by RR Haywood
She swallows and draws a deep breath. She took the shittiest deployments on offer. She did the worst, the very worst. The nasty, dirty and bitter jobs that no one else would touch. She killed, tricked, lied and fought her way through all of them in service to her country and for a career she was dedicated to. The pressure made her worried she was already getting too old and that she should have been a One years ago. It felt like nothing she was doing was making any difference, but now she is being watched by Mother, who also knows her name. This is it. This is the time to impress.
She thinks about the information Alpha just gave her. A time machine is in existence and in use. That makes this mission the most important there ever has been and possibly ever will be. She glances round to the five, feeling the thrill inside at being in such exalted company and catching Delta as he winks before turning towards the door. These men are almost godlike in the way the others view them. They have commanded armies and run operations of a scale that would make most generals balk. There is nothing bigger than this right now, and she is at the front as it happens.
‘Target premises ahead.’ The voice of the pilot comes calmly through their earpieces.
‘Roger that,’ Alpha replies. He waits for the heli to get closer and spots the units moving through the woodland bordering the house. A tap on his shoulder. Charlie waving for him to look up and ahead at the two attack helicopter gunships coming in from the opposite direction. Alpha nods.
The heli turns and drops with such speed the six feel their stomachs flip, heave and turn over as it manoeuvres to face back towards the house. An instant view gained of the open French doors and signs of movement within.
‘Armed people inside that room,’ the pilot relays before moving the heli forward towards the designated balcony.
‘MOVE FAST NOW,’ Alpha orders into his radio. ‘Secure the targets . . . Pilot, get us in position.’
‘In five,’ the pilot says calmly, adjusting the stick in his hands to ease the thrust as he gains the space over the balcony. ‘Deploy ropes.’
‘Rope out,’ Alpha says.
‘Rope out,’ Bravo says.
Both of them release their coils that fall to hang down from the sides of the craft.
‘In three . . . two . . . one . . . Deploy deploy deploy . . .’
Alpha grips, pulls out and drops at speed with the thick gloves gripping the rope to control his descent. Bravo matches his rate on the other side, and as soon as the gap is created, Charlie and Delta come sliding down. As Alpha and Bravo land, Echo and Tango Two rappel down. The whole thing takes but seconds. The pilot watches closely and yanks the stick the second the last pair land to give lift as the heli roars and sails up and away.
Echo rushes in, a small shaped charge is taken from a pocket and stuck to the lock on the double doors. ‘Clear,’ he says.
‘Clear,’ Alpha says as the others duck and turn away.
The explosion is only small but enough to destroy the lock and enable Bravo’s right foot to kick the doors in. Weapons up. Lasers activated that hold steady as they pour through Roland’s bedroom towards the door as the first shots are fired.
Miri hears the heli drop and knows the fast ropes are being deployed. She sees the attackers coming across the lawn and knows the same numbers will be coming at the sides and front of the house. She glances up at the military gunships looming larger by the second, and from all these things she gains the measure of their opponent that must be the British government deploying with all its might. An image of a world map flashes in her mind that narrows down to the small county of Hampshire, which contains the British naval base of Portsmouth and the squadrons of Royal Marines and Special Forces units. Instant concern that this opponent is too big to take on. Only the US and Russia can surpass the Brits when they set their minds to something – and right now, that something is a man in the cellar of this house, and that man cannot, under any circumstances, be given over to any government. In the same whirling stream of conscious thought, she considers that her own side consists of a drugged-up Commando from the Second World War, an equally drugged-up police officer and an insurance investigator. Bad odds. Damn bad odds.
‘Your son,’ she says quickly. ‘Priority . . . Take us to him now.’
‘Who are they?’ Roland asks, backing away from the windows.
‘Now!’ Miri says, aiming her pistol at Ria’s head.
The dull explosion reverberates through the house as Echo blows the doors on the middle floor. Glass smashing from somewhere else. Voices shouting. Helicopters thudding. The pressure grows.
‘No, please!’ Susan screams, rushing in front of Ria with tears streaming down her cheeks.
‘I’ll show you,’ Ria says.
‘Now . . . go . . . go . . .’ Miri says, her voice clear but hard.
They pile into the hallway and down towards the atrium lobby, hearing boots thudding on the floors above them and doors being kicked open. Ria leads them on from the lobby into a huge drawing room resplendent in ivory-coloured sofas and armchairs. Thick rugs on the floor and a huge crystal chandelier hanging from the centre of the ceiling. Safa and Harry run with the group, both with pistols still out. Miri winces from the pains in her hips and back.
‘Call him . . .’ Ben says. ‘Tell him to get to us.’
‘No phone,’ Ria says. ‘Bertie won’t use one.’
‘He’ll hear the heli and come out,’ Safa says, rushing to gain the front position.
‘Cellar is soundproofed,’ Ria replies.
‘Hold,’ Safa says as they reach the next door.
‘No time. Go,’ Miri says.
‘This way.’ Ria runs on through a games room, past a billiards table as Ben tuts and casts a withering look at Roland. She reaches a discreet door at the back and heaves it in, pushing the handle down as she goes. The difference is immediate and stark. Old peeling paint on the corridor walls. Worn floorboards underfoot. The old servants’ access routes and walkways. She runs fast, staying ahead of Safa and the rest, who crash through the door and down the corridor. Explosions are heard. Flash-bangs and stun grenades being thrown into rooms before the attackers charge in. That tells Safa and Miri the house is breached. Harry just ploughs on, still feeling the thrum of the drugs running through his body.
‘Down there,’ Ria pants, coming to a wooden door that she goes to open.
‘WAIT.’ Safa pushes forward to gain the door. ‘Move back.’ She shoves Ria away, creating room to open the door and surge in. ‘BERTIE?’ Safa yells, rushing down an old set of wooden stairs. Music sails up at them. Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony in a wall of noise pumped from speakers that render her words unheard.
She barrels down, with Ben behind her. Miri grabs Roland and Susan, forcing them to wait, then checks behind to see Harry staring back the way they came.
Safa turns sharply at the bottom of the stairs into a wonderland of light, of machines, of stripped-down electrical devices. Of posters of heavy metal bands, pop groups, Japanese anime illustrations and reproduction prints of Monet and Constable. Colours everywhere. Vibrant primary shades daubed on the walls. A drawing of the time machine etched on a huge piece of paper pinned to the wall. Schematics, blueprints, diagrams, hand-drawn sketches and piles of books stacked everywhere. Tools litter the sides. Old hand tools with worn wooden handles next to tiny, surgical-style scalpels and grips.
She spots the man sitting at a desk swaying side to side as he drums his fingers over the wooden surface in front of him in mimicry of the music. She shouts out, but the music blares too loud. She runs forward, veering round an old shop store mannequin fitted with robotic arms and legs and camera lenses for eyes.
Bertie plays the music, and for a few wonderful seconds his mind is full only of the chords. A hand on his shoulder that grips hard and twists him round. He turns smiling up into the face of a person he recognises as Safa Patel screaming something at him. Bertie lifts a hand in greeting, then smiles wider when he spots Ben Ryder behind her.
&n
bsp; ‘Hi, Bertie,’ he shouts, his words as unheard as Safa’s.
She says something and wrenches him off his feet as Ben moves in to grab his arm and start dragging him towards the stairs. The same height as his dad but leaner. The same dark hair, but whereas Roland’s is neat, Bertie’s is unkempt, shaggy and sticking up in clumps.
With Beethoven filling his ears, Bertie is dragged across his workshop to the wooden stairs. He looks up as he goes, seeing his sister at the top beckoning him to run faster. Another woman too. Older, with greying hair. Ben runs behind him, pushing him to go faster. Safa coming up last. Bertie reaches the top and finds a huge hairy gnarled hand gripping his wrist as he flies off his feet to look up into the bearded face of Mad Harry Madden.
‘Hi, Harry,’ Bertie says, grinning widely while being awe-struck at the sight of him. ‘You’re, like, totally huge . . .’
‘Go now,’ Miri shouts.
‘Roland,’ Safa says, grabbing his arm to spin him round, ‘is there another way up to the top floor?’
‘What?’ Roland gibbers in confusion and fear.
‘Servants’ stairs,’ Ria blurts.
‘She’s so pretty,’ Bertie says, staring at Safa. ‘You were right, Dad . . .’
‘Please, will someone tell me what’s going on?’ Susan asks, clutching to pull Ria and Bertie closer.
‘PEOPLE IN THE HOUSE . . . LIE DOWN WITH YOUR ARMS OUT . . . PEOPLE IN THE HOUSE . . . LIE DOWN WITH YOUR ARMS OUT . . .’
The voice is enormous. Amplified through a loudspeaker fitted to the helicopter. It hovers metres from the front of the house. The pilot’s words boom clear and deep.
‘We should do as they say,’ Roland says quickly.
‘Go,’ Miri says to Ria. ‘Back stairs . . .’
‘We have to get into the drawing room,’ Ria says, gripping Bertie’s hand.
‘Which one is that?’ Ben asks.
‘We came through it,’ Ria says.
‘The ivory room?’
Ria nods quickly. ‘There’s a door next to the fireplace . . . Goes to the middle floor, then out on the landing and up the next flight . . .’
Alpha holds his arm up. Fist clenched. Hold. His submachine gun gripped in his right hand as he listens to the radio traffic.
‘White side breached . . . We’re in through the main doors in the lobby.’
‘Black side breached . . . We came in through the dining room. We saw them running out the room.’
‘Green breached. Negative contact. We came through a games room and drawing room . . . We can see the other agents in the lobby.’
‘Red side breached . . . We can hear you in the lobby . . .’
‘This is Alpha. Commence room clearance to search ground floor. Alpha to pilot. See anything?’
‘Pilot to Alpha. Negative.’
Tango Two conjures an image of the house in her mind and the four groups of attackers all sweeping through to meet in the lobby. She leans over the railing to look down at the operatives kneeling next to the now open front door. The red lasers glowing bright and straight from the weapons held ready as the operatives get ready for a game of hide-and-seek.
‘Keep your mask up,’ Bravo whispers at Tango Two. ‘If we find them, you will communicate. We are here to help them. We are here to assist. We do not want to hurt them. Understood?’
‘Got it,’ Tango Two says with the bitter thought that she is only here because she is female.
They have to go fast. There is no option. Speed and daring is all they have now.
‘PEOPLE IN THE HOUSE . . . LIE DOWN . . .’
The amplified voice continues as Ria leads them back through the servants’ corridor to the door into the billiards room. She stops when she reaches it. Already breathing hard from the running and the fear.
Safa goes to the front again. Not speaking this time, but gripping Ria’s arms to pull her away. She listens closely, leaning in towards the closed door. Her pupils huge. Her whole body still buzzing. Silence on the other side. Maybe they haven’t got this far yet. Doesn’t matter anyway. In her head, she plots the route ahead. Out of this door, across the billiards room, into the drawing room and through the next door to the flight of stairs. Not a big distance to go. They can make that at least.
She turns to look at the others. Harry at the back and everyone else between them. She locks eyes on Miri, who nods the order to go.
Safa draws a deep breath, grabs the handle and bursts into an empty room. Pistol up and aimed. She strides clear of the door as the others come out behind her. Scrape of shoes. Whimpers of fright from Roland and his wife. Ria telling Bertie to shush.
Safa aims for the exit door that leads into the drawing room, approaching it from an angle. A quick glance back. Everyone is out of the corridor. She pushes on to charge through the door and spots the eight kneeling figures looking into the atrium lobby. More attackers beyond them. Glowing red laser sights in the air.
Miri spots them next and notices their identical appearance to the people in Berlin. Ben’s eyes widen. His hand falling towards the pistol on his hip. Harry comes last, taller than the others and seeing over them to the soldiers in the room ahead. Roland screams out. Susan gasps. Ria flinches from the noise. The trailing operative turns quickly to check his route behind. He’s only a Three. Fresh out of basic training and his heart is already going like the clappers; now it thunders and booms as he spots Safa in the lead lifting her pistol to aim.
‘CONTACT . . .’ the young Three screams. Operatives start spinning round, aiming their guns.
Safa pauses as a voice inside remembers the police rules of engagement. She sees a threat, but not an immediate risk to life. Miri senses Safa’s lack of killer instinct and thinks this mission will end right here. She checks her watch, muttering the minutes to herself.
Red lasers flash through the air. Men and women screaming the word contact out to repeat and relay. The heli outside and the amplified voice thundering ‘PEOPLE IN THE HOUSE . . . LIE DOWN . . .’
Wide stance. Double-grip on the pistol. Face a mask of focus and aim. Safa overcomes the internal reasoning and fires once. She twitches the aim. Fires. Twitches the aim and fires a third. All three rounds gain kills. All three find their mark as three corpses fall dead on the floor with brains blown out.
Miri blinks, stunned, not expecting the perfect placement of shot from Safa, who aims at the door and fires steady rounds to send the rest of the attackers scattering.
‘HARRY, WITH ME . . . BEN, GET THEM THROUGH . . .’
Harry is already surging forward, using his bulk to push through into the drawing room. Shots come back, designed to suppress. The house fills with gunfire and the ping of rounds ricocheting off walls.
Safa holds for Harry to join her, then goes forward. The pair side by side firing single shots one after the other through the doorway. All concerns about drugs, fast heart rates, trembling limbs now forgotten. They stride to the door, firing again and again. Ben glances at them as he drags Bertie across the room towards the door being wrenched open by Ria.
‘Magazine,’ Safa says calmly. The one in her pistol drops away as the fresh one comes up in her spare hand to be rammed in. She looks back to see Ben staring at her. ‘Go,’ she says, just as calmly.
‘Magazine,’ Harry says, remembering the lesson from Safa that people now say magazine when they run out of bullets. What’s wrong with I’m out is beyond him, but he does it anyway.
‘FLASH-BANG,’ Safa yells, seeing the object fly through the door. She drops and turns, squeezing her eyes shut. Harry copies her a fraction of a second later. The grenade detonates as Ben turns away. A blinding explosion of light and a huge booming noise that makes his bones shake. Miri is through the door, grimacing as she grips Bertie and drags him up the stairs.
‘IN IN IN . . . ALPHA WANTS THEM ALIVE . . . GET IN NOW . . .’ a voice from the hallway bellows, urging the agents to go forward.
‘Ben, go!’ Safa screams, her head swimming from the sensation of t
he flash-bang.
Ben hesitates at the door. He closed his eyes before the flash-bang detonated, but the retina burn still got through his eyelids. Colours and stars flash in his vision. His hearing muffled. His head spinning. He looks up to see Miri dragging Bertie, then back to see attackers steaming into the room towards Harry and Safa, both still rising from the floor.
His hand draws the pistol before his mind can assess what he is doing. That same hand lifts, flicks the safety off and fires the pistol at the doorway as he strides across the room.
Time slows like it has done before. Everything in perfect clarity. No panic now. No concerns. He tried to fight back at Holborn, but he didn’t know how to fire a gun then. He didn’t know to compensate for the recoil or the sensations and noise. Now he knows.
He empties the magazine into them. Twitching the aim to send rounds through the centre of mass. Bodies drop, screaming. Submachine guns return fire. Ben dives to the side as Safa and Harry both do the same. All of them taking to the floor to roll and snatch what shots they can in the close-quarters firefight.
The attackers fall back, scrambling from the room as the pistol shots slam into the frame and door. More bodies lie dead. Blood smeared and splashed across the ivory sofas, and armchairs now puckered with bullet holes. The thick rugs ruined. The floor scuffed and dented. A surreal second of awareness as the thought of insurance flits through Ben’s mind and the idea of someone from his old firm coming to assess the damage. So exactly how did the massive gunfight happen again?
‘Back . . . back . . .’ Safa scrabbles up and runs, lurching to grip Ben’s arm, heaving him up as Harry rises to fire a few more rounds through the doorway.
Safa pushes Ben towards the door, then drops to kneel and cover Harry falling back. The three of them get through and start up the wooden stairs. Ears ringing. Chests heaving. They change magazines as they go, with Safa once again leading them to the top to see Miri looking at the watch on her wrist.
‘We need to go,’ Miri says. Her tone flat. Her eyes hard. ‘Door ahead.’ Miri points up a short distance to a plain wooden door. ‘Girl says we go out, turn hard right and through the next door for the last flight of stairs. You take point.’