by Tomas Black
A movement in the vault caught Drum’s eye. He flipped the H&K selector to semi-automatic. A hand holding a gun appeared around the side of the balance room door and blindly fired off several rounds down the corridor, the concussion of sound bouncing off the solid Carrera marble of the walls. The shots went wide of their mark.
Brock sighted down his H&K at the gun protruding from inside the balance room. He fired once. The round found its target and smashed into the gun, removing several fingers from the hand. An easy shot for the veteran SAS Sergeant at such close range. They heard a scream and the gun clattered to the floor. A guard stumbled from the balance room into the corridor, one hand clutching the mangled and bleeding wreck of the other. Brock fired twice more, a double-tap to the chest and the the guard collapsed to the floor.
They continued their advance towards the vault. Drum could see inside: the racks of safety deposit boxes at the back, the stacks of solid gold bars around the sides. They were no more than ten metres from the entrance when a shape appeared from behind a wall of gold bricks. “Gun. left-hand side,” shouted Drum.
They both opened fire, short bursts. A cacophony of sound filled the enclosed space, the metallic hammering of bullets ricocheting around the steel walls of the vault and off the gold bars, the clattering of spent and smoking cartridge cases falling onto the marble floor. Drum held up his fist. The metallic echoes faded. Nothing moved.
Drum waved his hand forward and to the right. Brock moved cautiously into the balance room; Drum moved into the vault. The smell of cordite hung in the air. The vault had only one occupant, a guard lying dead in the centre. Probably the result of several ricochets.
Brock walked into the vault. “Clear.” He looked around him, eyes wide. “Bloody hell. We’re in the wrong business.”
The room was packed with gold bars. A small trolley stood in the middle of the space near the dead guard. They were about to move the shipment to another location, obviously not via the tunnels this time. On the trolley was a stack of small 100g gold ingots. Drum picked one up and examined the serial number. He replaced it and examined another. There were ten ingots in all. He chose one at random and slipped it into his webbing.
Brock gave him a look. “We helping ourselves, now?”
“I’ll explain later. Let’s go. They must have heard that racket upstairs.”
They headed back up the corridor and were approaching the elevator when the doors suddenly closed. Drum ran to the wall and slammed the access card onto the side panel. The panel light lit up amber with a small arrow pointing up. He heard the soft whine of the elevator motors as the car ascended with Harry inside it.
~~~
Fern switched channels on her radio and keyed her mic. “Poacher, it’s Fern. I’m coming round.”
Stevie looked wide-eyed at Fern who was now clambering into the back of the van. “Fern! Where are you going?”
“I’m not sitting here while they’re in trouble. Keep trying Drum.”
Fern pushed open the back doors of the van and jumped down. She ran out of the side street and onto the main road. “Poacher?”
“I see you, Commander.”
“Blow the doors. They’re in trouble.”
“Roger that. Blowing the doors.”
A thunderous explosion ripped through the air followed by a cloud of smoke and a shower of debris. Fern ran towards the newly created opening.
A crackle came over the radio. It was Poacher. “Commander wait. Keep down. I need eyes on the lobby.”
Fern crouched down below the low wall of the building’s entrance. She looked up, her breathing ragged. The smoke was clearing. A man in a grey jacket with a gun in his hand came out onto the steps . Fern drew her Glock and racked the slider. She stood up and aimed, her arm outstretched. The man saw her and turned to fire.
Fern heard a faint high-pitched whine and then the guard’s head explode in front of her.
Poacher’s calm voice came over the radio, “If you’re going in, Commander, keep to your left. I wouldn’t want you as collateral.”
A chill ran down Fern as she watched the disfigured corpse collapse and roll down the steps.
“Commander?”
Fern broke free of her reverie. “I’m going in.”
She took the steps two at a time. She needed to get to the elevator at the back of the lobby as quickly as possible. She stumbled over the broken remains of the oak doors, almost dropping her gun. She cursed, looked up and saw a guard rising from behind the front desk, gun raised. I’m too slow she thought. She heard another high-pitched whine and ducked instinctively. The guard's chest exploded.
Fern pushed on, crouching, weapon raised. She hugged the wall and crabbed her way around to her left. She chastised herself for her sloppy technique. Focus, Fern focus. The first reception room came into view on the opposite side of the lobby. She remembered the layout from her previous visit. The ornate, Regency desk. She thought that she was exposed when the glass door of the reception room suddenly shattered and a bullet zinged past her ear. A guard had emerged from the side of the room and had fired through the door. She shuffled sideways and returned fire. Two shots. The first missed but the second hit the man’s shoulder and spun him around. She fired once more, hitting him squarely in the back and sending him crashing to the floor.
Fern keyed her mic. “Room on your right. One down. Looks clear. I’m moving to the back of the lobby.”
“Roger that, Commander.”
She heard a woman’s voice. She moved over to the central desk and peered around one corner. The smoke and dust had now dissipated and she could make out the entrance to the elevator. Two guards were dragging a tall woman out.
She keyed her mic. “Two guards, wrestling with a woman … could be Harry.”
There was a brief pause. “I see them. Yep, that’s her.” There was another pause. “I can only take one out. The other guy’s too close.”
“Take the shot.” She heard another whine and the guard furthest from Harry was thrown back against the wall.
The second guard froze in shock for just a few seconds before grabbing Harry around the neck and yanking her in front of him.
Poacher cursed. “Damn, I’ve haven’t got a shot.”
Fern left the safety of the desk and moved to the left side of the lobby. The guard holding Harry managed to fire twice, both shots going wide of their mark.
“Still no shot,” Poacher announced calmly.
Fern crept towards the elevator, crouching low, trying to reduce the firing angle between her and the guard. There was no cover and she still had two more reception rooms to pass. She’d made a stupid mistake. Where was Drum? Why hadn’t he left the vault? Then it occurred to her. How stupid not to think of it. They were stuck waiting for the elevator.
Fern switched channels. “Stevie. Are you there?”
“What’s going on? I’m wetting myself sitting here all alone. You’re supposed to protect me.”
“Stevie, focus. Do you have eyes on Drum?” Another shot rang out, this time much closer. Fern crouched lower.
“Wait … yes. They’re in the vault area, by the elevator doors. Still can’t reach them.”
Fern switched to the Poacher’s channel. “Poacher, can you put a shot close to the guard?”
“Commander?”
“We need to force him back into the elevator.”
“I think so …”
There was a brief pause. Then she heard it and the flooring to the right of the guard exploded upwards in a cloud of dust and fragments.
“He’s moving back inside the elevator,” announced Poacher.
Fern stood up. The guard raised his gun. Too late. The doors to the elevator shut and the motor spun up as the car descended.
~~~
Drum slapped the access card against the elevator panel for the tenth time.
“It’s no good,” said Brock. “Someone must be holding it at the lobby.”
Drum continued to hold the access card a
gainst the access panel. An orange down-arrow blinked slowly. Of all the stupid things to happen, he mused. They couldn’t go up and they couldn’t go down. And Harry was stuck upstairs. The question was, who else was upstairs?
He felt a vibration run through the marble floor of the corridor.
“Did you feel that?” said Brock.
Drum pressed his ear to the elevator doors. “Sounds like gunfire.”
“They must have blown the doors,” said Brock. “Try your radio again.”
Drum tweaked his radio. “Stevie, Stevie, come in, Stevie.” He paused. “Still nothing.”
Drum pressed his ear to the door again. He heard a few more shots. Someone was having fun.
The arrow on the panel turned green and pointed down. Drum looked at Brock. “Against the wall.” They pressed themselves on either side of elevator doors and readied their H&Ks.
The elevator stopped with a thump and the doors opened. Harry was flung out roughly into the corridor. Drum and Brock half turned and opened fire killing the guard before he had time to realise he was not alone. Brock stuck his foot in the door.
“See to Harry. I’ll hold the doors.”
Drum moved to Harry’s side. She looked all in. “Sorry. We lost you for a moment.”
Harry placed an arm around Drum's neck and heaved herself up. “It’s a war zone up there. A tall woman … seems to be storming the place.”
Drum smiled. “That’ll be Fern. I guess she grew impatient.”
“Let’s go, guys,” said Brock.
Drum helped Harry back into the elevator, stepping over the dead body of the guard. He pressed the button for the lobby, keeping it depressed with his finger. “Please go up,” he murmured. It sounded like more like a prayer.
Harry let out a short laugh, followed by a fit of coughing. “If it goes back down, you’re both fired,” she croaked.
The elevator gave a small lurch and started to ascend.
“Thank God,” sighed Brock.
“Can you stand, Harry?” said Drum.
“I’ll be alright. Just don’t leave me in this elevator again.”
“Roger that,” echoed Brock.
The elevator slowed. They could hear more gunfire. The car lurched to a halt and the doors opened. Brock stuck his foot in the door but made no attempt to leave the car. He selected a channel on his radio. “Poacher, Brock. Receiving?”
“Nice of you guys to show.”
“Can we exfil out the front?” asked Brock.
“Negative,” Poacher replied. “Four hostiles heading through the front entrance …” There was a brief pause, followed by the sound of a high-velocity round that blew a hole in the wood panelling at the back of the lobby, close to the elevator doors. “Correction, three hostiles heading in your direction with automatic weapons.” There was another pause then the sound of automatic weapons fire from the front of the lobby. “I think I’ve been spotted. I’ll have to bug-out soon. Be advised: you have the Commander coming your way …”
Drum broke into the channel. “Hold fire, Poacher. We’re making for the stairs.”
“Roger that.”
Drum peered around the elevator doors. Three men with automatic weapons were pinned behind the lobby desk. They hadn’t noticed the elevator and thought they were safe.
Drum noticed the body of a guard sprawled on the lobby floor, half-in, half-out of the reception room closest to the elevator. Poacher’s handiwork. Then he saw Fern. She had taken cover behind a large stone urn. If she kept her cool, she might be able to make it up the stairs without being detected. If she was spotted, they would have to contend with three men bearing down on them with automatic weapons. She looked up and gave him a grim smile.
Drum turned to Brock. “Watch out for Fern. She’ll be moving to the stairs with you.”
Brock frowned “And what about you?”
“If they clock you, I’ll lay down covering fire from the elevator.” He smiled. It wasn’t much of a plan but they needed to get out. “I’ll lay down smoke then leg it. Whatever you do, don’t wait. Get to the van.”
Brock nodded. “C’mon, Harry. Hope you can walk.”
Drum peered out of the elevator. The three guards were changing mags. They turned to face the door, trying to pinpoint the Poacher’s location. “Go, now.” He looked over at Fern and pointed to the stairs. She nodded and started to creep around the urn. Brock helped Harry out of the elevator, her arm around his neck. She limped and staggered out into the lobby. Drum changed mags and crouched just inside the doors of the elevator, sighting down at the three men.
Brock and Harry made it halfway across the lobby and hooked up with Fern. She took hold of Harry, freeing up Brock, and headed for the stairs. They had made it to the bottom of the stair when Harry cried out. Drum looked over and saw blood pooling beneath her foot. She must have trodden on some broken glass. One of the men looked back and shouted and then all three turned towards them, weapons raised.
“Go, go,” shouted Drum. He opened fire, a sustained burst from the cover of the elevator and took out the man who called out, raking a line of bullets up his body. The other two men immediately scattered left and right. Fern continued to drag a limping Harry up the stairs. Brock had stubbornly stayed and was laying down short bursts of weapons fire from the base of the stairs. Drum pulled a smoke canister from his webbing, snapped the pin and rolled it down the lobby. Thick smoke billowed out obscuring visibility.
Automated fire immediately raked the side of the elevator forcing Drum back inside the car. Brock returned a sustained burst of fire. It’s now or never, thought Drum and ran out of the elevator for the stairs. He reached the first few steps and caught sight of Brock now kneeling halfway up, waiting for him. He barely made it off the lower level of the stairs before a burst of fire raked up the lobby obliterating one of the handrails.
“Shift your arse,” said Brock, “I’m almost out of ammo.”
“I thought I told you not to wait”
“Yeah, right.”
The radio crackled and Poacher came over the airwaves. “Two cars just past my position. McKay reckons they broke through the cordon. They look to be heading for the entrance. Wait … one has stopped. Ok I have a group of hostiles heading my way. Bugging out.”
“Time to leave,” said Drum.
Drum and Brock ran up the stairs, each taking a turn to lay down short bursts into the thickening smoke to discourage anyone from following. Fern and Harry were waiting at the top. A narrow landing led back into the building with two further rooms leading off to the right. Both rooms had solid wooden doors. Both doors were closed. They hadn’t time to check and clear the rooms. More hostiles could be heard entering the lobby. They would be coming up the stairs very soon.
Two window openings, complete with ornate marble colonnades, were on their left, five metres apart. Drum ran over to the first window. He looked down. He could make out the glass roof of an annexe of an adjoining building. It was only a short drop.
Drum called over to Fern. “Out the window. I’ll lower Harry down.”
“Really?”
“You’re the tallest. It’s only a short drop for you.” Drum took Harry from Fern and they moved over to the window.
Fern looked at the glass roof. “I’m also the heaviest.”
“It’ll hold your weight,” said Drum.
The window looked old, a single pane affair with an elaborate pattern of lead-lights. Fern tried the handle. It moved up. She pushed and the window opened. There was a loud click and an alarm sounded.
A burst of gunfire came up from the lobby, chewing up the stairwell.
“I think we’ve been rumbled,” said Brock.
Fern holstered her gun and clambered up onto the windowsill and climbed out of the window. She turned, hanging from the window ledge, her feet dangling over the glass roof of the annexe. Drum looked back as Fern let go and dropped. There was a loud crack.
He looked down. Fern was crouching on top of the glass
roof, a large fracture radiating out from beneath her. She gingerly stood up and slowly moved beneath the window, her arms stretched up.
“Your turn,” said Drum, lifting Harry and sitting her on the windowsill. He gripped her wrists and hands as she backed out over the edge, lowering her gradually until Fern had grabbed hold of her. The pair shuffled off over the glass roof towards the alley where Brock’s van was parked.
He switched channels on his radio. “Stevie, come in Stevie.” There was the crackle of static but no reply. Shouts came from the lobby. The smoke was clearing and another burst of gunfire raked the stairwell. Brock broke out another smoke grenade and tossed it down the stairs. This evoked more shouts and a sustained burst of gunfire.
“Out you go,” said Brock calmly. “They’re getting ready to rush the stairs.”
Drum looked over the window ledge. The two women were almost to the alley side of the building. Harry was limping badly. He applied the safety to his H&K, folded the stock and strapped it to his back. He climbed up and squatted on the sill. His wetsuit which had served him well in the chill waters of the Thames was now causing him to burn up in the heat of battle and he was sweating profusely. He turned and jumped backwards, grabbing hold of the sill in one smooth motion. He hung there, swinging for just a second, before dropping onto the roof. There was an ominous crack from the glass beneath him. He froze and looked down. The fracture of glass had widened but was still holding. He moved carefully off the broken panel and stood beneath the window and waited.
It wasn’t long before Brock appeared. He handed down his weapon then jumped back and grabbed the ledge. He hung there before dropping like a stone. He landed hard, falling backwards. Drum heard the roof crack. Brock froze. Drum leaned forward and grabbed Brock’s arm. There was another loud crack. Drum pulled Brock towards him just as part of the roof crashed to the floor of the annexe beneath them.
They crouched low and crept along the roof, hugging the back wall of the vault. They reached a small ledge that led down onto a flat roof and jumped down. From here it was a ten-metre drop to the alley below where Stevie was waiting in the van. Fern had stopped at the edge of the flat roof and was supporting Harry around the waist.