Soft Target 02 - Tank

by Conrad Jones

  Upstairs in the main body of the Saudi embassy, Yusuf placed the cell phone he was using into a towel and began wiping it, removing all the prints and DNA material. The phone belonged to Yuri. Yusuf had used the numbers stored in the phone to leave an electronic trail that would lead directly to Roman Kordinski. The security services would find text messages and calls made from Yuri to Kordinski all mentioning the kidnapping of Jeannie Kellesh. They could be discounted in a court of law, but the idea was to make the British agents look in that direction. The electronic trail would definitely achieve that. The recordings of the interrogations were digitally cleaned to remove any screams of pain. Only the voice of the Russian admitting that his employer was responsible for the kidnapping and the riverboat bomb would remain. His indication of where she could be being held was the final part of the recording. A good defence lawyer could argue that the recordings were not to be submitted as evidence because they were cleaned, but by then they would have served their purpose. All that remained was to put Yuri’s DNA on the cell phone and deliver them both to the British security services. Yusuf picked up an intercom.

  “Have the Russian dressed,” Yusuf ordered. He opened a container, which was similar in size and shape to a cigar box. Inside were a silver coloured syringe and a glass vial of amber liquid. The liquid was a radioactive isotope called polonium 200, which is a bi-product that is created by nuclear fusion. The isotope is lethal to human beings even in small amounts. It is alleged that the Russian KGB have used the substance to assassinate critics of President Putin. One high profile case actually occurred on British soil in London where the lethal radioactive isotope was used to kill an exiled Russian dissident. On this occasion the substance was traced to a cup of tea, which was poisoned. Once ingested the Polonium slowly killed the Russian exile, although he clung to life for over a week the fatal prognosis was never in doubt. Yusuf planned to inject Yuri with the isotope making it look like the Russians had killed their own man.

  In his cell downstairs Yuri drained the final drop of water from his metal cup and started to sharpen the edge of it on the concrete floor when he heard footsteps outside of his cell. His heart quickened as he heard keys turning in the lock, he somehow knew that his end was close. The door opened and two guards entered the room. They remained silent as they handed a set of clean clothes to him and unlocked the chains that fastened him to an iron radiator. Yuri took the clothes and tried to stand up, but his legs were weak from blood loss and cramped from inactivity. He wobbled and steadied himself by holding onto the radiator. He placed the clothes on the small cot bed while he gathered his wits about him.

  “Get dressed, you are being released today,” the Saudi guard ordered.

  Yuri heard him but he didn’t believe him for one minute. He picked up a pair of khaki cargo trousers and slowly pulled them on. The numbness in his legs was fading and the proper use was returning to them. His hands were still restricted by handcuffs and chains.

  “I can’t put on the shirt with these cuffs still on,” Yuri said holding out his hands to the guards. The guards looked from one to the other unsure of what to do. Two sets of footsteps could be heard coming down the corridor and Yusuf appeared at the doorway with another Saudi officer.

  “I told you to have the prisoner dressed. Remove the cuffs while he dresses,” Yusuf ordered. He removed a Browning 9mm revolver from his holster and pointed it at Yuri to discourage any escape attempts. The guard unlocked one of the cuffs and Yuri slipped the cotton shirt over his arms and began to fasten it. As the guard leaned close to him Yuri recognised the Saudi’s body odour. It made Yuri recoil as he realised that the man was one of those that had raped him. The big Russian felt a surge of adrenalin and moved like lightening. Yuri wrapped the dangling handcuffs around the Saudi’s throat. Yuri twisted his body away from the guard and bent his knees at the same time. The guard’s neck snapped in a second. Yuri released the limp body and scooped up the metal cup in one smooth movement as the second guard approached. He struck the approaching guard with the sharpened edge of the metal cup across the bridge of the nose. The metal cut deep into his flesh and sliced clean through his nose bone. Yuri turned the injured guard around and placed the metal against his jugular vein.

  “I will cut his throat if you move a muscle,” Yuri said. Yusuf and the remaining guard stood side by side in the narrow cell completely blocking the entrance. Yusuf still had the Browning pointed at Yuri but now the target was significantly obscured by the incapacitated guard.

  “You have nowhere to go Yuri. If you leave this place your employer will track you down. They will interrogate you to discover the depth of your betrayal,” the Saudi talked very slowly, “I was going to make the end painless for you, but now the choice is yours.” Yusuf took the revolver from his colleague’s belt and opened the bullet wheel. He removed five of the six bullets and placed them in his pocket. The remaining bullet was thrown onto the bed. Yusuf pushed the remaining guard backward toward the door, and then he threw the empty revolver onto the bed next to the bullet and pulled the cell door closed. Yuri was left holding the injured guard in his cell. He struck the Saudi hard on top of the head with the metal cup and he crumpled in a heap next to the guard with the broken neck. There was no escape from his prison cell. The walls were thick and the door was reinforced metal. His captors would not return until they heard a gunshot. Then he would either be dead or unarmed, as he only had one bullet. The adrenalin in his system started to wear off and the pain in the lower regions of his torso began to burn again. His momentary burst of energy had passed and left him feeling weaker than ever. The violent struggle had made the wounds open and the blood was flowing freely down his thighs discolouring his khaki trousers. Yuri sat heavily on the cot bed and winced at the pain it caused him. He picked up the revolver in his right hand and the bullet with his left. Yuri placed the bullet into the wheel and snapped it into position. He had lived a violent life and he had always believed that he would suffer a violent death. He had not considered the option of death at his own hand. Yuri considered it for over an hour before he finally placed the barrel beneath his chin and pulled the trigger.

  Chapter 24

  Simon Pinn/ Inside the Casino

  Simon Pinn joined the British Army at the tender age of seventeen. He was an accomplished amateur boxer during his school days and passed the six-week physical induction with flying colours. He chose to join his home regiment, the Cheshires, and was soon selected for the regimental boxing team. Representing the regiment gave a soldier great kudos amongst his fellow soldiers and Pinn’s career blossomed. He made the rank of Lance Corporal in record time. In the 80’s he was stationed in Londonderry, Northern Ireland at the peak of the troubles. Regiments of the British Army were rotated on six-month postings in the province. It was during Pinn’s second tour that his army career began to go wrong. He was stationed in an OP (observation post) one night , overlooking Derry when a known ‘prime mover’ was spotted completing an arms deal. Pinn’s call sign was Zulu 1 and he called in the IRA activity to his chain of command requesting permission to shoot the target. Permission was not forthcoming so Pinn deployed a spotter to move closer to the target to identify which type of weapons were changing hands. The spotter called in that RPG 7 grenade launchers and AK47 rifles were being loaded into a tractor unit. Zulu 1 asked permission to fire again, and again permission was refused. Pinn heard two shots fired and watched helpless as the spotter he had deployed dropped to the ground. He was shot between the eyes through his night vision glasses by an IRA sniper, who was providing cover for the deal. Northern Ireland was littered with such incidents where the army were defeated by politics rather than the enemy. Pinn decided that the next time he had the enemy in his sights he would shoot first and ask questions later. Several weeks down the line Pinn was on a routine street patrol of Londonderry when he spotted the same suspect arms dealer entering a pub in an area called the Cregan. He followed the suspect and waited ten minutes for the IRA man to get se
ttled, and then entered the pub. When a British soldier entered a public house in uniform he was placing his life and the life of anyone he spoke to in grave danger. Anyone suspected of informing to, or even cooperating with the British forces was subject to brutal retribution from the Irish paramilitaries. Pinn was well aware of the situation as was every British soldier, but he chose to use it to his advantage in revenge for the death of his spotter. Pinn walked across the stunned pub with his gun chambered across his forearm, two of his colleagues stood guard in the doorway with their rifles covering the drinkers.

  “Cheers for the information about the RPG’s. It was very useful, I owe you a pint,” Pinn said to the IRA man who was stood in the company of a dozen other locals. Pinn slung his Armalite rifle over his shoulder and left a five-pound note on the bar in front of the barman. All eyes in the crowded pub fell onto the IRA man and his face flushed purple with fear and embarrassment. The bar remained silent long after the British soldiers had left, and despite protesting his innocence, the shadow of suspicion was cast over the arms dealer. Three days later he was found dead with his kneecaps blown off; he had died in incredible pain through blood loss, as the victim of a punishment shooting. Despite his cries for help no one dared to call for medical assistance to help an informer. Rumours of the incident reached the ears of Pinn’s commanding officers and he was court marshalled two months later, and given a dishonourable discharge.

  Despite being discharged he was given an excellent reference and he applied to work for the Merseyside Police Force. He was accepted and again his career seemed to be progressing well. Pinn reached the rank of Sergeant before applying for a vacancy in the Organised Crime Unit. He carried out several successful operations for his new unit and was selected for a covert mission infiltrating the 18th Brigade. The Brigade was identified as major players in the drugs trade, using door security as an umbrella for their operations. Pinn was sent to the Orford Arms and was selected to work in the Brigades door security business. Within months his unarmed combat skills had catapulted him up the ranks of the organisation, overtaking dozens of long serving members in the process. Pinn was promoted to Lieutenant, which gave him the responsibility over six pubs and two nightclubs. Apart from his huge wage increase he was also given a substantial percentage of the drug money from each site. Pinn realised that the old adage ‘crime doesn’t pay’ was absolute rubbish. It paid incredibly well and was great fun too. He continued to report snippets of useless information to his OCU department while his secret bank accounts were swelling beyond his wildest dreams. He had to declare and return his basic Brigade wage to the OCU, but he squirreled the rest away.

  Now Pinn was sat in a leather chair in the strong room of the Liverpool casino. He had shot two Russian security guards in the process of acquiring the safe combination. They were both lying on the floor of the room bleeding to death. No one had heard the shots, not even his Brigade colleagues. They were securing the perimeter and guarding the hostages. Pinn used a suppressor on his pistol, which reduced the sound of a high velocity bullet being fired to a loud hiss. The Terrorist Task Force thermal scanners had shown two people dead or dying. Pinn was staring at three hundred and fifty thousand pounds which was the casinos playing float. It made the money he had stolen from the brothel look like small potatoes. This could be the last bent deal he would ever have to make. He could retire somewhere in the sun. He could take sick leave from the OCU and never return. No one would ever know. Pinn had to hide the money or smuggle it out of the casino without the surrounding police forces finding it, or any of the Brigade seeing it. He was considering where to put the money when his Organised Crime Unit pager vibrated. Pinn read the message on the screen, which was informing him of the situation outside, and giving him the position of an access tunnel, which ran, beneath the casino. It was linked to the ventilation shafts of the Mersey tunnels. The message was from the Terrorist Task Force offices, according to the message data report on his pager. They were a serious heavy-duty outfit. The Brigade men inside the casino wouldn’t last five minutes against the Terrorist Task Force. Pinn laughed out loud and clasped his hands together in a mock prayer, a gesture of thanks to a god of deliverance.

  He moved quickly and stuffed the bundles of cash into cloth moneybags from the safe. Pinn needed to locate the access tunnel first and then deal with Dano, Clarky and the other Brigade members, before he made good his escape. He placed the suppressor barrel of his gun against the forehead of the prone Russian casino guard and shot him once through the head. He couldn’t leave any witnesses to testify that he had taken any money from the safe. The second guard died the same way with a bullet through his left eye.

  Pinn carried the loaded moneybags through the rear door of the strong room. It led to a long corridor, which headed toward the kitchen areas at the rear of the casino. He tiptoed silently down the corridor until he reached the open doorway, which opened into the service area. A young Brigade member was in the wash-up area standing on a stainless steel preparation sink, holding an Uzi 9mm machinegun. He was guarding a rear window and looked very scared. He nervously acknowledged Pinn as he entered the kitchen and nodded to him, he looked relieved to have some company. The window that he was guarding was fixed with exterior security bars to deter burglars, even the Terrorist Task Force agents couldn’t break in without making a lot of noise.

  “What are you doing up there soft lad?” Pinn scolded, “The window is barred, we’ll hear someone breaking through there a mile away. Get in the main casino area with the others.” The young Brigade man looked undecided but he didn’t want to argue with a Lieutenant of Pinn’s status. He jumped down from the sink and headed toward Pinn.

  “Have you seen that lot out there Pinn? They look like Robocop. They have got some wicked machineguns out there,” he said rambling, trying to make conversation with Pinn. He was still a teenager and the sight of armed officers surrounding the casino terrified him. He had only joined the Brigade for a laugh. He thought it was all about Paki bashing and beating up queers. The young skinhead was completely overwhelmed by the siege situation that he found himself in.

  “The Uzi you’re holding isn’t exactly a pee shooter soft lad,” Pinn replied sarcastically.

  “Yes I know how to use it, but I didn’t think it would be against the coppers Pinn,” the young skinhead answered as he noticed the cloth bags that Pinn was carrying.

  “What have you got in the bags Pinn? I hope it’s a load of twenty pound notes!” the young skinhead joked innocently. Pinn smiled as he approached.

  “It’s funny you should say that,” Pinn said as he fired point blank into the young Brigade man’s face. The high velocity round tore his lower jaw from his ruined face and he lay on his back with his eyes wide open in shock, and his body twitching for several minutes before he was finally still.

  Pinn opened a large steel door that sealed a walk-in fridge. The small cold room was filled with racks of salad and cooked meats. He scanned the floor space looking for anything that resembled an access hatch. The floor was neatly tiled with no breaks. Pinn returned to the young skinhead and dragged his body into the walk-in refrigerator. He left a bloody trail behind him but he couldn’t deal with that just yet. The blood would have to remain there for now. He moved through the wash-up area and located a white plastic coated door. Pinn opened the door to reveal a short flight of narrow stone stairs leading to a beer cellar. He lurched down the stairs taking them two at a time and lost his footing on the last step. He fell heavily onto his elbows and jarred his skeleton to the core, but he maintained his grip on the moneybags. The cellar floor was tiled like the kitchen but he was certain that he was below water level. If there was a hatch in the casino it had to be on this level. Pinn stood up and walked away from the stairs staring intently at the floor but saw nothing. He scoured the entire room peering into every corner and beneath every shelf. He could see nothing that resembled an access cover. There were at least eight metal beer kegs in a group next to a noisy cooler.
The metal fan was catching on the refrigeration fins making a clattering sound. The cooler motor was grinding out warm air as it struggled to cool the warm beer from the cellar. Pinn started to drag the barrels across the tiled floor like a man demented. The thought of loosing this much cash was driving him mad. The fact that he had killed three people already today seemed unimportant. He moved the last barrel and stared at the floor, nothing but neat square tiles. Pinn collapsed on the floor with his back against the cellar wall exhausted. He couldn’t think of anywhere else to hide the cash. There was cool breeze blowing against the back of his head, which was more than welcome. Sweat was pouring down his face and back. The access tunnel must have been tiled over when the casino was built. He would have to hide the cash here somewhere and come back for it another day. The thought of leaving the money turned his stomach, he felt nauseous. Pinn looked around trying to find inspiration, and again felt the cool breeze on his face. It was coming from behind him. He stood up quickly and looked at the wall he was leaning against, there was a small wooden door fastened with a metal latch. There was a red tin sign screwed to the middle of it, which said ‘access only’. Pinn smashed the latch off with his boot and pulled the door open. A narrow tunnel six foot long and just high enough to walk through if you crouched, led into a larger ventilation shaft, which serviced the traffic tunnels. Pinn couldn’t believe his luck, so he grabbed the bags and stooped into the tunnel. Once in the larger shaft Pinn walked around until he found an emergency cupboard. Fire fighting equipment was stored in the access tunnels in the event of a major traffic accident or fire in the traffic tunnels. He opened the door and removed two fire extinguishers and a folded fire blanket. He stuffed the moneybags into the closet and then replaced the fire equipment on top of them.