Soft Target 02 - Tank

by Conrad Jones

  “If that’s true then we need to assume that the armoury room in the basement has been emptied for a reason. I think the Brigade has planned an attack against the Russians in retaliation for the shootings at the Orford. Chen you need to inform the uniformed divisions that we suspect an armed incident of major proportions is imminent. Order them to despatch every Armed Response Unit they have available, and to cancel all leave and rest days,” Tank said pointing to the door to underline the urgency of his directive. Chen stood and left the meeting to carry out Tank’s order. The gravity of the situation required immediate communication to the regional uniformed police divisions.

  “We still cannot identify which crime organisation is behind the kidnap plot. The Brigade’s involvement looks to be irrefutable so we must assume that the information we have collated from the Organised Crime Unit is correct. They are certain that the Brigade work directly with the Russian Mafia. They supply the Brigade with imported weapons and drugs. We need an up to date list of all suspected Russian business interests in Liverpool, Manchester and the surrounding towns,” Tank pointed to a map of the region that was on the digital display board, “we are looking for casinos, night clubs and brothels that have any Eastern European connections.” The Terrorist Task Force would have to rely on the information that the conventional law enforcement agencies had, but Tank had a hunch that any retaliation attacks would be imminent. Collating information from several departments would take up valuable time that they didn’t have. The Major stood up from his desk and changed the map image on the digital screen. He flicked through several images of the Middle East until he found one that demonstrated his narrative.

  “We have informed the Saudis today that we know Jeannie Kellesh was not a victim of the riverboat bomb. We know that there was definitely no Islamic extremist influence involved,” The Major said looking directly at Tank. Tank knew what was coming but he didn’t care, a terror training camp of any description was still a legitimate target for an airstrike no matter what the reasoning behind it. The destruction of the terror networks was the number one priority for his Task Force. The Major was concerned that they had withheld information from the Saudis, and he felt that Tank had influenced his decision to do so.

  “We incorrectly allowed the Saudis to believe that Yasser Ahmed may have been involved in the bombing on the River Dee, which resulted in them launching an airstrike in Syrian territory. Syria, Iran and their allies are looking for a reason to attack Israel and the Arab states that support or trade with the West, including Saudi Arabia,” the Major tried to emphasise the international ramifications. No one else in the room could see the urgency of the situation that he was outlining. Tank suddenly clicked, and the point became frighteningly clear.

  “What the Major is saying is that if a Jewish Russian becomes implicated in the kidnapping of a Muslim Princess, extreme Islamic states such as Syria and Iran could call open season on the Jewish state of Israel in retaliation, which would in turn drag America into the conflict. We could be looking at the start of a third world war,” Tank said out loud for his own benefit as well as for the benefit of others.

  “Exactly,” said Major Timms, “Syria has already mobilised its armoured divisions to defend its southern borders, if they discover that the airstrike by the Saudis was carried out without proper justification then the situation could deteriorate.”

  “Point taken Major,” said Tank, “however we need to concentrate on the fact that the 18th Brigade has armed and mobilised its members in the last twelve hours. I want every available Task Force member suited and booted ready for whatever is going to happen. Put the bomb squad on standby and issue fully automatic weapons to every agent. Full body armour is compulsory even for uniformed officers, no heroes.”

  The goldfish bowl door opened and Chen returned to the room looking red faced. He crossed to the digital screen without saying a word and tuned it to a Greater Manchester Police Force channel that was being broadcasted from a surveillance helicopter. The image of what used to be Manchester Piccadilly Station appeared. It was a scene of total devastation, obviously the result of a huge explosion. Glass, twisted metal and human remains were scattered across the station’s approach.

  “This explosion happened two minutes ago. Early reports indicate a refuse truck was driven into the terminus and then exploded,” Chen explained.

  “Chen and Faz, you need to head to that station. Gather what information is relevant and call in when you are ready. I’ll prepare the team here. Call a helicopter to pick you up on the roof,” Tank ordered without taking his eyes off the screen. Tank knew that the explosion was probably unrelated to their current case, but he had a sneaking suspicion that somehow it was connected. He picked up the phone and speed dialled one of his agents.

  “John Tankersley speaking, what happened in Bradford when you went to arrest Imran Patel in connection with the van we investigated at the River Dee?” Tank asked. He listened briefly and then replaced the handset gently as if it might break. “Imran Patel left his house this morning to buy a newspaper and never returned. Eyewitnesses report seeing an Asian man being knocked over by a dark SUV in the vicinity of the newsagents. He was placed in the back of the vehicle. No one remembers the make or model and there is no registration number. I am laying odds that Imran Patel’s disappearance is connected to that bomb,” Tank said staring at the digital images of carnage being broadcast from the ruined Manchester train terminus.

  Chapter 15

  Omar Kellesh & Yusuf

  Yusuf was forty-five years old and had worked as a personnel security advisor for the Saudi Royal Family for fifteen of those years. He was directly responsible for the safety of the Kellesh family in England for the last five uneventful years. Yusuf was educated and brought up as a moderate Sunni Muslim. After completing his university education he joined the Saudi armed forces as a commissioned officer. He was selected for a unit that was spending time training with British Special Forces in Egypt. Following that he was selected for counter-terrorist security and placed on the payroll of the Royal Family. Yusuf’s first assignment was as a close protection agent at a meeting of OPEC (Oil producing countries) in Geneva, which was being attended by high-ranking ministers from the richest nations on the planet. The meeting was targeted by a terrorist organisation from Venezuela. The terrorists stormed the meeting, which was being held on the first floor of a government building, killing two policemen in the process. The leader of the attack was the infamous terrorist known as Carlos the Jackal, and although a Muslim himself he had a tainted opinion of certain Islamic countries, which in his opinion were becoming servants to Western governments. His agenda was the annihilation of the Jewish state of Israel, the freedom of Palestine, and the removal of Western backed Arabian governments. Carlos separated the diplomats into three groups, which he categorised as the conservative countries, Algeria, Libya and Kuwait. The neutral countries of, Venezuela, Indonesia, Gabon, Ecuador and Nigeria; and finally the countries that he considered to be the enemies of Islam, Saudi Arabia, United Arab Emirates, Iran and Qatar.

  His intention was to demand a huge ransom for the safe return of the Foreign ministers and to execute the representatives of the countries he called criminal. Carlos and his two affiliates separated the liberal ministers into different rooms and segregated the others. They then surrounded the ‘criminal’ diplomats with explosives. They had not identified Yusuf, who had remained calm throughout the incursion, and dressed in a business suit he had convinced the unsuspecting terrorists that he was a Foreign minister too. Throughout the hostage situation it became very clear that Carlos the Jackal had a violent temper, and Yusuf was convinced that he intended to execute everyone if necessary. The tension amongst the foreign diplomats was dreadful as negotiations with the authorities began for the release of the valuable hostages. A telephone call was received by the kidnappers from the security services that surrounded the building, who were trying to negotiate with Carlos for the release of the diplomats
. In a moment of extreme anger Carlos emptied the magazine of his machinegun into the telephone switchboard. The switchboard was blown into a thousand pieces as the high velocity bullets struck. When the Terrorist’s machinegun clicked empty Yusuf made his move. Within seconds Yusuf had shot and mortally wounded all three terrorists without them firing a shot. Yusuf reloaded his 16-bullet Glock 9mm and emptied the entire clip into Carlos’s dying body. He then repeated the process with the two other terrorists to ensure that there was no chance of survival, sixteen bullets for each terrorist. Yusuf was hailed a hero and moved into key Saudi close protection roles immediately afterward.

  Now he was stood next to his charge, Omar Kellesh, in Euston station, London, waiting for a kidnapper to call. They were instructed to wait for a call at a specific bank of public pay phones. He checked his chronograph watch and saw that it was exactly an hour since they had received the first contact from the kidnappers. Suddenly a phone rang. Omar snatched the receiver from its cradle and stammered into it.

  “Hello, Hello. Is anyone there?” Omar took the phone from his ear and looked into it as if he could see the person at the other end if he stared hard enough. The ringing sound continued and Omar became confused. Yusuf reached past his boss and felt beneath the metal body of the phone. He removed a Nokia cell phone that was taped to it, and it was still ringing.

  “Hello,” Yusuf said into the Nokia pretending to be his boss Omar.

  “You are not Omar Kellesh. Put him on immediately,” said the voice, a heavy guttural accent reinforced the Russian connection. Yusuf now knew that whoever was making the call could see them from wherever they were positioned. There is no way they could have known that he was not Omar, unless they were being watched. Yusuf passed the phone to Omar and stepped away from him scanning the floors above them as he moved. He expertly tried to identify where the caller could be stood. There were several people stood in the correct position to be observing them but no one was using a cell phone simultaneously. Yusuf left Omar and blended into the crowd frantically trying to find the kidnapper before they ended the call.

  “This is Omar Kellesh,” the Saudi minister said shaking uncontrollably. He looked toward Yusuf for support, but he was nowhere to be seen. Omar was suddenly very frightened, Yusuf’s presence made him feel safe but he was gone.

  “If you feel beneath the telephone you will find the key to a left luggage locker. Take it and make your way to the lockers,” the Russian voice directed him. Omar felt underneath the metal box and grasped a piece of duct tape. A silver key was attached to it; there was also a metal disc with the number thirteen engraved on it. He looked around the crowded station area desperately trying to spot Yusuf. The station hall was five hundred yards square surrounded by restaurants and retail outlets. There were thousands of commuters in every direction he looked, it was hopeless to try and find Yusuf; he had to follow the instructions to save Jeannie by himself without his protection agent. It occurred to him that whoever was directing him could have taken Yusuf. If they could remove a man as skilled as Yusuf then they would have no problem killing him. He felt alone and exposed without his trusted bodyguard.

  Two British Transport Police officers passed by him and eyed him coolly, because of the explosions at Piccadilly station officers were being extra vigilant. Omar realised that he must look like he was under immense stress, as sweat was running from his forehead down across his cheeks. He felt completely lost and frightened, so he started toward the police officers wondering if they could help him to recover his daughter, panic was beginning to set in. If he alerted the British police to Jeannie’s kidnap the perpetrators would surely kill her, but he could see no alternative. Suddenly he was grasped tightly by the arm, strong fingers dug into the soft flesh inside his bicep. Omar felt himself being guided roughly away from the policemen.

  “Your daughter is a very attractive young woman Mr Kellesh. I think that her guards would have fun with her before they killed her. You should not consider talking to the police,” the Russian voice hissed into his ear. The grip on his arm tightened and pulled him toward the left luggage area.

  “Who are you? Why are you holding my daughter? Please don’t hurt my daughter,” Omar whispered almost vomiting from the fear that overwhelmed him. The thought of his beautiful daughter spending the last hours of her precious life being brutalised by violent men made his knees weak. The grip on his arm was now bearing his weight as his legs refused to carry him. Fear gripped him and turned his heart to ice.

  “I am called Yuri, and your daughter will be safely returned to you untouched if you cooperate. The lockers are fifty-yards in front of you. Inside you will find your instructions Mr Kellesh. If you fail to comply with the instructions then I will personally see that your daughter is visited by more men than a Babylon Whore before we cut her up. Do you understand Mr Kellesh?” Yuri snarled the instructions into his ear so that passersby had no idea what was being said between the two men. Omar turned to face the Russian in an attempt to plead for his daughter’s safety. The vice like grip on his arm had gone and so had the big Russian. All he could see was hundreds of commuters going about their business.

  Omar started to cry as he approached the locker. His hand was shaking and he struggled to insert the key into the lock. A tear ran from the corner of his eye as he thought that it might have been better if Jeannie had died in the explosion. She would be in heaven now not lying somewhere at the mercy of bad men. His stomach twisted and he felt bile rising in his throat as he imagined his beautiful angelic daughter being scared and alone. A father’s natural instinct would be to kill anything that threatened his children. Fear started to turn to pure rage as he opened the locker. Inside was a brown manila envelope, which he tore open with shaking hands. He read the instructions and then screwed the paper up and shoved it into his pocket. He had to get back to the embassy immediately.

  Omar Kellesh ran as fast as his weakened legs would carry him toward the car park. Yusuf had driven the Mercedes SUV and parked it in the station multi-storey. Omar crashed into a middle-aged woman as he reached the escalators, knocking her headlong across the tiled station floor. He staggered up and continued down the metal stair without pausing to apologise or even to acknowledge that the collision was his fault. Omar ran from the escalator along a dirty corridor that smelt of urine until he reached a fire door that led into the concrete multi-storey car park. He paused briefly to catch his breath, but he had to get back to his embassy as quick as he could. He spotted the Mercedes and hurtled toward it like a mad man. He was panting for breath and soaked with sweat as he neared the vehicle, but he suddenly stopped at what he saw in front of him. Yusuf was stood waiting by the back of the Mercedes as if he were on a shopping trip. He held the keys in his hand and he smiled when Omar approached. Omar opened his mouth to speak but the combination of exhaustion and shock left him tongue-tied. He placed his hands on his knees trying to catch his breath, staring at his bodyguard all the time.

  Had Yusuf betrayed him and left him to the Russians on purpose? Had he gone to the toilet at a crucial time like this? Yusuf was too professional to be so blasé, so what was going on? Omar thought in his jumbled mind.

  Yusuf stepped away from the rear of the Mercedes and Omar saw that he was holding his UZI 9mm machinegun beneath his jacket. Yusuf reached toward Omar and guided him gently toward the rear of the vehicle. Omar thought that his time was up; Yusuf was going to assassinate him. Yusuf opened the rear door of the Mercedes and smiled at Omar again. Omar stared into the vehicle and a smile spread across his face, he broke into nervous laughter nodding his head as relief and understanding descended on him. In the back of the vehicle was the big Russian who had called himself Yuri. He had threatened Omar with the gang rape of his daughter. Now he was trussed up like a chicken in the boot of his car, and gagged with silver duct tape. His nose was bleeding profusely which made Omar happy. The best part though was the look of terror that was in his eyes. That look of sheer unadulterated fear was priceless
.

  Chapter 16

  18th Brigade Strike back

  Dano leaned against a wall looking at a reinforced metal doorway across the street from where he stood. Dano was with the 18th Brigade since he left school ten years ago, working as a door security man at first, before being promoted into the drug dealing area of the business. He looked every inch like a fascist skinhead. His hair was shaved with a razor to the scalp and he sported Swastika tattoos beneath both ears, along with SS insignia on both hands. Dano worked out using heavy weights at the brigade gym, and he enhanced his training with anabolic steroids. The steroids made his moods unpredictable and violent. The excess testosterone in his blood stream fuelled an unnatural sex drive, which compounded his mood swings. He held a short metal baton in his fist and he tapped it threateningly against his palm. He had two colleagues with him, who were known as Clarky and Pinn, one stood next to the reinforced door that he was watching, and the other approached it straight on. They all shared the same taste in haircuts and tattoos.

  Clarky rang the doorbell, which was attached to a wooden doorframe. The frame itself was reinforced with a wrought iron grill that was shaped into metal flowers. The decorative shapes could not disguise the fact that someone was fortifying the premises behind it. An intercom crackled and a female voice spoke through it.

  “Hello my love there’s a ten-minute wait at the moment. Wait for the buzzer and then push the door, we’re up the stairs on the left,” the woman’s voice clicked off and the door lock buzzed open. Clarky pushed the door open and turned toward Dano and Pinn gesturing them to follow him. The three skinheads ran up the stairs, their Doc Martin boots thudded loudly as they ascended. They were greeted at the top of the stairs by a woman in her fifties; she was plastered in make-up, and was surprised by the sound of multiple footsteps coming up the stairs. She was obviously the madam of the operation; her years of being able to command money for sex were well behind her, but she could answer the telephone and account for the cash with no problems. Her years on the game had given her a no nonsense approach to dealing with punters, along with a matron like manner with the working girls, who she empathised with too much sometimes. She opened her mouth to object about the three men entering the building but was silenced by a vicious punch in the stomach. She collapsed against the wall gasping for breath.