Per Fine Ounce

by Peter Vollmer

  Croxley and Barkly had, while making their way to the emergency power station, found what they thought to be a weapons or missile bunker, but this was empty and unguarded.

  “As agreed, bombs first, then the rocket,” Peace said. “Let’s stash our packs and the machine pistols — we’ll only use automatics, but make sure the silencers are attached. Get rid of the balaclavas and get out your miniature torches. What we need are those lab coats the techs are wearing. Let’s find a few. There have to be change rooms and an ablution block in here somewhere. We have a few minutes; it’ll take a while before they get the lights working again.”

  There did not appear to be many with emergency torches around them. The group moved swiftly through the confused crowd, keeping to the sides of the building avoiding any with torches. They soon found a group of rooms within the building along one side, with a sign reading Kleedkamers.

  “This is it,” Cherry said. “Kleedkamers — that means change rooms.”

  Swiftly, they entered to find the small passage leading off to two doorways.

  “Let’s not stand on formality,” Peace said and grinned as they entered the men’s room, leaving Croxley out in the passageway.

  They were lucky, there were a few lab coats hanging from a row of hooks, which they quickly put on over their black jumpsuits, taking one along for Croxley. The off-white coats transformed their image, the only giveaway the black jump-boots, which no one would notice. They’d removed their balaclavas and wiped off the black grease from their faces as best they could. Their weapons were concealed under their spacious lab coats. The Semtex charges they placed in the large side pockets of their coats, since they were flat and not much bigger than a hand. Each had two grenades clipped to their chests. Unless someone looked at them closely, no one would notice the odd bulge or two.

  “Find a forklift — I’m sure that’s where the store area will be and no doubt the WMDs. They’d have to have used a forklift to unload them. Jim and I will go clockwise, you and Cherry the other way. Keep in contact,” Barkly said.

  Just then, a voice boomed around them. Somebody was using a megaphone or public-address system. The group listened intently, but it was in Afrikaans.

  “This won’t be easy. They’re saying that they suspect sabotage and that everyone should be on the lookout. Nobody is allowed to leave the hangar; the entrance is guarded. Anybody attempting to do so will be shot on sight. It appears they believe the saboteurs are outside. There are only two entrances, the sliding doors will remain closed as will the missile rail-doors,” Cherry translated.

  “Okay, we still split but we’ll exit as one group when we’re ready. The job’s twofold. Destroy the bomb’s firing mechanism — Semtex charge will do the job. As we discussed, just attach it to the inner workings access plate on the bomb. This’ll destroy the bomb’s firing mechanism. We’ll never have the time or opportunity to disarm the bombs. Only then, will we think about the rocket, okay? Remember, keep in touch.”

  “Are you sure the fuckin’ things can’t explode?” Croxley demanded with concern.

  “Not possible — the explosive triggers aren’t armed or have been removed but you know that, right?” Peace said.

  “Just checking — what about radiation?”

  “Don’t worry about that — we won’t be close,” Peace replied.

  They split. He and Cherry stuck to a demarcated walkway, which was painted on the flat concrete. They walked at a sedate pace, the beams of their torches directed in front of them, hoping that the concentrated light beams would partially blind those approaching from the front or any others trying to take a closer look at them.

  They didn’t have far to go. Just beyond the collection of rooms and offices, which protruded out from the side of the hangar, they found two large forklifts parked side to side. The beams of the torches could just pick out two guards with automatic carbines standing just beyond. Peace thought he could see two bombs — bulbous, elongated metal balls with large metal fins attached at one end. They rested in cradles, stacked two-high, the one stacked on the other.

  “Me left, you right,” Peace whispered. He withdrew his silenced automatic and fired, this immediately followed by another what seemed a hellishly loud bang. The two guards jerked like marionettes and collapsed to the concrete, one of their weapons hitting the floor with a loud clatter.

  “Damn!” Peace hissed. “That was loud. It had to have been heard! Quickly, cover my back.”

  He moved forward.

  They slunk past the two fallen guards, not sparing them a look as they were surely dead. Just when the bombs were so near that he could stretch out and touch them, he was forcefully grabbed by the shoulder and spun around.

  “Wie is jy?[18]” the male voice demanded in Afrikaans. Peace didn’t miss the barrel pointing at his midriff. He wouldn’t even have a chance to bring the automatic’s barrel up since the man was watching the gun in his hand. The man would fire before he could do so.

  In his other hand, he slowly brought the torch around, ready to switch it on and blind the man.

  “Stop!” There was no missing the warning in the man’s voice as he was sharply jabbed in the side with the carbine.

  This was no technician; he was dressed in a uniform, a two-way radio clipped to his belt, an earpiece in his right ear and a microphone attached to his shirt just below his chin.

  Peace wondered whether the others had heard what was transpiring. He could see no sign of Cherry within his peripheral vision.

  “Ek vra weer, wie is jy?[19]” the man repeated, the beam of his torch jerking round, briefly passing the over the contents of the storage area. There was no mistaking the other bombs; these were all here bar one. Peace’s mind was working at lightning speed between wondering where the other bomb could be and how to get rid of the guard when he heard the unmistakable plop of a silenced automatic loaded with subsonic cartridges being fired. The relatively slow-moving bullet struck the guard on the temple, and he actually saw the one side of the man’s head bulge outwards before it exploded, spewing blood and brains. The man went down if struck by a sledgehammer. Minuscule particles of blood and flesh struck him in the face.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Cherry approached out of the darkness into the flair of the guard’s fallen torch, which spread in an arc over the ground. She was still gripping the Heckler and Koch, the horizontal silencer ready to blast any other potential target into oblivion.

  “Thank you,” he whispered.

  She smiled. “You owe me,” she countered.

  “Oh, I can’t wait to repay you,” he said with a chuckle, took her hand, and squeezed it.

  They stood back to back to ensure they had all-round vision and were not about to be overwhelmed by any other surprise who could suddenly appear out of the darkness.

  “Watch out, there’s surely another guard. They wouldn’t just leave one guard with the bombs,” he said.

  He pushed the transmit button on the earpiece.

  “We’ve found the bombs, bar one, which I think is the neutron bomb. We must assume that this is already or about to be put in position on the missile. We are attaching the explosives.”

  “Roger that,” Barkly replied.

  Peace knew that the two men would now be making their way back to where the transport rig was parked, where they’d agreed they would rendezvous.

  As per the plan, it would require only one explosive charge to destroy the missile, provided it was correctly placed. The damn thing was akin to a powder keg waiting for someone to light a fuse. Truly, it would be a spectacular sight.

  They quickly withdrew the explosives from their pockets, each no larger than a square half-pound of butter in size, and a small liquid-crystal display device with a numbered keyboard attached apiece. These they affixed to the inspection panel of each bomb, set to explode in fifteen minutes’ time. They immediately left the makeshift storage area, dodging around various crates, looking for a demarcated walkway, hoping that while
clad in their coats, they did not draw attention to themselves.

  Suddenly, they heard a loud rumbling. Peace soon realised it had to be the huge sliding doors being opened. A gap in the doors had hardly appeared when the rumbling stopped. There was just a small vertical slit between the doors through which the glow from the burning power station could be seen. He knew that without electricity they had to be trying to open these manually. This would take a while, since the doors were extremely heavy.

  The Americans who had blown the standby power generators rendezvoused with Peace and Cherry without mishap, their only concern being the arrival of two Rooikat armoured cars. These were known to be formidable armoured vehicles with all-wheel-drive, fast in virtually any terrain, with multiple machine-guns and a 76mm turret-mounted anti-tank gun. The huge V10 diesel engine’s growl could be heard distinctly above the other sounds of the hangar. The two vehicles stood just outside the access door. Obviously, these armoured vehicles had been called in to assist in finding the saboteurs. Peace had not expected Van Rhyn to have access to such sophisticated vehicles.

  “I’ve a feeling this is going to get worse before it gets better,” Croxley said, as they all lay under the same vehicle rig as before.

  Peace ignored the remark. All of them had undoubtedly realised that any attack on the command blockhouse was now out of the question.

  “Okay, it’s time to leave. The rest of you stay here. Cherry and I will try to set the last of the explosives on that missile. Any explosion close to the external rocket fuel boosters should do.”

  Still dressed in their workers’ coats, they slid out from beneath the rig and strode purposely down the walkway as if they had every right to be there, their weapons well concealed. He was pleased that Cherry was with him, as there was a sprinkling of women in the hangar and her presence lent them a degree of authenticity. No one would be expecting women saboteurs.

  There were more lights around them now as some technicians had procured headlamps. They saw a group of men, two of whom were obviously security guards, manhandling a large portable generator into position. It looked large enough. Peace thought that if connected, it could probably illuminate the hangar’s interior but nothing much else.

  Suddenly there was a piercing whistle — it sounded like an English bobby. Several people began running in that direction.

  Still trying to appear as nonchalant as possible, Peace whispered from the side of his mouth. “It seems that those we killed are no longer a secret. Let’s move.”

  They speeded up their pace towards the gantry, moving past technicians with lights on the lattice walk.

  As they approached the missile, Peace noted two tubes about two-thirds the length of the missile and no more than a foot and a half in diameter clamped vertically to it on opposite sides of the rocket. Peace knew that these were the booster rockets needed to get the heavily laden missile off the launch pad.

  “See those tubes? We need to stick our explosive charge to at least one of them, best between the tube and the missile,” Peace said.

  It was not going to be that easy. The upright rocket rested in some sort of cradle, with the rocket engine’s exhausts at least fifteen feet off the ground.

  He then saw a ladder affixed to the gantry, which would enable a man to climb up alongside the missile, putting him near enough to squeeze the charge into the gap between the rocket and booster tube.

  “Quickly! Give me a grenade!” he said to Cherry who handed it over without question.

  He took it, pulled the pin, and threw it as far as he could into a collection of crates stacked alongside the hangar wall. He then grabbed her and pulled her down. A massive explosion followed together with a bright flash; the shock wave accompanied by fragmented pieces of wood blasting over them.

  He dragged her to her feet. “Now!” he shouted.

  They sprinted the short distance to the gantry and without checking whether he had been seen, he hauled himself up the ladder until the booster rocket’s exhaust tubes were no more than two or three feet just below him. He set the timer to go off simultaneously on a signal from those attached to the bombs and then stuffed the foam and canvas box into the small gap, making sure it was properly wedged in position.

  He slid down the ladder rails like a submariner, back on the ground within seconds. There was no cry of alarm to indicate he had been seen, but Peace noticed a man come nearer with a baffled look on his face, probably trying to work out where the explosion came from. Peace saw the expression change as the man saw them. Thinking the man was about to raise the alarm, Peace never hesitated. With any sense of morality shoved somewhere in the deepest recesses of his mind, he simply pulled the trigger, the bullet hitting the man between the eyes. The shot was hardly audible above the clamour that now pervaded the hangar. The man had barely crumpled to the ground when Peace grabbed Cherry’s arm and made for the exit. They didn’t have more than ten minutes before the lot went up and they needed to put some distance between them and the rocket.

  All other exits were barred and only the gap created between the sliding doors presented an escape route. As a few men cranked on a large handle to get the doors to open manually, the gap was now just large enough to allow a normal vehicle to pass through. Already people were hurrying out through the gap. It appeared that the explosion within the hangar had prompted the guards to allow all those inside to exit the building, completely abandoning the cordon they had placed around the entrances.

  This was not the time to hesitate. Trying to blend in with the others and leaving the impression they were on some errand, they both strode purposely through the gap in the sliding doors. One of the two Rooikat armoured cars still had its engine running powerful headlights trained on the opening. They had no alternative but to walk through the bright light. Peace was very aware that their black combat boots had to be a dead giveaway.

  “Stop! Don’t move,” someone shouted.

  A cold chill passed through his body. The game was up — they weren’t going to bluff or shoot their way out of this one. He reckoned there had to be still nine minutes before the explosives detonated. He stood still, knowing that any movement could lead to them being shot. Van Rhyn and his mob had to be itching for retribution, since their mission was now compromised.

  No one attempted to approach them, however, and they remained standing in the stark light waiting for their adversaries to make a move. There were two or three others who had also stopped, frozen in place. At least two minutes had passed when he discerned one of the black SUVs pull up. Van Rhyn and General Booyens immediately alighted and approached Peace and Cherry.

  “Well, well, if it isn’t Lord Digby and his secretary. Now, why am I not surprised?” he said. He turned to the guards. “Get these bastards into the car and make sure they don’t make a move. Shoot if you have to,” he snarled.

  Peace bit his tongue — this was not the time to make a snide remark. In the back of his mind, the now imminent explosion kept reminding him of what was about to happen. He let the guards rip the radio from his belt and ear and usher him towards the SUV where they shoved him through the door onto the backseat. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Cherry herded to the second SUV and pushed through the rear doors.

  The guards were taking no chances, and they handcuffed his wrists behind him with self-locking plastic cable ties.

  “Lord Digby, or whoever you may be, I’m afraid this really is the end for you. The sooner you’re dead the better and the less trouble you can cause. I’m not really interested in who you are — they say an agent from Britain? Actually, my people tell me you’re Lieutenant Commander Peace of the Royal Navy and now with MI6,” Van Rhyn said, his head just inside the vehicle’s open door.

  He turned to his henchman in the front passenger seat.

  “Shoot him and dump him way out beyond the reef. I don’t want his body found. That’s important and please, no fuckin’ mistakes. The great whites will get him,” Van Rhyn spat, his hatred evident. “The
sharks out there are enormous,” he added, a smile of contempt on his face, this all obviously for Peace’s benefit. “Oh! Give him a last cigarette. Do it away from prying eyes — I don’t want all to see who and what we’ve found and caught. Get them away as soon as you can.”

  Peace kept his expression neutral and managed to show no emotion. “Sorry, don’t smoke,” he said. It could only be a few minutes before the charges blew. “Maybe it would be a good idea if you have a last smoke. I remember when still your guest, that you have a penchant for cigars — not Cuban, surely? It could well be your last.”

  “What do you mean?” Peace saw the man’s cocksure expression change, as if he had just remembered something. “You bastard!” he shouted. Van Rhyn spun round and issued orders in Afrikaans; Peace not able to understand. Guards and technicians scattered as they ran for the hangar. Only Van Rhyn, his personal guards, and the two guards between whom he was sandwiched on the SUV’s rear seat remained.

  The explosion could give him an opportunity to escape, but without wire-cutters or a knife, he knew that any attempt would be futile. He had noticed that the two guards in the vehicle had sheath knives attached to their belts; he needed to get his hands on one of those. The man to his left had the knife attached to his right side. He was Peace’s primary target; all he needed was an opportunity. He looked at the vehicle’s dashboard clock — it could be no more than a minute to the explosion.

  He turned to the man on his left. “Listen, buddy, there’s going to be a helluva explosion soon. Maybe even in the next few seconds. I hope you don’t mind if I lie down over your lap. You know, there’s going to be a great deal of fire and crap flying around. I’d rather not be this close when it happens,” he said nonchalantly.

  “Ry, ry![20]” Van Rhyn shouted to the driver. “Skiet hom nou as julle wil. Maak net seker dat die bliksem vrek![21]”

  With the engine already running, the driver put the vehicle in gear and sped off, immediately making a U-turn, gravel spurting from the tyres as they tried to find traction.