Soft Target 05 - Blister

by Conrad Jones

  “Red troop will take this section of harbour inlets here, and blue troop will take this section here and here,” he outlined an imaginary meridian line to the taskforce troops. They nodded imperceptibly in their NBC masks. Chen couldn’t see them nodding but he knew that if there had been any concerns then they would have been raised.

  “Keep coms to a minimum and team leaders check in to me every five minutes. We will keep the Rovers at a backup distance of two hundred yards. Are there any questions?” Chen looked around the two teams but they remained silent. “Okay let’s go.”

  The taskforce members peeled away from the group in two formations. They moved swiftly and silently like segments of a giant centipede, individual pieces moving as one tight unit. Chen and his unit headed to the right of the Land Rovers. The docks cut into the shoreline in a rectangular shape which formed a small harbour big enough for a dozen trawlers to be moored. To their right hand side the huge looming shapes of four derelict grain silos towered in the distance. The quayside was level concrete crisscrossed by railway lines which once carried steam powered engines up and down the docks towing thousands of tons of coke and coal. Chen pointed to their left which took them across a narrow walkway over a set of ancient lock gates. The team moved between the small harbours without a whisper. They could have been ghosts except for the footprints that they left behind them in the crisp white snow.

  Chen rounded a wide section of the quay, which was piled high with cargo containers of every colour. He kneeled down and held up his hand to stop his unit from proceeding each one of them took up a defensive firing position, and made sure that they were covering the two men next to them. Their tactics had been rehearsed a thousand times on the training grounds so that it became second nature when they were thrust into the theatre of conflict. He thought that he’d heard a diesel engine close by, but when they broke clear of the containers there was nothing moving and the engine was silent. Chen scanned the harbour with his night sight. He trawled left and then right and then left again when something registered in his brain.

  “Major, I need a confirmation description of the lightship that we are looking for,” Chen was focused on a vessel two hundred yards to his right hand side as he spoke into the coms unit. The taskforce had requested digital images of the type of vessel which had been tackled by the river police launch. The water in the harbour looked like it had been disturbed recently by a boat. Water was lapping gently up against the harbour walls as if it had been created by a wake. The ship that he was studying was in total darkness and a thick layer of snow covered the quayside next to it. There were telltale footprints in the snow and tyre tracks on the quay.

  “Roger that, Chen,” the voice of the fat controller answered. “The lightships are usually painted red. They have a plated metal superstructure and they have a large circular compartment fitted above the bridge which will look similar to the top of a lighthouse in appearance.”

  “Roger that. We are in contact range of a ship fitting that description. There are no signs of life at the moment, but there are tracks here. They look fairly recent,” Chen reported what he could see despite his reservations about the suspect vessel being the one that he was hunting. “I need permission to eliminate her from our search?”

  “Roger that, you have permission to proceed with caution,” came the reply. This time it was the voice of Major Stanley Timms.

  “Roger that, Major,” Chen signalled his men to gather around and then he contacted red troop. “Did you get that, red troop?”

  “Roger that, sir. We have the suspect vessel fifty yards to our left,” the leader of red troop replied.

  “Okay, we move in a pincer, red troop take the stern, blue troop will take the bow. Bring the Rovers up to the quay in five minutes from now, check your watches three, two, one, move,” Chen waved a gloved hand and the taskforce men moved in unison toward the lightship. He thought that he could hear a diesel engine somewhere in the distance. They would have to investigate that later.

  As Chen approached the lightship he could see that the footprints in the snow indicated that at least three people had exited from two vehicles. They had boarded the lightship and then climbed up a metal staircase before entering the bridge. Three sets of footprints had also left the vessel and returned to two vehicles. The tyre tracks headed back along the quayside the same way that they’d arrived. The depth and size of the footprints suggested that they belonged to men. Chen didn’t think that the lightship had sailed anywhere for a long time. The bow and stern lines were covered in a thick layer of snow which supported his theory. The tracks in the snow could have been made completely innocently, but they had to investigate it.

  Silently he gave the signal for the two teams to board the lightship, and within a few minutes, they had secured the decks and entered the bridge. Two hatches had been opened and the taskforce penetrated the vessel in silence. Chen led red troop into the bowels of the ship. The further they progressed the more convinced he was that they were on a wild goose chase. He followed a trail of melted snow along a corridor, and then the footsteps headed down into the lower deck. There was nothing on the lowest level except the engines and the fuel tanks. Chen covered an open doorway as his men poured into the engine room. He was the last man into the room and he stopped dead. In the middle of the room was oval shaped box, which was fitted with a small antenna. There was a flashing red light in the centre of the box, which was attached to a plastic type brick of C4. Blue troop entered the corridor behind him from the bow end of the ship. If the plastic explosive was detonated in such a confined space the taskforce men would not stand a chance.

  Chapter Thirty Two

  The Lightship

  The Lightship edged toward the dockside. Cranes lined the harbour walls like giant metal sentinels guarding the city from invaders. The shoreline was a patchwork of busy cargo docks which serviced enormous deep sea tankers, huge berths for the many cruise liners that visited the historic port, and smaller boat repair yards. There were smaller inland harbours which could be reached via a network of canal locks. Along the farthest reaches of the docks there were several boatyards. Many of the boatyards had unused derelict berths on the periphery. Most of the canal locks were rusted shut by the lack of use over the years. They used to carry barges loaded with everything from cowhides for the tanneries, to Argentinean corned beef. All the cargo that was staying in Liverpool had to be transported from the container vessels to one of the hundreds of warehouses that were located further inland. The canal system was entered via a series of lock gates. It had become a mishmash of operational sections of water, and those canals which were unused and therefore remained sealed. About half of them were now mostly stagnant rubbish filled stretches of water that led nowhere. The largest part of the docks was owned by the port authorities but there were long tranches of it which were owned by a myriad of private shipping companies, and many of them had gone bust years ago. The majority of the deserted berths were not maintained at all and had been allowed to fall into dereliction. Christopher Walsh had acquired a covered dry dock that was once part of a boatyard repair business. The berth was covered by a large corrugated iron building which had once acted as a boat shed. Access to the boat shed from the river was gained through lock gates that were nearly as old as the port itself. He had left the lock gates open when he’d set off on his salvage mission in order to save himself some time when he returned.

  Across the rectangular harbour, through a flotilla of defunct trawlers on the port side, was another of his projects. He could barely make her out in the distance. She was a bright red lightship similar to the L2 but she’d been past repairing. Christopher had her bodywork repainted but the engines and superstructure had been condemned. He had decided to use her as bait in the event of a hiccup. As far as hiccups went this one was humongous. His plan had been to leak the details of a suspected terror attack on the London Olympics and then encourage governments all over the planet to buy a counter measure for blister agen
ts. It was a simple plan and he wasn’t sure how it had gone so badly wrong. He mulled it over as he steered the ship toward the abandoned boatyard.

  Christopher sailed the L2 toward the lock gates and thrust the engines into reverse to slow her down. The berth was narrow and had been designed to be used as a dry dock, which would have been utilised to repair ships that had hull damage below the waterline. He allowed the boat to bump up to the quay before turning the diesel supply off and shutting down the engines. He climbed down the steps from the bridge and unfurled the bowline and the stern line one at a time. The ropes were thicker than his arm. The metal gangplank clattered as he pushed it over the side onto the quay and it echoed loudly off the boat shed walls. Christopher ran down the gang plank and tied the anchor ropes to rusted metal rings fixed into the crumbling concrete. He had expected at least two of Uri’s men to be there guarding the boatyard but it was deserted. He looked to and fro at the shadows in the corners of the dark boat shed but there was no help to be seen.

  The lock gates were massive and could not be closed manually by one man. Despite the fact that he was alone Christopher picked up a winding handle and ran to the gates. He was in a panic and had to hide the L2 from view. Across the harbour, he could see the cargo docks and the cranes that belonged to the main port. On any normal night, they would be teeming with men and forklift trucks. The job of unloading and loading the container vessels which used the port was a never ending one, but tonight the docks were quiet and the men that worked there were gone. The snow was piling up on the ships and their multicoloured containers and there was a mist drifting in the air. He slotted the handle into a metal cog and began winding the gates closed. With the gates closed, the L2 could not be seen from the opposite quay or from the river. The rusty metal cog creaked and the gates groaned as they strained against the weight of the river. He breathed in deeply as the exertion began to take its toll. The familiar garlic smell of a blister agent cloyed in his nostrils. He stopped winding and sniffed the air again.

  “Oh my god,” he said aloud. He looked over at the deserted docks again and realised why they were silent. “The vapour has been blown ashore.”

  Christopher dropped the handle and it clanged heavily on the floor. The noise echoed through the dark boat shed. He ran toward the lightship in a panic desperate to get out of the mist and back into the ship where his antidotes were. The noise of a diesel engine approaching stopped him in his tracks and he looked around for somewhere to hide. There was an old oil drum ten yards away from him. It was big enough to hide behind and was in between him and the gangplank. He ran to it and ducked behind it. He saw headlights approaching the boat shed from the dock road and they were close, almost on him. The vehicle stopped outside the building but he could hear that the engine was still running. He heard the locks and chains being rattled and then heavy footsteps stomping to and fro. The main doors which were big enough to fit a lorry through were locked and bolted, but there was a smaller pedestrian entrance at the side of them. He held his breath as he waited for the footsteps to retreat but they kept coming closer. The door opened and he heard the footsteps inside the boat shed. He was sure he’d locked it but maybe he’d forgotten. His breathing was laboured which panicked him further because he knew what it was that he was breathing in. He could hear three separate sets of footsteps. At least he thought that there were three but he daren’t look around the oil drum to confirm it. From his hiding place he could see out of the lock gates and across the harbour. The mist was thickening and the mental images of swollen bloated bodies flickered through his mind as his experiments with blister agents returned to haunt him. The antidotes that he had developed were capable of treating any skin that had been exposed to the agents. The counter measure only worked if the subjects were treated in good time before the skin blistered. He had also developed a tonic which consisted of pure drinking water with eight to ten drops of a chlorine based serum added to each gallon. The water was turned slightly acidic which counteracted the alkaline effects of the blister agent and stopped the throat from becoming blistered. The only thing that he hadn’t developed successfully was a treatment for the lungs. The tissue in the air sacks was so delicate that everything he had tried resulted in the death of the experimental subject. Christopher reckoned that he had half an hour at the most before his lungs were affected beyond repair. He had protective equipment on board the L2 but he couldn’t move from his hiding place.

  Across the harbour in the distance, he thought that he could see movement. He looked again through the darkness and the snow but it had gone. Suddenly it was there again. Brief shadows moving in the dark, almost unseen. He could see a flicker of movement and then nothing. The movement was on the quayside near to his defunct lightship. Someone was approaching the ship in a covert fashion. Christopher realised that there were other people on the docks, and that they were not people that he needed to have a close encounter with. He heard footsteps climbing the gangplank of the L2 and decided that he had to see who it was. He twisted his body around and pressed his face against the rusted drum. The metal felt cold against his skin and it smelled of must and decay. There were three shapes walking up the gangplank. Two of the men were wearing heavy black jackets and woollen hats, and they had gasmasks on. A third person was wearing a full NBC suit. He leaned further over trying to get a better view of the intruders. He leaned his weight onto his left hand and pressed down hard on a shard of broken glass which pierced his palm. He cried out and lost his balance.

  Christopher ended up on his back looking in dismay at the three men on the gangplank. They were fifty yards away from him. He sucked the blood from his wounded hand and waved nervously at the men with his other one.

  “Go and help him,” Uri ordered the two men who had been left behind to guard the boat shed. The two men clomped down the quay toward their boss who was lying on his back in an embarrassing position.

  “Uri?” Christopher asked. “Is that you?”

  “Yes you fool. Get up!” Uri snarled at him. He had completely lost all patience with his eccentric employer.

  “Where did you get that suit? I need to get into the boat and out of this mist. You’re obviously one step ahead of me Uri, you’re not as......,” he trailed off his sentence.

  “What Christopher?” Uri asked. “I’m not as, what were you going to say?”

  “Nothing I was just surprised to see you in that suit,” Christopher mumbled and sucked his cut again.

  “I’m not as stupid as I look Christopher, am I?” Uri finished his sentence for him.

  Christopher remained silent as the two men picked him up and helped him to gather himself. He looked back at the open lock gates. Uri followed his gaze and saw the lightship anchored across the harbour. There were flashlights being played over her and brief signs of movement although it was difficult to see any detail through the snowfall.

  “Get your men to close the lock gates. I need to get inside and sort out some protection,” Christopher sniped and walked away from the two hoodlums. “I think we have company across the harbour. We need to move quickly.”

  Uri pointed an Uzi nine millimetre machine pistol at him. The Uzi is the most common automatic machine pistol on the planet because they are so simple to manufacture. Christopher Walsh had purchased nine of them, plus enough ammunition to start a small war, prior to embarking on his salvage mission. Christopher stared at the machinegun and he froze in his tracks.

  “What are you doing with my machinegun, Uri?”

  “We need paying for what we have done so far, Christopher. This job has been one fuck up after another and now we need to be paid,” Uri’s voice was muffled by the respirator but Christopher could hear the venom in it none the less. “I’m going to borrow your machineguns for a while.”

  “We don’t have time for this Uri. The torches over there across the harbour must belong to the police, and they’re obviously looking for us,” Christopher pointed through the lock gates at the lightship.


  “I’ve been across there myself tonight Christopher, while we were waiting for you to bring the L2 back. I can buy us some time, but as I said earlier we need to see some hard cash or this ends here,” Uri kept the gun pointed at him. “I think that you should help to close the gates with my men. Now move it!”

  “I need to get out of this mist Uri, now I’ll pay you as much as you like when we are out of here with those shells intact,” Christopher tried to sound assertive but he failed miserably.

  “The longer you argue the more of that shit you are breathing in,” Uri shrugged.

  “Okay for fuck’s sake okay, hurry up,” Christopher turned and ran toward the winding mechanism and the two burly men followed him. Uri watched them turning the winding mechanism which closed the gates slowly and smiled. He could see more torch beams flicking about on the deck of the defunct lightship and there were two sets of headlights on the quayside. There was a lot of activity being focused on that part of the docks. Uri reached into his pocket and removed a remote detonator. He’d taken it from a container next to the boat shed which had the dive team’s equipment inside. There was plenty of explosive in there and he’d made the best use of it while he’d been waiting for Christopher Walsh to reach the boatyard. He wasn’t sure who was on the condemned lightship but he did know that they were looking for them. It could be the police, the army, the port authorities or even Special Forces, but it wouldn’t matter because they would all die the same way. Uri was going to take Christopher’s money and then blow both the lightships to pieces to cover his escape.