by M G Leslie
“You mean how much I hate them,” said Price in a dismissive tone.
“Yes,” said the Chief of Staff, “I know – sorry – there’s no time.”
Then he handed Price an envelope. “Travel documents and diplomatic papers for you and First Class. Good luck.”
Price took the papers and, without even looking at the Chief of Staff, walked out of the operations room.
“You’re welcome,” said the Chief of Staff – rhetorically – but audibly – to which one of the operations room operators replied, “I think they were quite close Sir – he and Pete go back a long way.”
“He was my friend as well,” thought the Chief of Staff. Although, as he turned and followed Price out of the room, his reply was less polite and was more a reflection of his anger as well, “I wasn’t asking for your opinion.”
Price walked down to the MI6 underground car park in a foul mood – firstly his friend was in intensive care – and secondly, he hated bikes with a passion. Coming, as he did, from London, he saw them as a means to get cold, wet, killed or in the way of his car.
However, on this occasion, he also recognised that it was the only way he’d get to the airport in time. So with an element of reluctance, he jumped onto the back of the despatch rider’s bike, put the helmet on and tapped the rider on the shoulder, “Let’s go – Terminal 3 – as quick as you can please – we’re already late.”
The rider held up his right hand displaying a ‘thumbs up’ signal, as the bike screamed out of the car park and headed west.
The bike’s number plates, as with Price’s car, were registered with London’s Metropolitan Police – so in emergency situations, they didn’t need to worry about the speed limit and drove as fast as the traffic and weather conditions safely permitted.
A record 15 minutes later, Price got off the bike – laughing hysterically. It had been an insane ride – the bike hitting nearly 150 miles per hour on the M4 motorway at one point. “Thanks for the ride of my life,” he said.
The biker lifted his visor and smiled back, “You’re welcome.” Then with a serious face he said, “Good luck Sir.”
“Thanks.”
With this bag over his shoulder, Price walked up to the Virgin Atlantic Upper Class check-in and handed over his passport – now showing him as a British Diplomat.
After the usual pleasantries, Price made his way to the private airport security channel, reserved for Upper Class passengers, where he placed the rucksack on the conveyer belt and watched it go through the x-ray machine.
Price passed easily through the metal detector, then heard the security man say, “Sir, can you open the bag please.”
“It’s OK,” said Price, “This is a diplomatic pouch.” Then he handed over a document, accompanied by his passport that identified the rucksack as being immune from security searches – the labelling on the paperwork matching a label attached to his bag.
“But Sir, there’s an area of the bag we need to check as the x-ray showed it as metal – we need to see what it is.”
“Yes, it’s a shielded area. But you don’t need to see inside,” said Price. “This is a diplomatic pouch – it’s not being opened. I’m a little surprised you’re not familiar with diplomatic protocol. No offence, but, perhaps we should call the officer in charge, as I am travelling on official business for Her Majesty’s government.”
The officer said, “One moment please Sir,” then spoke to his colleague who reviewed the paperwork before handing it back to Price and saying, “Thank you Sir – sorry to keep you. Have a safe flight.”
“Thank you,” said Price with a polite smile, as he made his way to the Virgin Clubhouse – this time ordering a soft drink – it was no time for alcoholic drinks.
Whilst Price was making his way to the flight, José Mancilla received an SMS message from London:
THEY ARE SENDING PRICE. VIRGIN FLIGHT IN 1HR. SUGGEST YOU GIVE HIM SAME RECEPTION THERE OR IN MOZAMBIQUE. FINAL DEST IS CHIMOIO
Mancilla, read the message and replied immediately:
THX – BUT DON’T THINK YOUR DEBT IS PAID – IT IS NOT!!
Then he picked up the phone – calling the same people he’d spoken to previously when arranging for Pete to be met. However, this time his message was very different, “Get him – at all costs.”
Receiving Mancilla’s SMS in London, the man that sent the message about Price just cursed, “I’ll win in the end,” he thought. “You wait – just you wait!”
Eleven hours and numerous glasses of water later, Price’s flight landed in Johannesburg.
As he walked off the aircraft, he didn’t feel his usual self. Price had been to South Africa before and it was on his list of great places to visit. However, he had a bad feeling – his instincts told him this was going to be a brutal couple of days – and he never ignored his instincts – reflecting that the last time he did, he had ended up in hospital with a bullet in his leg.
Having said that, he wasn’t scared – and actually, he wasn’t even apprehensive – he was just angry – very very angry – someone would definitely pay for this.
Having passed through the diplomatic immigration channel, Price made his way to the toilets – locking himself in a cubicle before opening his rucksack.
Inside the rucksack, he opened a specially shielded compartment made from tungsten-impregnated silicone. Whilst being considerably lighter than lead, it was also flexible enough to fit neatly into his rucksack without looking like a box. More importantly though, it was also dense enough to prevent airport x-ray machines from determining what was stored inside – and that was key.
Once the compartment was open, Price removed his Smith and Wesson SW990L, which he placed in his jacket pocket, along with some spare ammunition magazines. Then he closed it again and walked back out – heading towards the customs area – this was the final checkpoint before the arrivals hall.
As he passed through customs, Price was approached by airport officials and escorted to an alternative exit where British embassy staff identified themselves and took him to an official embassy car.
Price, naturally suspicious given what had happened to Pete, kept his left hand on his gun the whole time – even as the embassy driver said, “We have been told to take you to the hospital. Can I take your bag for you?”
“No thank you,” said Price, as he climbed in the back of the Range Rover and locked the door. “Let’s just get to the hospital as quickly as you can please.”
The airport sits on the east side of Johannesburg's business district – joined by a series of highways that the embassy driver described as, "Very safe – especially during the daytime."
Price, however, was very suspicious of everyone and everything. As he once said, "That’s why I'm alive and my opposition are gradually filling graveyards and landfill sites." So as they made steady progress, he kept looking around and taking note of other road users.
The driver, noticing this, almost seemed to find it funny as he said, "It's OK Sir – we take the next turn, then there's a quiet road next to a park, a couple more turns and you'll see the hospital come in to view."
Price ignored the remark – adjusting his hand on the gun in his pocket.
As it turned out – he was wise to do so. Shortly after they turned off the highway and entered a smaller road, a light grey 4x4 with blacked out windows pulled alongside.
"What is he doing? Stupid idiot," said the driver. Then as he looked across, he saw the back window open and a man with a gun took aim. He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could get any words out, Price started firing – straight through his own window and in to the back of the 4x4.
There hadn’t been time to open the Range Rover’s window, because bullets pass through cars like a knife through butter – and Price knew that it would only take one well-aimed shot and they would all be dead.
As Price emptied an entire magazine in to the 4x4, he felt the driver speed up – an instinctive, but foolish, reaction.
&
nbsp; "Stop," he shouted at the driver, as he reloaded his gun.
There was no reaction – the driver had clearly panicked.
"Stop the car. Hit the brakes," Price shouted again – this time, extremely loudly and extremely aggressively.
The driver stamped on the brake pedal and the Range Rover pulled up sharply – flinging all the passengers forward – except Price, who had already braced himself.
As the 4x4 continued down the road ahead, Price opened the Range Rover door, and took aim – he could just about see a front tyre because of a slight curve in the road – so that’s where he aimed and fired. The tyre burst – causing the 4x4 to swerve violently across the road.
Then, in the fraction of a second as the driver struggled to regain control, Price fired again and again – this time hitting the driver, who slumped forward in his seat causing the 4x4 to make an even sharper turn, lose its balance and roll over on to its side – grinding to a halt as the metal bodywork scraped against the tarmac surface of the road.
Price took a moment to quickly scan his surroundings. There didn't seem to be any other people waiting around to ambush them. So having decided the 4x4 was the only threat he shouted, "Stay here!"
Then he slammed the door closed and sprinted up the road as fast as he could.
He was within a few meters of the 4x4 when one of the rear doors, now facing upwards, was flung open. But Price wasn't about to take prisoners – so once again, he took aim and emptied a magazine in to the body of the car, fully aware that his shots would pass straight through the metalwork and anyone inside.
As he continued firing, he was careful to ensure his shots were evenly spaced – there would be no survivors – he would make certain of that.
Then, as he reloaded again, he walked around to the front, looked through the now broken and bent hole where the windscreen once resided, and emptied another magazine in to the occupants, before waving back at the Rang Rover to come and pick him up.
The embassy driver stamped on the accelerator and screamed up the road to Price.
Once he was back in the Range Rover, Price calmly reached in to his rucksack to reload the Smith and Wesson for a third time, as he said, "Let's go."
"What have you done?" said the driver – clearly in a state of shock.
Price had no time for this kind of attitude and shouted, "Shut up and drive!”
Then after a short period where nobody spoke, he said, "When we get to the hospital, you are to stop and let me get out. You will then drive away and find an area of the car park where you can see anyone or anything that is approaching you. Do not switch off the engine."
Then he looked around at the other two embassy staff in the car, "All of you – keep your eyes and ears alert. If anyone approaches you whilst you are waiting for me, you drive away and put cars or buildings between you and the person or persons approaching you – even if they're dressed as cops. You trust nobody. Do you understand?"
Everyone replied that they did. Then as they approached the hospital, Price said, "I will be ten minutes. Be back here in ten minutes. Do not be early and, provided you have not had to escape from someone, do not be late. Be exactly ten minutes! Are we clear on this?"
All the men replied, “Yes,” so Price opened the door with his rucksack over his shoulder and sprinted in to the hospital as the Range Rover pulled away.
Once inside, Price spoke to the receptionist who directed him to the Intensive Care Unit, where he was pleased to see both armed police officers and a representative from the British embassy on guard.
Price was already expected. So once he had identified himself, he was allowed inside and spoke to the duty doctor who said, "Are you family?"
"As close as it gets," replied Price. "What's the prognosis doctor?"
The doctor had a grave expression, "It’s not good I’m afraid. The bullets have collapsed his lungs and damaged his liver beyond repair. Your friend is in a coma and on life support – I'm afraid he won't regain consciousness. I'm sorry. It is only a matter of time now."
"How much time – days?"
"Hours. He was in surgery for twelve hours. We've done everything we can, but he's so weak now and the damage is so severe."
Price looked back down at Pete and touched his hand, "I’m sorry old friend."
For a second he thought Pete had moved and responded to the touch. He couldn’t’ be sure – perhaps it was just imagination – or hope on his part – but out of respect he stood silently for a few moments, before looking back at the doctor and saying, "Thank you doctor. I know you'll do everything you can."
Turning to the embassy representative he said, "Make sure I’m kept updated on his status.” Then he turned towards the exit, to walk out of the ICU.
The doctor, recognised Price’s tone and manner – he was clearly not just a friend or relative – perhaps a police officer of some kind. So before Price walked out, he asked, “Will you catch the people who did this and bring them to justice?”
Price looked back and made eye contact with the doctor. “No doctor, I will not,” he said. “I’m not interesting in arresting these people. I will find them and I will kill them.”
Then without waiting for a reply he walked out and made his way back down to the entrance.
After checking his watch, at precisely nine minutes and forty-five seconds after he'd entered the hospital, Price walked out to meet the Range Rover – only to see it round a corner of parked cars.
"Excellent. Bang on time," he thought – then his eyes registered movement in the distance.
"What the hell is that?" he thought, as he focused on a man holding something in the air on the far side of the large car park. Then, as the man climbed and stood on top of a wall, Price realised what it was he was holding. "Damn – that's an RPG launcher," he thought as he started to run to intercept the Rang Rover which was about to arrive.
"Keep going," he shouted, as the Range Rover slowed down to stop.
He tried again – this time shouting, "Go! Drive on! Go, just go," whilst waving frantically.
Then he saw the flash, and dived behind another parked car as the RPG struck the Range Rover – propelling it into the air as it burst in to flames with a huge explosion.
Price stood up – gun in hand – took aim, controlled his breathing so that his hand was steady, and fired – this time in to the man holding the RPG launcher, who dropped to the ground.
Price instinctively knew that the man was dead, so without waiting to see if he had stopped moving, he turned around to see if anyone in the Range Rover could be saved. However, as he ran forward to look at the burning remnants, he saw a crowd had started to gather, as people emerged from the hospital – all apparently trying to help.
Price pushed his way through the crowd, hoping that perhaps someone was still alive. But as he rounded the back of the burning wreck, he realised that nobody could have possibly survived – it was a furnace inside. “They never stood a chance,” he thought to himself.
Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, he registered more movement in the distance. Half-expecting it to be the police or rescue services, he turned his head, only to see a group of masked men, all carrying guns, running towards the hospital building.
Unfortunately, as Price saw the men, they also saw him – and even whilst running towards, what was now a crowded scene outside the hospital entrance, they opened fire with machine pistols.
Fortunately, due to their movement, they missed everyone – but hearing the gunshots, the tragic scene turned from lots of chatter to screams as people ran in all directions.
Price, realising they were really after him, decided to try and lead them away from innocent bystanders and headed round the side of the hospital. He was trying to get to the rear of the building where, as he’d walked back from the ICU, he had noticed some gas containers being delivered.
The men sped up and Price heard the sound of bullets flying past and striking the concrete, as he rounded the corner to the rea
r of the building – diving over a low wall that provided a partition to a neighbouring building and crouching down out of sight.
He only had to wait a few seconds before the men burst around the corner spraying bullets in all directions – splattering nearby parked cars, smashing windows and creating a trail of holes up the sides of the buildings.
Price stayed completely still – watching as the men slowly spread out – clearly looking for him.
One man came within a few feet of Price, who controlled his breathing so as not to be heard – and he almost thought he’d been lucky, but the man, rather foolishly, decided to look behind the wall.
As soon as his head appeared, Price fired – blasting a hole in the man’s face – then he immediately turned and ran through a door in to a building, just as the other men spun round and started firing.
Seeing Price vanish through a door, they gave chase – firing as they ran.
It turned out that the building, which sat adjacent to the main hospital block, contained a restaurant – and as Price took left and right turns to try and escape, he found himself by a large kitchen.
Running in to the kitchen, Price could see the staff fleeing out of the far door. So, finding himself left alone in the room, he ran behind a large cabinet and ducked down out of sight – turning and taking careful aim at the door.
The men were more cautious this time though – entering with their heads ducked low and quickly taking cover on the far side of the room.
Price started to look around for opportunities to escape. Then he noticed a deep frying pan that was bubbling away on stove, just where the men were hiding. In fact, it was sitting on the top of a gas burner that was still alight. It seemed that, when the chefs had fled, they hadn’t bothered to turn it off.
“Well, it’s a long shot, but worth a go,” thought Price as he fired a single shot at the side of the pan. The bullet created a hole, passed through the nearside of the pan, through the boiling oil and out of another hole on the far side where the men were hiding.