Snatched
Page 17
“YOU ARE UNDER ARREST! DO NOT MOVE!” shouted O’Mara.
The President turned to look at the man who had shouted the instructions and was shot three times. Once in the head and twice in the chest. He fell down dead. His trousers were hanging on to one ankle.
“I said don’t fucking move” snarled O’Mara.
“McGinley, you okay?” shouted Watson.
“Okay.”
Watson and O’Mara put the President into the black body bag that they had brought with them. The body bag was put over O’Mara’s shoulder. Watson carried the President’s laptop and mobile phone and the three SAS men headed down to the front of the palace. Gun fire was still going on around the palace as the two helicopters swooped in overhead, but it was pretty much one sided now. All the SAS men were in the helicopters, including three dead and three wounded. The helicopters took off again and headed north for Turkey.
~5~
The British Prime Minister, the Foreign Secretary and a select few were in a briefing room inside 10 Downing Street. They had been given a running commentary throughout the mission. The Prime Minister had been given the option of a live video link, just as President Obama had had in The Whitehouse during the raid to get Bin Laden, but the Prime Minister had declined. Somehow it just didn’t seem like a very British thing to do. Besides, he had been advised by his legal team, that any video that was made during the raid would be admissible as evidence in any subsequent trail or hearing as a result of the mission. The press and TV media had been put on standby for a press conference and were assembled outside Number Ten waiting for the Prime Minister. They speculated amongst themselves as to the reason for the press conference at this time of night. Some speculated that the Prime Minister was going to announce a declaration of war against Syria. Certainly the public pressure for such a declaration had been mounting. Others speculated that it was going to be an announcement of some top secret SAS raid.
At midnight, British time, the Prime Minister walked out of the front of 10 Downing Street and walked a few yards to a row of microphones that had already been put in place for him. There was slight rain and an assistant held an umbrella over the Prime Ministers head. He had a document in his hand and he was going to read the announcement from the prepared draft. The Prime Minister waited for the gathered press to quieten before he spoke.
“Tonight, members of Her Majesty’s special forces have entered the palace at Latakia in Syria in order to arrest the President of Syria. The mission was successful. However, I have to inform you that, during the arrest, the Syrian President failed to comply with clear and explicit instructions that were given to ensure everyone’s safety, in what was a difficult and dangerous situation. As a result of the President failing to comply with the arrest instructions, he was shot and died of his wounds. His body has already been buried at sea in line with Muslim beliefs. It is with great sadness that I also have to inform you that during the raid to make the arrest, three of our soldiers lost their lives and a further three were wounded. I am told that the three wounded soldiers have injuries that are not life threatening and it is believed that they will make a full recovery. Tonight my condolences and thoughts are with the dead soldiers and their families. The sacrifices that are made by our armed forces in the protection of our country should never be forgotten. Each and every one of them is a hero and we should all be very proud of the men and women in the armed forces of the United Kingdom. Thank you. That is all I have to say.”
An army of cameras clicked and flashed.
“Prime Minister! Adam Bolton, Sky News. You said that the Syrian President died of his ‘wounds’, as opposed to ‘wound’. How many times was the Syrian President actually shot?”
The Prime Minister ignored the question and turned around and walked back inside 10 Downing Street as the press cameras continued to click and flash. The press conference was screened almost instantly all around the world. It wasn’t a long speech, but the political comments and analysis of the speech would go on and on. The new Liberal opposition in the United Kingdom was already calling for an inquiry into the shooting of the Syrian President and, because this was Britain, there would be one. McGinley, Kevin O’Mara and Wiffy Watson would all be called to give evidence at the inquest. They would give their evidence by video link from behind a screen and they would only be referred to as Soldiers A, B and C. They each swore on oath to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. They described the raid on the palace in great detail. They told about the number of Syrian soldiers that they were up against. They described the shooting and explosions and how dangerous the situation was. They each told how the Syrian President was told that he was under arrest and given clear and exact instructions not to move. They told how it was their intention to handcuff the President, but even after being told not to move - he moved! The three special forces soldiers described how his movement was sudden and unexpected and, at that time, they couldn’t see if he had a weapon or even a bomb. So he was shot by soldier B in the self-defence of himself and his colleagues. The inquest heard how each of the soldiers considered the movement by the Syrian President to be a very real and immediate threat to their own lives. All three soldiers conceded that the Syrian President was, in fact, not armed with any weapon. But they stressed that, at the time, they did not know that and any hesitation on their part could have resulted in their own deaths. The inquest and the British public were satisfied.
~6~
The Prime Minister got into bed and sipped at a small glass of whisky. He rolled over and kissed his wife, who was not far from sleep.
“Samantha, do you think I’m a good Prime Minister?”
“You are an excellent Prime Minister, David. I’m very proud of you.”
“When I wanted to become a politician it was because I thought that I could make a difference. I wanted to become Prime Minister for the same reason. I wanted to make a difference to people’s lives. To the things that matter to them - health care, education, employment, transport and services. I will always be remembered as the Prime Minister who went to war in Myanmar and authorized the raid on the palace at Latakia and not for the increased funding I’ve provided in essential services here in the United Kingdom. What do you think, Samantha?….Samantha!”
Samantha was asleep. He kissed her gently on her forehead and finished his whisky before turning off the bedside lamp and finding sleep himself.
THE END
Preview: The Thai Dragon
4th Edition
Edited by Burnie Sinclair
PUBLISHED BY www.booksmango.com
Prologue
Ten years earlier.
The two Irishmen drove through London’s city streets towards the derelict east end warehouse, where the meeting had been arranged to take place. It was a dirty night and the rain lashed down. The traffic was heavy and they were already late. It was going to be Bob Malone’s first meeting with ‘Mad’ Mickey Harrison, the notorious East End gangster.
“Jesus Danny! Put your foot down will yer? I don’t want to keep yer man waiting” said Bob, hardly able to contain his nerves.
“Relax, will yer? Mad Mickey’s not so scary when you get to know him,” smiled Danny O’Brien, pulling up outside the warehouse. “We’re here already.”
The two men walked into the empty warehouse. There were a few rusted chains hanging down from the beams overhead and a few broken wooden boxes. A rat scurried along at the foot of the wall and there were puddles of rain water on the concrete floor. The only light to break up the darkness was the moonlight that crept through the broken roof.
“Mickey! You’re here are yer?” shouted Danny.
“We’re up here Danny.”
Danny and Bob walked up the small flight of concrete steps, holding onto the iron rail at the side. They walked into the room at the top of the steps and could just m
ake out the figures of Mad Mickey Harrison and one of his men.
“Danny, how well do you know Bob?” asked Mad Mickey in a cold tone.
“I met him in a bar six months ago. I told you already. He’s a good man.”
“He’s a fucking copper.”
“He fecking can’t be.” Danny turned to face Bob. “Jesus! You’re a fecking copper are yer?”
Mad Mickey pulled out his gun and pointed it at Bob’s head.
“Fecking Jesus! Help me!” shouted Bob.
Danny ran at Mad Mickey and a shot rang out. It echoed around the warehouse. Another two shots were fired and one man lay dead and another man lay paralysed.
Chapter 1 Sarah Appleby. Tuesday Morning.
It was the constant barking of the little dog in the apartment next door that woke her up. She groaned and gently turned her head instinctively towards the digital clock that sat on her bedside table. She opened one eye and as the red illuminated numbers came into focus she could see that it read 12:00pm.
Sarah’s brain was slow because she had just woken up and she was still a little bit drunk from the night before. She worked it out in her mind. It was 12:00pm midday and she knew that she went to bed at 07:00am. That’s five hours sleep, although she knew that she had been listening to that ‘bloody dog’ next door barking for at least the last two hours. So maybe she had only really had three hours sleep. ‘Anyway, are dogs even allowed in these apartments?’ she silently asked herself. It did not matter, she was awake now. She slowly dragged herself out of the king size bed and walked naked with her eyes still closed to the en-suite bathroom. Either drunk, or with eyes closed, she could always find her way around her apartment. She vaguely recalled last night. She had been out during the evening to one of the more expensive beach front open air restaurants that littered Beach Road, Patong, with one of her older lovers. Later, they had gone back to the apartment and soaked in the Jacuzzi that sat out on the balcony, before she had dressed up for him in stockings and a Basque. They drank vodka and smoked marijuana and they made love on the bed. Sarah had a sexual fetish and liked to take lots of photos of herself with her lovers. Usually, she just set the camera to take photos automatically every 60 seconds. She suddenly remembered dropping the camera last night and, when she tried to turn it on again, all she got was a black screen. That had happened in the bedroom when she tried to adjust the tripod, but they had carried on playing for another two hours after that. She sat on the toilet and sighed as she peed.
She could hear the dog next door still barking and could hear that it had gone into the bathroom too and was barking through the wall at her. During the day the dog had the run of the apartment and one of the patio doors would be left slightly open so that it could go out onto the balcony and use the litter tray. Sarah did not particularly like dogs, but this one was okay. It was a toy dog. It was female and she had heard the owner call it ‘Chi’. Sarah just wished that it did not bark and wake her up every day, but the poor thing was probably bored and knew that Sarah would get up and play with her on the balcony for a while.
Sarah needed a coffee and a cigarette before she could even think about having a shower and getting dressed. As usual she walked around the apartment naked as she put the kettle on and spooned coffee and two sugars into the mug. She sniffed the milk. It still smelt OK, but she would have to buy some more today. She walked through into the open plan living area and caught sight of herself in the huge mirror. Her long blonde hair looked unkempt and strands were stuck to her face. Her eye makeup was smudged black around her bloodshot blue eyes. Her slim body made her large breasts look even bigger. She held them up and admired them in the mirror. Sarah thought that they were her best feature. They were firm and pert and still no sag. But then again, at 21 years of age, there should not be.
“Ughh! You look like shit!” She stuck up two fingers to her reflection and turned around to open the vertical blinds that kept out the bright sunshine.
This was always a great part of her day. She loved sliding open the blinds and taking in the view of Patong through the giant vista windows; the Iconic Patong Tower apartments recognizable by anyone who has ever been to Patong, the palm trees massed in front of the beach and, because she was on the top floor, the fourth, she could even see the sea from here. The rainy season was due to start in another month, but she did not mind because it was a relief from the overwhelming heat. Even in the monsoon rain she loved Patong, she loved Phuket, and she loved Thailand.
The kettle boiled and clicked off. She poured the boiling water into the cup and spilt some onto the black marble work surface as she stirred the over filled cup.
“Oh shit!” she cursed out loud.
She would have wiped it up, but she could not see the cloth. She was still too hung over to look for it, and anyway, the maid would clean the place later. She loved living here. The Patong View Talay Apartments, just off Phrabaramee Road, were an exclusive and executive block of only 14 apartments over four floors. They were only a year old and the residents were still all the original people. The maids, who were employed by the residents of the apartments, were two sisters who had advertised themselves while the apartments were still being built. Now, they had a monopoly on the cleaning and laundry business, which kept their entire family employed and they provided a very good service.
Sarah went back into the master bedroom. The second bedroom had never been used during the last 12 months. She put on her little silk kimono and picked up her cigarettes and lighter. She turned on the digital camera, but the screen was still all black. It was an expensive camera.
“Fuck it!”
She collected her coffee on the way to the balcony. She pulled the sliding doors open and the oppressive heat slapped her in the face as she walked out of the cool air conditioning of the apartment. She would never get used to the heat and humidity in Thailand and. within a few minutes, it was making her sweat.
As always, next door’s dog ‘Chi’ was on the next balcony ready to greet her human friend, yapping and wagging her tail so much it made her whole body wobble from side to side. Sarah leaned over the glass partition that separated the balconies and picked her up. Chi licked her face as Sarah stroked her and said hello. Chi was left in the apartment from 7:00am to 6:00pm five days a week and, although Sarah had never really got to speak to the single Thai lady who lived there, she had made friends with her dog. Some days she would put her in the basket on the front of her motor bike and take her shopping. Other days she might take her to the beach, or just for a walk along the beach front. If Sarah went for a drink in the day time, which she often did, then Chi would sit quietly on the bar top and locals and tourists would make a fuss of her. Chi did funny things and she made Sarah laugh. Sometimes she found herself talking to the little dog and Chi cocked her head to one side as she listened. Although Sarah did not really like dogs, she was big friends with Chi.
She carried her into the kitchen and looked in the fridge. There was some rice from last night. She put some in a saucer and poured some milk onto it and carried Chi and the food outside. Chi ate the milk and rice, as all dogs eat rice in Thailand. Sarah sat at the glass table on the balcony and finally lit up a cigarette and sipped at her coffee. She always enjoyed this breakfast looking out and down to the sea. Each balcony had its own Jacuzzi and it was a great way to enjoy the view. Especially at sunset when you could sit in the Jacuzzi and watch the red sun drop into the sea, silhouetting the palm trees on the beach and any fishing boats that might be floating by on the Andaman Sea beyond.
For a 21 year old it was a life of luxury, but Sarah Appleby was used to luxury. She was from a wealthy family and had enjoyed a privileged upbringing. She was considered by some in her family to be the black sheep. She had dropped out of school at 17years of age and spent the last four years living in Hong Kong, Singapore, Malaysia and, for the last 12 months, in Patong, Thailand.