by Mike Gilmore
Charlie guided the car by the weak lights from the housing developments in the distance. The overnight sky was completely black; rain was again threatening to fall. The heat from inside the car quickly dissipated as cold air poured through the open windows. Randy felt a shiver run up his back. He was not sure if it was the cold night air or fear of what they might discover.
The three men climbed out of the car and walked through the wet grass to the end of the first building to get a clear view of the pump house. The light from the building’s windows illuminated the nearby grounds but did not project away from the building more than a few meters.
“No van or any other cars,” Randy said.
Marion said, “I think the overhead photo I saw showed a loading dock on the other side of the building.”
Randy said, “We need to move closer.”
He started to take a step forward but Marion grabbed his arm. “Where the hell do you think you’re going?”
Randy roughly pulled his coat free of Marion’s grip. “I’m going to walk over there to see what is going on inside the pump house.”
Randy could barely see Marion shaking his head. “Oh, no you’re not. You are a United States senator and have no business getting involved with what might be a dangerous situation. You are staying right here. Reader and I will check out the pump house. Besides, you’re not even armed. We already know these bastards are not afraid to kill anybody.”
Randy looked from his friend to Charlie, but Marion was not having any of it. “Don’t look to Charlie for help. He works for me.”
Charlie’s bright white teeth shone between his thick lips in the dark. “Sorry, Senator, but you’ve got to sit this one out.”
Randy knew they were right, but he hated to stand on the sidelines while others walked into harm’s way. “All right … all right. Let’s move over to the farthest building to get a better angle on the other side of the pump house. I can watch you from there and call for any help.”
Marion spoke quietly. “Agreed, but you stay put and out of sight. I don’t want your silhouette showing up and the wrong person seeing you.”
The three men retraced their steps back toward the front of the buildings and moved west to the last of the equipment sheds. The largest building held the tractors and larger mowers used for grass cutting. They worked their way to the far side and then moved along the building until they reach the end facing the golf course fairways.
From this angle, it looked like there were two vehicles parked near the loading dock. No sight of any people.
Randy’s eyesight was near perfect, but he could not see any lettering or logos on the cars through the dark night. Just as he spoke, heavy raindrops hit the top of his bare head. Marion was also hatless. Charlie pulled his wood cap down to cover the tops of his ears.
Nobody could see Randy shaking his head. “I can’t make anything out on those cars.”
Marion’s voice came back in a whisper. “We need to get closer. Charlie, you circle farther to the west and make your approach to come in directly at the cars. I will work my way in from here to the building, away from the door, and circle around to the cars from the other side. We’ll meet up and hit the door into the pump house together.” Marion turned to Randy. “If the shit hits the fan, you call for help.”
Randy bobbed his head reluctantly and muttered his acceptance of Marion’s instruction.
Charlie quietly stepped away from the building, and Marion started to make his way toward the pump house. From seven hundred feet away, it would take Marion less time than Charlie. The black agent needed to take a longer curved path to come in from a different direction.
Marion intended to walk his path to the building in two sections. He would quietly make about half the distance and then wait until Charlie had moved west and was in a position to make a straight line to the pump house. Once they were able to coordinate their arrival together, he would begin the second part of his approach.
Charlie moved away from the building, leaving Randy to watch alone as the two men began their approach. Charlie had covered about twenty-five or thirty feet when he approached a medium-size tractor. In the dark in heavier rain that was falling again, he could make out the silhouette. The front tires faced the clubhouse. The top of the rear tires appeared to be about chest height. He paused at the first front tire, accessed his progress, and took a good look at the pump house. He could not detect any motion from inside the building, but he was still a long way off.
He started to move toward the rear tire on his side of the tractor and only took his eyes away from the pump house to walk around the rear of the tractor. Watching the pump house, his eyes adjusted to the light from the interior. When he looked away, his eyes were unaccustomed to the darkness and he failed to see the brush hog attached to the hydraulic lift arms of the tractor. He stepped on the mover’s surface, which enclosed the two rotating blades. He misjudged the distance and tripped forward. As he tried to shift his right foot, the leg slipped inside the right hydraulic lift arm of the tractor. He fell forward, forcing his body weight against the ankle. The snapping of his right anklebone reached Randy’s ears by the storage shed.
Charlie lost his grip on his Glock G-19 9 mm automatic weapon and fell to the side of the mower, landing hard on the ground. When he came to a hard stop, he could not prevent a grown of pain from escaping between his clenched teeth.
Marion Bellwood heard the sounds of Charlie’s weapon glancing off the mower’s side shield and the thump of his body hitting the ground. The rainfall helped to muffle the metallic sound. He could only hope no one inside the building had heard.
He watched as Randy’s dark silhouette moved out from the shelter of the building and knelt down next to Charlie Reader. From his position, the men’s shapes blended into one. At least twenty or thirty seconds passed before a dark figure rose from the ground and moved on to make the turn toward the pump house. From his distance, Marion could not tell if the moving figure was Charlie Reader or Randy Fisher.
He cursed under his breath but waited until the man was in position. As he saw the figure begin the next part of his journey, Marion rose from his kneeling position and started the second part of his approach to the pump house.
Chapter 55
Honor Oak
Thursday, December 3, 2015
8:45 p.m.
They heard a strange noise. Hossein Rahim Bonab and Shir Mohammad Moez Ardalan both stopped their work to look toward the open door toward the sound coming from the darkness outside.
They had found a length of pipe large enough in diameter to slip over the I-beam handle of the pipe wrench. Working together, they could finally apply enough pressure to move the bolt heads. The work progressed slowly; they were still behind Hossein’s schedule. They had removed six of the machine bolts but still had many more bolts to loosen and remove. They slowly removed the extra length of pipe from the pipe wrench handle and stepped away from their work.
Both men stepped off the catwalk. Hossein laid the length of pipe down on the floor and picked up his Uzi machine gun. Shir laid the pipe wrench on top of one of the plastic barrels and looked for his tool bag. It was several steps away. He moved quietly around the barrels, opened the bag, and removed the Korth handgun.
Hossein turned to Shir and gestured for Shir was to take cover behind the barrels. Hossein planned to cross the open space and take a position on the other side of the doorway. If anyone came in, the intruder would be in a deadly crossfire.
Shir moved two steps back behind the six barrels. The thick powder packed inside would act as a perfect shield for his body. Hossein moved close to the wall and slowly worked his way toward the doorway. He stopped and kneeled down to listen for any sound of approaching footsteps but could only hear the rain hitting the roof tops of their van and the dead constables’ vehicle. Maybe Mohammad and the others had finally made it to the pump house.<
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He waited for an internal count of thirty and then leaped from his position. He moved quickly past the doorway and spun around to take a new position by the constables’ bodies. He waited to see who might be coming through the door.
Randy Fisher saw a man scamper across the open doorway in a crouched position. The light inside the building gave him good visibility. He was certain the man held a weapon against his body. The terrorists at Trafalgar Square had Uzi machine guns. He had to assume the man had the same type of weapon. He looked for Marion, but his friend was still around the corner, out of sight. Marion could not have observed the armed man from his position.
From the equipment shed, Randy had both seen and heard Charlie fall to the ground behind the tractor. He had crossed the open ground and knelt down next to the stricken agent. Charlie held his bent knee up next to his chest, trying not to cry out from the pain. Randy had bent down next to Charlie’s ear and only whispered one word. “Broken?”
Charlie had simply nodded. As he tried to get up from the ground, his facial muscles pulled into a grimace of pain. Randy gave the downed agent a gentle grip on the shoulder and looked for the lost handgun. Locating the weapon in the wet grass, he picked it up. From his training in the army and working as an auxiliary deputy, Randy was familiar with the Glock G-19 9 mm handgun. The rubber grip was wet but fit his hand, and he laid his right index finger alongside the trigger guard. He checked the position of the safety. It was on, but he could move it with his thumb in less than a heartbeat. He carefully pulled the slide partway back to ensure there was a round in the chamber. In the available ambient light, he could see the shiny brass casing of the bullet. He felt the end of the clip, flush with the gun handle. He assumed the clip held the standard fifteen rounds.
He moved back toward Charlie and knelt down again next to the agent. “You’re on the sideline now, my friend.”
Without another word, he moved off in the direction outlined by Marion. He was about twenty feet from the van backed up to the steps when he saw a man move across the open doorway.
He stopped and checked again for Marion. His friend had arrived at the corner and was peeking around to see the car and van, checking for who was making the approach from the other direction. When Marion saw Randy Fisher approaching the building, he pulled back from the corner and leaned against the building. Damn. Fisher is not supposed to be here.
Marion held his 9 mm Smith & Wesson handgun in a two-handed grip close to his chest. He had carried the same weapon on field operations since he had first joined the CIA. He leaned out and watched Randy move around to the back of the police cruiser. Marion decided to make a move to the doorway and up the concrete steps. He needed to reach the building before Randy Fisher. He planned to stop just outside the pump house door.
Randy saw his friend heading toward the doorway, knowing a terrorist waited inside the building. He tried to wave Marion off. Marion’s eyes stayed focused on the doorway and steps. He was looking away from Randy as he made the short run to the doorway. Randy knew the man who had crossed the open doorway could not be a police officer. Only armed British forces would carry a rifle or any other type of heavy weapon. Marion was walking into a trap.
Calling out a warning would alert the terrorist and maybe confuse Marion. Randy took the biggest risk of his life. He rose from his crouched position. Using his left hand to steady the weapon in his right hand, Randy aimed the handgun toward the closed overhead door. He fired off four rounds through and across the door, spacing the spread pattern of each round about a foot apart and just above the building floor.
Hossein was crouched down low to the floor on one knee, watching the agent approach the doorway. He was aiming his Uzi and applying pressure to the trigger when the bullets from another weapon came through the lightweight aluminum overhead door. The first two bullets hit the concrete floor, ricocheted across the pit, and embedded into the soft bricks of the far wall. Dust and small concrete chips caused him to pull the gun up and away from his target when his finger pulled the Uzi’s trigger. As the machine gun fired bullets into the brick wall next to Marion’s head, the last two bullets from Randy’s weapon found a human target.
Marion instinctively pulled back from the doorway as the bullets chipped away pieces of the brick wall. He caught sight of the man who only a second before had trained the machine gun on his body. He took another quick look inside and moved to check the status of the terrorist. He could see the man was down on the floor, lying on his right side. He sightless eyes were looking back at Marion. A lifeless right hand with the index finger still inside the trigger guard gripped the Uzi.
Marion heard a handgun discharge to his left and felt a stinging pain high on his left arm. He quickly pulled back to safety, but he lost his balance and tumbled down the concrete steps.
Randy sprang forward, trying to reach his friend, but not before Marion’s head struck the edge of the bottom concrete step. In the light shining through the open doorway, he could see his friend’s closed eyes. He reached Marion and felt for a pulse. It was regular and strong. Marion was only stunned but out of action for a while.
He stepped over Marion’s body and leaned against the doorframe. Inside to his right was the body of the man who had hit him from behind on the Jubilee Bridge. Beyond the body of the terrorist were the bodies of two constables. No doubt, they belonged to the police cruiser. To his immediate left and just inside the door a few feet away were six yellow plastic barrels. Five were standing on end; one still lay on its side. He reached to move them, but their heaviness made that impossible with only one hand. They would make good protection, he thought.
He felt cold rainwater run down the inside of his coat collar. With the back of his left hand, he wiped water off his forehead and out of his eyes. He stole a quick look inside the building to his left and caught sight of another man hiding behind more yellow plastic barrels.
He saw movement from the terrorist and pulled back just in time. A bullet clipped the wall only a few inches from his head. He took a moment to calm down and then shouted into the doorway. “It’s over. Your friend is dead. I have more help on the way. It will only be a few more minutes until British SAS troops will be here. They will not give you a chance to surrender. They will simply storm the building with more weapons than you could possibly handle and they will kill you. If you surrender now, you might live past this day.”
Randy was hoping Charlie had been able to use his cell phone to call for backup support. He did not want to have to take this man alone, and he wanted him alive. They needed whatever information he possessed about this attack and the attack three years ago in South Carolina.
A voice inside the building interrupted his thoughts. “You are the American? You are the senator who killed my brother?”
Randy did not like the tone of voice. It did not sound like someone debating whether to surrender. He decided not to answer the question. “You only have a few minutes before my backup arrives. Surrender now and you will get a fair trial.”
A laugh came from behind the plastic barrels. “If you are here, American, then my friends at the square must have failed, but I bet they took many lives with them. There will be no fair trial for me. I will be judged by Allah. He will approve of my actions by how many of his enemies I can take with me.”
Randy called back, “Surely you don’t want to die needlessly like this.”
When the voice spoke again, the words sent a chilling tremor up Randy’s spine. “I only wish that I had lived to see the next attack on your precious American soil. I can promise you they will not fail like my brother. They will destroy much more than your precious little state in America. They will kill millions of Americans.”
Randy thought he could hear other noises inside the building. A new though took over his mind. Was the terrorist stalling? Attempting to keep Randy from attempting to enter the building?
He took a quick look
through the doorway back toward the terrorist. The yellow barrels inside the doorway gave him an idea. He kept his body low and took two long steps through the doorway. As he moved, he kept his eyes fastened on his target near the end of the building. Just as he ducked down behind the barrels for protection, he caught a glimpse of the terrorist pulling a brown canvas tool bag back behind the barrels.
Randy crouched behind his own upright barrels, thinking fast. The terrorist in the center of Trafalgar Square was carrying the same type of tool bag to hold the explosive device. Does this bag also hold a bomb?
Randy looked back toward Marion. His friend was moaning; he would not be any help in the next five or ten minutes. Randy did not feel he could wait that long.
He spotted several broken bricks lying on the floor next to the doorway. They must have been part of the outer wall of the pump house at one time. He selected the largest. It was about two-thirds the size of a full brick. He tried to shift his position. He wanted to use the brick as a diversion, but he was right-handed and needed to use it to hold the Glock. He would have to use his left hand to throw the brick back toward his left to divert the terrorist’s attention. However, the angle was all wrong.
Randy laid the brick down and checked again around his area. One of the yellow barrels was on its side. He reached to try to shift the standing barrel next to him. It would not budge. It was too heavy.
He looked again at the barrel on its side. Of the six barrels, it was the only one on its side. If he could move two of the upright barrels just enough, he could move between them to the barrel on its side. Its path was directly toward where the other six barrels were protecting the terrorist. Randy could see tracks in the thin dust coating on the floor from when the other barrels had rolled across the floor.
He shifted to lean his back against the doorframe and placed both feet against the bottom of the upright barrel on the right end. Using his leg muscles, he applied force against the barrel, trying to push it farther to the side. At first, the barrel would not budge. He shifted his body slightly to bring it more in line with the barrel and reset his feet. Once again, he exerted force against the barrel. This time it shifted. He reset his feet again and shoved. The barrel moved at least a full foot and provided part of the space he needed to get to the barrel on its side.