his knees. There in front of him, in the haze, was the briefcase. The pain in his entire body was excruciating but the throbbing in his head was unbearable. His throat was filling with blood and he could no longer breathe. The pain started to subside and he began to feel euphoric as his brain starved of oxygen. As he fell forward on to the case Brennan pulled the trigger of his gun. The Super ‘X’ explosion was thunderous sending a shockwave through everyone and tossing them like standing corn in a blast of wind.
The entire scene was being watched through a pair of binoculars from the highest point on Lambeth Bridge. Father Kinsella saw the explosion and the bodies on the steps scatter, one of them flying into the air and landing a distance away from where it was launched. The crack and boom echoed across the river and bounced off buildings, and frightened birds took flight. The ripple of sound gradually disappeared. The area was filled with smoke and it then went completely silent. He lowered the binoculars. He didn’t need them to see any more. Most of the cars on the bridge had stopped and the handful of people crossing it looked towards the source of the sudden boom as drivers climbed out to look.
Father Kinsella lifted the thin leather strap of the binoculars over his head and tidily wound it around the centre hinge. He watched a moment longer then tiredly walked away towards the south side of the river. As he walked he took a mobile phone from his pocket and pushed in a series of numbers. He held it to his ear and listened to it ring. It continued to ring and ring. He looked at the face of the phone to check the number, cancelled it, then tried again.
The phone buzzed on the bridge of the
Two four-man assault teams stood in silence in a line along a dark corridor inside the exchange, the hoods of their bio-suits tied tightly around their gasmasks, their SMGs in gloved hands, not a spec of flesh visible.The first team leader stood at the slightly open door that led directly out on to the quay across from the
Captain Singen watched from a window above the grain silo, the Squadron Sergeant Major beside him. The phone was perfect. London had given him the green light only a few minutes earlier and he was waiting for the best opportunity in the five or so minutes he allowed himself to choose a window to ‘go’. The best opportunity was defined by the greatest number of enemy that could be pinpointed at a given moment, preferably a visual pinpoint so that snipers could take them out of the game at the onset. Out of the eight probable targets on board - three in the bridge, Red on deck, Yellow One and Two below, Yellow Three possibly in the accommodation block or superstructure, and one below - only one target was visual and that was Red. The three on the bridge were fifty per cent visible, which was not ideal, but since the sniper knew where the phone was, now that it was ringing, all he had to do was sight it and wait for someone to walk over and answer it. That would give Singen a twenty-five per cent target lock, which was, for ship assaults, high.
The sniper watched a figure walk across the bridge and stop by the desk. ‘Phone picked up,’ said the directional mic operator. Had there been time MI5 would have provided a listening team to monitor the ship’s communications, giving Singen far more data on crew whereabouts. But the situation at present would do him just fine.
‘Standby . . . standby . . . Go!’ Singen said into his throat-mic.
The two teams snaked out of the door and moved from the building as if pieces of the brickwork had melted off and formed into stealthy black shadows. Team three moved briskly in file along the edge of the quay from the fishing boats.
Team one headed north of the corn escalator towards a large steel derrick on the edge of the quay that overlooked the boat. Team two headed for mid-ships. Team three went for the aft main deck. The sniper on the nearest fishing boat had Red in his sights.
As the first team broke darkness to be illuminated by the ship’s lights a bullet passed soundlessly through Red’s head. It entered his eye blowing out the back of his skull and he was dead before he hit the deck. The sniper hit him with another round just to make sure.
The sniper with the man on the phone in his sights did not fire immediately. He was waiting for team one to mount the exterior stairs and the leader to reach the bridge deck. If he took his shot too soon the other men in the bridge would be alerted and go for their weapons, giving them a chance of returning fire before the team could enter the bridge.
The three teams leapt on to the ship simultaneously and team one ran up the steps soundlessly in their high-adhesion footwear. The sniper kept one eye on the team leader and the other on the man talking on the phone. Team two’s leader paused by the main deck starboard entrance into the superstructure just long enough to look back and make sure his men were bunched behind him ready to go in, then he grabbed the edge of the partially-closed door, faced his partner, nodded once, and opened the door, rushing in at the half-crouch, gun- barrels pointed forward, taut against harnesses and levelled just below their faces. From that point on the team worked in pairs, clearing the main deck interior level before three men headed up to the next deck where they would clear no further and go secure, unless of course their support was requested.
As the third man in team one scaled the steps, he caught a glimpse through the small window in the external ‘B’ deck door of someone in a yellow coat at the far end of the corridor. ‘Target, “B” deck, port side, inside heading out,’ he said as he continued with his team to the bridge - he would not engage since he had his own job to do. That target belonged to someone else. As his team leader and the number two operative reached the starboard bridge wing something zipped over his head and slapped through the window of the bridge deck, making a single tiny hole in the toughened glass, and the man on the phone lost the front of his forehead. It took a moment for the rest of his body to get the message that he was in fact dead, and he dropped the handset a good second before his legs gave way. His two pals sitting in the corner of the bridge sipping tea saw him crash to the floor like a felled tree and got to their feet, but the reason for his collapse was not immediately apparent to them. By the time one of them caught sight of the dark figures closing in outside and went for his gun, bullets spat in through the windows and shredded him and his partner. As they hit the floor the starboard door slid open and the team issued in.
Team three ran across the aft deck to the rear door of the central superstructure that led down onto the lower deck and eventually into the engine room. As they approached the door they heard the short message describing the target on ‘B’ deck port side heading out. It was followed by another short message. ‘I confirm, Yellow Three on “B” deck starboard outside staircase.’ It was Spinks who could clearly see the target from where he was in the water.
The team leader moved to the port aft corner of the superstructure followed by his partner and they looked around it. The figure in the yellow jacket was coming down the steps.
Hank had stepped outside onto the starboard stairwell to check around.There was no sign of the guy in the red jacket and he decided to make his move. A gentle mist was coming off the water, a fair indication it was pretty cold.The thought of swimming was no longer appealing.The swim itself might be doable, but if he had to continue his escape in soaking wet clothes in this weather he could end up with pneumonia and he wasn’t exactly at his healthiest in the first place. The quay it was to be then. He would climb off the boat and walk away. The crewman in the red jacket had already mistaken him for someone else and so he might not have a problem even if he was seen.
He walked down the steps and paused at the bottom to decide which way around the superstructure to go. He didn’t want to bump into the red jacket. Hank took his SMG in his hands and turned back on the stairs to head aft. He hardly had time to blink when the figure in black that stepped out in front of him fired. It happened so fast his mind didn’t have time to register what had happened until the second bullet hit him like a hammer blow to the side of his head. The first struck him in the chest close to his left shoulder. He spun back, grabbed for the air as his balance went and his legs buckled. Something hit him in his side or he hit it and the world spun and turned upside
