Limit of Exploitation (16 page)

“Fuck, fuck, she’s in there!”

As both men step back and take aim at the locks, Ritchie gets a tap on the shoulder. Sam is right behind him.

“Ritchie, Phil is down but he won’t let me touch him.”

Ritchie frowns; his sweating face tries to compute her words. “He’s down?”

“Yeah back at the entry point, can you go? You know how he can be with me, I’ll take over here.”

He looks at John who quickly nods “Go mate, we’ll do the entry.”

“Okay, no prob’s.”

As Ritchie sprints down the hallway back to the stairs, Billy booms through their earpieces.

“Guys you have seconds, this place is crawling with the law. WHATEVER YOU GOTTA DO, DO IT FAST!”

John brings up his M4, turning his face he fires a long burst into the card reader, wood chips and splinters fly back at him. He fires again. Behind him Sam watches impassively, her SIG menacingly waving in her hand. The doors swing in, but a hail of 9mm bullets comes flying back out. Inside Miroslav shouts in Serbo-Croat, almost taunting them. Above the noise a petrified Emma’s is still giving it max on the screaming. A good sign, she’s still in one piece.

Ritchie bounds down the stairs to Phil who lays semi conscious in a spreading pool of blood. Kneeling at his side he rips open Phil’s jacket revealing Sam’s strike marks on his body armour. One of her rounds has struck the Kevlar plate in the vest and been defeated, the other penetrated the body armour’s fabric. Although it slowed the impact, the 9mm bullet still managed to penetrate Phil shoulder and cause damage. As far as Ritchie knows the dead Serb lying behind Phil in the doorway was the shooter. As he rips at Phil’s clothing there’s a murmur.

“Good job… she didn’t… aim higher.”

Ritchie does his best reassuring the casualty routine. “Take it easy mate, one of his rounds managed to penetrate –” He pauses and brings his face down nearer to Phil’s.

“What do you mean, she?”

“Sam.”

Ritchie eyes widen. ‘Sam did this?”

Phil screws his eyes and painfully nods in response. “Gimme a hand.”

Ritchie gets an arm under him; they slip and slide in Phil’s blood as he gets to his feet. Outside there’s the sound of frantic shouts and movements, many sets of boots are crunching on the gravel. The Police units are closing in, the shouts are warnings.

With his arm around his shoulder, Ritchie half drags, half walks Phil to the stairs; they start the painful climb up. From behind them there are more shouted warnings telling them to halt, telling them to lie down. They ignore the Police and stagger on up. Shots ring out from behind them.

Up in the hallway above, John and Sam ignore the contact downstairs and stack up on the entrance to Miroslav’s room. John is hard up against the doorframe with the M4’s butt firmly in his shoulder, safety catch off. He peers into the room; it’s full of smoke but he recognises it as an office of some kind.

Sam is right up behind him; in her right hand she grips a stun grenade. The stun grenade, or flash bang, is about the size of the cardboard tube found in a toilet roll. It doesn’t detonate or explode in the normal way of conventional high explosive grenades. Instead It’s a non-lethal device used to temporarily disorient the senses in a blinding flash with a blast loud enough to shatter eardrums.

After a quick nod of confirmation between the two of them, Sam lobs the flash bang over John’s shoulder and into the centre of the office. The insanely loud bang raps out in a brilliant flash of light. With his ears drums screaming in protest, John immediately enters through the shattered doors. He holds the M4 up and ready, both his eyes are open and his right forefinger takes up the first pressure on the trigger.

Through the dust cloud and settling flakes of plaster he sees a body in shirtsleeves and suit trouser. Its Miroslav, he’s on his back, slumped against an inner door and in shit state from Marko’s pistol whipping and the effects of the flash bang. There’s no sign of Emma.

Down on the stairs the Police hear the flash bang kick off and retreat back out the door behind their ballistic shields. Ritchie is face down and unconscious from the police Taser that just put fifty thousand volts through him. Two small barbed electrodes stick out the back of his leg with the conductive wires running back to a Taser dropped on the tiled floor.

Taking advantage of the situation, Phil grabs Ritchie’s M4 off the tiles and half crawls away up the sweeping staircase. Gritting his teeth he takes the pain of the gunshot wound to his shoulder and makes it to the top on his hands and knees. At the front door, armed police are moving back in, MP5’s poke around the sides of their ballistic shields. Phil see’s them coming, this could get messy.

In the shattered office John kicks away the nickel-plated 9mm lying at Miroslav’s side and stamps his left foot down hard on his chest. He ram’s the hot barrel of the M4 into his cheek as Miroslav roars in pain. He tries grabbing at the weapons barrel but John leans his weight onto the M4 distorting Miroslav’s cheek even more. Sweat drips from Johns face.

“Where is she you fucker? WHERE?”

Behind him Sam slowly and calmly approaches. “I’ll take it from here.”

John shouts back over his shoulder. “I’ve got it!”

“No John, I really will be taking it from here. Don’t move, stay perfectly still.”

John snaps his head round to see Sam in full firing stance. Her SIG aimed directly and rock steady at John’s head.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“He comes with me John. Don’t argue, don’t try to understand, just drop the weapon and keep your eyes on me.” She doesn’t bat an eyelid, she means it.

“You fucking bitch. You’re taking this piece of shit? I always wondered why you were so keen to be involved.”

“Grow up John. I’m taking Miroslav, you’re taking Emma and everybody’s happy.”

John flashes a look at Miroslav, who chuckles to himself. Sam’s eyes never leave John.

“LOOK AT ME JOHN. Don’t take your eyes off me! Don’t make me do it, you know I will.”

John considers that. His weapon makes a dull thud as he drops it onto the carpet. With burning hatred welling up inside him, his eyes bore into Sam, his jaw muscles now working overtime.

“I’ll find ya Sam, don’t worry. I’ll find ya.”

“Yeah yeah. Now, step away slowly and -”

The burst of fire that hits Sam takes a chunk of skull out of her head and pebbledashes the wall behind her. She drops sideways like a stone into a small desk and then crashes to the floor.

John looks over to see a barely conscious Phil laying on his side in the doorway, Ritchie’s M4 rests on the carpet next to him. Bloodied and battered, he pants hard in short breaths.

“Get the girl…Get the girl…I think I’m gonna pass out…I told ya…Fucking Rupert’s.”

John looks down at Sam; her lifeless blue eyes stare back up at him, frozen in time. Blood and flecks of flesh spatter her hair and face. Slowly bending down he pulls the SIG from her fingers and turns to Miroslav who is now flapping big time.

“Wait! Wait my friend, we can work this out, I know things that are of value, that are important, we can work this out.”

On the other side of the internal door comes the rapid beating of small fists and a child’s cries for help. John moves menacingly towards Miroslav, raising the SIG in one hand.

“Seems to me it has all worked out.”

Knowing what’s coming, Miroslav’s face contorts into anger. He shouts his last act of defiance at John. “YOU FOOL! You have no idea who I am, I -”

John fires twice. The double tap of 9mm rounds punch into Miroslav’s chest. As they impact, his mouth instinctively drops opens as his body tries to suck in air. John steps closer and looks down as Miroslav wheezes and grasps around in agony. He takes a steady aim and utters two words into Miroslav’s face.

“Jack Lyndhurst.”

The third round kicks back Miroslav’s head, making a neat hole between his eyes.

From behind him John can now hear a rumble of boots coming down the hallway. Surrey’s finest are inbound. He quickly unloads the SIG and throws the magazine across the room. He pulls the weapons top slide back and engages the holding and opening catch to show that the pistol is empty of rounds, and tosses it out into the hallway. He shouts through the door to Emma.

‘Emma? Emma? Hold on love, it’s John, just gimme a minute.”

Dragging Miroslav’s body clear of the door he rolls him face down next to Sam. No need for her to see that.

John grabs at the door handle but it’s been locked internally. “Emma, open the door love, it’s ok, it’s John.” The boots in the hallway are getting closer.

“Emma open the door, it’s locked your side.”

Slowly, the sound of a bolt being drawn back can be heard from behind the door. It opens just a fraction of an inch as Emma peeks around the door, her mousey brown hair in shit state. She speaks slowly, her voice weak and trembling.

“Am I going home now?” She has some dark circles under her eyes and her breath is minging, but she seems okay to John, physically at least.

John lowers his voice. “Yeah that’s right love, time to go home. Want to see ya mum?” She nods her head while looking around the destroyed office.

“That’s cool, ’cause she’s dying to see you too.” John see’s her looking around.. “I want you to keep looking at me Emma, nothing else ok, just look at me love.”

In his earpiece John suddenly hears Billy’s call. “John…Billy, send sit rep.”

John hits his PTT. “Billy mate, move to the ERV, start your exfil.”

“Are you inbound?”

Just then, it starts. “ARMED POLICE, ARMED POLICE, DO NOT MOVE.”

John finishes his call. “No mate, you’re on your own now.”

Click clunk, click clunk.

There’s no time for sentiment now, its big boys rules and they all know it. John winks at Emma and slowly raises his hands above his head.

“It’s ok; it’s over now, just keep looking at me and you’ll be back with your mum very soon.”

He looks sideways towards the door. An armed police officer in full black kit, Kevlar helmet and goggles is stepping over Phil’s unconscious body. He watches John intensely over his MP5 sights.

Up in the wood line Billy watches through the ACOG. The grounds of the house are a feeding frenzy of blue lights. Armed Police are sealing off the area and start throwing up incident tape on anything and everything.

He gently collapses the Minimi’s bipod legs and craws back from his concealed position into thicker cover. Slowly he moves back further into the wood, then turns and pauses. Looking past the two dead Serbs and piles of shining empty cases, he watches the scene for a last time. Billy then turns and melts away into the trees.

John didn't mind Belmarsh, the strict regime and the stink of disinfectant reminded him of his days as a recruit in the Army. He'd been in isolation for weeks now while the authorities wrung their hands and scratched their heads, wondering what to do with him. At least he could use the gym when he wanted.

They couldn't let him go of course, there were more than a few firearms and manslaughter charges outstanding against him. But neither could they convict him, not without risking a huge public backlash of sympathy for a soldier who had risked it all for Queen and Country in Afghanistan, and then risked it all again for what little family he had.

There was also the problem of information release, what the public did and didn't know and what the public should and shouldn't know. The authorities had issued a press release telling the world of a security services operation executed in Surrey that had resulted in the deaths of a number of high profile Serbian criminals with connections to the Zemun organised crime ring in Belgrade. Unfortunately during the operation a number security services personnel were also killed and injured. The press release could explain away Sam Mayfield, Jack Lyndhurst and of course Miroslav and his mates. But what of John Logan? His situation was the stuff votes were made of.

As he lay on his prison bunk, John stared at the grey ceiling, lost in thought.

His cell was a colourless concrete cube. Sparsely furnished with just a Formica table and stainless steel sink. There were no windows in the cell, this being the special segregation unit reserved for Category A high-risk prisoners. John wondered if he'd bump into Abu Hamza in the scoff queue.

The sound of keys turning in the reinforced door grabs his attention. A slightly overweight prison officer in a peaked cap appears. He reminded John of a fat bus conductor.

“Ok Logan lets go son.”

“Go where chubby?”

“Interview room, and less of ya lip”

“Again?”

“That's right, again.”

John swings his legs off the bed and pulls on cheap prison issue training shoes, the same type they issue in the Army. The dark blue two piece prison uniform he wears is slightly too big and has wide yellow stripes down the arms and legs. As he leaves his cell and makes his way along the corridor his trainers squeak on the highly polished lino flooring.

He is escorted to another cube, not the usual interview room he was used to. He turns to chubby who just shrugs under his peaked cap.

As he enters, John's eye's flick around the room. There's none of the usual CCTV or recording equipment. The door closes behind him.

To his front stands an enormous prison guard with a neck like a bull. This one is the body building type, all crew cut, steroid rash and hard stares. They must be expecting trouble.

John takes a seat at a bare steel table that's bolted to the floor. Apart from the table and two chairs there's nothing else in the room. Roid rash gives John his best tough guy stare from under his peaked hat, John blows him a kiss.

In just a few minutes the interview room door opens again and a smart individual in a tailored dark blue suit casually enters without an escort. He stands opposite John for a second looking him over with a professional eye, a predators eye. John takes in the polished shoes, the well maintained greying short and back and sides and the Brigade of Guards tie. The newcomer was in his early fifties but kept himself in shape, good looking with a fading tan his grey eyes are clear and penetrating