Thunder

by Anthony Bellaleigh

  “They’re going to get the little bastard off, because I clobbered him,” Sharinda replied.

  He shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not.”

  Manjeethra stroked her hand through the hairs on his chest and let her fingers run down into the softer fur near his groin. “We’ll see,” she muttered. “I feel really bad for the families.”

  “You shouldn’t. You did your job. You can’t hold yourself responsible. It’ll tear you apart.”

  “Says the voice of experience?” She stared deeply into his warm mahogany eyes and wondered what awful secrets they had witnessed over the years.

  “Something like that.” He said and reached out to wrap his strong arms supportively round her naked shoulders.

  ~~~~~

  Sermiers, France

  Ellard squinted in the late morning sunlight as he lounged against the side of an old phone-box. “The car’s burned out, on some waste ground, just outside Paris.”

  “The silverware?” asked Greere.

  “At the bottom of some reservoir I passed.” Ellard replied matter-of-factly, whilst gently hefting the heavy Salomon bag which was hanging from his shoulder. “That stuff’s gone forever.”

  “Good. So it’s all cleaned up then? No trail.”

  “As best we can. Any chatter from the French?” Ellard was keen to find out whether he was being pursued.

  “Nope. Looks like they took the bait and are chasing after our false leads.”

  “I’m going to lie low for a day or so, then head for Berlin. After this mess, I want to check on Army Boy.”

  “You’re not comfortable with this whole concept are you, Deuce?”

  Ellard could sense more than a modicum of threat in the question. “I just want to check on things, sir,” he replied pointedly.

  “Of course,” said Greere and hung up.

  Ellard frowned, replaced the pay-phone receiver, and wandered over the road to the village’s solitary bus stop. As he walked, his tightly packed clothes neatly prevented his weapons from rattling against the valuables inside the board bag. It was about another thirty minutes by bus to his little French crash pad.

  He was looking forward to spending a night there.

  He needed to make sure his little pension fund was all still safely in its hiding place, and to introduce it to these latest new additions. ‘Best to make sure you regularly put something away for your retirement,’ his old man had always said.

  ~~~~~

  London

  Greere frowned...

  Why had Ellard elected to use a landline, given that his cellphone was fully encrypted? What was he trying to hide...? Was the lazy bastard skiving-off somewhere...?

  He picked up his desk phone and dialled one of the building’s many covert technical units.

  “This is Brigadier Greere,” he announced. “Please get me an urgent location trace on Lieutenant Colonel Ellard’s secure cellphone. Mission in progress, so be very careful how you go about it. Report back only to me.”

  He knew that, even with discretion, the chances were that the cellphone would need to be scrapped afterwards. Ellard’s device would currently be somewhere on one of France’s radio networks.

  “Ah, and send me up a replacement unit for him.”

  ~~~~~

  Berlin

  Steel sat, cross-legged again, in front of the wall of glass. There were no knives being sharpened tonight. He sat motionless. Entranced.

  All across the skyline, brilliant fireworks were rising from unseen fuses. Fizzing into the clear blackness, leaving wafer-thin trails of tiny orange and yellow sparkling ashes, before exploding into magnificent temporal flowers of coloured light. Huge red and orange bursts erupted in front of the penthouse. Great white and blue expanding dishes exploded further behind.

  He didn’t know what the big event was, and he didn’t care.

  He’d been told to hold position.

  His target was here, somewhere in the expanse of humanity sprawled in front of him. When the target broke cover, Steel would be told. When the target broke cover, the target would die.

  But Steel wasn’t thinking about his target right now.

  He wasn’t even watching the fireworks.

  His shoulders, arms, and feet are twitching. Jerking as his muscles clench in time with the bangs and whistles from outside.

  His expression is one of pure fury.

  His eyes are glazed with much more than a thousand-yard stare.

  Steel is back on the battlefield.

  A place his mind can never completely leave behind.

  He has, of course, developed another convincing personality which he presents to the civilian world. He has, of course, learned to do this very well. Certainly, this façade has been effective enough to persuade Ace and Deuce to take him on. To get him back into action.

  But deeper still, in the world where he really lives, his comrades scream in perpetual agony. Hissing FMJ rounds whistle past his ears. Mortar bursts fall closer and closer to his position.

  “I must hold position,” he mutters, twitching and jerking, with his hot breath misting the glassy panes in front of him.

  ~~~~~

  Jeyhun stood at the circular window, watching the fireworks raging across the near-distant skyline of the city. He stood there, in the multicoloured darkness, until his legs got so tired that he had to go and grab the metal chair and drag it over.

  He sat there all night.

  Dawn crept back over the city and its feeble rays started to ease their lazy dust-strewn way into the loft-space. He hadn’t eaten since the call two nights ago, and his stomach grumbled noisily as he sat with his head in his hands.

  The newspapers were sprawled in a huge arc on the floor around his feet. They started to become visible in the increasing brightness and he swept them angrily off to one side. Where was his brother? Was he dead? Why hadn’t he called in yet? Murat’s message had said that their enemies were close. Killing was happening. Had they already killed his only family?

  Part of him felt as if he wouldn’t blame them if they had.

  He had never imagined that they were going to kill so many people with their bomb. He had never imagined he wasn’t going to see Hossein again, after he’d driven off in the van with that mad-crazy look in his eyes.

  Jeyhun had often thought that there was something seriously wrong with Hossein – a mad-crazy look had been the man’s most usual expression – but Jeyhun hadn’t known that the lunatic was heading for London that day. On a one way trip.

  There must have been something else they could have blown up?

  Why so many people?

  He got up, walked over to the desk, and pressed the button on the answer-machine again. To check it was still working.

  It was.

  Where was Sergei? The guys were supposed to dial-in to this machine every other day – every three days at the most – to check for latest instructions and information. It had been four days...

  As part of the original getaway plan, and even now under the revised protocols, Jeyhun’s task was to stay here and guard the box. He had to keep out of sight. To use cash – he had a large wad of Euros in his rucksack. To go out at night for provisions. To vary his buying locations and dump any trash in different bins whilst on the same journey. He was instructed to make contact with no-one. To draw no attention to himself.

  “Easy,” they’d said.

  “You’re the one of us with the lowest profile,” they’d said.

  “You’ve only been with us for a little while,” they’d said.

  “They’re not watching you,” they’d said.

  “It’s an important role for you,” Sergei had said, before hugging him, clapping him soundly on the shoulder, and heading for his scheduled flight to Stockholm. “Remember: stay hidden until we let you know we’re clear and have reconvened at our assembly point in Budapest. If something happens, we’ll leave a one word message – ‘Icarus’ – which is your instruction to head immediately to the al
ternative rendezvous, as we discussed.”

  He’d wondered, at the time, why they were all in so much of a hurry to get out of the UK. His plane, direct to Berlin’s Tegel airport, had left an hour and fifteen minutes later...

  He missed Sergei so much.

  He needed to speak to him about what they’d done.

  He needed to understand why.

  His brother would know. His older brother always knew the answers. He’d be able to explain.

  If he wasn’t already dead...

  Jeyhun rose swiftly from the table, rushed over to his pack and scrabbled around in it for his cellphone. He pressed the ON button and waited while it sprang back into life – his comrades had been very explicit: ‘Leave your phone off. We’ll use the machine to talk to you. Make sure you get one with a speaker,’ they had said.

  His brother’s number was there, staring up at him, ‘TWENTY-TWO’. All of the phone’s numbers were labelled like this. One hundred of them, each named as a number: ONE +447865123879, TWO +442081114598. All but five of these numbers were entirely made up. One of these was now useless: its owner, and phone, atomised in a foreign land. One of them was his brother’s number. His heart was hammering in his chest as he pressed dial and waited, with perspiration beading on his dark forehead, until the ringing stopped.

  “Yes?” His brother’s voice sounded alarmed, he only expected the most urgent of incoming calls.

  “Sergei, it’s me,” he whispered quickly.

  “What’s wrong, brother?” exclaimed his sibling. Jeyhun could hear a dull rumbling noise in the background. “Why are you calling me?”

  “There’s a message,” he stammered. “I was worried... You haven’t called.”

  “I’m okay, my brother. I’m hitching a ride across the Baltic on a very slow fishing boat but cut this call now and switch your phone off! I’ll dial in later when I hit port!”

  “Oh,” Jeyhun felt his face flushing hot with sudden shame and embarrassment.

  “Garashsyzlyk Khandastan!” his brother declared confidently. In English it translated to: Independent Khandastan. It was their private rallying cry.

  “Garashsyzlyk Khandastan!” the teenager repeated automatically. Then, more quietly, he asked, “Did you know how many would be made dead?”

  There was a short pause “My dear brother, you were always the kindest one.”

  “What?”

  “Nothing. Thanks for worrying about me. I love you, man...,” the line went dead.

  ~~~~~

  London

  Greere called Ellard immediately. “Got him,” he said simply.

  “Berlin?” asked Ellard, who was driving toward the city in a rental car.

  “Berlin. Are you there yet?”

  “Yep. Nearly. How did the target reveal?”

  “The idiot finally fired up his cellphone. Then rang one of the others. He used as many key words as he could think of. I’ll bet every agency on the planet has lit up like Christmas Trees.”

  “His brother?”

  “How did you guess? Steel needs to go in quickly, in case he realises his mistake and scarpers.”

  “Or another agency moves on him.”

  “Exactly. I’m activating Steel. I’ll send you the coordinates. Be ready to meet Steel afterwards...”

  ~~~~~

  Berlin

  It was almost midnight by the time Jeyhun picked his last fry from the bottom of the red cardboard carton. He’d been so hungry. Now finished, he stuffed the wrappers and paper into the brown paper bag they’d been served in, and made his way through the darkness to the top of the stairs.

  ~~~~~

  In the black shadows at the rear of the deserted three-storey warehouse, Steel sprayed a quick burst of aerosol lubricant into the door mechanism, then gently tried the handle. It was unlocked.

  Steel smiled to himself.

  This was going to be an easy mission.

  Gently, gently, he eased the door ajar. It opened inwards. Not a sound from the hinges.

  He fed the spray-can’s straw into the frame and, using car noise from around the front of the building as cover, gave all three hinges a good spray.

  The building was bathed in darkness. Maybe the target was out?

  Maybe that was why the back door wasn’t locked?

  He listened hard in the gap. Not a sound.

  Moving quickly he eased the door open a fraction, squeezed his powerful body through and gently closed it again behind him.

  ~~~~~

  At the top of the stairs, a new bin-liner waited patiently for Jeyhun’s rubbish. He rooted around in the darkness, with his hand, until he found the top of it and then dropped the crumpled paper bag inside. Whilst he was bent over, the briefest of flashes of streetlight, in the normally pitch-black depths of the warehouse, caught his eye.

  What was that?

  He edged to the decrepit iron railing which wound itself round the hole, and peered down into the blackness. In the dim streetlight which crept into the lower floors through the warehouse’s painted-out windows, he could just make out the white straggly line of the phone cable trailing downwards. Other than that he could see nothing.

  He shook his head and made his way over to his mattress.

  ~~~~~

  ‘So then, where are you, little dead man?’ Steel thought to himself as he pulled down his night vision goggles.

  A telephone cable led untidily from the open junction box next to the door, so he quickly broke the wires from the screw terminals and let the end drop silently to the floor at his feet. There would be no calling for help.

  ~~~~~

  The answering machine made a single bleeping sound on the table. Jeyhun had never heard it make that kind of noise before?

  He got up and walked, with the confidence of many hours of solitary occupation, back across the dark loft to the table. An odd little red light was glowing on the machine. He hadn’t seen that before either? The light was labelled: Battery Power.

  Snatching up the receiver, he checked the line. Dead.

  Shit.

  The iron stairs creaked.

  Only very quietly.

  But they definitely creaked.

  ~~~~~

  The telephone cable trailed across the floor and disappeared upwards in the middle of an old twisting iron staircase: presumably these stairs led to the upper floors. Steel placed one hand gently onto the staircase but the old metal creaked. Carefully he stepped back again. He’d sweep the ground floor first...

  ~~~~~

  Jeyhun rushed over to his bedding and picked up his handgun. His heart was hammering in his chest. They were here. They were coming to get him. Somehow he had failed his simple assignment. He had let his comrades and his brother down. He was going to be captured...

  He listened as hard as he could. The staircase was silent again and, other than occasional cars, passing the front of the building, there was no other noise from downstairs.

  Had he been imagining things? Making ghosts where none existed?

  He clicked the small eight shot magazine out of the ageing Makarov’s handgrip and checked it was full, then slotted it back in with a metallic click.

  He wasn’t at all certain that he would be able to shoot anybody with it, but it was reassuring to have the weapon in his hands.

  ~~~~~

  Steel crept amongst the scattering of crates, his rubber-soled shoes silent on the dusty concrete. Then he heard the faint but unmistakeable sound of a magazine being ejected and rammed home again.

  He smiled.

  The chicken was in the coop after all.

  Upstairs.

  The conspicuous telephone wire, snaking up into the darkness, would lead like a chalk line to his quarry. He made his way back to the winding staircase and gently started to climb: pausing and waiting for passing cars before each step.

  ~~~~~

  So, why was the line dead? Maybe he hadn’t screwed the wires on tightly enough?

  That would be it.
>
  Something simple like that.

  Jeyhun glanced toward the stairwell. He’d go down and check... in a little while...

  Slowly he extended his arm and practiced sweeping the handgun across the darkened expanse of room. He moved his arm slowly, away from the stairwell, past the dark oblong of the table with the red-glowing machine perched on top of it, past the illuminated shadow of his empty chair, all the way to the circular window...

  And then back: window, chair, desk, stairs...

  And again: stairs, desk...

  ~~~~~

  Steel eased his head out of the stair-hole on the top floor and could see his target sitting there, childlike, cross-legged, up against the far wall. The kid looked like some kind of green ethereal figure through his night-vision glasses.

  The kid was holding a small handgun in front of him and slowly sweeping it back and forth across the space.

  Steel watched until the seated figure started turning away from his position, then he began to move up into the loft-space...

  ~~~~~

  ...chair, window.

  And, more quickly now: window, chair...

  ~~~~~

  The kid was suddenly speeding up!

  He was turning back already.

  ~~~~~

  ...desk, shadow?

  ~~~~~

  Fuck.

  ~~~~~

  A dark shadow was rising from the stair hole!

  Jeyhun jerked backwards in surprise and the gun went off in his hand.

  The muzzle of his weapon flared with bright flame and, amongst the deafening bang and sudden burst of acrid smoke, Jeyhun saw a huge alien monster leaping up out of the stair-hole. The creature had a strange mask on its face, with round eyepieces that briefly flared yellow in the splash of cordite-fire. Other than that, the monster was visible only as a sable pool of threatening blackness amongst the gloom.

  He fired again.

  And again.

  And in each muzzle flash, the monster was coming closer.

  ~~~~~

  The first bullet whizzed past Steel’s eardrum with the sound that only high velocity projectiles can make as they blast tiny holes through the air, and for a moment Steel was far away from this dark warehouse. He could see palm trunks and deep green foliage. Large, spreading, dripping, waxy leaves with new holes forming in them. Bullet holes.