Krilov’s lieutenant came running. ‘Boss, I can’t get hold of any of the men at the ramp.’
‘None?’
‘None.’
‘Who are they?’ shouted Krilov angrily. ‘Who’s attacking us?’
‘I don’t know, boss.’
‘What about the road, our route out of here?’
‘It looks clear. There’s no sign of the attackers. I don’t understand.’
‘When the vehicles are loaded I will lead the men ahead to clear the way,’ Krilov said as he pulled on his body armour. ‘Get everyone loading the cargo as quickly as possible!’
Jedson crouched behind a bollard. He realised Bethan was standing in the open beside him and pulled her down. ‘Where’s our boat, Krilov?’ he shouted.
‘Who makes this attack?’ Krilov shouted back.
‘I told you I don’t know!’ Jedson looked for Krilov’s lieutenant, saw him the other side of the stage and hurried over to him. ‘Where’s our boat?’ he asked. ‘The one that’s supposed to take us to Russia?’
‘Other side of ship,’ the man informed him before hurrying away.
Jedson went back to the cargo ship as it closed on the landing stage, all the warps now attached to bollards. He hurried back to Bethan. ‘I think the bloody wheels are falling off this one.’
The ship’s crew started handing crates to Krilov’s men on landing stage.
‘Get everything into the vehicles!’ Krilov shouted.
Saleem sat in the bowels of the ship in a grimy storage room illuminated by a bulb in a wire mesh on the wall. The room was beside the engine room and vibrated constantly. Not only was it noisy, the air was just about breathable. Five Daesh colleagues were waiting for him to give the word to disembark. None dare speak. They’d been on the vessel for two days having boarded in the English Channel from a fishing boat. They’d met for the first time in a house on the outskirts of Ostend, having travelled from various parts of Europe and the Middle East. Saleem arrived just in time to catch the boat. They’d been told he was a great commander with much battle experience and he was to be obeyed without question, on pain of death. Other than that, they had no idea what they were doing in England.
There was a heavy jolt and the room shook as the vessel bumped alongside. Saleem remained seated, staring at the air. He’d become far more serious since leaving Syria. During the worst madness of the desert campaign to capture Mosul followed by the retreat to Syria, he’d always been able to produce an amusing quip. But the weight of this task had grown heavy on him. Confidence in himself and his passion for the mission had not diminished. If anything, they had strengthened. His survival of the ambush in Russia had reinforced his belief that Allah was with him. He knew he’d succeed if he kept his nerve. This operation was the greatest single attack ISIL had ever put into execution phase since 9/11. Weeks ago it had still seemed like a fantasy. Now he was back in England. But he also knew the closer he got to the climax, the greater the obstacles would be.
The deck would be busy for the first few minutes of docking, the Russians unloading their contraband. On leaving the ship, he wanted to go directly to the vehicles and depart right away. No hanging around. Therefore he’d wait until the bulk of the cargo had been unloaded. He would give it a few more minutes and then order the move to the main deck.
Gunnymede was crouched behind a heavy valve, looking down the length of the pipe jetty towards the landing stage trying to decide what to do. The firing had stopped but he would be seen as soon as he tried to make his way forward. He couldn’t stay there for long either. Those vehicles were there for a reason. The pipe jetty was the only way off and there was no way Gunnymede was going to stop them on his own.
He took out his phone and made a call. It rang several times. ‘For fuck’s sake pick up.’
‘Gunnymede?’ It was Aristotle.
‘The bloody ship is here!’
‘What ship?’
‘Are you insane? The ship!’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Am I sure?! Aren’t you monitoring it?!’
‘The police pulled off all surveillance when it entered the estuary as a precaution.’
‘What precaution?’
‘They didn’t want to take the risk of the ship detecting them.’
‘Whose brilliant idea was that?!’
‘One of the police undercover people said the ship would have sophisticated surveillance detection systems on board. If they knew they were being monitored, they’d dump their cargo. We would also risk losing Saleem. Where exactly is the vessel?’
‘The landing stage of the refinery. You need to get everyone over here now!’
‘I’ll get back to you,’ Aristotle said and the phone went dead.
‘Morons!’ Gunnymede shouted as he put the phone away.
Time was the factor now. Krilov might get off the landing before the police turned up. What that would mean for Bethan he could only guess. He had to slow down the show.
Oil was pouring out right in front of him from a bullet hole in one of the pipes that ran along the jetty. It wasn’t under much pressure but there was enough inside the pipe to keep it flowing. And that was only the one pipe. There were a couple of dozen of them. The pipes went all the way past the line of vehicles to the landing stage.
He checked his pouches for grenades. He had six left. He loaded one into the breech, closed the housing and held the rifle parallel with the pipes. The vehicles were easily in range. He just had to get the trajectory right. There was a slight breeze left to right. He made a fine adjustment and fired!
The round thumped into the night
