Exit Wounds (21 page)

He was sat on the edge of the river under the bridge. In the distance he could hear the faint shrill of an approaching siren. The incident at the prison would have thrown the city centre and much of the authorities into prattling chaos but soon ambulances and police would cordon off the bridge and begin diving for the crashed vehicle.

Paul shivered again as he looked down at the motionless body lying next to him. It had taken all his strength to wriggle and kick his way to the surface with Gary on his back. His lungs had burned and his muscles screamed and even when he had made it to breathable air he had still had to fight his way through the river’s strong current to make it back ashore.

Only then, when he had flung Gary onto dry ground, had he realised he had stopped breathing. Even with all his stubborn determination Paul had come to close giving up as he performed C.P.R. when finally, Gary coughed up water. He was alive, but had remained unconscious since and Paul still didn’t know if the head injury he had sustained in the crash was going to be a minor concussion or brain damage.

Paul didn’t know why he had chosen to save him. He could have just left him there with Mullet Man. Left him to die.

Paul turned away and looked out at the river. The ambulances and police would be here soon and then it would all be over. They’d take Gary to the hospital, probably with a police escort. Colgan would have Paul brought to him and he could tell them where Giacometti’s base was. Then he’d send in an assault squad and they’d rescue Richard. It would all be over.

He let his head drop into his hands and ran his fingers through his wet hair. “What a fucking day...”

Gary stirred next to him with a moan. Paul quickly sat up straight, and moved over to him.

“Gary? Gary, can you hear me?” Paul shook him gently by the shoulders. “Gary?”

His eyes fluttered open and moved around aimlessly before focusing on Paul’s face. Suddenly he grabbed Paul by the neck. He was still fazed from unconsciousness and the attack was a pitiful one. Paul easily pushed his scrabbling hands away and pinned him down as he continued to trash ineffectually.

“Gary! Gary, what the hell are you playing at?” Paul shouted as he put a knee across Gary’s sternum and held his hands by the wrists. “It’s me! It’s Paul!”

“You’re a fucker copper!” Gary spat.

The words stunned Paul but not enough to throw him. “I’m the man who just saved your life!” he countered.

“You’re fucking filth!”

“I dragged you from that car, and swam with you on my back! Show some fucking gratitude!”

Gary, realising he was trapped, went limp, but his eyes still burned and he shook his head, “Fuck you.”

Paul held his gaze.
The phone call. They knew. They knew about me working with the police. If they knew that then knew about Richard.
How could they know? How could they possibly know?!

Paul tried to think of another possibility. But the only one that made any sense was that Giacometti had someone on the force. Someone inside M.I.T working for him. Someone who had betrayed him and his bother.

“Fucking police,” Gary laughed. “And I thought you were alright.”

“I am not the police,” Paul told him. He let go of Gary’s wrists and he
ld up his hands as he stood up.

The confusion on Gary’s face was blatant. He kept his eyes trained on Paul, as if he a suspected trap but couldn’t comprehend one.

Paul turned his back on Gary to look away down the river. If they knew about Paul they definitely knew about his brother.
What if they’ve killed Richard already?

“Where are they?”

Paul looked back at Gary. He was on his feet, but was still swaying a little.

“Where is everyone?” he asked.

Paul looked out to the river.

Gary shook his head frantically, “No. No. No!” He awkwardly ran forward into the water, his arms wind-milling. “No!”

Paul quickly grabbed him around the waist and pulled him back. “It’s too late. They’re dead. You hear me? They’re already dead!”

“No! No, he’ll kill me!”

“Who? Giacometti?”

Gary’s head fell forward as he went limp in Paul’s arms.

Paul eased him towards the ground slowly. “Easy. Calm down. You’ve probably still got a concussion. I know I flamin’ well have!” He checked the back of Gary’s head. At least it had stopped bleeding. Gary was still mumbling and Paul lifted his head up to hear what he was saying. “What?”

“He’ll kill me. He’ll kill me,” he repeated.

“Don’t worry about it. It’s alright.”

“He wanted to kill the old man himself.”

Paul snorted, “And there’s me thinking he only killed little girls.”

Gary’s eyes snapped wide and he pushed Paul away as much as he could in his weakened state, “How do you know? How? You-You are a cop!”

“I’m not a cop!” Paul insisted. He looked down at the ground and let out a long sigh. “Richard is.” He looked up at Gary again. “I need your help.”

Gary laughed as he struggled to sit up right by himself. “Why would I help you?”

Paul shrugged, “You said it yourself. You’ve failed him. Giacometti will want you dead just as much as he wants me dead.”

Gary looked out at the river.

The sirens were on top of them now. If they didn’t move soon, they would be discovered and Paul would be delivered into the hands of the traitor in M.I.T.’s ranks. He needed Gary on board and he needed him on board now.

“I saved your life, Gary,” Paul reminded him. “You owe me.”

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

Colgan decided to stay out of Zeddemore’s way. There was still a lot of confusion in the bullpen over individual assignments and the collaboration with S.O.C.A.. Colgan was doing his best to reassure his staff but whilst most of their loyalty was unquestionable, he couldn’t hide from them the fact that he was being increasingly shunned out of the chain of command by Zeddemore. With the regional director was sat behind his desk, Colgan was left to walk the office floor, going from desk to desk like a nurse on ward duty.

He had just finished updating Michelle on the situation at the prison and asked her to find out who the A.R.U.’s commanding officer was so that he could inform them of Tony and Craig’s imminent arrival on scene when Zeddemore entered the bullpen.

Colgan made eye contact as Zeddemore scanned the room and nodded once and made his way over.

“I’m going to need the video conference room to myself for awhile so you’ll have to run liaison with the A.R.U.’s C.O.” Zeddemore told him.

Colgan noted that Zeddemore seemed reluctant to hand back any power of command. “No problem.”

“I’m also going to need somebody from Tech to set up the room for my meeting with the J.I.C. at twelve.”

Zeddemore was a member of the Joint Intelligence Committee. The J.I.C. was set up to provide top-level source assessments for the various U.K. ministers and senior officials and thus put forward for their approval, the work of the various government agencies and bodies like the M.I.6., G.C.H.Q., D.I.S., A.T.F. and of course, M.I.T..

Colgan had forgotten that Zeddemore and the other J.I.C. members, including the Chief of the Ministry of Defence and several of the Prime Minister’s advisors met every week via video conference.

“I would, of course, normally attend from my own office,” Zeddemore added. “Instead I’ll have to make do here.”

Colgan forced a smile, “I’ll have Sharon set you up right way.”

Zeddemore smiled back falsely, “Appreciated.”

An Abandoned Warehouse, Cardiff Bay

Richard’s bottom lip split open, despite his attempt to roll with the punch. Dean snatched him up by the hair and pushed him back into the chair.

“Stop pissing about!” Dean shouted, pressing the barrel of his gun into the back of Richard’s head. “We need access! And we need it NOW!”

“What’s going on?” Giacometti asked as he entered the room.

Dean turned suddenly. He waved a hand at Richard. “He’s beating around the fucking bush! Drawing out this shit for as long as possible.”

Giacometti stepped forward, flanked by two men armed with AKs. He wore a fresh, navy shirt and his hair was slicked back as if he had just had a shower. “You need to leave now. You have other work to do.”

“But I’m not finished here!”

Giacometti breathed in deeply, closing his eyes. “Dean, please just do ask I ask.”

Dean, realising he had already pushed Giacometti too much today, nodded, “I’m on my way.”

Giacometti opened his eyes to watch Dean leave. Then he walked over to Richard and looked down at him. Richard kept his head forward and resisted the urge to look up.

“Let me make myself clear, Richard. If you don’t have that root kit finished in the next fifteen minutes I will have my men shoot you. Once they have killed you I will then give the order to have your family killed. Your wife. And your two young children.”

Richard bit down hard and breathed heavily through his nose. He still didn’t look up.

“They will all die. Just like your brother.”

Richard reacted, finally, just as Giacometti had wanted. His mouth fell open and he looked up with a mixture of sudden desperation.

“What have you done?”

Giacometti smiled thinly.

“What have you done to him!?” Richard lunged forward, his hands aimed for Giacometti’s throat. But the guards were quicker. They beat him to the ground with the butt end of their assault rifles and stamped on his back. After a few more kicks Giacometti motioned for them to lift Richard back into his chair. He collapsed into it like a rag doll and shook his head, “You bastard! You fucking bastard!”

“I understand that you are upset about the death of your brother, but you must understand that if you fail to do what I ask now, I will have the rest of your family killed.” Giacometti folded his arms behind his back. “You are a clever young man, Richard. You know that I cannot allow you to leave here alive. I’m not going to insult your intelligence by promising that I will release you when you have finished your work here. But I give you my word; finish the root kit in time, and your family will remain unharmed.”

HM Prison Cardiff, Adamsdown

Tony slid from out of the driver’s seat of his Audi and quickly marched toward the A.R.U.’s forward operating base just inside the perimeter they had closed off. His thumb instinctively went to press the automatic lock button on his key chain but then he remembered that Craig had travelled with him and he turned back. He waited for Craig to get out and catch up before locking the car and continuing his purposeful stride.

“Sergeant Pierce?” Tony asked before he had come to a halt.

The man he addressed, clad in body armour and cobalt uniform, turned quickly and scrutinized him through large, grey eyes. He had silver hair, cut short to his scalp where it had started to bald on top, and sharp, gaunt features despite the hint of sagging skin under his chin. “You the boys Colgan sent over?”

Craig nodded with a smile, “That’s us.”

Pierce had already turned back to the collection of stacked monitors that showed the different feeds from the A.R.U. officer’s head cams. He casually flicked them off, one by one, as he talked. “I’m afraid you’ve had a wasted journey, boys. They’re already long gone.”

“Gone? How can they be gone?” Tony asked. “You had the perimeter completely secure.”

Pierce turned with his hands on his hips and nodded his head toward a young A.R.U. officer packing his equipment away in the back of a marked A.R.U. vehicle. “Goddard’s team came across a group of guards locked in Court Holding. One was bleeding and unconscious. They told them that the perps had gone back the other way so they pursued. Once we had cleared the prison and went back and they had gone.” He shrugged and then pointed over to the ambulance, “All besides the unconscious one. Checked him out. He’s genuine. Gonna have one hell of a headache, but he’ll live.”

Tony shook his head and turned away, “Great. Just, great.”

“Do you have a recording of the feed from the team’s head cams that found the men locked up?” Craig asked.

“Yeah sure,” Pierce said. He hit a button on a small black device to the side of the monitors and a tray slid out with three digital discs. He picked up the middle one and popped it into a player rested on top of the recorder. “Got it on DVD and everything. All mod cons here.”

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?”