Soft Target 02 - Tank

by Conrad Jones

  Clarky needed to stop the Terrorist Task Force agents from apprehending him, without causing any fatalities, or years of undercover work would be wasted. He had suspected that Simon Pinn wasn’t all that he seemed, but he couldn’t expose him without compromising his own position. He checked the tension of the trip wire and then followed his men further down the ventilation shaft beneath the River Mersey.

  Chen and his Task Force agents entered the main shaft from the casino and proceeded down the tunnel in pursuit of the Brigade men. Their protective boots made a crunching sound as they crushed the broken glass from the emergency lights.

  “Switch to night vision and dark mag-lights,” Chen ordered his team as they edged down the tunnel hugging the walls. They stayed close to the sides of the shaft and made it harder to be seen by keeping low. Dark mag-lights were fitted to the helmets of his team. They cast a light imperceptible to the human eye without infra-green vision. This stopped the enemy from seeing your torchlight, which made you a simple target. The dark mag-light improved vision up to about twenty feet without alerting the enemy. They made steady progress down the gentle slope. Chen spoke briefly to Tank over the coms-channel and ascertained that they had made no contact with the Brigade men either. He felt nervous as they progressed in formation down the shaft. Chen scanned the way ahead with a laser light looking for trip wires belonging to mines. The laser light prompted a short burst of 9mm machinegun fire fired from somewhere up ahead. The fat shells blasted chunks of concrete from the ceiling above them and he extinguished the light immediately to discourage another salvo.

  “That came from a long way ahead,” Chen spoke to his men, “we’ll have to advance using infra-green only.” The lead agent stopped and bent low to inspect the tunnel and then gave the thumbs up sign. The rear agent jogged from the back and overtook the front man, and then the rest followed in formation. Chen was following the agent in front of him when the Terrorist Task Force man stumbled over something. Chen saw that the wires from the tunnel wall were stripped a split second before the sting grenade exploded in his face.

  Chapter 30

  Tank/ Dano Tunnel

  Dano reached the end of the access tunnel when he heard the grenades explode in the casino. He and his men had jogged six hundred yards up a gentle slope away from the river, and he could see Clarky and the others disappearing around the long curving bend into the distance. There was a wooden door in front of him and he grabbed the handle with a sweaty palm and twisted it. The door wouldn’t budge. Dano stepped back a few yards and fired a short burst from his 9mm machinegun at the handle. The wood around the locking mechanism splintered into a hundred pieces and the metal handle was ripped from the door as it sprung open. Dano looked into the cavernous service building. The large motor room beyond was dimly lit by emergency lighting, and it appeared to be completely unoccupied. The Brigade men entered the building silently checking for any employees. The noise from the huge exhaust extraction fans was deafening. Dano noticed a bank of seven steel lockers across the room that were used to secure tunnel employee belongings while they worked.

  “Barricade the door with those lockers,” Dano ordered. He was acutely aware that the police would be in pursuit in a matter of minutes. The Brigade men carried the heavy lockers across the room and jammed them into the tunnel entrance. Dano opened every door as the lockers passed and removed overalls, high viz jackets and yellow safety helmets from them. He distributed them between the group of skinheads and they dressed quickly in silence.

  “When we leave the building we leave one at a time and in different directions,” Dano explained. The entire area surrounding the river was a series of construction sites. The City of Liverpool was granted European Capital of Culture status in 2008. The award preceded huge amounts of money being invested in the redevelopment of the city centre. New shopping malls were springing up all along the riverbank. Old derelict warehouses were being transformed into art galleries and cafe bars. From the Mersey tunnel service building to the myriad of construction sites was a few hundred yards. The brigade men would stand a good chance of escaping unnoticed if they could leave immediately and split up. The work wear would act as the perfect disguise.

  Dano entered a corridor and a short distance along it he discovered a small control room that was surrounded by clear Perspex walls. Three sides of the room were dedicated to switchgear and electronic gauges. There was a single technician wearing a white overall and a yellow jacket, sat at a desk. He was blissfully unaware of the uninvited guests behind him as he listened to his MP3 player, and read the newspaper. The gauges monitored carbon monoxide levels caused by engine exhaust fumes in the road tunnels. The tunnels were over three miles long, and descended a mile beneath the River Mersey. Huge exhaust fans worked round the clock to maintain a breathable atmosphere in the tunnels. Any increase in carbon monoxide levels could render unsuspecting motorists unconscious. The lethal gas is an invisible killer and because it is denser than oxygen it lingers close to the floor, making it especially dangerous in traffic tunnels. Dano struck the technician on the base of the skull with his heavy metal gun. He collapsed in a heap on the floor beneath the desk. There was a large red switch on the right hand panel, which controlled the electricity supply to the fluorescent lights that illuminated the road tunnels and its service shafts.

  “Start leaving one at a time. I’m going to give them something else to worry about,” Dano ordered, “meet up at the Turf and Feather, in Locking Stumps when you get back.” He flicked the switch to off, plunging the traffic tunnels into total darkness in an instant.

  As the tunnels were plunged into inky blackness, the driver of a number twenty-six Arriva bus was caught completely unaware as he carried his passengers beneath the river from Liverpool to Birkenhead. He slammed his brakes on in the inky darkness but couldn’t keep the bus straight. It careered across the centre island into the oncoming traffic causing a multiple pile up. The fuel tank of the bus was punctured as it hit the metal safety barrier, and diesel fuel sprayed over the road. The rider of a Honda Blackbird motorcycle couldn’t focus in the gloom as the lights went out, and he ploughed into the back of the bus. The motorbike scraped along the tarmac and the exhaust pipe disintegrated into a shower of sparks which landed in the spreading fuel. The diesel ignited into a wall of flame and the number twenty-six bus started to burn. The pile up continued to grow quickly in both directions as oncoming traffic crashed into the stationary vehicles in front of them. Thick acrid smoke started to fill the tunnel as the bus tyres caught fire. Just when things couldn’t possibly get any worse, Dano turned off the huge exhaust fans.

  Chapter 31

  Roman/ Alexis

  Alexis sat in the passenger seat of a black Volkswagen Toureg and pulled on a pair of black leather gloves. He reached into his leather jacket and removed a Colt 45 from its holster. The heavy silver pistol made famous by Clint Eastwood in his Dirty Harry movies weighed over three kilos when fully loaded. He ran his hand along the cold steel and its touch reassured him. The Colt was his favourite weapon and he had used it to kill many times before. Alexis was born in 1968 in the Russian state of Georgia to ethnically Russian Jewish parents. His family moved to Moscow when he was three years old. Alexis was an amateur wrestler in his youth and his reputation as a fighter was fearsome, even before he had left school. He served a short prison sentence at the age of seventeen for his participation in a bar fight during which he dislocated his opponents shoulder. Once in the penal system he was introduced to the Russian Mafia, who identified him as a potential future asset. After his release he began to move up the ranks of the criminal world, selling goods on the black market. It wasn’t long before he had become involved in gang activity. Alexis and his gang used forged police documents to enter people’s houses and then rob them. In 1992 he was arrested on firearms, forgery and drug trafficking charges. Alexis received a fourteen-year jail sentence but was released after serving just two months of his term. He had made connections with Russian
state intelligence organisations, and their organised crime partners, corruption was rife. Alexis was nicknamed Yaponchik, which means ‘little Japanese’ due to his vaguely slanted eyes, and his criminal reputation had reached the ears of Roman Kordinski. Roman was a powerful businessman, and he reportedly bribed a Supreme Court judge to set aside Alexis’ conviction. Their partnership in crime began upon his release.

  Alexis was sent to America to set up business for Roman in the West. He arrived in the United States with the reputation as one of the fiercest criminals in Russia. He entered America on a regular business visa, which stated that he was to work in the film industry. The Russian Ministry of Internal Affairs advised the FBI that Alexis had come to manage and control Russian organised crime activities but their warning was ignored. The editor for the newspaper, Novoye Russkaye Slova wrote an article in 1994. He alleged that Roman Kordinski had left Russia because it was too dangerous for him there, since the new Muslim Chechen criminal entrepreneurs had set up business.

  Alexis was put in charge of a Russian gang on Brighton Beach, New York, which numbered around a hundred men. It became the premier crime group in Brooklyn. He systematically used violence and corruption to establish a monopoly on criminal enterprise. For four years they ran riot through New York’s criminal underworld netting millions of dollars in the process. In 1998 he was arrested by the FBI and charged with the extortion of several million dollars from an investment advisory firm, which was run by two Russian Muslim business men. In June of the following year he was convicted with two co-defendants on the charge of extortion. During the trial one of his victims’ fathers was assassinated in Moscow, along with his wife and elderly mother. The murders were committed to discourage further testimony being given, and as a warning to a nervous jury.

  The extortion charges collapsed, however Alexis was deported to Russia to face charges that he was responsible for all of the three murders. The jury in the murder trial found him not guilty and he was acquitted again. During the subsequent murder trial six witnesses, including three Russian policemen and a high-ranking government official, failed to appear in court. Alexis was released and joined Roman Kordinski in the United Kingdom where rebuilding had already begun.

  Today Alexis was parked on an old World War II airbase on the outskirts of Warrington called Burtonwood. The airbase was the home of the United States Air Force through the war and into the 1960’s. In the 80’s it was closed and partially dismantled. There were still eight aircraft hangars standing on the old base. The hangars were 500yds long and twice as wide. They were shaped like huge barrels cut in half and laid on the floor. The curved buildings were designed to confuse enemy bomber pilots who were programmed to look for groups of rectangular shapes to bomb. The Ministry of Transport purchased part of the airfield, and several large hangars, which they converted into an inspection centre. Ten years on, Roman bought the site for redevelopment, and they had used it for the interrogation and disposal of troublesome employees, and rival gangsters. Alexis was ordered to meet his boss at the derelict inspection hangar, which made alarm bells ring in his head. He had three of his most loyal men with him in the Volkswagen, and three more in a similar vehicle 100yds away. He wasn’t going to take any chances.

  Self-preservation was making his senses ultra-sharp, and he had noticed that his driver was sporting a new Rolex watch. He could be being paranoid, but paranoid was better than dead. Mafioso would often change allegiances for money, and he didn’t want to take the chance that his man had betrayed him.

  “Wait here and keep the engine running,” Alexis ordered the driver, “the rest of you come with me.” The driver flushed red, which made Alexis more suspicious of him. He locked eyes with the driver and the driver looked away immediately. Alexis took the big Colt from his shoulder holster and pulled the trigger. The massive 45-calibre bullet hit the driver in the side of the head above his ear, leaving a ragged hole the size of a plum. The force of the bullet smashed the Russians head against the window shattering the glass to smithereens. One of Alexis’ men had exited the rear of the vehicle, on the opposite side, and was sprayed from head to toe with blood and gore. He stood frozen to the spot with brain matter running down his cheek, which he wiped off with the back of his sleeve. He looked at the sticky fluid with bulging eyes and then vomited against the side of the vehicle. Alexis had sent a powerful message to his men that betrayal was a capital offence. The men in the other vehicle heard the shot and ran toward them with their weapons drawn.

  “Everything is fine,” Alexis said replacing his gun into his holster, “Take the watch from his wrist and bring it with you,” he ordered. A fat Russian Mafioso with a blond ponytail leaned into the Volkswagen and removed the Rolex. He then patted the dead man’s jacket looking for his weapon and took a 9mm Luger from his waistband. The five men headed toward the hangar and the fat man handed the Rolex to Alexis. He studied the watch face and its gold metal strap. Alexis recognised it as a Submariner, which was the model Roman Kordinski favoured.

  “Be on your guard,” Alexis said to the group as they approached the hangar door, “I have got a feeling that we may be heading for a career change.” He knew that things had gotten out of hand since Roman had received notice from the Kremlin that his oil business was to be renationalised. Greed was the route of all evil especially where money was concerned. Alexis didn’t agree with the kidnap of the Saudi Princess. Roman had ordered the bombings of the riverboat and Piccadilly rail terminus to cast suspicion on Islamic extremists, and to increase the public mistrust of the Muslim communities. Judging from the reaction of the British public the ploy had worked. Public opinion was turning against an acceptance of integration with foreign immigrants, and Islamaphobia was spreading across the nation.

  The previous year’s terrorist attacks committed by Yasser Ahmed, and his Axe group had prompted a violent reaction from Britain’s indigenous Christians. Mosques were burned to the ground and Muslim businesses became targets for vandalism. There were riots in some areas with large Muslim populations. The volatile situation was compounded in January 2008 when five Muslim men were found guilty of conspiracy to murder. Imran Parvis and his co-conspirators plotted to kidnap a Muslim British soldier from the streets of Birmingham and behead him on camera. They were then to post the footage on the internet as a warning to other Muslims, who were considering a career in the British armed forces. Public reaction to the plot was one of horror and it added fuel to flames of racial hatred. The United Kingdom had not witnessed civil unrest on this scale since the race riots of the late 70’s.Roman had counted on a similar response to the river bomb and the incident in Manchester, and he wasn’t disappointed. The countries law enforcement agencies were swamped trying to maintain public order, which allowed organised crime families to trade unabated. Anti-immigrant political parties such as the BNP, and neo-Nazi groups like the 18th Brigade and Combat 18 were receiving a record number of new members. Alexis realised that the authorities would see through the plot eventually and would target all its resources against those truly responsible.

  Maybe it was time for Alexis to become self employed. He could surround himself with a hardcore of ruthless Russian exiles, and concentrate on simple honest lawbreaking like drugs and prostitution, all this religious bull shit was getting out of hand. He was in fear of his life and his liberty, but he would meet with Roman one last time, and give him the opportunity to remain as his long term employer. There would be no discussions about severance pay or pension funds. It would be fine or he would give his resignation in the form a 45mm bullet.

  They reached the massive hangar shutter door, and approached a smaller door, which was set into it. Alexis opened the metal door and stepped into the cavernous hangar. His footsteps echoed across the concrete. The hangar was dimly lit and at first he thought that it was empty. A black rent in the ground ran the length of the hangar splitting it into two halves. Alexis knew it was the old vehicle inspection pit. About two hundred yards away across the inspect
ion pit, he could see a white transit van. The headlights flashed acknowledging their arrival.

  “Spread out and hold your line on me,” Alexis said quietly, “I don’t want them to panic and do something rash.”

  “Rash, like shooting one of your own men in the face because you want his watch?” said the fat Soviet with the ponytail. Alexis stopped and glared at the man who glared back. The ponytail placed his hand inside his jacket and gripped the handle of his pistol. His fat face flushed, because he knew that now was not the time to challenge Alexis.

  “The watch belongs to Roman you stupid fat fuck,” Alexis hissed, “now why do think he would be wearing Roman’s watch?” The man removed his hand from his pistol and his facial muscles relaxed giving him a confused expression. Alexis shrugged his shoulders and nodded toward the van. The men walked toward it in a line, conflict forgotten for now. They spread out as they walked, leaving fifty yards between them, and the next man. The Russians loyal to Alexis were big men. They wore leather coats of various styles and lengths and looked menacing as they approached the transit van, which was parked on the far side of the inspection pit. They looked like the reservoir dogs on steroids.