by Bill Kitson
They raised their glasses, toasting the success of the venture, swallowed the capsules and drank the water.
St Wilfred’s was like many church halls around the county. A large main hall contained a stage capable of producing small amateur concerts and shows, with a couple of large side rooms and a kitchen.
The group that gathered in the main hall that Saturday was as different from the Women’s Institute meeting the previous night as could be imagined. They weren’t seated, the chairs having been stacked around the walls. Instead they were standing in small groups, chattering and speculating about the possible outcome of that night’s adventure.
A fair number expressed reservations, citing the inglorious end to their previous attempt at the laboratory. Others were telling colleagues of the purchases they’d been asked to make, the purpose of which seemed evident. The method was what they couldn’t understand. They knew they had the means to get in, but how would security be overcome?
Paul hovered close to the stage, his anxiety increasing as the minutes passed and the time of the meeting got closer. Doubts crept in. He’d only the e-mailer’s word that this wasn’t a hoax. If they had been set up…. His brain whirled with the horrendous possibility of such a scenario. His eyes searched the crowd, for the umpteenth time. He knew everyone in the hall. No sign of their mystery informant yet. Every time the door opened, Paul looked across, his hopes increasing. Seconds later, as he recognized the new arrival, his disappointment was visible.
He glanced at the clock above the stage. It was time for the meeting to start. Where was their new colleague? It wouldn’t be a good start if he was late. As he was fretting, the hall lights went out and the stage curtains opened. A spotlight illuminated the figure standing at the back, centre stage, dressed from head to toe in black, his face obscured by a balaclava. Several female activists clutched at the arm of their nearest companion, in momentary panic at this terrifying sight. The figure on the stage stepped forward.
‘The plan is simple.’ The voice was male, strong enough to be heard clearly by the silent crowd. ‘When the lights at Helm Pharm go out, the four of you with bolt cutters will attack the fences where you were instructed. As soon as you’ve created a big enough gap, the team that go in should head straight for the laboratory. Your task is to get there without coming into contact with the security staff. Avoid them where you can. The doors to the laboratory are electronic; they will have been disabled long before you reach them. From the time you get to the laboratory you have fifteen minutes to remove all the animals. After that I cannot guarantee your survival, let alone your safety. That means you do not have time to release the animals. What you must do is pick up the cages with the animals still inside. Take one in each hand, go back to the fence where the other team will be waiting to take them from you and store them in the vans. We estimate you’ll have time for two, possibly three trips each.’
‘We,’ Paul wondered, who did he mean by ‘we’?
‘What about the guards?’ one of the activists called out.
‘They’ll be running around in the dark like headless chickens. They’ll have plenty to worry about, believe me. I should warn you, there will be several loud explosions whilst you’re carrying out your task. Ignore them; they’re designed to divert attention away from you. Now, did everyone make the purchases you were asked to?’
There was a confused babble of sound. The man on stage held up one hand. ‘Show me.’
The activists held up their hands. The man on stage scanned them. He pointed to one man. ‘Where’s your balaclava?’
‘Didn’t get one. I’m not hiding my face. I want them to see me. I want them to recognize me. I’m proud of who I am, of what I do.’
There was a mutter of sound from those around him, not unsympathetic. ‘If you’re not prepared to cover your face, you don’t go in,’ the man on stage told him calmly.
‘Oh yes, and who do you think is going to stop me?’ the objector sneered.
The man on stage didn’t reply, but the dissenter felt a sharp dig in his ribs and looked round. Another figure clad all in black was standing alongside him, proffering a tin of shoe polish and a soft cloth.
The objector looked down and his face drained of colour. He’d been prepared to argue the point, eager almost: but not with someone holding a gun. As more and more of the activists realized what the intruder was holding, they backed away, leaving a widening circle of space. As all attention was on the gun, nobody noticed that the man on the stage had disappeared. Seconds later, the hall was plunged into darkness. The blackout lasted a few seconds. When the lights came back on the activists looked round. Of the man on stage and the gunman in the hall, there was no sign.
‘How did you know? About the shoe polish, I mean?’ Jessica asked as they drove away.
‘Stands to reason. They’re a bolshie lot, otherwise they wouldn’t be involved in this sort of activity. I knew someone wouldn’t kow-tow. I was surprised it was only one. But he soon toed the line when he saw you waving the gun around.’
He pulled to a halt at the end of a quiet lane. There were no houses within a hundred yards. They waited for a second. ‘Ideal spot,’ he told her. ‘Very little chance of being disturbed.’
‘Won’t it look suspicious? I mean, if anyone did see us? A man walking his dog for instance.’
Steve laughed. ‘I doubt it. They’d think it was a courting couple.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Come on.’
They got out of the van and looked at their target. The small building looked impregnable behind a heavy duty steel fence. The gate was secured by three locks, any of which would have kept a burglar busy for the best part of an hour. ‘Ready?’
‘Let’s do it.’ Excitement bubbled in Jessica’s voice.
She watched him walk to the gate. A few seconds later he returned. They went back to the van and climbed in. Steve saw the expression on her face before the courtesy light went out and suppressed a smile. He knew that look. ‘Make the call.’
She pressed Short Code 1 on her mobile. A second later they heard a sharp crack, followed instantly by a bright flash of light. What remained of the gate was lying on the ground, a twisted heap of scrap metal. ‘That’s one mobile phone gone,’ Steve observed as they stepped over the wreckage.
‘You should have seen the salesman’s face when I bought them,’ Jessica laughed. ‘I told him they were Christmas presents for next year.’
‘Naturally, doesn’t everyone go Christmas shopping in January?’ He was inspecting the door as he spoke. ‘No need for plastic on this, they obviously thought the gate was a strong enough deterrent. Shine the torch on the lock. I’ll have it open in a couple of minutes.’
True to his word, they were soon inside. She played the torch beam over the interior. ‘So that’s what one of these looks like.’
He moved closer, there was very little room. ‘Shine the torch over there.’ He pointed to the corner. ‘I’m going to have to squeeze past. I need to be in there.’
As he pushed against her, Jessica could smell his scent, clean and masculine. It was as if all her senses were heightened, whether by the excitement, the drug, or both, she wasn’t sure.
He strapped a larger block of explosive to a heavy steel structure, attached another mobile phone to it and stood up. ‘Job done,’ he told her. ‘Let’s get clear. Douse the light as soon as you get hold of the door handle.’
As they climbed back into the van she looked at the clock on the dashboard. ‘Ten minutes to get to the laboratory,’ she said.
Steve started the engine. ‘Plenty of time.’
When they were on the approach road leading to Helm Pharm, he said, ‘Make the call.’
She pressed Short Code 2 on the mobile. Seconds later she saw a brilliant flash of light in her wing mirror. Almost immediately, the street lights went out. Taking out the electricity substation would black out Helm Pharm and neutralize the electronic lock controls, leaving the doors open. The laboratory that had seemed secu
re, was again a soft target.
After the strangers left, the activists had indulged in an agonizing, short and, at times, vicious debate as to whether to continue the attempt. Paul had settled the matter. ‘What do we care if one of them has a gun? Better to have someone like that on our side than against us. What matters most to you, the fact that somebody’s got a weapon, or what we came for? To liberate the creatures those bastards are tormenting.’
That effectively ended any opposition. Even as Paul spoke, the leading objector, the one who’d refused to buy a balaclava was opening the tin of shoe polish. When the others saw him begin to smear his face, that was that.
At exactly the time specified in the e-mail, Paul heard an explosion in the distance. The night sky to the north was illuminated by a bright flash. Seconds later, the security lights on the Helm Pharm buildings died out, the bulbs waning to a dull glow, before disappearing completely. The street lights went out at the same instant, leaving total darkness. Exactly as promised.
Paul put on his balaclava and fixed the night vision goggles over his eyes. ‘Bolt cutters, off you go,’ he spoke in an urgent whisper, restraining the impulse to shout.
Unseen in the darkness, a vehicle, lights out, pulled up nearby. Before Steve and Jessica got out, he flicked a switch in the panel over the rear view mirror. ‘What’s that?’ Jessica asked.
‘Turning off the courtesy light,’ he explained briefly.
They stood for a moment in front of the van. ‘I’m going to deal with the gatehouse,’ he told her. ‘You know what to do.’
When the lights went out the two men in the gatehouse contacted the control room via their radios. ‘Hold your position,’ they were told. ‘The fence will keep intruders at bay. Wait for further orders. It may be nothing more than a power cut.’
They waited. The night was silent. Time passed. Nothing moved. ‘I don’t like this,’ one of the guards said. ‘Without lights we’re helpless. There could be an army out there for all we know.’
Seconds later, they heard a noise. The merest whisper of sound. Like someone scratching. ‘Is that you?’ one of the guards asked his colleague.
‘No, I thought it was you.’
As he spoke they felt a sudden chill and the sound of the hatch window opening. This was followed by a thud, and the sound of the window closing. Before the guards could work out that someone had slipped a screwdriver under the sill and prised the window open, there was a sudden flash of light followed by a deafening thunderclap. As the sound died away the kiosk was filled with thick, choking smoke.
Blinded, disorientated, their hearing gone and their breathing laboured, the guards stumbled from their prison, reeling in dizzy gyrations as they sucked greedily at the clean, cold night air.
Steve was halfway to his destination by then, having dived through the nearest hole cut in the fence. He sprinted towards the office block. As he reached the front door, he heard a loud explosion from the rear. He grinned, it sounded as if Jessica was enjoying herself. He plunged into the dark building.
As Steve was attacking the gatehouse, Jessica had slipped through the fence unnoticed – just another balaclava-clad figure waiting to rescue the caged animals. Once inside the perimeter, she peeled away from the others and headed for the rear of the office block. She flicked her torch on for a brief moment, locating her target. She doused the light, waited a second, then replaced her goggles. She dropped to her knees and felt along the hard metal surface of the manhole cover. She found the lifting plate and slid a screwdriver through it. She placed the block of C4 alongside the tap and replaced the cover before running round the corner of the building. She took the mobile from her pocket and pressed Short Code 3. The explosion was followed by a few seconds of silence. Jessica had put her gloved hands over her ears, anticipating the blast. She heard the patter of water, like a fountain playing on leaves. Steve had explained that they needed to cut off the water so the sprinkler systems wouldn’t work. ‘Why not turn the stop tap off?’ she’d asked.
He’d shaken his head. ‘Too much of a gamble. It’s no good getting to it and finding the tap’s rusted up, or too stiff to move.’
Any doubt that the loss of the lights might be accidental was dispelled by the explosion at the gatehouse and the blast to the rear of the offices. As the guards patrolling the grounds reported intrusions from all four sides of the compound, the head of security lifted the phone to summon assistance. Neither man in the control room heard the door open. As quietly as it had opened, it closed a split second later. In the corridor, Steve counted to five, hands over his ears. Then he watched as the men stumbled out, suffering as their colleagues in the gatehouse had done. He remembered Jessica’s face when he displayed the trophies he’d lifted in the raid on the munitions store. ‘What are they?’ she’d asked.
‘Flash bangs.’ He’d laughed at her mystified expression. ‘That’s what we call them anyway. Stun grenades. They give off a big flash of light, a loud bang, then a thick cloud of smoke. Designed to frighten and disorientate rather than kill. Rumour is they were designed for the SAS.’
‘Won’t they be missed?’
‘Probably not. That amount of C4 would be obvious. But a couple of flash bangs, what harm could they do? In any case, do you care? I certainly don’t.’
By the time the men reeled out of the front door, Jessica had finished planting further charges at each corner of the office block and the laboratory. As she jogged towards the back corner of the compound, she heard the sound of someone running behind her. So high was her confidence that she didn’t bother to look round, merely calling over her shoulder, ‘What kept you?’
‘Cheeky bitch. Everything OK?’
‘No problem.’ He could hear the excitement, stronger than ever in her voice.
‘Now for the main event. Glasses back on.’
They lowered their goggles and watched for a moment. Jessica saw figures moving through the grounds. The activists were almost clear of the compound. The security guards had regrouped close to the gatehouse and it looked as if they were discussing the situation. There was certainly no move being made to re-enter the offices, or the gatehouse.
‘Go plant the big one,’ Steve told her. ‘I’ll keep an eye on those characters.’
She walked up to the oil tank that fed the central heating systems and taped a large block of explosive on the side. She attached the mobile phone and stepped back. The process took little more than twenty seconds, but then she’d been practising it all week, night after night, against the side panel of the motorhome. ‘Isn’t this dangerous?’ she’d asked early on.
Steve had grinned. ‘Only if you develop a craving for almond paste. That’s marzipan you’re using.’
She rejoined Steve. ‘Hit the phone,’ he told her. ‘They look as if they’re about to go back inside. And for God’s sake don’t press the wrong button. If you do, we’ll be in orbit.’
She pressed Short Code 4, and the small charges she’d placed against the brickwork of the two buildings exploded in a series of dramatic sounding and looking blasts, that in fact did little damage.
They watched as the guards retreated to the safety of the perimeter. The explosions had ensured no one was close to the buildings, Steve took Jessica’s hand and they sprinted for the hole in the fence. They dived through and reached the van. ‘Go for it,’ he told her.
‘Are we clear? Is this far enough away?’
‘Press the button and we’ll find out. We can’t afford to wait for them to go back. The whole idea is to destroy the buildings without harming anybody.’
Short Code 5 provided the biggest explosion of all as the gas tank ignited. They held their breath, counting the seconds as Steve had calculated. Then they heard a second blast as the boiler in the laboratory exploded, followed a split second later by another from the office block. As they continued to watch, flames appeared in both buildings, visible even through the non-reflective glass of the windows. Jessica gripped Steve’s hand, her eyes shi
ning, reflecting the glow of a dozen fires. Within seconds they heard the sound of breaking glass as the heat shattered window after window in a succession of smaller explosions, like aftershocks following an earthquake.
‘Time to go,’ Steve told her. ‘Back to the lock-up for the motorhome.’
They climbed in the van, and as they drove away, Jessica could see the reflection of the fires dancing in her wing mirror.
It was shortly after 3 a.m. when they reached the retreat that had been their hiding place for the past three weeks. As they entered the living quarters, Jessica asked, ‘What do you do when you come back from a mission? Or operation, or whatever you call it?’
Steve grinned. ‘We call it a lot worse than that, especially if it hasn’t gone well. We usually have a few beers, relax, phone home if we can. Some of the single lads go clubbing, try to get laid. Usually with far less success than they brag about.’
‘So, where’s the beer?’
The lager was strong; neither of them was a seasoned drinker. After a couple of tins, Jessica felt as if she was floating. She was sitting on the couch, with Steve alongside her. There wasn’t much room on the seat, not for two of them, so they were close together. They’d relived the thrill of the night’s activities, chattering excitedly as they remembered the total success. Jessica felt strong, still ready for action. ‘So what do we do next?’ she asked.
‘I’m not sure. I hadn’t thought about much beyond tonight.’
‘That’s not what I meant, Steve.’
He looked at her, startled. Jessica stood up and began to unbutton her jeans. She slipped them off, and her panties came with them. Before he could guess her intention she’d taken her T-shirt and bra off. She stood in front of him, naked, her head tilted, a smile on her lips. ‘What was it you said the single lads do?’
He felt the blood pounding in his head, his arousal painful. ‘And we’re both single, Steve,’ she bent over him, her breasts tantalisingly close to his face. He fought against the desire, but as if it was no longer part of him, his right hand moved to cup her breast. As he felt the smooth warmth of her skin against his palm, she unzipped his combat trousers and reached inside. He gave a soft moan, a mixture of pain and pleasure as her hand located its target. Then they were scrabbling, tearing and tugging at his clothing until he too was naked.