Gray Vengeance (12 page)

The adrenalin was carrying him well ahead of his pursuers when he reached the end of the alley, turned, and found himself in a cul-de-sac. To the right lay houses, so he ran left, towards the end of the street. As he looked for a fence to vault or garden to cut through, Roberts heard the sound of metal hitting the ground, and knew that someone had thrown something at him, probably a crowbar or tyre iron. A half-second later, a baseball bat ricocheted off the ground and became entangled in his legs.

He went down hard, and a couple of seconds later the pursuing feet came to a halt. He looked up to see the four panting youths standing over him.

‘Midge, you twat! He ain’t a Muslim.’

‘He looked like one,’ another face said. ‘Look at the beard!’

A third had seen the phone sticking out of Roberts’s pocket, and immediately took a shine to it. He squatted down and grabbed it, and when Roberts tried to resist he got a kick in the back from the fourth teenager.

Roberts decided to let it go. He could always get another phone.

‘Get his wallet, too,’ the first kid said, and Roberts played submissive while they rifled his pockets. By this time, the rest of the gang had shown up, and they weren’t particularly bothered whether
Roberts
was a Muslim, Hindu or Christian. All they were concerned with was getting something out of the chase, and they laid into
Roberts
, giving him a good kicking. One of them had a couple of swings with a baseball bat, but while the pain in his thigh was excruciating, Roberts was glad they hadn’t targeted his arms or head.

The kicks continued to come, and Roberts felt a rib crack. He realised they weren’t going to let up until he was dead, and the irony hit him hard. It was he who had stoked the flames of hatred, though he’d never expected to be in the firing line.

One of the gang shouted and pointed towards the end of the street, where two Asians were watching the attack, like rabbits caught in a car’s headlights. They soon bolted when one of the attackers barked an order.

‘Get ’em!’

Roberts remained in the foetal position for a while, wanting to be sure the assault was over. Once the footsteps faded, he rolled over onto his back and took stock.

The rib was definitely broken, hurting with every breath, and his head ached like a bitch, but apart from that, he felt okay. He detected no other broken bones, and when he patted himself down, his hands were clear of blood.

He picked himself up and staggered back to his flat, keeping an ear open for more trouble, but he managed to get through his front door without further problems.

He climbed the stairs and turned on the light, illuminating the living area. One wall was piled high with boxes, and a dozen quad-rotor toy helicopters covered the floor. He’d planned to spend a good part of the evening programming each one with its current location and the GPS co-ordinates of the targets, ready for deployment in the morning, but those details were on the phone that had just been liberated. He had no choice but to go online and do it all over again.

He went into the bathroom and checked himself out in the mirror, glad to see that there was no facial damage: at least he wouldn’t attract any unwanted attention when he went out the following day.

He made a sandwich and ate it while surfing the online maps on his laptop, jotting down the co-ordinates he’d need for each of the drones.

In the background, the TV news channel reported an
increasing
number of riots throughout Britain, and that reminded him to update his Facebook page. He signed in under the name D
J Maxwell
and told his followers that he’d found a Muslim
business
that was supposed to be run by DSA sympathisers. It was a complete lie, but the way the masses were worked up, they’d believe
anything
. And orders were orders . . . .

Despite the pain in his chest, Paul Roberts managed a smile as he hit Send and shared the information with a thousand members of the local lowlife.

Mission complete.

But more work lay ahead. The search by authorities for
Roberts
and his colleagues would be well underway by now, and the hunt would be relentless. That was why the next phase was aimed at reducing the odds of detection by striking at those who sought to bring him to justice.

All he had to do was attach the explosive payloads in the
morning
, and his beasts would be ready to fly.

Beke Anwo locked the car and walked under the late-afternoon sun to the Kurmi Market, where bamboo awnings offered a little relief from the oppressive heat. The aroma from the spice stall made him hungry, but the driver planned to do Takasa’s bidding before he sat down for a meal.

He walked past the dye stalls, where cloth in myriad shades hung from the rafters, and beyond that to a stall where a multitude of electronic goods could be found. On sale he saw VHS players, tape recorders, a vast selection of CRT televisions and the section he was looking for: mobile phones.

He took his master’s old handset from a pocket and showed it to the stall owner, a man he’d dealt with before.

‘Mustafa, how much will you give me for this fine piece?’

The phone was given a thorough going over, and after a minute Beke was offered five thousand naira, the equivalent of thirty US dollars.

‘Are you trying to insult me?’ Beke exclaimed. ‘That is almost brand new. It has to be worth fifty thousand!’

‘Not to me,’ Mustafa told him, handing it back. ‘Maybe you can sell it back to the person you stole it from.’

‘I didn’t steal it! My boss told me to sell it for him.’ Beke looked at the other handsets on sale and found one of a similar make, though not in such good condition. ‘Look, you are selling this one for forty-five thousand and it’s older than me!’

‘That’s called business,’ Mustafa deadpanned. ‘I buy it at a low price and sell at a high price and then I can feed my family. You want fifty thousand for it, go and open a stall.’

Beke took back the phone and turned away. There was no way he was going to accept such a pitiful offer for such a beautiful machine. In fact, the more he looked at it, the less he felt like parting with it. He took out his own phone and removed the SIM card, placing it inside the smart phone. Once it booted up, he checked that he had a signal and sent a test text message to his brother. The prompt reply told him that the phone was working fine, and he asked Mustafa how much he would offer for his old handset, the most basic of models, capable of making calls and sending SMS text messages, but nothing more.

‘Ha! I wouldn’t let you kiss my goat for that phone.’

‘Come on, give me something.’

Mustafa looked the handset over, then rubbed his chin and said he would take it off Beke’s hands for one thousand.

Resigned, Beke accepted the offer. At least he had a new phone to show for it, and the money would be enough to buy himself a decent meal before he picked his boss up.

Chapter 19

15 December 2014

Takasa strolled through the market, doing his best to ignore the vendors as they thrust items into his face in the hope of a sale. They particularly focused on the few tourists who frequented the area, knowing that they could bump the prices by three hundred percent and still make them seem a bargain.

He hated the market with a passion. This was only his second visit, and it was one too many. Unfortunately, living off the beaten track meant taxis passing by his apartment were few and far between, and if he were to plan transport for later in the evening, he had no option but to suffer the throng in order to make the necessary arrangements.

Takasa brushed aside a man trying to sell him a rug and made it to the exit, where a small line of battered taxis waited for fares. He approached the one at the front of the queue and asked to be taken to his apartment. The driver mentioned a sum that Takasa knew would probably be at least double the standard fare, but that still came out to less than ten dollars.

He agreed to the extortionate fee and climbed in, opening the window as soon as it became apparent that air-conditioning wasn’t part of the deal. For twenty minutes, the car fought its way through traffic, until eventually it pulled up outside his block.

Takasa handed over a fifty-dollar bill and told the driver to return at seven to take him to the airport.

‘If you arrive on time and get me there in one piece, you’ll get another hundred dollars.’

The driver’s eyes lit up, and he swore to all the gods that he would be there on time, the chance of nearly a week’s salary for an evening’s work too good to miss.

Inside the apartment, Takasa had a few hours to kill before going to catch his flight, and he called Beke with instructions.

‘I will make my own way to the meeting,’ he told his driver. ‘I have been out making preparations for this evening and I’m running late. I want you to deliver my case to the council before eight. They will need it for a conference call if I can’t get there on time.’

The driver acknowledged the instructions, and Takasa hung up. He was tempted to turn on the laptop and see what was happening in the world, but after the warning he’d received, he decided to wait until he got to the airport. There were sure to be televisions showing the latest updates, and failing that, he could just grab a couple of newspapers and spend the flight reading all about his handiwork.

As for the laptop, he decided to take it apart and destroy the inner workings. If the UK and the US could download anything they wanted from his machine, there was little point in leaving it for someone else to take. Once it was turned on, any incriminating evidence would be sucked into the NSA servers and he would instantly become the world’s most wanted man. His phone had contained nothing but phone numbers and a few text messages, none of which was incriminating, but the personal files on his laptop would quickly reveal his identity.

He used a small screwdriver to remove the outer casing, then extracted the hard drive. He placed the encapsulated unit on the floor and slammed the foot of the heavy wooden chair onto it again and again. The metal housing eventually split, and he extracted the small disks. At the open window, he rubbed the faces of the disks against the rough stone wall until each one was irreparably scarred, then used the screwdriver to inflict further deep scratches.

He knew it wasn’t the most thorough destruction, but if anyone had any interest in the disks, they would already know all about him, making their restoration moot.

Takasa put the disks in his pocket, aiming to lose them in the taxi on his way to the airport, a journey he’d be making only a couple of hours from now.

With little else to do, he set his alarm and got his head down. When he woke an hour later, he took a shower and shaved, knowing it would be a while before he had the chance to do so again.

When the taxi drew up ten minutes early, he grabbed his case and carried it down the flight of stairs, where the driver happily relieved him of it.

Once in the back of the cab, Takasa took the disks from his pocket and slipped them under the backseat carpet, knowing that it would be a long time before they were ever discovered, and t
hat w
hen they were, they would probably be tossed away.

They reached the airport a quarter of an hour before eight, and he had time to check in before calling the elder who would be hosting that evening’s meeting.

‘Brother, please accept my apologies. I have been out making arrangements for the next phase of the operation so I am unable to join you this evening.’

‘That is regrettable,’ the elder said. ‘I personally wanted to congratulate you on your success.’

‘Perhaps next time,’ Takasa said. ‘My driver should be with you soon. He has my laptop, which you can use to view the next steps of the operation.’

‘He is already outside,’ the elder said. ‘One moment.’

Takasa waited until the laptop was brought into the room and the elder returned to the line.

‘Just turn the laptop on and open the file called
Revolution
.’

The council leader asked him to wait, then came back on the line. ‘The case is locked.’

‘How stupid of me,’ Takasa said, staring out of the window a
t t
he town in the distance. ‘Just a little precaution in case it fell into the wrong hands. The combination is one, three, three, seven.’

A moment later, the phone went dead in his hand. A column of smoke rising from the centre of the city confirmed that the two kilos of plastic explosive hidden inside the locked case had achieved their aim. The building would be obliterated, eradicating the DSA
hierarchy
and, with it, any connection to him.

Takasa dropped the phone into a trash can and made his way to the departure gate, promising himself a congratulatory gin and tonic during the short hop to Abuja. After that, he would move on to his final destination, where a new life awaited.

Chapter 20

15 December 2014

Tom Gray finished up the lullaby and kissed Melissa gently on the head, then tucked the blanket around her. He stood there for a few moments, staring at the angel on the cot bed, marvelling at the innocence of youth. She looked so peaceful, despite all the horror going on around her, and he hoped she would have no lasting memory of the day’s events.

Eventually, he pulled himself away and crept out of the boardroom, leaving the door slightly ajar in case she woke and cried for his attention.

In Smart’s office, his three companions sat around silently, sipping coffee. Sonny was checking the news updates on his phone, while Gill had her head in a paperback, the cover of which told Gray that it was one of her favoured romance novels. Smart was also engrossed in a book, though he preferred to read from his Kindle.

‘What have you got today?’ Gray asked. ‘A bit of Hemingway? Some Nabokov, perhaps?’

‘
Blood Vengeance
by David Leadbeater,’ Smart replied,
without
looking up. ‘It’s the proverbial page-turner.’

When Sonny put his phone down, Gray asked how Mackenzie was getting on. The recent recruit had excelled on his first
mission
abroad, and as requested, Gray had found him a position as a trainer, working alongside Sonny.

‘We found a good ’un there, boss,’ Sonny said. ‘Knows his job inside out and really pushes the applicants to their limits.’

‘What about out of work? Any issues there?’

Sonny shook his head. ‘I’ve been out with him a few times. Never drinks more than three pints, always friendly, likes banter but never takes things too far. Can’t fault him, really.’

Gray went to the kitchenette to refresh his coffee, glad that his instincts about Mackenzie had proven correct.

He’d just begun to rinse his cup when he heard the sound of an alarm, quickly followed by another. Looking out of the small window, he saw a group of men kicking in the door of a charity shop across the road, adding yet another siren to the mix.

He dashed back to the office, where Sonny and Smart were looking out of the window.

‘Here comes trouble,’ Gray said.

‘Yeah, we heard them.’ Sonny grimaced. ‘Think we should turn the lights out?’

‘Leave them on,’ Gray told him. ‘If it’s dark, they’ll think no-one’s in. They might think twice if they know the building’s
occupied
.’

Through the open door they could see the main entrance, and they saw a group of youths hurrying past, carrying a selection of tents and other camping equipment.

‘Looks like our greedy friend lucked out,’ Sonny said to Smart.

More bodies appeared in the street, and it wasn’t long before Sonny’s Vauxhall saloon caught their eye. One man peered through the car’s window, looking for booty, but when he saw nothing he decided to take a closer look. The side window shattered as t
he thie
f made a none-too-subtle attempt at entry.

Sonny had seen enough. He made for the door, but Gray grabbed his arm.

‘Where do you think you’re going?’

‘That’s my car, Tom.’

‘I know. And it’s just a car. You can claim it on the insurance.’

‘It’s not about the car . . . .’

‘Pull your neck in,’ Smart warned Sonny. ‘You’re not going out there. Let the police handle them.’

Smart’s words made sense as more and more people, some of them obviously armed, gathered around the vehicle. Some were already inside, going through the contents of the glovebox and boot, while others were just happy to inflict as much damage to the exterior as possible.

‘You reckon you could have taken all ten of them on?’ Smart asked.

‘You know I could,’ Sonny huffed.

‘If you did, they’d come in for us,’ Gray pointed out, ‘and we’ve got the girls to consider.’

Sonny was clearly unhappy at standing idle while his car was trashed, but in the end it was only a possession, one that could easily be replaced.

Someone in the crowd began pointing towards the building, and Gray’s plan to discourage them by leaving the lights on suddenly lost its appeal. The first of the thugs moved in and began kicking at the glass doors.

He was soon joined by others, and when they began shouting, Gray was unsure if he was hearing them correctly.

‘Come out, you Muslim bastards!’

Why they would believe the occupants to be Muslim was beyond Gray, and it wasn’t something he had time to dwell on. He knew that the doors were strong enough to withstand a few hits, but they wouldn’t hold out forever. When the crowd moved back, he thought they’d given up, but they were just making room for the artillery. A house brick struck the glass in the centre, creating a spider-web-shaped dent, and it was soon followed by another, and another.

Melissa began crying in the boardroom, and Gray ran to get her, dragging Gill along with him.

‘Stay here,’ he told his secretary. ‘The windows are barred, so you’ll be safe.’

‘What are you going to do?’ Gill asked.

Gray could see the fear in her eyes, and he tried his best to calm her.

‘We’re just going to send them on their way,’ he smiled, though he wasn’t sure exactly how he was going to achieve that objective. He closed the door behind him as he left, and once in the reception area he could see that the rioters had managed to breach the glass. A man’s arm was thrust through a hole near the handle, and Gray could see that he was fumbling for the lock.

The only weapon Gray could see was the fire extinguisher behind the reception desk, so he snatched it up. The arm was still fiddling with the doorknob, but it stopped when Gray slammed the metal cylinder down on the elbow. A scream filled the reception area and the arm quickly retreated, the
crack
telling Gray he’d broken one bone at least.

The man pulled back, but Gray’s actions had been far from the deterrent he’d hoped. Others took the injured man’s place, kicking furiously at the glass, and Gray knew it wouldn’t withstand the abuse much longer.

Gray got a shock as Smart suddenly appeared beside him and clamped a hand on his shoulder.

‘We may need to be a bit more persuasive,’ Smart said, holding up a bean-bag gun. The weapon had a wide barrel, over three centimetres in diameter. It fired a non-lethal pouch filled with tiny plastic balls, rather than the typical metal round.

‘Let them see it first,’ Gray warned. ‘If they don’t take the chance to walk away, they deserve what’s coming.’

Smart walked over to the window and found an area that hadn’t been damaged. He managed to make eye contact with one of the hooded figures, and held up the weapon so that it was clearly visible.

The man stopped in mid-kick, then straightened up and spoke to one of his friends. Slowly, the crowd began to move back, comin
g t
o a stop ten feet from the doors.

‘I think they got the message,’ Gray said, backing into the office.

‘Let’s hope so.’

They watched the crowd begin to disperse, but their relief didn’t last long. The hoodies were soon back, this time carrying wood and cardboard boxes, which they began throwing at the base of the door.

‘This isn’t good,’ Sonny noted.

More debris was thrown onto the pile, and Gray saw someone move to the rear of Sonny’s car and slide underneath. Moments later, fuel began to flow from under the vehicle, and others gathered round to prepare Molotov cocktails.

‘I hope that’s loaded,’ he said, looking at the gun in Smart’s hand. ‘We’ve got incoming.’

‘Way ahead of you.’

Smart rushed to the door and poked the barrel through the hole the rioters had created. He got his sights on the thug with the first of the petrol bombs and sent the projectile hurtling towards the man’s chest. He watched, satisfied, as the bottle flew into the air and crashed to the ground, spilling its contents. Some of the crowd were stunned into inactivity, but a second bomb was readied and sent flying towards Smart seconds later, an arc of flame telegraphing its arrival.

‘Len!’

Sonny’s warning wasn’t needed: Smart was already running, and he leapt over the reception counter, getting to cover just as the incendiary exploded against the pile of fuel. Flames took instantly, and smoke began to pour through the hole in the front door. Gray picked up the fire extinguisher and tried aiming it through the hole, but it was totally ineffective.

‘I need to get to the base of the fire!’ Gray shouted. ‘Sonny, come and open the door!’

Another bottle flew through the air, splashing burning fuel through the hole and onto Gray’s shirt. Sonny was there in seconds, whipping off his T-shirt and using it to smother the flames. As soon as the fire was out, he used the shirt to grab the lock and asked Gray if he was ready.

‘Go!’

Sonny twisted the knob and pulled one of the doors open, while Gray aimed the extinguisher at the base of the fire, trying to deny the fire oxygen with burst after burst of CO
2
.

Gray heard a
crump
behind him, and saw another potential bomber fall to Smart’s deadly aim.

The mob finally seemed to get the message. A few more missiles were thrown at the door as they pulled their wounded out of the area, and Gray was finally able to extinguish the flames with the help of Smart, who’d brought another extinguisher from the kitchenette.

‘Let’s hope that’s the last we see of them,’ Smart said as the final flame died away. He began kicking the smouldering remains away from the door and next to a brick wall, then went to the kitchen and brought a pitcher of water to soak the embers.

One or two people ran past the office, but they’d already grabbed their booty for the night, and weren’t interested in an office building when there were cigarettes and alcohol to be had from the nearby off-licence.

‘We need to be prepared,’ Gray said, ‘just in case you’re wrong.’

‘The first thing we need to do is barricade the door,’ Sonny said. ‘Then we need to arm ourselves.’

‘We’ve got three more NLRs,’ Smart told him, referring to the non-lethal rounds for his bean-bag gun.

‘I was thinking live rounds,’ Sonny said. ‘They’ve had their warning, and if they do come back, it won’t be to congratulate us on a fine defence.’

Gray and Smart looked at each other. The thought of firing upon civilians didn’t immediately sit well with them, but they hadn’t started the fight. Sonny noticed their reticence, and he pointed o
ut th
at the CCTV cameras in and around the building would sh
ow th
at they had acted in self-defence thus far. If they could maintain that stance, there should be no comeback.

‘We’ve got a woman and child in here, don’t forget. No court in the land is going to send us down for protecting them from an angry mob.’

‘Okay,’ Gray agreed. The mention of Melissa had brought things into focus, and there was no way he was going to let anyone get to her. ‘Sonny, nip upstairs to the armoury and grab three Glocks and two clips each.’

The armoury was little more than a solid metal cabinet bolted against the wall, and it housed the weapons and ammunition they used at the training complex. Smart handed over the keys, and Sonny returned two minutes later with the weapons and spare
magazines
.

‘Remember,’ Gray said, ‘we only use these if we have to.’

Shanka Townly was in the middle of rolling a joint when the banging on the front door startled him. His first thought was that the police were popping round for one of their regular visits, something that went hand in hand with being the leader of one of the myriad gangs plaguing London, but when the voice shouted his name, he knew it was one of his own. He looked through the spyhole and saw Connor, along with two others who were propping up a limp figure.

‘Ben’s been hurt,’ Connor said, after Townly undid the three locks and opened the door. Ben was dragged inside and placed on the couch, where he grimaced as a bolt of pain from his broken ribs stabbed at his chest.

‘What the fuck happened to him?’

‘Someone shot him,’ Connor told Shanka.

‘I don’t see no blood.’

‘It was like a shotgun, but they didn’t use real bullets,’ one of the others said.

Connor explained what had happened when they’d tried to take the office. ‘We couldn’t kick the door in, so we built a fire
to smo
ke them out, but this huge fucker started blasting away. He hit Ade, then shot Ben.’

‘Why the fuck were you robbing an office?’ Shanka asked, glaring at his men.

‘Someone on Facebook told us there was Muslims there,’ Connor told him, opening his phone to show Shanka the post by DJ Maxwell.

Shanka read the timeline, then sat down next to his injured brother. ‘How many are there?’

‘We only saw three men and a woman,’ Connor said, ‘but there could be more.’

‘Did they look like Muslims to you?’

‘I don’t know.’ Connor shrugged. ‘What the fuck’s a Muslim look like anyway?’

In truth, Shanka didn’t care. Someone had hurt his brother, and they were going to pay.

‘Right, well, we’re going back, then, and this time we’ll be tooled up,’ Shanka said. ‘Get everyone together. We’ll meet at the lock-up in one hour.’