a puncture and some thieving hound had stolen the tool kit. We had to wait for someone to bring us a replacement.’

  ‘Just as well. Those bastards left a bomb in the police station,’ Doc told him. ‘It killed ten people and the building is unsafe. We’ve been ordered to take the prisoner back to Moscow.’

  The Russian’s eyebrows narrowed. ‘I’ve never seen you before. What’s your name?’

  ‘Markov,’ Doc told him confidently. ‘We were sent in from Orsk when we heard about the attack. Do you have the prisoner or not?’

  The Russian pulled a radio from his pocket. ‘I’ll call the colonel and confirm it with him.’

  ‘Don’t waste your time,’ Doc said. ‘He was one of those killed in the blast.’

  Doc silently urged the man to believe him, knowing that if the call were made, the charade was over. By this time, three men had jumped down from the back of the truck and two of them were walking towards Doc, demanding to know what was causing the hold-up. The other was shouting at Gray, who merely shrugged his shoulders. The situation was falling apart, but when the first Russian placed the radio to his mouth, Gray knew the ruse had failed completely. In seconds the truth would be out, and every enemy soldier in the area would converge on their position.

  Doc brought his rifle up and sent a round through the chest of the Russian closest to him. The radio clattered to the ground as the man clutched his chest, and Doc was already shifting to the next man.

  Almost simultaneously, Smart took out the passenger in the cab while Gray made short work of the Russian who’d been walking towards him. Sonny helped mop up the other two foot soldiers and ran to the back of the truck. Two more men were jumping out, but rounds from Sonny and Smart ensured they were dead before they hit the ground.

  ‘Mac, stun grenade!’ Sonny shouted.

  Seconds later, the canvas sides of the truck billowed out as the blast assaulted the senses of those in the back. Sonny had already discarded the rifle and had his silenced pistol in his hand as he clambered up the tailgate. He saw McGregor, arms secured behind his back, with his foot against a Russian’s throat, pinning him to the opposite seat. The dazed Russian was trying in vain to reach his rifle on the deck. McGregor, who appeared to be immune from the concussive blast, looked little the worse for wear, though he’d taken a bloody injury to his wrist, which hadn’t been treated and so bled freely.

  ‘What’re you waiting for?’ the big man growled.

  Sonny’s pistol popped, ending the struggle, then he ushered McGregor to the rear of the truck.

  ‘Len, give me a hand!’

  Smart appeared instantly and together they helped the Scotsman over the tail and onto the pavement, taking care not to jostle his wounded arm. Two of the other men lay in the back, groaning, and Sonny wasn’t about to let them back in the fight. Two pops rang out and the moans stopped.

  Sonny grabbed what weapons he could see and threw them out, then searched the Russians for ammunition. What his team had would soon run out, and there was no telling what battles lay ahead.

  ‘Sonny,’ Gray called out, ‘time to go.’


  Sonny leapt out of the truck and at Gray’s order, shot out the truck’s tyres, effectively disabling it. Gray was already in the passenger seat of their own vehicle, with Smart behind the wheel.

  Doc and Sonny gathered up the arms he’d taken from the Russians and threw them into the back. Sonny was first to climb up, and as Doc was pulling himself into the cab, a bullet slammed into the bodywork.

  The next one caught him in the forearm, and he lost his grip, dropping to the ground in agony.

  Colonel Aminev was growing increasingly irate as the minutes ticked by. The last he’d heard, the prisoner had been fifteen minutes out. That was twenty minutes ago, and still no sign of them.

  ‘Yakov, call Andreyev and find out where the hell they are.’

  The private saluted and disappeared outside, leaving Aminev to reflect on the damage that had been done by the small British unit. Forty men confirmed dead, power to the police station disabled. But most importantly, the MI5 agent was gone.

  If Moscow found out, he knew the penalty that waited him. If he were lucky, he’d get a bullet to the head, but he’d been a soldier long enough to know that was wishful thinking. His superiors were unforgiving, and would make an example of him, of that there was no doubt. He himself had come up with some particularly heinous ways of dealing with prisoners of war, and none of them particularly appealed as a way of leaving the planet.

  ‘Sir, I hear a truck approaching!’

  Finally.

  Aminev bounded up the stairs. If he could make the new prisoner talk, there was still a chance they could get Harvey back before anyone heard about the rescue attempt.

  And he knew plenty of ways to get a man to open up.

  As he stepped out into the drizzle, he heard the sound of an engine, but it was idling a couple of streets away.

  What are they waiting for?

  The answer came in the guise of small arms fire, and Aminev instinctively knew something had gone dreadfully wrong.

  ‘Follow me!’ he yelled and, with more than a dozen soldiers in his wake, ran as fast as he could towards the battle. He heard the sound of an explosion as he tore through the side street, and a minute later he emerged onto the main thoroughfare, where two trucks stood.

  Six of his men lay dead, and another wearing the same uniform was climbing into the back of one of the vehicles. He looked for the enemy, but there seemed to be no sign of them.

  Until what appeared to be two of his men emerged from the back of the wagon, pushing a figure in black towards the second vehicle. As he watched, two men jumped out of the first truck, and one of them began spraying lead at the wheels.

  Confusion gave way to rage, and Aminev brought his weapon up. He fired as the last of the attackers climbed into the truck and was rewarded with a scream as the man fell to the ground. He urged his men to open up, and they began peppering the vehicle with automatic fire.

  It wasn’t long before they began to come under fire themselves, and he was conscious of men falling all around him. The British were picking them off at an alarming rate, and he ordered his men to find cover as he retreated to the corner of the building. Metal pinged off the masonry around him, but he stuck his head around the corner and began firing at the tyres. If they managed to get their wounded man and drive off, there was no way he’d be able to catch them.

  ‘Aim for the wheels!’ he shouted. ‘Don’t let them escape!’

  The men followed his lead, but the unerring accuracy of the enemy was taking a vicious toll. He was down to three soldiers, and another cry went up as one of them took a round to the chest.

  Aminev began to panic. If he let the intruders escape, he’d be lucky to live until sunset. He shifted his aim to the man on the ground, but hesitated.

  These people had come to get one of their own. Having rescued him, they came back for their pilot. It struck him that they wouldn’t go while one of their men lay injured on the street.

  The man in his sights got to his feet, cradling his arm as he staggered to the back of the truck. Aminev couldn’t afford to let him climb aboard. He let loose two rounds, aiming for the man’s legs, and was satisfied to see him go down.

  That might stall them for a few more minutes, but Aminev had only two men against a highly trained unit.

  ‘Yakov, get on the radio and order everyone back here, now!’

  Aminev pressed himself further against the wall, offering as small a target as possible, then poked the snout of his rifle around the corner and let off another burst at the truck’s cab. The firing pin came down on an empty chamber, and he switched magazines, conscious of the fact that ammunition would be crucial in this battle of attrition. Fortunately, the dead soldiers around him would no longer need the bullets they’d carried.

  All he had to do was keep the enemy pinned down long enough for the cavalry to arrive.

  Veronica Ellis slammed down the phone and stormed out of her office. On the main floor, the team were working feverishly, still filtering airline manifests and comparing the passenger names with known criminals.

  ‘Where’s Sarah?’ she asked Elaine Solomon.

  ‘She went out to lunch.’

  Ellis consulted her watch and saw that it was just after three. ‘What time did she leave?’

  ‘Just after twelve, I think.’

  It didn’t seem like Thompson to take so long for her lunch break. Most of the time she just had a colleague fetch a sandwich and ate it at her desk. Ellis dug into her pocket for her phone, a sense of unease threatening to overwhelm her.

  The call to Thompson’s mobile went straight to voicemail. She hung up and tried the landline number she had in her contacts list, but after a dozen rings she gave up.

  ‘Is it anything I can help with?’ Solomon asked.

  Ellis put her concerns for Thomson aside for a moment. ‘As I expected, the video of Andrew hit the Internet soon after it was first aired in Tagrilistan. Several of our news outlets have finally picked up on the story and are asking what the government plans to do about it.’

  ‘Maybe that’s a good thing,’ Solomon said. ‘Perhaps now they’ll send someone in to get him.’

  ‘I doubt that very much. The deadline to organise a swap is today, so there’s no time to assemble a team. Once news gets out that we knew he was being held hostage and did nothing about it, the media will have a field day. The opposition leader has already been asking searching questions, accusing the PM of putting money before lives.’

  ‘Well, he’s right, in a way.’

  ‘He certainly is,’ Ellis told her, ‘and that’s the galling part. The PM casts Andrew aside, then denies any knowledge. According to his statement, this was the first the government had heard about Andrew’s kidnapping.’

  ‘Which happens to be utter bollocks.’

  ‘Crudely put,’ Ellis said, ‘though highly accurate. On top of all that, the Kazakhstani president wants to know why the Russian rebels are massing on his border. The home secretary just called me to ensure we stick to that script, especially if I’m called before the ISC.’

  The Intelligence and Security Committee was a panel of nine MPs and Lords who oversaw the work of MI5, MI6 and the Government Communication HQ – not a friendly bunch at the best of times. Ellis could expect a tough time, particularly at the hands of the opposition members.

  That would come later, though. Her priority was to find out where the hell Thompson had gone.

  ‘Give me a list of all known contacts for Sarah,’ she told Solomon. ‘Email, social media, phones – the lot. We need to find her.’

  Chapter 25

  26 January 2016

  ‘I’m getting low,’ Gray said over the comms.

  He was crouching behind the wheel of the truck, which offered more protection than the thin metal of the cab door. Beside him, Len Smart checked the contents of his last magazine and shook his head, and from the rear wheel Sonny reported that he was almost out, too.

  ‘We have to get Doc to cover,’ Sonny added. ‘He’
s taken another hit. He’ll be dead in seconds.’

  Gray peered around the side of the tyre and saw Doc writhing on the ground. His forearm was covered in blood, and he had another nasty-looking wound to the left leg. A glance at the Russian defensive position showed him that the enemy had all the opportunity in the world to take out Doc if they wanted to.

  ‘I don’t think so,’ he told Sonny. ‘Looks like they want him alive, maybe to slow us down.’

  ‘Either way, we’ve got to get him out of here. He needs a medic.’

  ‘Then we need to finish these guys off.’ Gray took out his GPS and quickly worked out a route to get behind the Russians.

  ‘Len, you keep them pinned down. I’ll take Sonny round the back of them.’

  Before Smart could object, Gray ran over to Sonny’s position and tapped him on the shoulder. They both backed away, keeping the large wheels between themselves and incoming fire. When Gray’s back touched concrete, he crabbed to the corner and broke into a sprint, Sonny close on his heels.

  At the end of the street, he took a left and ran two hundred yards to the third junction, then took another left, which brought them out onto the main drag. In the distance he could see the two trucks, and he signalled for Smart to keep up the sporadic gunfire to hold the Russians back while he and Sonny crossed the road. Small arms fire erupted as the Russians responded to Smart’s shots in frustration, enabling Gray to lead Sonny across the street in a hurry. Another left turn and a short sprint later, he came upon the side street where the Russians were dug in. Only three of them. A welcome bit of good news.

  ‘I’ll send a grenade in first,’ Gray said, tugging the pin from the explosive but keeping a tight grip on the handle, ‘then we clean them up.’

  Sonny gave a quick nod and had his rifle up to his shoulder, ready for action. The pair crept slowly towards the enemy, sticking close to the wall and planting their feet carefully. When they got within twenty yards, Gray motioned for Sonny to stop and push himself up against a doorway, then lobbed the grenade towards the Russian trio. It bounced once a couple of yards behind them, and then filled the air with shrapnel, cutting them down. A quick glance at the bodies told him there was no need to check for survivors.