Alex King 18.The Enemy, page 14
part #18 of Alex King Series
“Where are you?”
“Near.”
“Thank god for that!”
“I’ve got you on GPS. Where exactly are you?”
“On top of the roof.”
“So, Rashid is inside?”
“Yes.”
“Well find the quickest fucking way down because I’m two minutes out and coming in hard…”
The call ended and Luger headed for the ladder. He could already hear a squeal of brakes and a loud diesel engine. He followed the noise and looked up to see two dull headlights getting brighter by the second. Stunned by the sight of the bulldozer at full speed, dark smoke billowing from the exhaust funnel in the street lamps, Luger could already foresee Big Dave’s plan – such as it was – and knew that he would not clamber down the ladder in time. Besides, they would have the element of surprise for a moment but would be met with a pummelling from deep inside the warehouse from the assault rifles. He looked about him and settled on the satellite receiver dish. He took out his Leatherman multitool and cut through the wire at the base of the dish. He tugged hard and several wire clips pinged out of the edge of the roof siding. He could see that the wire went all the way to the front of the roof. He estimated around thirty feet. The drop to the floor through the skylight would be approximately twenty feet. Luger wrapped the loose wire around his waist twice, then over his shoulder and tied a double reef knot. He remembered from his navy days that a double knot in ¼ inch rope used six inches of rope. He figured the double reef knot would use a little more, the doubled wrap around his waist would be just over sixty-five inches, the coil around his shoulder would be the same again. Would it be enough? He saw the bulldozer bouncing towards the warehouse, could even make out the giant frame of Big Dave at the wheel. It would have to be close enough. He gripped the Glock tightly, sprinted to the far skylight and leapt into the centre of the glass, the wire pinging off the clips behind him. The glass gave way under his weight, and he plummeted to the ground, the wire pulling tight before giving way. Enough to considerably break his fall as he landed behind Rashid, facing the astonished men. Luger brought the weapon to bear, his training taking over as he settled into an isosceles stance, because he would not be moving forwards and needed complete freedom of lateral movement. The Glock’s sights were simple. A clear, white dot on the ramp sight and a dot on either side of the rear vee. When all three lined up equally on the target you hit what you see. Luger double tapped the nearest man slap bang in the middle of the sternum. Time seemed to move slowly, desperately, and terrifyingly so. Luger felt like he was moving with weighted limbs. He had been told as much in training, but he also had the advantage. For a vital second, at least. He moved the sight picture to the next nearest man whose body was slightly twisted as he turned, but certainly the man was looking directly at him, fear in his eyes. Another two rapid shots into the man’s ribcage and he went down as swiftly as the first.
All hell erupted as the bulldozer tore through the metal shutter door, headlights on full and its engine filling the warehouse with noise and black smoke. Luger had time to see one of the men torn in half by the door, now ripped from its runners and crashing to the floor. Big Dave was braking hard, but the bulldozer ran over the dead man and mangled metal door and came to a halt just feet away from the stunned men. Luger fired again, this time receiving return fire. He missed in the exchange, but so did the other man. Luger dropped to one knee and fired a three-round burst into the man’s gut, as his own volley sailed over Luger’s head and into the wall behind him. Big Dave leapt down from the high seat and grappled with one of the men. He pulled him around like a ragdoll and ended him when the man’s head hit the top of the metal caterpillar tracks with the Fijian’s full eighteen stone behind him. Luger was back up on his feet and had the presence of mind to kick a Kalashnikov across the floor towards Big Dave, who in one fluid motion, grabbed it and dropped the selector down from safe, through automatic and into select fire mode. He shouldered the weapon and fired two, three round volleys into the remaining two men. Above the monotonous tone of the bulldozer’s engine, a calm ensued. Big Dave walked to the machine, reached up and switched off the engine. Rashid, who had been straining at his bonds, relaxed somewhat, but was still writhing in pain. He looked up at both men, his expression thanking them more than words ever could.
“I go for five minutes and look at the shit you get into…” Big Dave chided.
“Dickhead…” Rashid managed.
“Meh, that’s thanks enough, brother…” he beamed a big, white smile at him. “Let’s get you to hospital.”
“Burns and cuts…” Rashid winced. “Nothing we can’t patch up ourselves. We’re blown anyway, better get the hell out…”
Luger took out his Leatherman and quickly sliced through the rope with the serrated blade. He looked around for Rashid’s shirt and handed it to him. “What about the objective?”
Rashid shrugged as he gingerly slipped the shirt over his burns. “Further observation is pointless. Once they realise that I’m no longer prisoner, then they’ll close down their operation.” He paused. “Ahmadi has probably bugged out already, the moment he discovered that we were onto him.”
“What now, then?” Luger asked.
Rashid got unsteadily to his feet. “We leave everything and regroup. Counter surveillance drills all the way to the airport.”
“But we don’t have the authority to bug out,” Luger protested.
“The airport has security,” Rashid explained. “It’s a safe haven to work out what we do next. Anyone coming after us will have armed guards and police officers to deal with, not to mention barriers, one-way systems and CCTV.”
“It’s a good plan,” said Big Dave. “But we’ve got to get out of here first.” He turned to Luger and said, “Where’s your vehicle?”
“Out there, next to the first building. Don’t get excited, it’s a crappy little motorbike.”
Big Dave grunted his dissatisfaction. “My hire car is back at the roadworks. Go and check the ignition to that truck, if not, then check the bodies for the keys…”
Big Dave helped Rashid across the warehouse, through the littering of bodies and shattered sections of metal door and debris. Luger held up the keys triumphantly and hurried over to take Rashid’s other side, but before he reached them, they were illuminated in a swath of light from two sets of headlights. Luger froze, his hand on the butt of the Glock, but not remembering how many rounds he had left. Seven? Eight? His mind was a blank. Big Dave shook his head at him, and he released his grip and turned around slowly. There were at least eight men with automatic weapons, and they were shouting in unison, but unfortunately, all saying something different in Turkish, Kurdish and Arabic, making for a melee of chaos and uncertainty.
“Thanks anyway, boys…” Rashid said sullenly, struggling to stand.
“It ain’t over yet,” Big Dave replied. “Eyes, throats and balls, guys. Make every blow count. Luger, draw your weapon when they get near us. Take out as many as you can. One of us might make it out alive…”
Luger braced himself as two men stepped out from the headlights and walked towards them, the chaotic verbiage no easier to understand. When the first man fell, bewilderment consumed him. Bright lights flashed behind and more men fell. Several turned and were cut down at once. Big Dave pulled Rashid to the ground and rolled against the truck for cover. He screamed at Luger to get down, and Luger responded at once. He drew the pistol and fired back, but Big Dave screamed at him to cease fire and pulled the pistol down to the ground. The muzzle flashes turned the night into fractures of daylight, a strobing effect that left Luger glimpsing the falling of men like a flip book animation. The darkness returned, and silence ensued. Big Dave got up and pulled Rashid to his feet like he was a ten-year-old boy. Luger holstered his weapon and got to his feet. Figures emerged out of the gloom carrying short machine carbines with suppressors. The lead man stepped over the nearest body and stood before Rashid.
“You’ve looked better,” MacPherson commented dryly. Rashid grinned. He wasn’t about to insult a man who had just saved his life, even if the man had left him and King stranded in Russia. Technically MacPherson had done nothing wrong – he had simply been following orders – but Rashid and King worked differently. Loyalty was everything. “Don’t worry, we’re all on the same team.” MacPherson paused, waving a hand at the other three men who had flanked him. “You’ll remember Peters. The tall bloke is Lofty, and the small one is Legs.”
“Well, I’m glad you turned up, whoever the hell you are,” Luger said gratefully.
“Yeah, well, that was pretty crap muzzle discipline. Lucky you didn’t slot one of us.” MacPherson paused. “Anyway, no harm, no foul. Just bear that in mind next time…”
Luger did not reply, but his hands were shaking, and he kept them by his side to stop people seeing. His heart was still racing, his stomach churning. That had been his first ‘contact’ and he could quite happily make it his last.
“We have to get out of here,” Rashid rasped. He was feeling weak and sick to his stomach. The cuts stung and the burns throbbed. He needed patching up and ice on the burns. “The police will show up, if more of these guys don’t show up first.”
“Right, well, we’ll take it from here,” MacPherson said curtly.
“Boss, we’d better get moving if we’re going to get this done,” Peters prompted him.
“You’re working for Ramsay?” Big Dave asked, helping Rashid into the seat of the pickup. “I thought you were the posh toff’s errand boy…”
“That’s a fine way to thank me for saving your life!” MacPherson blurted.
“I’m not thanking you,” Big Dave retorted. “But I’ll try and repay the favour one day.”
“Where are you rushing off to?” Luger asked.
“Just orders,” MacPherson replied. “We were on the way to do a job when Ramsay said you blokes needed help and diverted us. Seems that with getting yourselves compromised, that warehouse full of computer servers and generators is about to go offline… permanently.”
“Did you practise that?” Rashid rasped from his seat. “It’s just, well, the facility is not even online yet…”
“Oh, he practised the shit out of that,” Big Dave chided. He glanced at Peters, who was trying to suppress a smile. “Look, even his number two thinks he practised it!”
“Whatever,” MacPherson said dismissively. “Anyway, the facility is going up in flames and you guys can either lend a hand, or you can take off. We have orders, and that’s what we’re going to do.”
“And orders are orders,” Rashid said weakly.
“That’s right.” MacPherson paused. “And that’s exactly as it should be…”
Big Dave said nothing. He had bent the rules with the team more times than he cared to remember. They all had. He looked at Luger and said, “Go with these yobs and see that they get the job done. I’ll find a pharmacy that’s still open, and then a hotel room where I can patch up Rashid. I’ll message you with the address. We’ll head for the airport and fly out once I’ve had chance to speak to Ramsay.”
MacPherson shrugged and looked at Luger. “Alright, son. But better weapons drills if we find ourselves in a contact.”
Luger ignored him and held up a hand to Big Dave and Rashid. “I’ll catch up with you two later. I want to keep an eye on these cowboys and see how this goes down.”
“Be careful,” Big Dave said quietly. “From what King has said, I wouldn’t trust this guy…”
Jack Luger nodded. He would heed Big Dave’s warning but would ultimately cast his own judgement. If Neil Ramsay deemed Scott MacPherson to be a worthwhile investment to the unit, then he would not overlook his boss’ decision.
“Are you coming, or what?” MacPherson said, turning around and staring at him, the whites of his eyes just about visible through the gloom. “We’ve got a job to do, so kiss them goodbye and get your arse in gear…”
Chapter Forty-One
Washington DC
It took just two hours for King to find the right set up. There were no shortage of drug deals going on. It was a simple thing to do. Find a bad area and cruise slowly around until the pieces fit. There were no end of foot soldiers and spotters – kids really – they kept watch loitering on street corners or riding in slow circles on BMX bikes. They ferried small packages of drugs to the footmen or took the cash back to the lieutenants who waited in vehicles behind buildings or down alleyways. The teenaged foot soldiers were never armed, and nor were the dealers on the streets. There may be a weapon nearby – a handgun or a machete under a dustbin or crate or pile of rubbish – something easily accessable to protect themselves with from rival gangs or disgruntled customers, but deniable if the police searched them. What King knew, however, was that the faceless men in the vehicles, the lieutenants who worked for the area boss, would be armed and unafraid to protect their patch. They ran the show. They used the ‘baby mamas’ – the addicted girlfriends of the network of foot soldiers - as a way to move the drugs and reward their chosen men with sex. They came down hard on other dealers straying onto their patch, they ruled ruthlessly and without remorse, all for the kingpin, who would be one of many working for the boss throughout the city or state. King knew this because it was how it had worked on his estate growing up. He had been close to the scene, but never in it, although it had claimed the life of his mother and almost that of his sister.
“This is madness,” Caroline said as she pulled the Dodge Challenger hire car over and watched the place that they had scoped out earlier. “We’re in the gun capital of the world, and yet we can’t just walk into a store and buy one…”
King shrugged, watching the dealer. The building behind consisted of cheap apartments with two out-of-business retail units below and a key-cutting store and a Middle Eastern café, both short on business. “We’re not citizens. Each state has different laws regarding how you purchase one, but if we can’t provide a US driver’s licence or gun permit, then we’re done.” He paused as a family SUV pulled to the kerb. The exchange was swift. The guy ambled over, the money passed, the package taken. King watched the woman drive away. She looked respectable and young, no older than thirty, but he knew that it took all sorts. “So, we have to think outside the box.”
“The guy you’ve used before in Europe…”
“Pierre…”
“Right,” she replied. “He doesn’t have any lockers in the US?”
“He has, but not here,” King replied. “I think he was more worried what we would be doing with them, what with being in the nation’s capital and all. The President is only four miles down the road…”
Caroline nodded. “So, how does this play out?”
“You drive around the block and drop me off behind the strip mall,” he said, pointing to the ubiquitous pull in with half a dozen businesses set back from the road. “Come back here and pull in next to the drug frontman. Then cause a problem. Say you’re a concerned citizen and if he doesn’t leave then you’ll call the cops. Something to take the lieutenant’s eye off the ball.” He paused. “Now, don’t take a risk. If the guy pulls a gun, stamp on the accelerator and don’t look back. But I doubt he’ll have a gun. If he goes to that bin over there…” He pointed at a large dumpster. “… or that pile of boxes, then he’s going for a piece and get the hell out.”
“What will you be doing?”
King grinned. “Making friends and influencing people…”
Caroline pulled out into the sparse traffic and turned right at the lights. One of America’s greatest idiosyncrasies was that you could turn right on a red light, and it all worked out OK. All you had to do was look. King could not get used to it despite plenty of trips to the United States and was pressing down on an imaginary brake pedal throughout the turn. Caroline smirked as she saw him pressing his foot to the floor. “Should be able to do this back home on left turns…”
“I could live without it. Especially as I ride motorcycles. Don’t want to make drivers even more complacent.” He paused. “This’ll do,” he said, pointing at a large, overflowing builders skip on a patch of land that looked like a semi-prepared, but deserted building site. He guessed the money had run out for whatever project had been promised, and he had been surprised at the state of some of the capital since he had last visited. He waited for Caroline to pull in, then got out and said, “Give me twenty-minutes, then do your best Karen impression.”
“Having a go at a street dealer is a little riskier than asking to see the manager at a restaurant…”
King watched her pull away, then wandered over to the skip and had a root around. He found a short length of rebar and tested it for weight. The metal bar was an inch in diameter and three feet long. It must have weighed around six or seven pounds. He slipped it down his trouser leg, until it came just above his knee and tightened his belt to hold it in place. The walk took ten minutes and as he made his way along the rear side of the apartment building, he realised that people did not walk in America. Not for practical reasons such as getting from A to B. The only other person he saw walking was a homeless woman pushing a shopping cart full of drinks cans, and he realised how he had always pictured the image as a cliché – usually getting smashed into in a film’s action-packed car chase.
