The Terminate Code: A gripping, page-turning, action adventure revenge thriller, with a fast pace, and a terrifying twist in its tail ! (Hedge & Cole Book 2)

by Kevin Bradley

  The detective inspector in charge of the case was mystified by two things. Firstly, how could someone have pink coloured eyes? He had never previously come across that.

  And secondly, the dead man must have been attacked by an absolutely enraged lunatic. He had never seen a body with sixty three stab wounds in it before.

  Chapter Thirty Seven

  Solomon was still angry.

  His heart was beating in his head, and he was having trouble controlling his breathing. Above all, his right arm ached like hell. He thought he must have damaged a muscle or a tendon.

  He leaned over and turned off the shower. The water was now running clean, all the blood had been washed down the water outlet next to his feet. He took a few deep breaths and stepped out of the shower cubicle.

  His girlfriend was out. Just as well, he thought. He had to calm down. The next part of his plan needed to be put into action. The woman he had rescued had to be taken out of the country somehow. It was very important to him. It was personal. There must be no mistakes. He needed to think clearly.

  He picked up his cell phone and dialled a number.

  ‘Can you come over? Yes, both of you. Now, if that’s possible. Thank you.’

  While he waited, his mind wandered back over the recent events.

  ‘Why did he have to touch her like that?’

  His rage was making him feel dizzy, and he had a bad headache. It felt like sharp needles were being pushed into the top of his head. He sat down and tried to relax. Several deep breaths later he felt slightly better. His spirits lifted as the doorbell rang.

  The twins smiled at him as he ushered them in.

  A short while later he was lying naked on his bed. Li was also undressed, and she was kneeling over him, one leg either side. She was facing him, her backside resting gently on his legs, and using both her hands, she was massaging his penis slowly with warm oil.

  Her sister looked on, still fully dressed, as she had just come back in the room after a visit to the bathroom.

  ‘Come and help me,’ Li said to her.

  Solomon looked at her as she spoke. He should have felt aroused. Her breasts looked soft and smooth, and he could feel the slight wetness between her legs as she sat astride him.

  But he didn't feel aroused. His headache was getting worse. The aroma of the oil that the girl was using was somehow annoying him. Did it smell of almonds? It was something like that. Was she rubbing him too hard? The grip of her hands around his semi erection seemed to be strangling him somehow.

  The thought came back to him again. ‘Why did he have to touch her like that?’

  Suddenly, his anger came rushing in on him, like a tidal wave crashing in on a rocky beach.

  ‘Why do you have to touch me like that?’ he screamed.

  The girl looked up at him. His sudden outburst had frightened her. She stopped moving her hands, and her mouth dropped open in shock. She said nothing though, just stared at him with fear in her eyes.

  ‘Why?’ Solomon shouted out again.

  Then he lunged at the young Vietnamese girl with his bunched right fist. She didn't have time to react and the full force of his punch caught her in the throat. His arm was strong, and he was familiar with unarmed combat. She was small and frail. The impact of his knuckles crushed her larynx, immediately taking away her ability to breath.

  Li didn't even have time to cry out. Her eyes flew wide open, just briefly, and then they closed slowly. Her body went limp, and then slumped off the bed on to the floor. She lay crumpled and motionless.

  Her sister screamed. Solomon looked across at her, but didn't react quickly enough. The twin girl had darted across the room and straight out of the bedroom door. He leapt off the bed, but the girl was already racing down the stairs. Then the front door was opening and she fled down the street, screaming for help at the top of her voice.

  He started to panic. It was an unusual feeling for him as he was used to reacting in a calm and confident way. But now, everything was going wrong.

  He had to move quickly. The girl's screaming would attract attention. The police will be on the scene soon. He got dressed, grabbed a few things, stuffed them into a small holdall, and left the house. He was sweating, and the effect of his headache was crushing.

  He wasn't sure what he would do next, but he walked off down the street, in the opposite direction to the twin girl.

  Chapter Thirty Eight

  ‘That must be him,’ shouted Docherty.

  He had just been handed a note about an incident in the Watford area of north London. A young Vietnamese girl claimed that a man named Solomon had attacked her sister. Within minutes of the police being called, the MI5 computer systems had picked up the police incident report, and passed it onto GCHQ for them to review. They were specifically asked if they could trace any communications in the last few days from the area surrounding the address of the incident.

  The government’s listening centre had responded quickly, linking the address of the reported incident to a very recent computer communication where the name ‘Solomon’ had been spoken.

  Even better, the receiving house address of the communication had been identified. Both of the male voices had been analysed, and the owners were believed to have originated from the eastern Mediterranean region.

  The officer at GCHQ, who had carried out the work, had also come up with two other points of interest. Firstly, both of the male voices showed signs of heightened stress and anxiety. The second thing that he had stated was that there was a third person detected in the communication.

  It sounded like a woman. No voice was heard, just some muted noises, suggesting that the female had probably been gagged. The operative had described her sounds as those of someone who would have been quite panic-stricken.

  ‘We have identified an address from the communication that GCHQ has detected. I’ll bet that is where she is being held,’ Docherty said to his small team. ‘We need to act immediately. If I’m right, then the machinery of the British Intelligence network is not as bad as we think.’

  He turned to one of his colleagues. ‘Get onto the army boys at Hereford straight away. I need to go and speak to the Prime Minister’s office.’

  A few minutes later Docherty put the phone down. He was still trembling. It wasn’t every day that he spoke directly to the head of the British government. Then he rang Cole.

  ‘Good news, my friend. We may have a lead on where your wife is being held. I’ll confirm that shortly.’

  ‘Sweet Jesus, that’s fantastic. Please let me know as soon as you can,’ Cole replied. He felt a wave of relief wash over him, but he sensed that it wasn’t over just yet. ‘What have you found out?’

  ‘I can’t tell you all the details just yet, but we believe that Solomon is at Heathrow airport. We have a potential identification of him, or someone like him. I’m sending my team over straight away to intercept him.’

  ‘I’ll meet them there.’

  Docherty knew it was a waste of time trying to argue. Anyway, it would keep Cole busy for a while, he thought. ‘Okay, but let my guys handle the arrest. Keep yourself in the background. Is that clear? Don’t get involved. Let them bring him in’

  ‘I will,’ he replied.

  He wouldn’t.

  Chapter Thirty Nine

  The Special Air Service, or SAS as they are usually known, despatched a team which consisted of four men only. After all, experience told them that was exactly how many they would need for an operation like this. The Regiment were very clear cut about how they did things, and simplicity was what they liked. A well known statement pinned prominently on a notice board at their base read - ‘You should lead, follow, or get out of the way.’

  Sergeant Jackson was in charge of the group, and he was driving the black Range Rover as it sped down the M4 motorway towards London.

  ‘Can someone put the address in the SatNav? We will look a right bunch of tossers if we get lost en route.’

  ‘Already don
e Sarge, it’s about another thirty miles to go,’ replied Trooper Dan Barker. He was sitting in the passenger seat playing a new version of Space Invaders on his Iphone.

  ‘Put your foot down Jacko, I want to be back for dinner tonight. It’s my wife’s birthday today, and she’ll go loopy if I’m late home.’ Trooper ‘Sparky’ Turner sat on the back seat. He had his eyes closed and was listening to music through some headphones. The volume wasn’t loud, so he could still hear what his colleagues were discussing. Turner dealt with everything to do with explosives, electrics and surveillance - hence the nickname.

  Sitting next to him on the back seat was Corporal ‘Mad’ Maddock. He was a confident soldier, reliable and solid. He was well known, and well respected in the Regiment. At the briefing earlier that morning, it had already been decided that he would be the lead man on the assault, if there was one. It would be a decision for the Police as to whether or not Jackson’s men would be called in. They were in charge of the overall operation.

  The Range Rover purred along smoothly at about ninety five miles an hour. The group had already been pulled over by an unmarked police car just past the town of Reading. The traffic officer had approached the car cautiously, and knocked on the driver’s window.

  ‘Good morning sir, do you know what speed you were doing before I stopped you?’ he had said with a confident grin. ‘Do you have any identification please?’ he had then added.

  Jackson had replied with exactly the right amount of respect. ‘Hello officer. I think I may have been breaking the speed limit. Apologies for that, but we are on our way to try and prevent a terror suspect from murdering an innocent woman. Here is my ID.’ He held up a small plastic card with the letters ‘MOD’ written boldly across the top. The card also had a crown shaped insignia stamped across it, along with a telephone number across the bottom.

  ‘Please call the number to confirm,’ Jackson said. ‘Oh, and by the way, you may wish to see Corporal Maddock’s ID also, he is my number two.’

  Maddock picked something up from the foot well where his feet were resting. He thrust it through the gap between the front seats so that the police officer could see it clearly.

  ‘It’s a Heckler & Koch MP5k,’ said Maddock. ‘It’s the L80A1 version. You can see it’s got a shorter barrel than the standard MP5, and there is no stock. So it’s easy to hold and manipulate in tight spaces. This one takes a fifteen round magazine, which should be just about enough for what I have in mind today.’

  The officer stared with surprise at the deadly, black weapon. When he had stopped the Range Rover, he had anticipated some toffee-nosed lawyer, or estate agent. He certainly hadn’t expected this.

  Jackson still held up the card. ‘Call the number.’

  The traffic officer smiled and took the card. He walked quickly back to his car and made a call. A few minutes later he was back. He returned the card to Jackson.

  ‘Sorry to trouble you. I’ve cleared a no-interference corridor for your vehicle all the way from here to central London. I’m just glad it’s not me you guys are coming after. Good luck, and take care.’

  ‘Thank you, officer. Have a good day.’ Jackson waved as he pulled back onto the motorway.

  The next forty minutes were uneventful. The SatNav said they were now just four miles from the rendezvous point with the police. They were driving through a typical residential area in a London suburb. The houses were mainly two storeys, some with small gardens at the front, and some with parking for a single car, two if you were lucky. It was quiet at this time of day, too early for the lunchtime traffic to have built up yet.

  The loud alarm surprised all four occupants of the vehicle. They all became alert within a split second, it was impossible to turn off the kind of high-intensity training that these men had endured.

  ‘What the hell is that?’ said Sparky.

  ‘Take it easy,’ replied Jackson smiling. ‘We seem to have a problem with our vehicle. The engine light has come on for some reason. I’m going to pull over.’

  He turned off the small road into a parking space immediately in front of a Chinese takeaway. Jackson jumped out of the car.

  ‘Have a quick look Sparky.’

  Sparky jumped in the driver seat, turned on the ignition and tried to start the vehicle.

  ‘I reckon it’s buggered,’ he said.

  ‘Is that the best you can do?’

  ‘Do you know how complicated these things are? You are going to need to take this to a specialist and get them to wire it up to their computer. I haven’t got a bloody clue.’

  Jackson scowled. He didn’t have time for this. He was just thinking over his options when a large, white motor-home pulled up next to the Range Rover. An athletic looking, elderly man leaned out of the window.

  ‘Do you know if we are close to Kew Gardens? It’s the other side of the river from Brentford I believe.’

  ‘Not far,’ said Jackson. ‘We are heading towards Brentford ourselves. Well, we were, until this piece of shit broke down.’

  ‘I would offer you a lift, but we are in a bit of a hurry unfortunately.’ The driver of the motor-home had seen the three other men sitting in the Range Rover, and was suddenly in a rush to continue his journey.

  ‘That’s very kind of you to offer. Men, abandon the car and grab your gear. We are travelling the rest of the way in style,’ Jackson shouted.

  ‘I’m afraid we are in a bit of a …’

  ‘Very kind indeed,’ repeated Jackson. He had already opened the door to the van and was climbing aboard.

  ‘I’m sorry but you can’t ….’ The driver stopped talking abruptly. He had seen Maddock step into the back of his camper. He was carrying a large black holdall in his left hand. It was the sub-machine pistol in his right hand though that had caught his attention. Then he noticed the other two men getting out of the car. They were both carrying weapons too. One of them appeared to be a long, sniper type rifle. Both men hauled themselves and their rucksacks into the back of the camper also.

  ‘What’s your name sir?’ Jackson directed his question to the driver.

  The man looked at him. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. He looked at Jackson, then at the guns, then back to Jackson.

  ‘What do you want from us,’ he said, almost as a whisper.

  ‘First of all, let me introduce myself. I am Sergeant Jackson, and this is my team. We are with the British Army. The Special Air Service to be more precise. We need to commandeer this van for our mission. Now, first things first, what are your names?’

  The driver blinked a few times and then spoke slowly. ‘I am Robin, Robin Smith, and this is my wife Lisa.’ He nodded towards the lady sitting in the front passenger seat. She smiled nervously at Jackson. ‘We are on our way to Kew Gardens. We plan to spend a couple of days in the area.’

  ‘Very nice,’ said Jackson. ‘You may have a slight delay to that plan, but hopefully not too long. Now tell me a little bit about this vehicle.’

  Smith smiled, and he started to speak enthusiastically.

  ‘This is a Hymer model T SL708. It has a 150 brake horse power engine, and has been fitted with an up rated chassis. It has a Conformatic auto gearbox, and a specially fitted multifunctional steering wheel.’ Robin Smith was in his element. The SAS team had stopped messing about with their gear and were listening with bemusement.

  ‘The interior has a Truma Combi 6E, electric heating system, and the drivers cab has a panoramic roof light. There’s an external barbecue point, and Palatino wood furniture…’

  Jackson was holding up his hands. ‘Enough. It all sounds very interesting and ideal for our purposes.’

  ‘Does it have an external mount for a SAM missile system,’ Sparky was laughing as he said it, but Smith clearly missed the joke.

  ‘No, but it does have an external antenna and satellite …’

  ‘Enough,’ shouted Jackson. He turned to his men. ‘Have you got all the equipment aboard yet? We need to get moving.’
r />   ‘All sorted,’ said Maddock. ‘Let’s go.’

  ‘You wife’s a bit quiet, is she alright,’ said Jackson.

  Smith’s wife hadn’t said a word since he had stopped the van. She was smiling and looking out of the front window with a far away expression.

  ‘I’m afraid she’s been sampling some... er what you might call tobacco products. We bought some back from Holland after our last trip there. We spend every Christmas in Belgium, you know. We often bring back some local produce.’

  ‘Nice,’ Jackson said, shaking his head. ‘Just keep your local produce away from my men.

  Jackson gave Smith an address. ‘Feed that into your SatNav and let’s get going,’ he said.

  Chapter Forty

  They arrived at the arranged rendezvous about fifteen minutes later. A police sergeant tried to wave the motor home away from the scene, but Jackson told Smith to ignore him. They parked up and Jackson opened the back door.

  ‘You can’t stop here. This is a major incident area. Please get back in your vehicle and move along.’ The policeman sounded forceful.

  ‘It’s okay officer, we’re the Special Forces team. Can you please advise your commander that we have arrived?’

  ‘Can I see some photographic ID.?’ The police sergeant was looking at Jackson with an element of disbelief. Maybe it was the faded, blue jeans that he was wearing. It may even have been the Black T shirt with the words ‘you must be shitting me’ printed neatly on the front. Either way, Jackson did not look like he was with a unit of the British Army.

  ‘Sorry mate, I don’t carry any. Not the sort of thing I want to advertise, if you get my drift. Just mention the password “dirty washing” to your boss. We’ll wait here for him.’

  Five minutes later, Jackson and his team were talking to a senior officer from the Metropolitan Police counter terrorist unit. He didn’t give his full name or rank, simply stating that his name was Jim.