Exit Wounds

by Aaron Fisher

  “This is us here,” he told Colgan as he leaned in to see. Richard moved his finger along to a building in front of the one to their left. “Here’s where Stuart Campbell is said to be basing his operations. My informant said that he’s been a go between for Giacometti’s business. Introducing him to various people. Muscle for hire, drivers, excreta, excreta. We get him to talk, we get Giacometti.”

  Colgan seemed sceptical. “Are you sure your source is reliable? This place looks like a tomb. There’s nothing here but spiders and rats.”

  “Campbell is here, Andrew. I checked the local police reports. There’s a builder’ merchants just up the road, they’ve been complaining about somebody piggybacking off their power supply.”

  Colgan nodded, “Okay. Let’s do this.”

  Richard and Colgan readied the rest of their equipment and quickly moved down the dark alley between the two buildings on the left. Richard took point, whilst Colgan followed, carrying a heavy, metal rod.

  His back to the wall, Richard followed his Glock round the corner into the next alley and then turned back on himself. He nodded to Colgan it was clear.

  Still struggling with the weight of the rod by himself, Andrew passed Russell and took up position in front of a single steel door. Richard did a last sweep of the surrounding area before joining his boss.

  The thick metal rod had handles on both sides and the end facing the door was topped with a blunt head. Richard gripped the other handle and counted down from three silently to Colgan. They swung the rod back and then swung it into the door. The door flew open with a crash that splintered the wooden frame.

  Richard drew his weapon, clicked on his torch and stepped inside.

  Colgan followed behind, lighting up his own torch. He shone it around. They were in a bare storage room with tiled floors and lights dressed in metal lamps hung from the ceiling.

  He lowered his weapon and sighed, “There’s nothing here, Richard. Your source got it wrong.”

  “Then why was the door reinforced?”

  “This is an industrial estate, who knows what they used to keep here.”

  Richard moved his beam of light across the walls. In the top corner a single camera stared down at them, its tiny red light blinking welcomingly.

  “He knows we’re here,” Richard said.

  Colgan signalled to a door at the opposite end of the room.

  Richard flattened himself against the wall next to the door. Switching hands, Colgan held his Glock in his left hand and wrapped his right round the door handle. He opened the door quickly and scanned the immediate area, before nodding to Richard.

  Russell moved to the door frame and cleared the right before sweeping to the left. They were now in a long hallway, just as bare as the last room, besides a single staircase, leading up to a second level. He checked that Colgan was behind him and crept slowly up the steps.

  Just as he reached the top, gunfire burst in his ears and sparks flew around him as bullets ricocheted off metal. Richard dropped down to his knees and returned fire, blindly. With nowhere to take cover he pushed backwards, hoping that Colgan would get the hint and fall back. But instead Colgan started unloading his own weapon, down the hallway they had just came up, as further rounds thudded into the wall next to him.

  They were being flanked. Their unseen enemy was attacking them from both sides and they were trapped in an undefendable position.

  Paul had been awarded the Conspicuous Gallantry Cross whilst he had served in the Royal Welsh. He had invited only Richard to the award service and asked him not to tell anyone else. Richard was astonished when he heard that Paul had fended off an attack on a civilian hospital single-handedly. His brother had shot more than a dozen men as he held off the attacking force until support could arrive.

  When Richard tried speaking to him about it afterwards he shrugged it off, uncomfortable talking about it. Richard had to ask one of the other soldiers what exactly had happened.

  Paul had seen off the soldiers, but then the enemy had sent in a tank. Knowing the damage that it could do and the slaughter it would cause if it opened fire on the hospital, Paul fled the building and drew the tanks fire, before running at it straight on and climbing on top. He forced his way inside and killed the crew before blowing the tank open from the inside with his grenades. The incident had earned Paul the nickname, Tanker.

  Richard couldn’t believe that Paul had survived a stunt like that. Paul put it down to luck, and maybe the fact that since it was the last thing they were expecting, the tank’s crew had hesitated for a moment, and a moment was all he had needed.

  Richard wasn’t sure if he was brave enough to charge a tank all by himself but he definitely wasn’t going to hang around to die in a stairwell in some abandoned industrial estate. He gripped his Glock and torch tightly, firing in the direction of his assailant. Pushing forward, under a steady barrage of gunshots, no return fire came as the unseen attacker remained behind the cover of an open doorway.

  Once he had reached the wall, Richard flattened himself against it, switched off his maglite and waited quietly. A few moments after he had stopped firing, two hands, clutching an automatic pistol appeared from inside the doorway. Before they could squeeze off any more rounds, Richard quickly snatched the gun from their hands and swung the man against the open door, thudding the butt of his Glock into his forehead.

  The man dropped in a crumpled heap and Richard turned back to the stair well, relighting his maglite. There were no more gunshots. Just silence.

  “Colgan! You alright?” he yelled down the stairs, his barrel aimed downward.

  “Yeah, I’m fine,” Colgan said, emerging from out of the darkness. He raised his arm in front of his face, shielding his eyes from the bright light. “I hope you left yours alive. Mine’s not gonna be chatting to anyone soon.”

  Richard moved his light and found Colgan’s kill, with a gaping hole right through his throat.

  “Nice.”

  Colgan shook his head, “I was aiming for his chest. Guess my old hands aren’t what they used to be.”

  Richard moved down the steps and looked closely at the dead man’s face.

  “What is it?” Colgan asked.

  “They must be twins. My guy looks exactly the same as yours!”

  “Your sources say anything about Campbell having a brother?”

  “No. This isn’t him.” Richard tilted his head upwards, “And neither is he. I’ve seen his file photo.”

  “So where is Campbell? And who the hell are these guys?”

  Richard didn’t answer.

  “Richard, please God, do not tell me I just popped a fucking security guard!”

  “Security guards would have identified themselves first,” Richard paused. His ears twitched. “Wait... did you hear that?”

  Colgan nodded, “Yeah, movement upstairs. You cleared the rooms yet?”

  Richard shook his head, “No, I came back for you.”

  Both officers moved back upstairs. They pushed past the mound of unconscious man and stepped inside the room. There were several monitors screening footage of the building and a laptop open on top of an old wooden desk. As their feet creaked under the floorboards there was the faint sound of panicked breathing.

  Richard moved round the right and Colgan took the left. He kicked away the chair before him and shone his light on the space inside the frame of the desk.

  A fat, balding man sat in the gap. His knees were as close as they could get to his ears with his sizeable stomach in the way and his whole squishy body quivered with fear.

  Richard smiled. “Mr. Campbell, I presume?”

  09.04 BST (British Summer Time)

  Present Day

  Cardiff. Wales. Great Britain.

  M.I.T. (Murder Investigation Taskforce), Cardiff Branch

  “Campbell told us that the two men who attacked us were computer hackers. He was giving them the details of a meet he had arranged with Giacometti,” Colgan told Zeddemore. “We learnt tha
t all Giacometti knew were the twins’ surname, Gillespie. He had no idea what they looked like, he just had a time and place to meet them to discuss the possibility of work. Since one of the twins had been killed in the fire fight, and Giacometti was already expecting them both we had to decide how best to proceed.”

  “You had to decide?” Zeddemore growled, his neck reddening. “This should have been my decision, Andrew!”

  “Like I said, we wanted to keep you out of this. If there was any fallout it would land on our heads not yours.”

  “Bullshit!”

  Zeddemore paced back and forth in the office. Colgan was sure every vein in his face was set to burst ant any second.

  “So you decided to enlist Richard’s brother to go undercover? Even though he’s a civilian!”

  “Paul served in the Special Air Service, he has had extensive training in combat-”

  “He is a civilian!” Zeddemore repeated loudly.

  “Technically, he’s an M.I.T. agent, since now he’s on the payroll,” Colgan corrected. “I pushed through his application so that if he did have to use his firearm he would be covered by law. I thought I had kept it below the radar, but you being here clearly proves otherwise.”

  Zeddemore pointed a finger, “I would not try and be smart with me right now, Andrew!”

  Colgan waited a few seconds before he dared say anything else. Zeddemore had him by the balls but he needed his help if he were to get Richard and Paul back safely. “Now you know everything... what are you going to do?”

  Zeddemore stopped pacing and slowly turned to look at Andrew. There was a flicker in his eyes and then he burst out of the office. Colgan quickly rose from his desk and followed him across the hall into the bullpen.

  “Everybody, stop what you are doing, right this second!” Zeddemore shouted as he marched into the centre of the room. “I want you to transfer everything you have on the “Blind Lover” murders to the S.O.C.A. server, immediately!”

  Colgan practically chased Zeddemore across the room. “What the hell are you doing, John?”

  “This department has been a failure since it first started operations. Thanks mainly to you, Andrew! These failings stop now!”

  “You can’t transfer an investigation over to a different department now, not at a time like this!”

  “M.I.T. is being merged with S.O.C.A. anyway, what difference does it make?”

  “What difference? The difference of two of my men’s lives is the difference it could make! Think about it, John. We can’t afford to waste time. My people are more up to date on everything to do with these murders than anyone in S.O.C.A. could hope to be by reading a bunch of files! You transfer this case over to S.O.C.A. now and you sentence Richard and Paul brother to death.”

  Zeddemore eyed Colgan for the longest time, finally he tipped his chin slightly, “M.I.T. will continue to run point on this investigation.” He added, “But, I want you to liaise with Cardiff S.O.C.A. and any decisions made will be run through me first. I will have the final say. Is that clear?”

  Colgan nodded, “Crystal. Thank you, John.”

  “I’m not doing it for you. The last thing this hand-over needs is a dead officer and his brother marking the event.”

  Both of them looked around the room. A moment ago it had been filled with busy people, tending to the various tasks a day in the Cardiff Murder Investigation Taskforce would set them. Now they were all statues, staring widely at the two directors in front of them who had only seconds ago burst in and started shouting at each other.

  HM Prison Cardiff, Adamsdown

  Even after the back doors were opened Paul waited until Gary told him to drop out of the van. His eyes adjusted quickly to the bright sunlight and upon seeing clear blue sky, Paul realised that it was turning into a beautiful day – weather wise at least.

  Gary and Paul were joined by two more of Giacometti’s goons. Paul recognised one as the man with the Kalashnikov that had messed up his face earlier. He swiped back his long fringe over the top of his head and catching Paul’s eye, smiled back, revealing more than one missing tooth.

  Paul enjoyed the idea of relieving the Mullet Man of the few teeth he had remaining but kept his thoughts to himself. He looked round his immediate surroundings and came face to face with a towering wall, made up of large grey blocks. Paul knew only one wall like this in Cardiff and as he ran his eyes down its length to a large iron gate and a security checkpoint, he realised his assessment was right. They were at Cardiff Prison.

  What the fuck are they bringing me here for?

  Gary nodded towards the security checkpoint, “Come on, let’s get moving.”

  Mullet Man and his friend gave Paul a little push to start him on his way. Gary strolled right up to the checkpoint and tapped on the glass of the booth. Two security guards looked up immediately. One was tall and thin, and the other round and fat.

  The difference between twenty weeks on the job and twenty years, Paul thought to himself.

  Gary smiled, “Hey Danny! Today’s the big day. You still ok to show us round? Get us settled in?”

  Danny nodded quickly. It was obvious to Paul that the man was scared. His movements were sudden and twitchy. He was either terrified out of his mind or suffering severe withdrawal symptoms.

  Maybe even both.

  “Hey Frankie, I’m just gonna show the new guys to their lockers and stuff, that ok?”

  Frankie had already switched his attention back to the breasts of the pretty, young woman covering Page 3 of his paper and the packet of Doritos perched on his stomach. He waved one hand, indifferently and continued with his lustrous snack.

  A low buzzing sound rang out as Danny hit a switch in the booth and Gary pushed the gate open, holding it open for Paul and the others to walk through.

  Gary clasped an arm round Danny’s shoulder as he met them on the other side, holding him tight like an old friend. “You’re doing great, Danny. Keep it together a little while longer and your family will back with you safe and sound.”

  M.I.T. (Murder Investigation Taskforce), Cardiff Branch

  Craig Hughes was not happy. Stranded in the middle of Caerphilly by Tony, he had been forced to ride a taxi all the way back to M.I.T.. The driver had been an absolute bastard, shouting and moaning the whole time about how Cardiff was out of his area and the inconvenience it was causing him.

  He was getting paid, what difference did it make?

  Craig pushed through the double doors into the bullpen to find Zeddemore busy on his phone, Colgan glaring at him from across the room.

  Weaving in and out of the crossing officers of his unit, Craig finally reached Colgan as he leant against a pillar.

  “Boss?” he asked, but Colgan’s daggered eyes were focused on Zeddemore’s suited spiny figure. “Boss? Boss?”

  Colgan’s eyes adjusted to focus on Craig, “What is it?”

  “Tony and I have identified the suspect in the camouflage jacket.”

  Both Colgan’s eyebrows rose, his interest perked. “You have?”

  Craig nodded, “Yes, boss. His name is Gary Ashcroft. We identified him by a tattoo he has on the back of his hand.”

  “I don’t suppose you know where to find him?”

  Craig shook his head, “No, sorry, boss. My father said he hasn’t seen him in years.”

  Colgan’s eyes widened, “Your father?”

  “It’s a long story.” Craig tilted his head towards the bustle behind him “What’s going on?”

  “Long story.” Colgan let out a long sigh and ran his fingers through his hair. “I’ve just had to tell Zeddemore that Richard is on an undercover operation, and he didn’t take it very well.”

  “I thought Richard was taking a sabbatical?”

  “That’s what we told everyone. This one had to be kept off the books, for a lot of reasons... Listen, go speak to Michelle. She’ll get you up to speed on where we are now, but I want your and Tony’s attentions on tracking down this Gary Ashcroft, underst
ood?”

  Craig nodded, “Understood, boss.”

  Colgan frowned, “Where is Tony anyway?”

  Craig flapped his arms, “That’s what I’d like to know, Boss. He got a message on his phone, just after we finished talking to my dad, and he took off without saying where he was going or how long he’d be.”

  Colgan’s eyes flicked back to Zeddemore. “Did he now?”

  “Boss?”

  “That’ll be all, thanks Craig.” Colgan said, waving him away. His eyes burrowed and he felt fire course through his veins. “Tony, you son of a bitch.”

  HM Prison Cardiff, Adamsdown

  Danny led the four men into the guard’s locker rooms. He took a key from the chain on his belt and opened up his locker, pulling out four uniforms. Mullet Man and his friend started getting changed right away. Gary took the other two uniforms and tossed one to Paul.

  Paul took off his leather jacket and started unbuttoning his shirt. He didn’t like this. He was helpless. He could only hope that Richard was smart enough to find some way out and save himself. He knew that wouldn’t happen though. No way would Richard leave without his “little” brother. The only way Paul was going to save both of their lives was to go along with what Gary said, for now.

  Gary pulled his sweatshirt over the top of his head. His eyes flickered across Paul’s body, from one scar to another. “You were in the army?”

  Paul didn’t answer.

  “Special Air Service, am I right?”

  As he did up the collar on the new uniform, Paul noticed the tattoo of the winged dagger on the back of Gary’s hand. It was faded and sketchy but it did resemble the S.A.S. emblem. Paul frowned, “You were in the regiment?”

  Gary shook his head, “Me? No, no. I failed selection twice.” Suddenly aware of the marking he gripped the back of his hand in the other. “I got this before I signed up. Got into a gang. Did the tattoo. You know, kids stuff.”