Michael looked out onto the streets below, listening to the sound of distant police sirens. A car drove by now and then, headlights cutting through the dark before vanishing into the night. His hand still held the letter, and the paper had wrinkled along the edge where his sweat had soaked into the fibres.
The smell of stir fry in the air was strong as the frying pan crackled and sizzled in the kitchen.”
“It'll be ready in the minute. I haven't cooked a proper meal for months. You okay? You're still holding the letter,” Samantha said.
He nodded. “I'm fine.”
“They said they could sort it out, just a minor operation? It'll be okay, yeah?”
“It should be, as long as there are no complications. Something might come up tomorrow. If it does, it might be a while before I'm back. It's police business, nothing to worry about, but like I said, I could be out of the loop for a while.”
Samantha's expression darkened, and she turned away from the kitchen for a moment. “You need to get better at lying. It's Harris and that case, isn't it? I think it's getting out of hand. Half the people I work with are a bunch of complete arseholes, but I don't want to see Harris bring the entire Assurer contract down from incompetence.”
“I can't talk about it, but if everything happens like it should, then it's over. No more targeted attacks on police patrols or stations, no more bombs. It ends. Done. Game over. That's it.”
She sighed, returning to the food. “I can live with that, but I'll hold you to it. I don't care how many people think I'm damaged goods because of all that rubbish David goes on about. I've got to look out for myself. That's our deal. I hope you're better at keeping them than he was.”
Michael nodded. He put the letter down and removed two plates from the cupboard.
She touched him softly on the arm. “And you know, Mike. Be careful, okay?”
“It'll be fine; we'll have support.”
Chapter 19.
“What do you think Harris did to get that guy to talk? He was in there, what, twenty minutes you said?” Richard said. He sipped his cup of tomato soup.
Michael shivered. He locked his fingers together and shifted his chair closer to the radiator, but the metal was as cold as it always was. “It's going to be a bitter autumn. I still remember the last one. Hopefully it won't be quite as cold this time round.”
“That's the worst answer I've ever heard.”
“It's better not to know. I don't think either of us will like it if we found out the truth.”
“Well, I'll give you my own guess as to what happened. Harris let him walk; it's the only way that steroid head would've rolled over for you like that. You're thinking it as well, aren't you?”
Michael frowned. “Trying not to think about it, more like. He said he didn't cut him loose like that, but on the other hand, Harris is nearly as bent as that lamp post outside. Everybody seems to be these days. I doubt he'd be willing to leave a murder off the record sheet like that, though, not with the pressure of our performance targets.”
“I could really do with that holiday about now. You're right, it's bloody cold. Maybe we'll get ice and snow. We had ice when the ICBMs went off. Mounds of snow in the playground, pale blue skies. People were making snowmen soldiers, and then there was the flash. I'm probably sterile now. Fucking Russians. Nobody ever liked the fucking Russians,” Richard said.
He stood up, took the cup of soup in hand and walked to the window. Michael heard the distant sound of the foam cup splitting an instant later.
“What did you hit?” Michael said.
“David's car.”
“Good aim.”
“Yeah, I think so too. I'd ask you why Harris has us locked down like this, but you're not going to tell me, are you?”
“Maybe you'll get your holiday.”
The office door opened, and David and the others walked in.
“Jesus, you two are actually still alive. I thought somebody would have shot you by now,” Helen said, pulling the woolly hat off her head.
“I know, I'm kind of disappointed. I was hoping I could get your chair, Rich,” David said.
“I'm happy to see you all, too. Except you, David. You can go and jump out the fucking window, you fucking waste of time,” Richard said.
“Just because you can't get laid,” David said.
“I get laid all the time.”
“It doesn't count if you have to use chloroform.”
“Archibald, what's up with your secondment? Are you back now?” Michael said.
Archibald nodded. “They shuttered us, for all the good it did. The suits were on our backs at every turn. If we turned up anything of worth, than I wouldn't know it.
“For once in my life, I actually missed this dump. The work they had us doing? I don't think it was police work. I think they pulled us in to do something the company should have been doing themselves.”
Michael yawned. He rubbed his eyes and sank deeper into his chair. “You must have built up some kind of picture, though. You're interviewing people, checking evidence, finding out who's behind these attacks.”
“That's just it,” Archibald said. “Everything we did was micromanaged by the next person up the chain of command. We weren't allowed to talk to any other parts of the investigation team. They kept us in the dark on purpose to keep information from spreading. Maybe they found something and cracked it all open, but if they did, they're keeping it to themselves.”
“They raided some Eratech subsidiary office on jumped up charges. If you wanted to a point a finger at somebody, I'd start with them. Archibald knows it, but he doesn't like to say it. Assurer is using its police contract as a cudgel to beat Eratech with,” Maria said.
“We still don't know why. Neither party has anything to profit from it. It's not like Eratech could take over the police contract if we lost it,” Archibald said.
“Sounds like a total clusterfuck. Somebody must have gotten themselves a promotion out of it,” Michael said. His telephone rang, but he didn't answer it, and he sat watching the receiver. One by one the others turned to look at him.
“Gonna pick that up?” Maria said.
Michael put the receiver to his ear.
“It's time. I've got what we need, and we're going ahead with it. Meet me in briefing room three. Bring Richard with you,” Harris said.
Michael took a deep breath and hung up. “It's time to go, Richard.”
“Go where?”
“Harris wants us in briefing room three. Make sure you bring your gun.”
“Want to tell me what's going on?” Helen said.
“No,” Michael said. He turned his computer off, grabbed his stuff and headed out the door. He stopped further down the hallway to see Richard jogging to catch up. David peeked out, watching them.
The radiators were working out here, and the warm air sent a sudden chill down his spine, hairs standing on end. His heart rate sped up as blood rushed to his head, and a sheen of sweat formed on his brow.
Somebody had taped sheets of lined paper to both lifts. Out of order. They climbed the stairs in silence, and he felt a tingle in his hands, trembling against the bannister rail.
Every seat in the briefing room was already taken, and more policemen clustered around the sides. Corporal Hill made a space for them on the left. He handed Michael a spare briefing packet. Harris was up front by the whiteboard, with a dry marker in hand.
A television had been set up beside him, rigged to a portable media player.
“We're all here now, so I'll get started. Take a moment to look through your briefing packets. If you've already had a chance, then do it again. These orders come from Assurer, but I'm giving you one last chance to bail. I can make up the numbers from elsewhere, but you forfeit your right to all bonus payments related to the operation,” Harris said.
“It also goes without saying that you do not mention this to Assurer. I'm looking out for your welfare here, but the company won't like it.”
Michael flicked
through the print outs. He felt his chest tighten and the air leave his lungs. His sweat soaked through the paper, causing some of the ink to bleed. He nudged Richard in the arm and looked to the door, but he shook his head in dismissal.
Nobody else moved.
“All right, then.” Harris hit the play button on the media unit.
The television came to life, and a black and white wireframe view of Lower London appeared, shot from one of the cameras mounted beneath the plate. Flashing blobs showed the movement of pedestrians on the street. A black space appeared, as jagged white lines showed the remains of Heathrow airport, and the camera turned, focusing on a patch of urban area to the south.
“What you're looking at is recorded footage of an industrial estate. It once produced tank parts during the war, but they abandoned it after the conflict. Now we believe it to be housing a private combat unit run by Eratech to further their interests. This is the same one who has been engaging police units throughout the city. I'll leave the whys of that to Assurer.
“We've taken a lot of casualties. This is your shot at hitting back. Prisoners are good, but if we end up with a row of body bags, then so be it; I don't want anyone taking chances out there. Shoot first and ask questions later,” Harris said.
Corporal Hill leaned forward. “I think we'd all like to know what we're going up against here. There's a lot of rumours floating about the station. Might help if you clarify them, sir.”
A few of the others echoed agreements.
“What we're dealing with is a number of individuals, section or platoon size, who have had their bodies enhanced with left over technology from the war, designed to boost their combat effectiveness. I'm talking United States military research used for special forces teams operating behind enemy lines. Bits and pieces of it have leaked out over the years, and I'm sure you're aware of black market modifications out there, but this is the real deal.”
Hill sighed and rubbed his temples. He blinked the fatigue away. “That doesn't really tell us much, sir.”
“Quicker and more efficient cognitive abilities. Physical enhancement allows them to run faster for longer, see better in the dark, suppress pain for sustained periods of time and endure intense trauma to the body that would incapacitate or kill an ordinary man. Very effect, very dangerous,” Michael said.
“Then it sounds like they've got us at a bit of a disadvantage.”
Harris wheeled the television away from the white board, and he scribbled notes and symbols with his marker pen. “It's nothing we can't handle. Consider this plan drawing the blueprint for the area at hand. It's as accurate as we can get. We'll be rolling straight down the road along here, and at this point, we're going to set up the platoon command post.
“The two tanks will provide overwatch along with the first IFV. Two section will take up a position along here to the left, and three to the right, setting up an L-shaped position to cover the buildings. One section will then move in and sweep each building clear in turn, under cover from the other units. If needs be, we'll try and draw them out into the open,” Harris said.
“With respect, sir, we need at least another platoon to do this right. Anything less is just taking chances,” Corporal Hill said.
“Then we're just going to have to wing it. You've got twenty to gear up and rally outside in the car park. This might be a long one, so bring everything you can fit into the back of the vehicles. We're ending this tonight.”
They laid the guns out across the tables; shotguns, rifles, pistols, machine guns, grenade launchers and anti-tank rockets. An officer went through each one in turn, checking and loading them.
Michael tightened the straps on his body armour. He inspected the trauma plates and their pockets.
“Pass us some more vests. We're coming too,” David said.
“So you can shoot me in the back?” Richard said.
“Don't tempt me.”
Corporal Hill held up a helmet. “You should be wearing one of these as well.”
“Don't like them,” David said. “The visors screw with my peripheral vision.”
“You get used to it, but fine. Don't blame if me if they have to take skin from your arse to cover up the hole in your face,” Hill said. He tossed the helmet to another officer.
The policemen cocked their weapons, one by one, and filtered out of the armoury, and then the detectives too, until Michael was alone. He slung the carbine's strap over his shoulder, and then took the shotgun, too. A lurching sensation filled his stomach, and shadows crept forward from the corners of the armoury where the red lights didn't reach.
One of the lockers was slightly ajar, and a stack of personal possessions sat inside, with photographs pinned to the door by magnets. He slammed it shut and went outside.
The convoy waited for them, headlights cutting through the dark like sharp knives, as policemen loaded their gear into the vehicles. His breath turned into a cloud of vapour. An eastern wind carried the scent of bonfires in its wake, and the cold air burned his exposed skin. He felt numb.
Harris stood to the left, inserting the last bullet into the cylinder of his magnum. “I don't think the old 9mm is going to cut it for this one.”
“You're coming too?”
Harris nodded. “Somebody has to run this operation, might as well be me. I've missed being out in the field; sit behind a desk long enough and you'll go crazy.”
“We're ready to move, sir,” Lieutenant Anderson said. He beckoned for Harris to join him inside the infantry fighting vehicle.
“See you at the command post,” Harris said, and he climbed into the back of the vehicle.
Michael found himself a seat inside a police patrol vehicle. The interior stank of old beef burgers and take away. Richard sat to his left with Archibald, and David, Maria and Helen sat opposite. The insides glowed green and red from the dashboard gauges. He listened to chattering voices on the radio net, punctuated with static and beeps. Then the call came in.
The checkpoint guards opened the gate, and the convoy drove on. He felt his throat turn dry with a taste of sickly saliva. Blue emergency lights flashed on and off as they drove through the streets. Michael stared out through the armoured glass. They passed rows of condemned buildings and tent encampments occupied by the homeless.
The homeless gathered in queues outside soup kitchens and warmed themselves around burning bins, dressed in filthy rags and shoes that were falling to pieces. Malnourished children turned to watch the convoy go by, as the lead tank scattered packs of wild dogs. Burning rubbish lit the roads where the street lights had failed, revealing beaten old signs covered in scribbled phone numbers and advertisements for handy man services.
The cold sank deeper into his bone, and he shut his eyes momentarily, as his breath condensed on the window. The blue lights lit up an alley, and the people in it turned away from beating the dog they'd cornered, catching the glare of the lights with the whites of their eyes and gone in a heartbeat, as the vehicles kept moving.
He noticed a subtle tremble in Maria, rustling a plastic sandwich wrapper on the floor with her foot. Nobody spoke, except for the chatter on the radio. Michael hit the glow button on his watch.
“Heads up, we're nearly there. Get yourselves ready,” Corporal Hill said on the radio.
“Target in sight,” he said, with a tenser voice two minutes later.
The policeman in the front passenger seat glanced around at them. “Hang back when we hit the rally point, and keep your heads down until we set the perimeter up.”
Michael looked out the front window and saw the convoy separating, and beyond that the four story buildings and shipping containers lurking inside the remains of a security fence.
Archibald opened the rear doors, and they clambered out the back of the vehicle in time to see an IFV pass them by, turning left further down the road. The pair of tanks had set up just ahead where Harris and one section were disembarking from their vehicle.
The major waved them forward. Michae
l moved along and took cover behind another patrol vehicle containing medical equipment. A crash sounded through the night, and then another, as the vehicles to their left and right drove through the fence.
Harris pressed the transmit button his radio. “Tango One, are you picking anything up on your thermal sight?”
“Negative, no heat sources at all. Looks like they've blocked the windows up,” came the response.
Harris grimaced and beckoned for first section to gather around. “All right, we're short on options, so we're going to have to go in, check each building and rat them out. Once we get them out into the open, the other units can take them apart. Understood?”
“Can't we just level the place with the tanks? It'd be easier and safer,” a private said. Some of the others nodded.
Harris shook his head. “Unacceptable. What happens when one of those shells goes straight through that office and hits a civilian house down range? The press would lynch us. It's too risky, and there'll be nothing left for us to recover. I'll clear them to engage once we find the enemy, understood?”
The policemen nodded.
“Lieutenant Anderson will hang back here and remain in charge of the perimeter. I want you detectives to watch the medical team and make sure nobody gets through here. I'll be with one section making the sweep. If you see a man go down, get him back here. We've got spare vehicles if they need hospital treatment and more on short notice if this blows up in our faces.
“I'll push the panic button if I need to. Nobody is getting left behind to bleed to death out there. Questions?”
“I'm coming too; I want to see this through,” Michael said.
“Fine, you've combat experience. Let's move.”
They ran through the remains of the main gate, following behind the lead policeman who carried a ballistic shield. Their footsteps echoed across the asphalt.
“Transport vehicles to the right,” one of the policemen said.
Michael glanced right and saw cars and vans parked behind an office block. They kept moving. Corporal Hill's section lay prone to the left beside their fighting vehicle. His heart raced faster, and sweat stung the webs of skin between his fingers. The emergency lights turned the compound blue.
The Chop Shop Page 22