Exit Wounds

by Aaron Fisher

  The third screen from the top on the left hand side, sprung to life. Craig and Tony watched as the A.R.U. squad breached into Court Holding and discovered the men dressed as guards in the cells. Mid way through the exchange, the head-cam moved from the two men at the bars to a man sitting at the back, tending to the real, wounded guard. Craig and Tony looked at each other. The man looked identical to Richard Russell. Craig had been right. This was the errand Giacometti’s men had taken his twin brother on.

  Tony let out a long sigh, “I don’t suppose you have any idea where they went? Which direction?”

  “I haven’t got a clue,” Pierce said.

  “Great. Just, great,” Tony repeated. “We’ve got no idea where they are or why they were here!”

  “Actually it’s pretty obvious why they were here,” Pierce corrected him. “This was a jailbreak. We’ve still got one prisoner unaccounted for.”

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

  Sharon finished playing with some wires at the back of the computer tower and turned the last of the three widescreen television monitors on.

  “Right, you’re all set, sir,” she said, with pride in her voice. “All you have to do is just log in to the J.I.C. server remotely as you would from your own office.”

  Zeddemore nodded, “Thank you.” As an instinctive precaution he waited until the technician had left the room before typing in his User Identification Number and password.

  The J.I.C. emblem immediately greeted him and then faded away to reveal his remote desktop. Within seconds he had set up his access to the video conference meeting and the faces of the other members of the committee who were ready waiting for the official meeting opening appeared on the three television screens.

  An Abandoned Warehouse, Cardiff Bay

  Richard had drawn out writing the program that would give Giacometti’s men undetectable access to the M.I.T. server as long as possible. Giacometti had left the room shortly after he had re-begun work, but left one of his armed guards to stand watch as he typed, whilst Thomas checked his work to make sure he wasn’t sending his colleagues any more messages.

  This is it then. He pushed himself away from the table and sighed. “I’m done.”

  Thomas slid his chair over to Richard’s terminal.

  Richard gestured to his screen, indifferently. “Check it.”

  Thomas scrolled his way through the three windows of code that Richard had written. He nodded, frantically, “Yes. Yes. Yes, this will work. I’m sure of it!”

  At least they’ll be safe. Richard shrugged and stood up, turning to face his executioner.

  The guard raised his Kalashnikov to his shoulder and flicked off the safety.

  Richard closed his eyes and thought of his beautiful Jade, and his two fantastic sons, Adam and Simon. His unborn child, he wondered if it was a boy or a girl. Jade had wanted it to be a surprise. Now he’d never know.

  There was a loud thud by the door, followed immediately by a short but deafening burst of gunfire. Feeling no pain, Richard slowly opened his eyes. In front of him the guard crumpled at the knees, his torso blossoming into red.

  “Don’t just stand there!” Paul yelled at him. He snatched up the guard’s AK and thrust it into Richard’s hands.

  “You’re alive!” Richard burst into ecstatic laughter.

  “Not for much longer if you don’t snap out of it!” Paul moved back to the doorway, quickly brought his own AK up and fired off another short burst out the door at a man running down the catwalk towards them.

  Richard spotted Thomas cowering under the desk and decided to leave him. Killing an unarmed man wasn’t something he did and he didn’t pose any threat to them. He nodded his head, “See you around, Thomas.”

  Paul had taken up position flat against the right side of the doorway, looking down the walkway. Richard quickly pressed himself against the other side. Paul shot off another couple of short bursts, dropping two armed men who had come bursting in from the other warehouse.

  Bullets pounded into the doorframe next to Richard, spraying splinters. He returned fire. The man on the stairs dropped to one knee and shot again. Richard ducked back. He waited until the man moved to climb up the remaining steps and then opened fire again. The man’s body fell limp over the railing and hit the concrete floor below with a hollow thud.

  The drug factory below was in chaos now. The workers with their white coats and protective masks had looked like professional chemists at work before, but now they were erupting into the paranoid drug-fuelled riot that they really were. Only a handful of armed men, those who had been patrolling the workers, had come up the stairs from the production line. Many more though were bursting through the door to the other warehouse. As far as Richard knew it was the only link between the two but there could very easily be another. Paul was mowing down the attackers as they came, but they couldn’t hold them off forever. Sooner or later they would run out of ammunition and then their time would be up.

  “We’ve gotta get into the other depot,” Paul told his brother as he shot down another of Giacometti’s men.

  Richard shook his head, “Are you crazy? That place is crawling with Giacometti’s men. We’d be slaughtered.”

  “We can’t go back anywhere,” Paul said, he ejected the empty mag from his assault rifle and retrieved one stuffed down the back of his jeans. “We stay sitting here we’ll just be in a stand-off until we run out of ammo.”

  Richard knew what Paul was saying was right. He just didn’t like the idea of charging head first into a large group of men with lots of guns. He snorted, “This was your plan?”

  Paul shook his head. “Nope. My plan was to get you out of here quickly and quietly. You fucked that up by almost getting yourself shot.” He turned to his brother with a grin.

  Richard laughed, “Alright, Tanker. Let’s do this.”

  Paul rolled his eyes, “I keep telling everybody, it was an A.P.C. not a tank.” Without saying anything else he suddenly rushed out onto the catwalk.

  Just as Richard went to follow, the door to the other warehouse burst open to reveal two more men, assault rifles at the ready. They immediately opened fire before the door had even hit the wall. Paul dropped instantly to one knee. Bullets whizzed over the top of his head, so close he could feel the rush of air blow through his hair. He squeezed back his own trigger and put down the two men efficiently. The door bounced gently off their fallen dead bodies.

  Richard moved out from the office and fell in behind his brother. It felt strange to have Paul lead the way. Especially when he was the real police officer. He didn’t like it. It should have been him getting them out of this situation.

  Paul stepped over the two dead bodies and pushed up against the doorway. Gary might be ex-military but Paul doubted the majority of Giacometti’s other men were. Anyone with a loaded weapon is dangerous, but Paul would take a drug addict with an itchy trigger finger over a trained killer any day of the week.

  Paul pushed the door open slowly with his fingertips. Down below Giacometti’s goons were running around like somebody had just stepped on their anthill. They didn’t know what had hit them and were just shooting at anything that moved. They were holding their triggers down for way too long instead of short bursts and sending the majority of their fire into the air above where they were aiming. Still, all it took was for one bullet to hit its target.

  “Fuck it.” Paul turned to his brother. “I’m going to run over to those crates at the other end of the catwalk. By the top of the stairs. You see them?”

  Richard nodded, “Yeah, I see them.”

  “I need you to lay down covering fire. Frequent, short bursts to keep their heads down whilst I run. Got it?”

  Richard didn’t like his brother giving him orders, but he didn’t have a better plan so he nodded, “Got it.”

  Paul took a deep breath and ran. Bullets instantaneously ricocheted off the metal around him as he sprinted. He heard Richard open fire behind him
and the shooting dipped significantly.

  Paul jumped the remaining distance to the crates and skidded behind them into a roll. Seeing he had made it to the other side, Richard ducked back behind the doorway and the frenzied shooting erupted again. Paul took up position and returned the favour, firing short bursts in the direction of a handful of different men. They all dropped and scurried for cover, hiding behind the trucks and any crates they could find. Richard quickly joined his side and Paul dropped back down behind cover.

  “Okay. Now what?” Richard asked incredulously. He slowly peered round the side of the crates. Down below, Giacometti’s men swamped the area. They weren’t accurate or organised but their sheer number meant it was impossible for them to make it down the stairs, hit the door switch, wait for it to rise and then make their escape.

  Without warning the prefabricated metal of the warehouse door suddenly exploded. Richard’s car charged through, mowing down several of Giacometti’s men in the process.

  “Now we run!” Paul shouted. He vaulted over the crates and dashed down the stairs to the landing midpoint, stopping only to spray a few bursts down and then leaping down the last few steps.

  Still shocked and confused by the sudden crashing arrival of a car to the scene, Giacometti’s men were slow to react as Gary kicked open the driver-side door and took cover behind it, shooting off rounds at anyone stupid enough not to have ducked behind something.

  Paul fell behind the concrete ramp near the bottom of the steps and blind-fired at a group of men behind one of the vans, forcing them down.

  Richard quickly joined his side, and fired a short burst over the top. He pulled the trigger again and was greeted with a metallic click instead of a bang. “I’m empty!”

  Paul turned round and fired a burst into a man’s face as he came down the stairs after them. Click. Paul tossed the assault rifle to the floor. “I don’t like this place! Let’s get the fuck out of here!” He leapt up and ran towards the car.

  Gary was still laying down covering fire but his bursts were becoming more and more infrequent as the opposing shooting became more incessant.

  In all his time in the army, Gary had never been shot before, so at first the impact confused him. It felt like somebody had punched him in the stomach, but then he soon began to feel wet. Time seemed to slow as he looked down at the red stain growing across his lower torso. He looked up questioningly and his eyes honed in on a man standing on the catwalk above, rifle resting between his fingers. Giacometti glared back at him, his eyes burning as he took aim for the next shot.

  Paul tackled Gary to the ground hard and the round embedded itself in the car side panel. With one hand, he picked up the gun that Gary had dropped and sprayed off a barrage of rounds at the catwalk as he dragged Gary into the back of the car.

  “Richard! Hurry up!” Paul yelled, as he struggled with the door.

  Doing his best to duck and sprint at the same time Richard rushed over and climbed into the driver seat. The engine was still ticking over but Richard struggled to find reverse and cursed as the car stalled.

  “Fucking drive!” Paul shouted, with Gary, bleeding on his lap. Metal and fabric splintered everywhere as bullets torn through the car like tin foil.

  “I’m trying!” Richard cut the engine, and then turned the ignition again. Despite his deepest fear, it started first time and Richard slammed the gear stick into reverse and stamped his foot on the accelerator. The car pummelled through the already shattered metal door and out into the industrial estate courtyard.

  Richard swung the steering wheel round hard to the left, almost toppling the car. Rammed the gearstick into first and hit the accelerator as hard and as fast as he could. The car lurched out through the exit Gary had made and flew out of the industrial estate onto the busy streets of the city.

  As they sped away, Richard glanced over his shoulder. Gary was bleeding badly. He wriggled and shook violently as Paul tried to check the wound.

  “Let me look at it!” Paul pushed Gary’s hands away and examined the damage, before resting Gary’s hands back over and pushing down. “Keep pressure on it.”

  “Is he gonna make it?” Richard asked.

  “As far as I can tell it hasn’t hit any arteries or organs. The bullets still in there though. He could still bleed to death if we don’t get him to a hospital.”

  “No! No hospitals!” Gary protested.

  “Calm down. You keep moving and you’ll just bleed out faster.” Paul moved around Gary and leant in between the two front seats. “You got a first aid kit in here?”

  Richard motioned towards the passenger side, “Under the seat.”

  Paul retrieved the green box from underneath the seat and peered out the back windscreen. “You think they’re following us?”

  “I can’t see anyone, but I’m keeping my foot down anyway!”

  Paul nodded, “I hear you.”

  Richard glanced at his brother as he inspected the contents of the first aid kit. “You really think you can patch him up with just that lot?”

  Paul raised an eyebrow as he flicked through the bandages and plasters, “I don’t suppose you’ve got any super glue?”

  Richard pulled a face, “Huh?”

  Paul shook his head, “Didn’t think so.” He tore off the sleeve from his left arm. “Where we headed?”

  “M.I.T.! They need to know that Giacometti’s got access to their server!”

  “What? You actually wrote that shit for them?!”

  “I didn’t have much choice! They knew everything about us! They knew about Jade! About Adam and Simon! I thought you were dead! They said they would kill them if I didn’t! They were going to kill my family, Paul!” Richard kept his eyes on the road. He told himself it was because he needed to focus on driving but he couldn’t bear to look Paul in the eye, not even a glance.

  Paul brother was silent.

  Richard couldn’t help feel angry, knowing his brother’s unsettling eyes were on him, judging him. You think I’m weak don’t you? You think that you would have done better!

  Finally, Paul placed a hand on Richard’s shoulder. “Hey, it’s okay. What the fuck are they going to do with the M.I.T. server anyway? Erase evidence that links them to the murders? I think we got them for a little more than that now!”

  Richard looked over at his brother. Paul grinned back at him, just like a kid. The corners of Richard’s mouth started to rise on their own and soon he found himself laughing loudly. Paul laughed with him as moved back into the back of the car.

  “You do know you fucking stink right?” Richard asked.

  Paul nodded, “Yep.”

  “You smell like you wet for a swim in the bloody Taff!”

  Paul shrugged, “That’s because I did.”

  An Abandoned Warehouse, Cardiff Bay

  Giacometti thundered into the computer room, slamming the door open with his fist. He turned quickly to the armed man at his side. “Clean up everything. I want no trace.”

  The man nodded, “Understood.” He quickly rushed off down the catwalk towards the stairs, shouting at other men as he did.

  Giacometti cursed and lashed out at the dead body in his way. His bare foot snagged mid kick and his toes bled, but the release calmed him. A little. He looked up at the skinny man sat at the computer terminal in front of him. “Thomas,” he said through gritted teeth. “What are you doing?”

  “He did it, boss! He actually did it! We’ve got access!” Thomas replied, excitedly, his fingers fluttering away at the keyboard.

  Giacometti stepped forward quickly, his interest peaked. He rested a hand on the back of the chair. “Is Zeddemore logged on?”

  A series of windows scrolled through the screen and Thomas nodded frantically, “Yes. Yes! He’s streaming video to the J.I.C. server through Colgan’s office.”

  Giacometti smiled, “Then we have access to the Joint Intelligence Committee network through his login?”

  Thomas nodded again. “Yes!”

&nbs
p; “Outstanding, my friend Thomas,” Giacometti patted Thomas on the back. “Now, find me the files containing the fight plan of Shepherd One.”

  12.04 BST (British Summer Time)

  Present Day

  Cardiff. Wales. Great Britain.

  HM Prison Cardiff, Adamsdown

  No one at H.M. Cardiff could tell Tony Horton the name of the missing prisoner and the prison lockdown had automatically shut down the entire internal secure computer infrastructure to protect the data. Now, all he could do was sit and wait in the server room until the prison’s computer mainframe finished the reboot cycle.

  He glanced over his shoulder at his associate. Craig Hughes had acquired a packet of crisps from somewhere and was happily tucking in, showing not a hint of the unbearable frustration that was aflame inside Tony.

  It was infuriating, knowing full well that he was at least two steps behind the action and that distance was growing every second. Today’s events were getting out of hand. Slipping through his fingers like running water. He could try and close his fist but it was no use, still the water would cascade over his knuckles. Forever unattainable.

  “Hey up,” Craig said suddenly, scattering Tony’s stray thoughts.

  Tony looked up, the monitors and lights on the terminals in front of him had began to blink and moan and sparkle back to life.

  He quickly slid his wheeled chair over to the nearest keyboard and began typing in the override user information the warden had already provided him with. It took him only a few seconds to get to grips with the prison interface and within a few more he had the name of the prisoner Paul Russell and Giacometti’s men had freed.

  “Aldo Boccanegra,” Craig read aloud over Tony’s shoulder. “Convicted child molester serving a ten year sentence.”

  “Father Aldo Boccanegra. He’s a priest,” Tony told Craig, reading on further. “Moved from Italy to England because of the church. He was transferred to a parish in Bristol first. Had no trouble getting permanent residence.”