Thank you for the publicity. The key to this was always to hide in plain sight.
********************
Everything had swung into action beautifully. Edwards had materialised a task force from somewhere, like he’d been waiting for something like this to happen. He’d said as much of course though he probably never knew what it would be in any detail.
The choppers flew in low, coming out over the west coast and the North Channel, doubled back and crossed the Rhins, Luce Bay and rounded the Machars, South West Scotland’s hammer like bottom end peninsulas, into an icy dawn. Edwards sat up front wearing a pair of Oakleys that could really only be described as ridiculous but that Burke was fairly certain he’d selected specifically to go with Kevlar body armour and the cans on his ears. He was loving this.
It had been Burke’s granny that sealed the deal, sending out the local rag religiously, week in week out since he’d left home. He’d needed something to calm him down after the Campbell incident, some degree of grounding. Normally it was the court file that made interesting reading, trying to see if he recognised anyone from school that had been done for breach of the peace or bestiality after a night on the sauce. In an area where everyone knew everyone, the chances were you’d always know someone. Sometimes the headlines were laughable, like the time three sheep were nearly killed after escaping onto the A75 and it made the front page.
This time of course it had been the smirking face of Giles Heriot-Watt staring back at him, his gerbil like champagne quaffing mug a testament to the fact he’d just launched a speed boat, a speed boat that was about to be impounded.
Funny how granny always had a habit of pointing people in the right direction.
Wig Bay was to the right of them as they came in from the south avoiding the Galloway hills. Home, or what had been home lay three miles to the west, though no lights blinked there now and hadn’t done for some fifteen years. The memory faded but the twinge in the pit of the stomach remained just as strong. The achingly familiar landscape lay before them, spread out like an ink blue blanket with occasional sparkling lights indicating signs of life. Not long now.
32
Andy could hear the Russian speaking. In his head he pictured Borat, or a meaner version prancing around like the guy from Reservoir Dogs. Not that he spoke like Borat. Andy was probably just mildly racist or xenophobic he realised. Fair enough under the circumstances.
The prick behind him, it was the same stuffy little fucker who’d been there earlier. The one in the suit and the aura of self-importance. Not so grand now. He could hear the muffled grunts and the sound of the burner further away. If ever he was going to have a heart attack this was probably a good time. A quick painful death by his own hand or heart sounded good. He’d heard about Buddhist monks who when their time had come were able to just let go, push the red emergency button, pull the ejector cord, just fuck off and give the bastards the two fingered salute.
He tried holding his breath. Everything went silent. The burner was extinguished. He could hear the sounds of his heartbeat and the sobs of the suit behind him.
“It takes dedication to live this way. I wouldn’t expect you to understand a thing like that Giles.”
Giles, that was the snivelling posh twat’s name. The Russian or Estonian or whatever he was had a liking for the sound of his own voice, although the fact you could hear it from a distance was comforting. He hoped he could keep that distance.
“I wouldn’t expect you to understand it all, but allow me to educate you in some way.” The sound he heard then was familiar in some way and yet beyond that. A sickening crunch and at the same time a squelching sound like a dog chewing on a chicken bone. Then the scream came, a sound that would curdle the blood and twist the guts of anyone with senses. Then the burning smell. It hit is nostrils and was again familiar, the unmistakable reek of burning flesh like barbecuing pork or worse, further back in his memory, the pyres that came with foot and mouth. But this was more intense. This you couldn’t rationalise. This had only one conclusion, that he was next.
********************
Giles lay on the barn floor where he had fallen when they had cut the cable ties. Everything was numb. Andreyevich’s lecture about the ways of his people had gone over fairly convincingly. Safe to say it had left its mark on his mind.
The toothless henchman lay on the ground. Smoke poured from a gaping and yet cauterised wound where his windpipe had once been. A warning shot to him and the others on the payroll. Don’t screw up or it’ll be the end of you. He picked himself up from the cold concrete floor and staggered towards the light at the doorway but stopped short when he saw Victor standing there waiting, a glint in his eye.
“You should change your trousers.”
“Yes, immediately. Obviously,” he stammered trying to get control over the nervousness in his voice.
“But first you must take care of some business. Think of it as some kind of contract perhaps. An act of faith and mutual trust you might say.”
“Anything,” he replied, at the same time not quite meaning it.
Victor motioned towards the slumped figure of the boy cable tied to the pallet in the far corner. “You know what must be done. There can be no loose ends. All or nothing, and nothing is easily done,” he said motioning to the corpse on the floor.
One of the other hired hands stepped forward passing him an assault rifle.
“No!” Victor butted it away. “This is a mark of respect. We only execute those deserving with this.”
The guard lowered the AK47 nodding.
“Go and find something more appropriate. Something you might normally shoot a pig with.”
The man shuffled away and left Giles to think about this. It wasn’t something he’d done before. It wasn’t something he thought he’d ever have to do. But was it something he was prepared to do? Were there any other options? He could run, but no, they’d find him. This was the only way. The boy would never live anyway. The guard returned with a shot gun, conveniently sawn off half way down the barrel. He recognised this though, felt vaguely comfortable with it from pheasant shoots years before.
The guard clicked it open, finding two dusty looking cartridges. “You know how to use?” He asked, handing it over.
“Of course,” Giles replied. There was always some feeling of security to be had putting someone down. The shot gun was the weapon of choice for his kind of people, not like the AK used by despots and terrorists the world over.
He snapped the gun shut, lock, stock and what was left of the shortened barrels in unison, feeling lighter in his hands than he was used to, less heavy at the business end obviously but nevertheless, substantial.
He closed the giant door. He didn’t want an audience for what he was about to do. He walked purposefully towards the kid. He had to get this over with. That was all. Then on with the rest of his life, no more screw ups.
The boy seemed asleep. Maybe that was the saving grace in all of this. Maybe. He weighed up the gun again. This was a side by side, the barrel set on the horizontal. He’d used an over and under last time. It was unlikely he would miss at point blank range. No need to think about the adjustments to be made for that. He wasn’t a long range sniper trying to take the head off a diplomat at two miles. He was shooting a sleeping fish in a barrel.
There would be a recoil of course. Would it be more or less than a normal one? Would be get powder burns from the shortness of the barrel? It was going to be loud. That much he knew.
He took one last breath, looked over the gun again, lifted it decisively to his shoulder, then back to his waist when he wondered if that might be better.
And then the boy looked up and Giles’s heart skipped a beat.
********************
Andy had heard the weasel coming. The footsteps of his short arsed gait were unmistakably close together. He had considered that he might not have the bottle, but looking into his eyes now he knew that wasn’t the case. This guy hadn’t got by
on looks and charm. He must have some kind of nasty streak about him.
He looked shifty, moving the gun up and down his body, unsure whether to shoot from the hip or the shoulder. His face betrayed the shock when Andy raised his head, unprepared for there being an audience. He’d more happily have shot him in the back, should have thought of that really. The suit’s expression turned to one of righteous indignation. His jaw shot out, making him look as though he only had two chins and Andy felt the anger rising. The man moved the gun up to his shoulder again thrusting the end of the barrel into Andy’s face but stepping back slightly as his body language gave away his reluctance.
“You can’t shoot me,” Andy said, shaking his head in as dismissive a way as he could manage.
The man scoffed but seemed to twitch slightly. “And why would you think that?” he asked defiantly.
“Some things we just know round here,” Andy replied with a smirk. “It’s in the blood you might say.”
“The only thing that’s about to be in your blood is a lot of lead.”
“That so? You’re confident then?”
“Oh I am. You can pull all your mind tricks, try to guilt me about the fact that you’re just a boy and I’m, what? A big bad criminal?” He laughed a bit too hard.
“Bad criminal maybe,” Andy said, eliciting a frown and a further steely gaze from his executioner.
“We’ll see,” he said, as he took aim again. “Any last requests?”
“None. You?”
“I have to hand it to you, you do rather know how to talk a good game, but this isn’t like talking me out of beating you in a golf match. I’m not bottling it sunshine. This isn’t one you can win.”
“You still can’t shoot me,” Andy replied, starting to laugh.
“I’m glad you think that,” Giles said. “It makes this much easier.”
And then he pulled the trigger.
********************
The tank made short work of the front gate. “Security schmuecurity,” Big Al said, as he ploughed through the thing at about thirty miles an hour. He miss-judged it slightly. It launched into the air and they clung on for dear life as it lurched back towards the ground and landed with an almighty clatter.
The diesel engine roared once more, belching noxious fumes into the atmosphere as the powered towards the main building. “Full steam ahead,” Davie yelled sitting on top of the monster, feeling every inch the general as they pulled off the ultimate ram raid. He stoked up a B&H and reflected that you should never really fuck with someone who has access to a tank driving school. The decommissioned Russian hulk was followed by a Toyota Hilux under whose canopy was concealed eight angry men with baseball bats, iron bars and whatever else they’d got their hands on. Game on.
********************
“What the fuck?” Edwards blared into the microphone making everyone else’s ears sing. “What’s this?”
He’d choreographed this with the guys on the ground. They were doing one last circle before preparing to move in and now it looked like all hell was about to break loose.
“Go! Move in now,” he screamed. “They’ve got a… a tank.”
Below they could see the tank move in and the bodies on the ground scrambling like ants.
“Looks like a rival gang.” Edwards squawked to his crew on the ground. “Proceed with extreme caution. It looks like they’re armed.” He turned to the pilot. “Can you set this thing down?”
The nose of the chopper dipped accordingly then rose up again as the ground got closer. They moved along the runway sideways and came to a halt near the abandoned control tower, followed by the second air unit which then broke away and circled round the other side, towards the shore. As they descended, they could see both prongs of the police attack coming in from either side of the complex in a blue flashing pincer movement.
********************
Giles heard the crash outside just after he pulled the trigger. It threw him. It wasn’t the sound he’d expected to hear and it didn’t come from the right place. It took his brain half a second to catch up.
He’d forgotten the safety catch. That was the advice he’d ignored when the gun was handed over. No matter. He fumbled with it, watching the grin spread across the kid’s face and once ready, took aim again, allowing himself a grin of his own.
He could hear the commotion outside now but in here it was quiet. In here it was just the two of them. All he wanted to do was finish this, blow that smile away.
He took a deep breath and squeezed the trigger once more, willing the gun to go off, to blast lead through skin muscle bone and brain. Nothing.
The boy looked relieved for the briefest moment before smiling again and letting out the most primitive animalistic sound Giles had ever heard, pitching forward and hurling himself, into a somersault that shifted all the wooden pallets attached to his back into the air.
********************
Andy lay on the floor face down, listening to the noise outside. He had undoubtedly broken one of his arms, and painful though it was, he was glad to be able to feel something. He knew what he had to do now and prepared himself. Taking a deep breath, he launched himself forward, with everything he had left, untwisting his arms with an agonising surge of pain he would never know again and landed on his back. As he drifted into what was probably shock, an immobilised Giles Heriot-Watt beneath him, he thanked whatever bank robber had taken such fastidious care of their sawn off shot gun, even making sure they stored it with dummy cartridges to protect the firing pins.
********************
Davie was not feeling so confident now. They hadn’t known there would be guns, never mind full on hard core automatic ones. Now a hail of bullets raged around the tank. Someone got hit in the leg and the boys in the pick-up had beaten a retreat.
Now they were stuck here in the middle of it and to cap it off the cops had arrived.
He wasn’t sure but there was every possibility you could get done for being drunk in charge of a tank, not to mention vandalism.
The shots were all coming from the main grain store and the office opposite. They could do something about that.
********************
Victor watched the tank move. He fired a salvo at the turret on the top. He knew the damage would be minimal but it would deafen whoever was in there and might make them think twice.
The tank seemed to move about indecisively for a few seconds, like some kind of giant dithering beast, before it turned on its tracks and headed the other way towards the grain store. The police had moved in, surrounded the place. This was now a siege situation at best. The others were in there for now, all except the lawyer who should have finished off the kid.
There was confusion in this situation. The red mist had descended. The tank headed towards the grain store with renewed vigour clearly meaning to take down the steel door. The others would be exposed, probably run. He had to take his chance now.
The helicopter circled overhead. He told himself it would be focused on the main action.
He ran out the back door of the office, across the courtyard to where there was a gap between two buildings in the corner. Squeezing through the gap he ran along the wall behind the buildings. The workmanship was inconsistent and he could see through holes in the breezeblocks. The police had used his airstrip as a giant car park surrounding the complex from there and round. He could hear the squawked messages, telling them they were surrounded. Give up. Never.
They had his plane. He had no idea where the pilot was. A second helicopter sat at the far end of the runway, like an invitation. But how to get to it?
He could hear the tank at the other end of the complex, crashing into the grain store.
Why were the police waiting? Were they scared to come in until their tank had done the heavy work?
Then he remembered. There was a chance, the lawyer was as weak willed as he imagined. The boy, if he were only still alive; he was almost certain he could be used as leverage
.
He doubled back, heading for the barn he’d left them in. He could feel the soft seat in the helicopter already. There was always a way.
********************
They sat hunkered behind vehicles on the airstrip. They had been given the nod to pull back out of the open five minutes ago but this had been retracted. The marksmen were moving in, gaining ground, unseen.
One target had moved to the wall bordering the airstrip and then pulled back again, sneaking towards God knew where, blissfully unaware of the infrared eye in the sky, following his heat signatures every move.
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