Exit Wounds (24 page)

“And I’ll get it! But not at a hospital! You have to let me go, Paul,” Gary insisted.

Paul bit down on his bottom lip and shook his head, “You’re fucking crazy, you know that?”

Gary made a noise that was half snort, half laugh. “The words pot, kettle and black, immediately spring to mind.”

“Paul, we can’t let him go,” Richard interrupted. “We’ve got to bring him in. He’s part of all this!”

“He helped me rescue you. He’s alright. I promised him I’d let him walk.”

“I don’t care what you promised him,” Richard told Paul. “I’m a police officer and I can’t let a suspect just walk!”

“Fine. I’ll take the blame. I wasn’t asking for your permission anyway.” Paul finally turned to look at his brother. “The guy helped save your life, Rich. The least you can do is let him keep his freedom.”

Realising that he was hitting a brick wall headfirst, Richard tried another approach. He lowered his voice and leant towards his brother. “Paul, whatever Giacometti’s up to, we’re the only ones who can stop it. This guy is our only lead. We need to know what he knows.”

“I’ll tell you what I know!” Gary shouted, hearing despite Richard’s efforts to whisper. “Just let me go!”

Richard ignored him, keeping his eyes on Paul’s. Paul held the stare and then climbed out of the car. He went round to the opposite door and eased Gary out.

Paul steadied Gary onto his own feet and handed him the painkillers he found in the first aid kit. “They’re pretty weak. Don’t know what good they’ll do you but still, better than nothing I guess.”

Gary took them and nodded his thanks. He knocked a couple back and sighed, “You had better get going. You need to get to the old Taff’s Well quarry pretty fast if you’re gonna stop Dean.”

Paul held his out his hand. “Thanks.”

Gary shook it. “Yeah, you too.”

Gary went to finish the shake but Paul held his grip a moment longer. “You’ve got a second chance now, Gary. Don’t waste it.” He turned back to the car before Gary could say anything and climbed in the passenger side next to his brother. Richard hit the accelerator and within moments they had sped off into the distance leaving Gary far behind them.

The car Richard and Paul had taken to the meet that morning was M.I.T. issue standard. It had the same hidden compartment in the back for weapons and other tactical equipment and the basic first aid kit under the front passenger seat. Due to the undercover nature of their operation though, it lacked the police radio and of course the siren. Usually the flashing lights were concealed behind the metal grill but criminals had become quick to spot the glint of the glass behind the metal. Richard himself had been the one who decided to remove the blue and reds, but now as he raced through Cardiff’s streets in an unmarked, unannounced vehicle he was beginning to wish he had kept them.

He struggled to swerve round a green saloon that pulled out in front of him and swore.

“We should have brought him in you know,” Richard told Paul, finally breaking the silence between them.

“Maybe.” Paul stared out of the window as the roads passed by in a blur.

A man struggled in the chair, his wrists tied to its arms and his legs bound to the foot rest. His mouth was gagged with a cloth tied behind the back of his head and his clothes were tailored with the same gory splendour as the rest of the room.

The man looked up at him, his panting face covered in blood and dust and etched with pain. Paul brought his rifle up again and put a round between his eyes.

“Hey? You ok?” Richard asked, breaking Paul’s line of thought.

Paul nodded, “I’m fine.”

“You sure?”

Paul turned to his brother. “In the last seven hours I’ve had my face beaten in with the butt end of a rifle; I’ve broken in and out of prison; survived a car crash head on into a river and shot my way out of a serial rapist’s drug factory.” He smiled, slowly. “So not bad for my first day being a copper.”

Richard wasn’t sure how to react so he was grateful when his phone started to ring, offering a way out. He struggled to pull it out of his pocket whilst he drove. Paul told him to pull over or ignore it but instead Richard ignored him and finally retrieved it. He accepted the call and hit the speakerphone button as he pushed it into its slot on the dash.

“Richard?”

He hadn’t bothered to check the number before accepting the call since only Colgan had this number so the voice surprised him. “Tony? Is that you?”

“Yes.”

“Are you at M.I.T.?”

“No. Actually I’m at Cardiff Prison, watching footage of either you or your brother help break out a convicted prisoner.”

Richard shot a glance at his brother. Now the security uniform made sense. “We were undercover, Tony.”

“Yeah, Craig told me all about it.”

“Craig?” Richard repeated, confused. “How does Craig even know about it?”

“Everybody knows about it now, Richard. A lot’s happened since you went dark.”

“Zeddemore’s taken over for one,” Craig’s voice interjected from the background. “And we can’t get even get hold of M.I.T.!”

“Yeah, that’s because the server has been hacked.”
Richard said.
He left out the part about him doing the hacking. “Giacometti wanted to use Zeddemore’s uplink to hack into the J.I.C..”

“Listen,” Tony started suddenly. “We need to meet up. Bring each other up to speed.”

“I haven’t got time for that.”

“What do you mean?”

“One of Giacometti’s men, a man called Dean, is going to be at the old Taff’s Well quarry any time now.”

Tony went silent. Richard thought he had lost signal for a moment when finally he asked, “Quarry? What for?”

Richard shot Paul a scowl as he spoke. “We don’t really know. That’s all the informant would say.”

“Informant?”

“It’s a long story, Tony. See if you can dig up anything on him. He’s in his early twenties. Got a thin, vertical scar running down the left side of his face. I know it’s not much to go on, but do your best.” Richard hung up without saying goodbye and concentrated on getting to the quarry as fast as he could.

HM Prison Cardiff, Adamsdown

Tony stood up immediately and made for the door. Craig was quick to follow and made a little chuckle. “Guess we’re heading back to M.I.T. then.”

Tony shook his head, “No. We’re going to that quarry.”
 

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

Colgan took his time to explain the latest chain of events to Zeddemore slowly for two reasons: One –whilst his superior was much younger than he and most certainly had an adequate understanding of computers, he himself was still coming to grips with the ideas of servers, mainframes and admin privileges. And two – because at Colgan’s age, a mad dash like that left him rather out of breath for a good few minutes afterward.

Zeddemore pivoted from one foot to another after Colgan had finished, “Do we know if we were in time to stop him before he gained access?”

Colgan hid a smile.
We?
He shook his head instead. “No, Sharon’s still trying to regain control over the M.I.T. system. We won’t know the full extent of the infiltration until we’re up and operational again.”

“And how long will that take?”

“No idea. They’re actively blocking every attempt Sharon makes at accessing the commands to unlock the server.”

“Damn it Andrew that’s not good enough!” Zeddemore did a 360 on the spot and let out a long sigh as he ran his fingers through his hair. He clapped his arms against his sides. “There must be something we can do. We can’t just let them run amok in our system! Jesus Christ! Do you know the kind of sensitive information that is on the M.I.T. server? Let alone the J.I.C.!”

It was a rhetorical question so Colgan didn’t answer.

Zeddemore stamped his foot down hard in vented frustration, “Fuck!”

“There is one thing we could try.” Colgan said finally.

“What is it?”

“We could cut all power from the system. I don’t know what damage that would do to the infrastructure or if rebooting it would give us control back. Those are questions you’d have to ask Sharon and the tech department. But it’s safe to say that if the systems not on, they can’t access it.”

Zeddemore nodded, “Do it.”

Colgan started towards the door but stopped and turned back. “There is something else we need to consider, John.”

“What?” Zeddemore was already sallow. The anger had left him, replaced now with worry and anguish. Colgan thought he saw the last of the colour leave his face.

“Giacometti is clearly not just some psycho killer. He’s targeting a governmental authority. That’s terrorist action. We know where he is and I think we need to act upon it. If we don’t, there’s going to be serious questions asked of us when this is all over.” Colgan had more up his sleeves to argue his point but Zeddemore was already waving his hands.

“You’re right. I’ll send in the A.T.S.T.,” he chuckled wryly. “You know, I’m gonna have to call up the Bristol Branch.” He shook his head and laughed again. “Cardiff’s not deemed a significant enough target to have its own anti terrorist strike team.”
 

Old Taff's Well Quarry, Taff's Well

Dean Reynolds lifted his foot up to survey the damage. A few minutes earlier the skies had darkened and rain began to pour. The dry mud floor of the open-pit mine had quickly turned to sludge beneath his feet. Ruining his trainers and making movement potentially embarrassing.

One of the men accompanying him moved closer to his right and nodded forwards.

Dean looked up and saw two black Mercedes E-Class and a black Mercedes Sprinter van, all with darkened windows approaching down the weaving path to the bottom of the quarry where he and his men waited.

Several men in long, dark coats poured out of each car once they had come to a stop twenty or so metres in front of Dean. One turned back and headed for the rear of the second car. He returned a few seconds later with an umbrella and opened it over the open back door.

A last man climbed out. He was dressed in a similarly dark, three quarter length jacket but was wearing a distinctively more expensive suit underneath. Flanked by his entourage and with the umbrella man close in step, he walked straight up to Dean with purpose. Deep crevices lined every feature. His hair was short, white and fine and his eyes were pale and sharp.

Dean extended his hand, “Kuznetsov.”

The old Russian shook it, clasping his second hand on top. “Reynolds.”

“I didn’t expect to see you here in person.”

Kuznetsov shrugged his head to one side, “I wanted to s
urprise you.” He looked up at the black skies and held out his hand, catching the rain. “Уэльс - такая прекрасная страна.”

“You have it then?” Dean asked.

Kuznetsov nodded slowly, “It was a little harder to acquire than I expected, but yes.”

Dean smiled, “
Don’t worry. You’ll be suitably compensated for your time.”

“I’m sure.” The Russian shook off the rain from his hand and turned his attention back to Dean. “Reynolds, you and I both know that Giacometti won’t be running this operation forever.” He smiled. “Loyalty is very important to me. I hope that our business relationship will continue, long after his passing.”

Dean offered his hand again, “I hope so too.”

Kuznetsov smiled again but didn’t shake this time. One of his men instead pushed a set of car keys into Dean’s hand.

Dean nodded his thanks and climbed into the black van. Flanked by his own men in the cars they arrived in, he left the quarry as the Russians watched, fingers inches away from their weapons.

.
             
.
             
.
             
.

Richard brought them to a stop outside the old quarry gate and rushed round the car to peer through the wire fence. Paul quickly joined his side.

The rain had grown heavier through the last half hour. It almost hurt as it hit you and it made visibility hard even without the windscreen in front of you. “You see anything?”

Paul pointed, “There.”

Halfway up the quarry’s winding road were two black Mercs with darkened windows, slowly making their way to the top.

“Do we follow them?” Paul asked.

Richard shook his head, “For all we know they could lead us half way to Rhyl.”

“Then what?”

“Get in.” Richard rushed round back to the driver’s side.

“Rich, what are you going to do?” Paul asked as he climbed back inside the car.

Richard started the engine up. “Put your seatbelt on.”

Paul let out a deep sigh as he did as he was told, “Oh for fucks sake.”

Richard waited until the first car had just come over the top of the last incline and then he stamped on the accelerator. The Monedo lunged forward, picking up speed fast and devoured the distance between the two vehicles in seconds. The two cars suddenly collided with a horrific sound of crumbling metal.