Exit Wounds (30 page)

Andrew jumped suddenly at the sound of his phone and had already decided to reject the call like the others when he spotted the caller was not his wife or Zeddemore, but Richard Russell. Fumbling, he opened the phone and accepted the call.

“Hello? Andrew? You there?” Richard’s voice said.

Andrew did his best to steel his voice, “Hi, Richard. I’m here.”

“Andrew, I’m so sorry.”

Andrew fought with the weight in the back of his throat.

“Are you still there?”

“Yeah, I’m still here.”

“Look, I’ll be honest I have no idea what to say to you right now. All I can manage is that, I am so sorry,” Richard paused. “I had to make a deal with them, Andrew. They were going to throw Paul and me in prison for a long time.”

Andrew knew what was coming. He had expected it from the moment Zeddemore had warned him somebody was going to have to be held accountable for today’s events. He had expected it, worried about it, but now he si
mply didn’t care. “It’s okay.”

“They promised me you won’t serve a single day. They’re probably going to make you resign but I’ll fight to-”

“Richard, it’s okay. You did the right thing. You have a family to think of.” Andrew wasn’t sure if he had accidentally come across as bitter, so he added again gently, “Richard, please, it’s... it’s fine.”

“Thanks, Andrew. For everything.”

“Yeah.”

“I just wanted you to know, that we’ve found him. We’ve found Giacometti. We’re en route to bring him in now.”

Andrew felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise suddenly. He forced himself to speak through the crippling choke. “Where?”

“I’m sorry, Andrew. You know I can’t tell you that. I’ve got to go. I promise you though, he’ll pay for what he’s done.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry.”

Andrew ended the call. He pushed the phone back inside his jacket pocket and slowly pulled himself to his feet. He marched the distance back to the snack bar car park, picking up speed with each step. Behind the wheel he fed the car power with the turn of the ignition and switched on the police radio. Within seconds he knew that the M.I.T
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and A.R.U.’s combined forces were closing in on the old Vale Airfield outside Barry and he knew he would not fail his daughter again.

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

Paul paced back and forth inside his cell. Some female officer had brought in a plastic tray with a jacket potato and cheese on, but against his training and the hungry ache in his stomach he hadn’t touched it. He was angry that Richard had left him behind. He was frustrated that he was being forced to sit out the final act. But most of all he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was needed out there and instead he was stuck in a dull cell with a microwave meal.

He’d seen how easy it had been to fool the A.R.U. this morning. They’d be double on their guard after that slipup, but Paul still wasn’t sure they were up for what Giacometti had in store for them. He had amassed a heavily armed force and whilst Paul doubted the majority of them had received any real training, the A.R.U was trained for quick surround, breach and clear scenarios. Combat over in a matter of seconds with minimal live rounds being shot. What they were walking into was going to be a major contact. A major, prolonged fire fight. They needed soldiers, not policemen.

Paul broke pace and headed for the door. He knocked loudly and waited. The door opened a few seconds later and the guard raised his eyebrow as he peered in, “Yeah?”

“How much longer have I gotta stay in here?”

“I’ve been told to keep you in here until I hear word from Richard Russell that the situation at the airfield is over. Then you can go home.”

Paul chewed his lip.
He doesn’t want me gate-crashing his party.

“Well I need a piss.”

The guard glanced over Paul’s shoulder at the full glass on the table. “You haven’t even touched your drink.”

“That’s because I’m already bursting at the fucking seems!”

The guard seemed unconvinced.

“Tell you what,” Paul said, starting to undo his zip. “Cup your hands together and I’ll piss in them instead.”

The guard jumped back quickly, his hands in the air. “Alright! Alright! I’m going to have to escort you though.”

The corridors of M.I.T. were still very busy as the guard marched Paul to the toilets. Although, everyone seemed to be heading in the same direction and it was the opposite way to where Paul was headed.

Paul pushed open the door to the toilets and then looked over his shoulder as the guard went to follow. “You wanna shake my cock when I’m done as well?”

The guard scowled but turned and rested his back flat against the wall next to the door.

Paul strolled around the toilet room, searching for a way out. The windows were high up against the ceiling but even if Paul managed to reach them, they were far too small for him to squeeze through and he was several floors up anyway.

He went into the nearest of the two cubicles and stepped onto the seat, climbing on top of the cistern. He pushed up with both hands and slid one of the ceiling tiles aside. Paul pulled himself up and looked around. Unfortunately the walls went right up through the ceiling to the next floor and he’d only be able to climb around above this room.

Paul lowered himself down with a sigh. The only means of escape was to take out the guard.

Typical.

He should have let him come in with him after all. It was much easier to deal with him off the crowded corridors. Paul stood up and made to leave the cubicle, still unsure of his next move. He stopped and looked back over his shoulder.

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The guard frowned, curiously as Paul opened the toilet door and popped his head round.

“Hey,” Paul grimaced. “I’m really sorry. But you had better get someone to come look at this.”

“Look at what?” the guard asked, confused.

Right on cue, water started flowing out of from underneath the door. The guard jumped back as it spilled round his shoes.

“I’m sorry, mate. It must have been something I ate.”

The guard pushed past Paul as he rushed into the toilet. He stopped suddenly at the sight of the sinks turned on full blast and their plugs clogged up with tissue paper.

“What the hell?”

Realising what Paul had done he turned quickly but didn’t even see the fist coming. The blow spun him round and Paul moved forward, gripping the guard in a headlock. The guard struggled but Paul held tight until he felt consciousness leave him.

Paul walked over to the taps and turned them back off. He turned back to the limp guard and searched his pockets, taking his security card, car keys and phone. He dragged him into one of the cubicles, resting him down on the toilet seat. He locked the door from the inside and climbed over the top.

Paul made to leave but stopped when he noticed the cleaner’s cupboard to the right of the toilet door. He opened it and took out one of the yellow, plastic “Cleaning in Progress” signs. He popped it outside the toilet door and allowed himself a little, victorious smile.

Paul had only been to the M.I.T. building a handful of times, each with Richard, but he had grasped an idea of the layout. He walked confidently down the corridors hoping that anyone who spotted him would mistake him for his brother. He needed a weapon but he didn’t want to push his luck trying to take off Richard in an actual conversation with someone who probably knew him. He headed for the exit, hoping that like last time the security door wasn’t manned and there’d be nobody there to notice that his security card didn’t match his face.

Deep in thought, Paul didn’t notice that the young woman heading his way was smiling him until she was just a couple of feet away from him.

“Hey,” she said, smiling. “I’m glad you’re back okay.”

“Thanks,” Paul nodded, stopping reluctantly. He rubbed his head to disguise the fact that his eyes flickered down to the security badge hanging around her neck.

Michelle Williams spotted his wandering eyes but smiled cheekily, misunderstanding. She looked up and down the corridor quickly before stepping forward and reaching out to touch him on the arm. “You could have told me you know.”

Paul tried to hide his shock. This Michelle clearly had feelings for his brother. The question was, did Richard feel the same? He didn’t think that his brother was the type to have an affair, but then a few hours ago he would have never believed his brother could hold a shotgun to a man’s head and threaten to blow it off unless he told him what he wanted.

Paul shook his head, “I’m sorry.” It seemed like the safest answer.

Michelle ran her fingers through his hair. Without thinking Paul grabbed her hand by the wrist. Michelle jumped at the speed of his movement. Paul realised he had frightened her and let go slowly. “Don’t.”

“I’m sorry,” Michelle said, lowering her head. “I can’t help the way I feel, Richard.”

Paul remained silent, still unsure what to say. He just wanted to get out of this situation. He couldn’t help but feel sick at the thought of his brother being unfaithful to his family.

“I know it’s silly. You’ve been honest with me. You haven’t led me on or given me any signs... but I just...”

Paul suddenly realised that Michelle’s feelings were unrequited. He had to stop himself from smiling. It made him proud that no matter how far removed Richard had grown he had remained loyal to Jade.

There’s hope for him yet.

Paul promised himself that he was going to force his brother to buck up and concentrate on his family when all this was over but right now he had to get out of this building before any other lovesick puppies mistook him for Richard.

“I’m sorry, Michelle, I have to go.”

Michelle nodded, unable to look him in the eye anymore.

Paul walked away but stopped mid-step. He turned back over his shoulder, “Say, you couldn’t do me a favour, could you?”

Michelle looked up finally, “What?”

“I’m running way behind. I need a weapon, could you run down the armoury and sign me one out and meet me in the parking bay? It’d be a huge help!”

Michelle rubbed her eyes, “Yeah, okay. I’ll meet you in five minutes.”

Paul flashed her smile before leaving, “Thanks. You’re a star.”

Michelle watched him leave, before heading to the armoury.

Old Vale Airfield, Rhoose

Richard made sure that there was a round in the chamber and the safety was on for the third time since he had arrived at the air field. His earpiece stuttered briefly before the head of the West Team informed him they were in place. Three teams: One attacking from the West, one from the North-east and the final team, his team from the South. This was it.

Richard gazed over at the airfield. There were a collection of buildings to the South-west which where they estimated Giacometti was held up. But between them and him were several patrolling groups and around fifteen abandoned hangars, scattered throughout. Any number of men could be waiting inside each and judging by the firepower Richard and his brother had witnessed earlier, they’d be armed too. Richard had maybe forty men altogether. Most of them had only basic weapons training. He had scattered the A.R.U. throughout the three teams but even now on the brink of contact he was having second thoughts.

The West Team leader repeated that they were in position. This was it. No turning back. Richard gave the order.

Within seconds he was on his feet and running forward, weapon in hand. One of the patrolling guards turned suddenly at the sound of a dozen heavy footsteps. One of the other officers shouted for him to drop his weapon. Instead he raised it and the officer dropped him.

Two of Giacometti’s men fled to one of the small planes on the tarmac and climbed inside, revving up the engine. Richard spotted them and shouted over to two A.R.U. officers. They rushed forward and sprayed the windscreen with a volley of fire from their MP5 sub-machine guns. The glass instantly sprung to a spider web of red, but the engine kept running and the plane spun into one of the others and exploded.

Despite the distance, Richard raised his hand up to protect him from the flames. He heard loud thunder and felt the air ripple around him. Giacometti’ men were returning fire.

An officer fell to the ground next to him, clutching at his neck. Richard fired back as he dropped to the ground and crawled over but the officer was already dead.

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Dean rushed quickly into the control tower room, not bothering to knock this time. Giacometti had his back to him again, staring out the window at the carnage below. He knew Dean was talking to him but until he turned and saw his lips move, the words didn’t seem to register.