Newborough Preparatory School/ Woolton

 The old school building stood on top of a hill overlooking Liverpool, in a part of the city called Woolton. The area was once the main provider of red sandstone in the country, and the school was made from the local rock. It towered above the other buildings on Quarry Street, looking more like Victorian lunatic asylum than a derelict prep school. The school was built from dark red-brown sandstone blocks each one at least three foot square. The black slate roof rose to a steep point four storeys above the overgrown playground, where children once played kiss and chase, and conker tournaments were as important as the World Cup final. It was decades since the dark stone had echoed with the laughter of children playing, and the brass bell ringing to call an end to playtime. Huge rusted iron gates stood between the empty playground and the road, the old school crest hung from the metal bars at an odd angle, its fixings long since rusted away. To anyone passing it was just a derelict preparatory school. No one ever saw anyone entering or leaving the building.

Inside the broken facade the school was the most sophisticated surveillance facility in Europe. White tiled walls and polished marble floors were incorporated into this hi-tech listening post which was the nerve centre of Britain`s security agencies. The old school descended deep beneath street level to a warren of corridors and facilities. Access to the bunker-like regions below ground was via an underground tunnel, which ran from the Canning Place police headquarters building next to the River Mersey. The construction companies that built the public road tunnels beneath the river were also contracted to build the secret subterranean structure under the city and the old school. It was a top-secret project sponsored by the government, so that they could hide the cost of the nation`s secret spy centre in the building of the River Mersey tunnels.

 Major Stanley Timms was holding a video conference with the directors of MI5, MI6, SL19 (Armed Response Unit), the Organised Crime Unit and the Minister of Defence. The Major was trying to explain that the evidence that was recovered from the riverboat bomb did not support the theory, that an Islamic extremist cell was responsible for the explosion. It was much more likely that it was a cover for a kidnap plot. The evidence recovered from the Manchester Piccadilly bomb pointed to the fact that an individual called Patel was linked to both scenes by a transit van that he owned, however the Task Force didn’t feel extremists were to blame. The use of a fertiliser bomb at the station, which was much less sophisticated than the river bomb, supported the extremist theory, but the Major had serious concerns about it.

 “I believe that Imran Patel has been used as a puppet,” the Major explained, “a van owned by him was found burned out at the river, and there is no doubt that he was in the bin wagon that exploded at Piccadilly station. We have matched his DNA to human remains found in the driver`s seat of the vehicle.”

 “That sounds conclusive to me. I don’t understand why you are chasing shadows. This is obviously an Islamic extremist attack,” said Agent Garden from MI6. Garden was promoted to a level way above his capability by the old boy network. This meant that he frequently looked like a total asshole. He wanted the attacks to be laid at the feet of Islamic extremists to justify asking the government to increase his department budget. Politics were far more important to snakes like Garden.

 “The opposite is true Agent Garden,” the Major interrupted, “we recovered chemicals from the charred remains of the driver`s seat that are consistent with superglue.” Garden`s face flushed red, and not for the first time he wished he had kept his mouth shut. He had no military or law enforcement training; he was essentially a civil servant, a pen pusher with important friends. He could pick up a grammatical error in a written report no problem, but if asked to provide a solution to procedural inadequacies he didn’t have a clue. His mentors had realised that promoting him so far was a huge mistake, but it was too late to alter the situation. MI6 were known as spooks, undercover spies, although their operatives had military backgrounds, their directors did not.

 “There is also an elastic substance melted into some leg bone fragments, which would indicate that Mr Patel was secured to the driver`s seat by some type of bungee cord. Combined with the glue residue I have to conclude that Patel was forced into that seat under duress and he is a smoke screen. We aren’t sure why yet, but we have some leads which are being followed,” the Major explained.

 “What is the link to the 18^th Brigade?” asked the Minister of Defence.

 “We know that they were at the riverboat and that there could be a kidnap incident which took place before the explosion. Until we can confirm the facts then I don’t want to speculate,” answered the Major dismissively. If the kidnap became the key issue then the Terrorist Task Force investigation would be hindered by the involvement of the other agencies. He needed to keep them at arm`s length for now. The Major was not however aware of the depth of knowledge that MI6 possessed.

 “I think that the Major is withholding information Minister,” blurted Agent Garden seizing what he saw as a chink in the theory and relishing the opportunity to ruin someone`s career to further his own. He had made backstabbing into an art form to speed his own progression up the ranks.

“We have information from our Middle Eastern agents that the alleged kidnap victim is part of the Saudi Royal family. If the situation remains static, and this is in fact an international kidnapping, then this investigation is MI6 jurisdiction and I must insist that Major Timms discloses all the information that the Task Force has.”

“We are investigating that eventuality Agent Garden,” the Major countered, “however I would not have disclosed such information about the Saudi connection during a routine update conference call, on an unsecured frequency, you bloody idiot.” The Major raised his voice for the delivery of the last three words.

 “Minister I must protest! I assumed that we were using a secure link,” Garden protested stuttering, his face was a crimson colour. The Major picked up a telephone handset from the desk and dialled.

“Switch off the link to MI6,” he said briskly and Agent Garden disappeared from the screen. Garden`s expression looked like he was about to learn the hard way what it felt like to get shafted.

 “There is an encrypted update of the situation being delivered to the Ministry as we speak Sir,” the Major said, “once we have dealt with the 18^th Brigade interrogations I will update you immediately.”

The Minister of Defence disappeared from the screen looking flustered and embarrassed. One of his key security directors had made a schoolboy error, which was unforgivable. In the cynical world of espionage there was no room for mistakes, he was already thinking of the name of Agent Garden`s replacement. The Major spoke briefly to the remaining directors from SL19 and MI5 to update them on the casino situation. The director of the Organised Crime Unit gave them all the details about his undercover officer who had infiltrated the Brigade ranks, and was now inside the casino. His undercover name was Simon Pinn, an excellent officer prior to being deployed as an infiltrator. There were some concerns that he had become too comfortable in his position as a Brigade member, and his recent Intel was sketchy at best. The OCU director sent the officer`s secure pager number. If the Terrorist Task Force could contact him inside the casino, then it would change the logistics of the hostage situation dramatically. The Major bid his goodbyes and took the pager details to the communications room.

“Pull up the building plans and the subterranean infrastructure details for the casino please,” the Major ordered, “split the screen and show me the pictures from the remote drone too.” The screen flickered and the aerial image from the unmanned helicopter appeared. Greenish human forms indicated body heat radiating from where the occupants of the building were currently. A plan of the casino and the land it was built on materialised on the opposite half of the screen.

“What are these lines here running through the casino?” the Major asked.

“They are service shafts built for the River Mersey tunnels. They run under the casino and the River Mersey to the ventilation towers on the far riverbank.”

The Mersey tunnels were built in the late 1960`s to accommodate road traffic crossing from the Wirral and North Wales into Liverpool city centre. There were three tunnels in total and a labyrinth of access and service shafts. Huge exhaust fans worked 24-hours a day to remove the toxic engine fumes from the tunnels.

“There is an access hatch to the shaft, which is at the rear of the casino in a utility room. It could be a cellar,” the technician said.

“Page the undercover OCU officer and give him the details of that ventilation shaft. He can use it to get out, or we could possibly use it to gain entry, but we need to know if it`s accessible,” the Major said. The Major was aware that there were concerns about the OCU officer, but he had no idea just how far across the line Simon Pinn had gone.

Chapter 22

Tank & JCB

 Tank leaned against the huge yellow JCB digging machine and listened to the Major in his earpiece. Chen was to his left observing the casino through night vision glasses, and listening to the Major on the open channel. Major Timms explained that the Organised Crime Unit actually did have an officer on the inside, and that there was a possible entry point through an access tunnel at the rear of the casino. He also explained that the OCU director had expressed concerns about the integrity of the covert agent who was called Pinn. The Major had passed on all the Intel available, including the positions of the casino`s occupants. Tank considered the access tunnel but quickly ruled it out. They did not know if the shaft`s hatch was accessible. It could be covered with carpet or laminate flooring. If it was a utility room or a kitchen back-up area it was probably tiled over. Then again if Pinn was untrustworthy there could now be half a dozen Brigade members pointing their machineguns at it, waiting for a head to pop up.

“It`s your call Tank,” said the Major, “what`s your next step?”

“Kill the power in the casino Major and order Faz to follow me in with two units. Tell the remaining units to secure the perimeter and wait for my signal,” Tank said.

 “What do you mean follow you in? How are you going to get in? I think that you really should consider the tunnel as an entry point. Are you ruling it out?” the Major asked in a frustrated manner.

 “If there is the slightest chance that the Organised Crime Unit`s agent is bent, then the tunnel is out of bounds Major. I am not leading my agents into an ambush,” Tank said tapping Chen on the shoulder to get his attention. He pointed to the big yellow machine and Chen`s eyes lit up as he realised the nature of Tank`s entry plan.

“Two snowmen stood in a field and one said to the other, `can you smell carrots? `” Tank said climbing into the giant digger. Chen burst out laughing although he didn’t get the joke, his English was excellent but he did not have the English sense of humour to match.

“What the bloody hell are you talking about Tank?” the Major spluttered. There was laughter on the airwaves as the other agents listened to the conversation.

 “It`s a joke Major, but sometimes the answer is right under your nose,” said Tank as he pressed the huge diesel engine into life. The neon signs outside the casino blinked out and the interior went into darkness a second later as the power was switched off. Tank engaged drive and the yellow machine lurched forward toward the sidewall of the casino, there were no windows there, and the heat and motion trackers displayed the area was clear of humans. The giant digger bounced over the kerbstones into the casino car park picking up speed as it went. The sound of gravel crunching beneath the machine`s wheels mingled with the roar of the diesel engine. Chen was still laughing to himself when he asked, “The snowmen were stood in a carrot field, right?”

“No my little friend they were not. It was just a regular field,” Tank said wishing he had never started the subject in the first place. Chen frowned confused and held on tight as the JCB accelerated.

 Grace Farrington signalled two units in readiness to attack. She indicated that infra-green vision was to be utilised inside the dark casino, and the agents snapped down night vision visors, which were mounted on their helmets. Faz smiled as she watched Tank hanging onto the controls of the giant machine as though his life depended on it, as it roared across the parking lot. It was now clear to all how they were going to breach the building and maintain the initiative. The element of surprise was essential in hostage situations. She could see Chen shifting levers that were to his left and the huge yellow bucket at the front of the digger lifted up twenty feet into the air. Its massive metal teeth gave the approaching digger the appearance of an animal as it roared across the car park toward the casino wall.

Chapter 23

Yuri/ Yusuf/ Saudi Embassy

Yuri woke with a start when he heard the cell door slam shut. He heard the sound of a metal cup scraping as it was placed on the floor close to him; a similar sound came as a tin plate was placed next to it. He tried to move his limbs but they were numb. Pins and needles racked his hands and feet as he encouraged them to function. His black hood was removed roughly by the Saudi guard, and his eyes closed tightly against the harsh light.

“What day is it?” Yuri asked hoarsely reaching for the metal cup of water. The guard ignored the question and left the small room closing the door behind him. Yuri had tried to keep a track of how long he was held captive. It was a basic military tactic learned by Spetsnaz forces, learning escape and evasion techniques. They were taught to gather as much information as they could whilst being held captive. Who had captured them? ; How many the enemy numbered? ; What were the names he had heard used by his captures? ; How many days was he in captivity? ; The longer a soldier was in captivity the less likely he was to escape. Poor nutrition and the pain of interrogation would weaken even the elite special force operatives. Yuri estimated that he was held for less than a week. He was tortured for the first three days and deprived of food water and sleep. Yuri had witnessed enough torture sessions to realize that everyone breaks eventually, and that there is nothing to be gained from futile resistance except more pain. He had told the Saudis what they needed to know in the hope that they would kill him quickly or release him, but he was subjected to a brutal male rape. Male rape is a tactic often used to destroy the self-esteem of an enemy captive especially in the Middle East. The rape had left him with internal injuries and despite his best efforts he couldn’t stop the bleeding. He had torn a strip of material from his bed sheet and plugged the wound but it only slowed the bleed. Yuri knew that if he didn’t get medical attention soon he would die. The last two days was a haze. He had slept fitfully for long periods at a time waking only when the pain from the electric shock treatment and his internal injuries reached a crescendo. The Saudis had brought him food and water and there was no further torture. Yuri knew that this indicated that the information he had given them was confirmed. He also knew that he was of no further use to them. Death or freedom would come to him soon. He had lost too much blood to put up much of a fight, and he realised escape was not an option.

Upstairs in the main body of the Saudi embassy, Yusuf placed the cell phone he was using into a towel and began wiping it, removing all the prints and DNA material. The phone belonged to Yuri. Yusuf had used the numbers stored in the phone to leave an electronic trail that would lead directly to Roman Kordinski. The security services would find text messages and calls made from Yuri to Kordinski all mentioning the kidnapping of Jeannie Kellesh. They could be discounted in a court of law, but the idea was to make the British agents look in that direction. The electronic trail would definitely achieve that. The recordings of the interrogations were digitally cleaned to remove any screams of pain. Only the voice of the Russian admitting that his employer was responsible for the kidnapping and the riverboat bomb would remain. His indication of where she could be being held was the final part of the recording. A good defence lawyer could argue that the recordings were not to be submitted as evidence because they were cleaned, but by then they would have served their purpose. All that remained was to put Yuri`s DNA on the cell phone and deliver them both to the British security services. Yusuf picked up an intercom.

“Have the Russian dressed,” Yusuf ordered. He opened a container, which was similar in size and shape to a cigar box. Inside were a silver coloured syringe and a glass vial of amber liquid. The liquid was a radioactive isotope called polonium 200, which is a bi-product that is created by nuclear fusion. The isotope is lethal to human beings even in small amounts. It is alleged that the Russian KGB have used the substance to assassinate critics of President Putin. One high profile case actually occurred on British soil in London where the lethal radioactive isotope was used to kill an exiled Russian dissident. On this occasion the substance was traced to a cup of tea, which was poisoned. Once ingested the Polonium slowly killed the Russian exile, although he clung to life for over a week the fatal prognosis was never in doubt. Yusuf planned to inject Yuri with the isotope making it look like the Russians had killed their own man.

In his cell downstairs Yuri drained the final drop of water from his metal cup and started to sharpen the edge of it on the concrete floor when he heard footsteps outside of his cell. His heart quickened as he heard keys turning in the lock, he somehow knew that his end was close. The door opened and two guards entered the room. They remained silent as they handed a set of clean clothes to him and unlocked the chains that fastened him to an iron radiator. Yuri took the clothes and tried to stand up, but his legs were weak from blood loss and cramped from inactivity. He wobbled and steadied himself by holding onto the radiator. He placed the clothes on the small cot bed while he gathered his wits about him.

“Get dressed, you are being released today,” the Saudi guard ordered.

Yuri heard him but he didn’t believe him for one minute. He picked up a pair of khaki cargo trousers and slowly pulled them on. The numbness in his legs was fading and the proper use was returning to them. His hands were still restricted by handcuffs and chains.

“I can`t put on the shirt with these cuffs still on,” Yuri said holding out his hands to the guards. The guards looked from one to the other unsure of what to do. Two sets of footsteps could be heard coming down the corridor and Yusuf appeared at the doorway with another Saudi officer.

 “I told you to have the prisoner dressed. Remove the cuffs while he dresses,” Yusuf ordered. He removed a Browning 9mm revolver from his holster and pointed it at Yuri to discourage any escape attempts. The guard unlocked one of the cuffs and Yuri slipped the cotton shirt over his arms and began to fasten it. As the guard leaned close to him Yuri recognised the Saudi`s body odour. It made Yuri recoil as he realised that the man was one of those that had raped him. The big Russian felt a surge of adrenalin and moved like lightening. Yuri wrapped the dangling handcuffs around the Saudi`s throat. Yuri twisted his body away from the guard and bent his knees at the same time. The guard`s neck snapped in a second. Yuri released the limp body and scooped up the metal cup in one smooth movement as the second guard approached. He struck the approaching guard with the sharpened edge of the metal cup across the bridge of the nose. The metal cut deep into his flesh and sliced clean through his nose bone. Yuri turned the injured guard around and placed the metal against his jugular vein.

“I will cut his throat if you move a muscle,” Yuri said. Yusuf and the remaining guard stood side by side in the narrow cell completely blocking the entrance. Yusuf still had the Browning pointed at Yuri but now the target was significantly obscured by the incapacitated guard.

“You have nowhere to go Yuri. If you leave this place your employer will track you down. They will interrogate you to discover the depth of your betrayal,” the Saudi talked very slowly, “I was going to make the end painless for you, but now the choice is yours.” Yusuf took the revolver from his colleague’s belt and opened the bullet wheel. He removed five of the six bullets and placed them in his pocket. The remaining bullet was thrown onto the bed. Yusuf pushed the remaining guard backward toward the door, and then he threw the empty revolver onto the bed next to the bullet and pulled the cell door closed. Yuri was left holding the injured guard in his cell. He struck the Saudi hard on top of the head with the metal cup and he crumpled in a heap next to the guard with the broken neck. There was no escape from his prison cell. The walls were thick and the door was reinforced metal. His captors would not return until they heard a gunshot. Then he would either be dead or unarmed, as he only had one bullet. The adrenalin in his system started to wear off and the pain in the lower regions of his torso began to burn again. His momentary burst of energy had passed and left him feeling weaker than ever. The violent struggle had made the wounds open and the blood was flowing freely down his thighs discolouring his khaki trousers. Yuri sat heavily on the cot bed and winced at the pain it caused him. He picked up the revolver in his right hand and the bullet with his left. Yuri placed the bullet into the wheel and snapped it into position. He had lived a violent life and he had always believed that he would suffer a violent death. He had not considered the option of death at his own hand. Yuri considered it for over an hour before he finally placed the barrel beneath his chin and pulled the trigger.

Chapter 24

Simon Pinn/ Inside the Casino

 Simon Pinn joined the British Army at the tender age of seventeen. He was an accomplished amateur boxer during his school days and passed the six-week physical induction with flying colours. He chose to join his home regiment, the Cheshires, and was soon selected for the regimental boxing team. Representing the regiment gave a soldier great kudos amongst his fellow soldiers and Pinn`s career blossomed. He made the rank of Lance Corporal in record time. In the 80`s he was stationed in Londonderry, Northern Ireland at the peak of the troubles. Regiments of the British Army were rotated on six-month postings in the province. It was during Pinn`s second tour that his army career began to go wrong. He was stationed in an OP (observation post) one night , overlooking Derry when a known `prime mover` was spotted completing an arms deal. Pinn`s call sign was Zulu 1 and he called in the IRA activity to his chain of command requesting permission to shoot the target. Permission was not forthcoming so Pinn deployed a spotter to move closer to the target to identify which type of weapons were changing hands. The spotter called in that RPG 7 grenade launchers and AK47 rifles were being loaded into a tractor unit. Zulu 1 asked permission to fire again, and again permission was refused. Pinn heard two shots fired and watched helpless as the spotter he had deployed dropped to the ground. He was shot between the eyes through his night vision glasses by an IRA sniper, who was providing cover for the deal. Northern Ireland was littered with such incidents where the army were defeated by politics rather than the enemy. Pinn decided that the next time he had the enemy in his sights he would shoot first and ask questions later. Several weeks down the line Pinn was on a routine street patrol of Londonderry when he spotted the same suspect arms dealer entering a pub in an area called the Cregan. He followed the suspect and waited ten minutes for the IRA man to get settled, and then entered the pub. When a British soldier entered a public house in uniform he was placing his life and the life of anyone he spoke to in grave danger. Anyone suspected of informing to, or even cooperating with the British forces was subject to brutal retribution from the Irish paramilitaries. Pinn was well aware of the situation as was every British soldier, but he chose to use it to his advantage in revenge for the death of his spotter. Pinn walked across the stunned pub with his gun chambered across his forearm, two of his colleagues stood guard in the doorway with their rifles covering the drinkers.

“Cheers for the information about the RPG`s. It was very useful, I owe you a pint,” Pinn said to the IRA man who was stood in the company of a dozen other locals. Pinn slung his Armalite rifle over his shoulder and left a five-pound note on the bar in front of the barman. All eyes in the crowded pub fell onto the IRA man and his face flushed purple with fear and embarrassment. The bar remained silent long after the British soldiers had left, and despite protesting his innocence, the shadow of suspicion was cast over the arms dealer. Three days later he was found dead with his kneecaps blown off; he had died in incredible pain through blood loss, as the victim of a punishment shooting. Despite his cries for help no one dared to call for medical assistance to help an informer. Rumours of the incident reached the ears of Pinn`s commanding officers and he was court marshalled two months later, and given a dishonourable discharge.

Despite being discharged he was given an excellent reference and he applied to work for the Merseyside Police Force. He was accepted and again his career seemed to be progressing well. Pinn reached the rank of Sergeant before applying for a vacancy in the Organised Crime Unit. He carried out several successful operations for his new unit and was selected for a covert mission infiltrating the 18^th Brigade. The Brigade was identified as major players in the drugs trade, using door security as an umbrella for their operations. Pinn was sent to the Orford Arms and was selected to work in the Brigades door security business. Within months his unarmed combat skills had catapulted him up the ranks of the organisation, overtaking dozens of long serving members in the process. Pinn was promoted to Lieutenant, which gave him the responsibility over six pubs and two nightclubs. Apart from his huge wage increase he was also given a substantial percentage of the drug money from each site. Pinn realised that the old adage `crime doesn’t pay` was absolute rubbish. It paid incredibly well and was great fun too. He continued to report snippets of useless information to his OCU department while his secret bank accounts were swelling beyond his wildest dreams. He had to declare and return his basic Brigade wage to the OCU, but he squirreled the rest away.

 Now Pinn was sat in a leather chair in the strong room of the Liverpool casino. He had shot two Russian security guards in the process of acquiring the safe combination. They were both lying on the floor of the room bleeding to death. No one had heard the shots, not even his Brigade colleagues. They were securing the perimeter and guarding the hostages. Pinn used a suppressor on his pistol, which reduced the sound of a high velocity bullet being fired to a loud hiss. The Terrorist Task Force thermal scanners had shown two people dead or dying. Pinn was staring at three hundred and fifty thousand pounds which was the casinos playing float. It made the money he had stolen from the brothel look like small potatoes. This could be the last bent deal he would ever have to make. He could retire somewhere in the sun. He could take sick leave from the OCU and never return. None would ever know. Pinn had to hide the money or smuggle it out of the casino without the surrounding police forces finding it, or any of the Brigade seeing it. He was considering where to put the money when his Organised Crime Unit pager vibrated. Pinn read the message on the screen, which was informing him of the situation outside, and giving him the position of an access tunnel, which ran, beneath the casino. It was linked to the ventilation shafts of the Mersey tunnels. The message was from the Terrorist Task Force offices, according to the message data report on his pager. They were a serious heavy-duty outfit. The Brigade men inside the casino wouldn’t last five minutes against the Terrorist Task Force. Pinn laughed out loud and clasped his hands together in a mock prayer, a gesture of thanks to a god of deliverance.

He moved quickly and stuffed the bundles of cash into cloth moneybags from the safe. Pinn needed to locate the access tunnel first and then deal with Dano, Clarky and the other Brigade members, before he made good his escape. He placed the suppressor barrel of his gun against the forehead of the prone Russian casino guard and shot him once through the head. He couldn’t leave any witnesses to testify that he had taken any money from the safe. The second guard died the same way with a bullet through his left eye.

Pinn carried the loaded moneybags through the rear door of the strong room. It led to a long corridor, which headed toward the kitchen areas at the rear of the casino. He tiptoed silently down the corridor until he reached the open doorway, which opened into the service area. A young Brigade member was in the wash-up area standing on a stainless steel preparation sink, holding an Uzi 9mm machinegun. He was guarding a rear window and looked very scared. He nervously acknowledged Pinn as he entered the kitchen and nodded to him, he looked relieved to have some company. The window that he was guarding was fixed with exterior security bars to deter burglars, even the Terrorist Task Force agents couldn’t break in without making a lot of noise.

“What are you doing up there soft lad?” Pinn scolded, “The window is barred, we`ll hear someone breaking through there a mile away. Get in the main casino area with the others.” The young Brigade man looked undecided but he didn’t want to argue with a Lieutenant of Pinn`s status. He jumped down from the sink and headed toward Pinn.

“Have you seen that lot out there Pinn? They look like Robocop. They have got some wicked machineguns out there,” he said rambling, trying to make conversation with Pinn. He was still a teenager and the sight of armed officers surrounding the casino terrified him. He had only joined the Brigade for a laugh. He thought it was all about Paki bashing and beating up queers. The young skinhead was completely overwhelmed by the siege situation that he found himself in.

“The Uzi you`re holding isn’t exactly a pee shooter soft lad,” Pinn replied sarcastically.

“Yes I know how to use it, but I didn’t think it would be against the coppers Pinn,” the young skinhead answered as he noticed the cloth bags that Pinn was carrying.

 “What have you got in the bags Pinn? I hope it`s a load of twenty pound notes!” the young skinhead joked innocently. Pinn smiled as he approached.

 “It`s funny you should say that,” Pinn said as he fired point blank into the young Brigade man`s face. The high velocity round tore his lower jaw from his ruined face and he lay on his back with his eyes wide open in shock, and his body twitching for several minutes before he was finally still.

Pinn opened a large steel door that sealed a walk-in fridge. The small cold room was filled with racks of salad and cooked meats. He scanned the floor space looking for anything that resembled an access hatch. The floor was neatly tiled with no breaks. Pinn returned to the young skinhead and dragged his body into the walk-in refrigerator. He left a bloody trail behind him but he couldn’t deal with that just yet. The blood would have to remain there for now. He moved through the wash-up area and located a white plastic coated door. Pinn opened the door to reveal a short flight of narrow stone stairs leading to a beer cellar. He lurched down the stairs taking them two at a time and lost his footing on the last step. He fell heavily onto his elbows and jarred his skeleton to the core, but he maintained his grip on the moneybags. The cellar floor was tiled like the kitchen but he was certain that he was below water level. If there was a hatch in the casino it had to be on this level. Pinn stood up and walked away from the stairs staring intently at the floor but saw nothing. He scoured the entire room peering into every corner and beneath every shelf. He could see nothing that resembled an access cover. There were at least eight metal beer kegs in a group next to a noisy cooler. The metal fan was catching on the refrigeration fins making a clattering sound. The cooler motor was grinding out warm air as it struggled to cool the warm beer from the cellar. Pinn started to drag the barrels across the tiled floor like a man demented. The thought of loosing this much cash was driving him mad. The fact that he had killed three people already today seemed unimportant. He moved the last barrel and stared at the floor, nothing but neat square tiles. Pinn collapsed on the floor with his back against the cellar wall exhausted. He couldn’t think of anywhere else to hide the cash. There was cool breeze blowing against the back of his head, which was more than welcome. Sweat was pouring down his face and back. The access tunnel must have been tiled over when the casino was built. He would have to hide the cash here somewhere and come back for it another day. The thought of leaving the money turned his stomach, he felt nauseous. Pinn looked around trying to find inspiration, and again felt the cool breeze on his face. It was coming from behind him. He stood up quickly and looked at the wall he was leaning against, there was small wooden door fastened with a metal latch. There was a red tin sign screwed to the middle of it, which said `access only`. Pinn smashed the latch off with his boot and pulled the door open. A narrow tunnel six foot long and just high enough to walk through if you crouched, led into a larger ventilation shaft, which serviced the traffic tunnels. Pinn couldn’t believe his luck, so he grabbed the bags and stooped into the tunnel. Once in the larger shaft Pinn walked around until he found an emergency cupboard. Fire fighting equipment was stored in the access tunnels in the event of a major traffic accident or fire in the traffic tunnels. He opened the door and removed two fire extinguishers and a folded fire blanket. He stuffed the moneybags into the closet and then replaced the fire equipment on top of them.

The money hidden, Pinn returned to the cellar. He climbed the stairs to the kitchen and recovered the dead skinhead`s Uzi 9mm. He went to the wash sink and doused his face in cold water. He tried to slow his breathing and cool down but the thought of leaving the money was gut wrenching. Pinn needed to be convincing if the next part of his plan was to work. Pinn returned to the main body of the casino. You could cut the atmosphere with a knife. The Brigade men had come here to smash the place up and steal some money. They were now in the middle of a hostage situation surrounded by heavily armed police. Panic was setting in and there was no natural leader amongst them. Intelligence and common sense were not qualities that the Brigade`s members had in abundance.

 “Where the fuck have you been Pinn? We thought you had bottled it,” Dano growled sitting on top of a slot machine, drinking a stolen bottle of vodka. He was actually pleased that he had arrived, because Pinn was very useful when there was trouble around. Dano out ranked Pinn, but often followed his instructions because they made sense.

“I was trying to get the safe open but there`s no way. It is way too complex to break and there`s no code, it`s on a timer system,” Pinn lied, “listen I`ve got an idea Dano. We`re surrounded by serious firepower. We can`t fight our way out and sooner or later they`re going to come in. I have found a way out.”

 Pinn told Dano and Clarky about the ventilation shaft. He convinced them that Pete Dodge and the 18^th Brigade needed them on the outside, and that Dodge would need all his key Lieutenants around him to withstand any retaliation from the Russians. Dano and Clarky glanced at each other, but they didn’t really need much convincing. They were looking at armed robbery at best, which carried a ten-year sentence.

“You and Clarky take the lads down the tunnel. I will stay here and bullshit the dibbles (police) to give you a head start. I will let a couple of the hostages go one at a time. If I drag it out for an hour or so you and the lads will be miles away by the time they realise that there`s only me left. I will tell the last few hostages to walk out, and that I`m watching them from the balcony. I will barricade the doors and then follow you down the tunnel. By the time they realise I have gone I can be down the tunnel and across the river,” Pinn made the plan very convincing. It was plausible, especially to desperate men looking for a way to avoid a long jail sentence.

 “That`s fucking brilliant Pinn,” Dano said excitedly and genuinely impressed with the idea. “We will leave Ken and Jono with you.”

“No thanks. They`re fucking idiots, I`ll be better off on my own, besides the Brigade will need everyman we can keep out of jail. You lot go now and I`ll be fine,” Pinn didn’t want any of them left when the police came. His plan was to wait until all the Brigade men had gone down the tunnel and then walk out with the hostages, and identify himself as an undercover agent. He would be in the clear and the money was safely hidden, where he could come back for it at a later date. The police would hunt down the Brigade men, but he was exonerated and his cover would still be intact. He didn’t intend to ever need the Brigade or the Organised Crime Unit again, his money would see to that. Pinn knew that the Brigades contacts spread worldwide so he had to be very careful. He wanted to disappear, not become a fugitive from every neo-Nazi crime family on the planet.

 “Go now, quickly,” Pinn hissed. Dano gathered his men and they sprinted for the rear of the building. Clarky stopped at the end of the corridor and looked back at Pinn. He couldn’t understand how Pinn had just stumbled on an access tunnel. Something wasn’t right. When he reached the door to the kitchen Clarky saw a blood trail across the kitchen floor as if someone was dragged. He couldn’t stop to question Pinn but he knew something wasn’t right. They stared at each other down the length of the corridor, Pinn saw the glint of suspicion in Clarke’s eyes but the thought of being incarcerated trumped any misgivings he had. Clarky turned and followed the others down the steps into the cellar. Pinn watched the Brigade men disappear into the cellar and then he froze. There was a loud rumble approaching the building and then suddenly the lights went out, plunging the casino into darkness.

Chapter 25

Roman Kordinski/ Alexis

Roman sat in the boardroom of his Premiership football club. He had bought the club four years earlier as part of his profile raising strategy, but the project had failed miserably. His millions had attracted an array of talent but they were mostly Prima Donnas with no real skill. He bought the ailing club because the Russian government wanted him dead, as did his business rivals. It is far more difficult to assassinate celebrities without repercussions, than it would be if he were just another Russian exile. He kept the sharp end of his criminal business at a respectable distance from himself. Drug and sex slave trafficking did not fit hand in glove with his entrepreneur image. Rumours of his possible involvement with organised crime were rife in the British press but they added to his persona. His illegal activities were organised by his right hand man Alexis. Roman had no contact at all below his level. His soldiers were forbidden from contacting him directly unless it was an absolute emergency. Roman glared at the screen of his cell phone and he felt the anger rising in his throat. It was the third text message in six hours that he had received from one of his Lieutenants, Yuri. The direct contact alone was against procedure, but Yuri was enquiring as to how the Kellesh situation was being handled. Mentioning the name of anyone at all was a cardinal sin.

 Roman was paying attention to his mobile and had stopped listening to the incessant whining of his overpaid football manager, who was making excuses for a four-nil defeat at the hands of Liverpool Football Club for the second time in the season. Roman was losing his temper and the people sat around the table were making him feel worse. He stood and left the table without a word, his chair scraped loudly. The surprised faces around the boardroom watched in surprise as he walked across the boardroom toward his office without so much as an excuse me. The shocked expressions at the table would have made a great picture as Roman stopped and kicked a tin wastepaper bin across the room angrily. It struck the wall with a tremendous clatter and then bounced onto a drinks tray. The tray contained a jug of water and a dozen glasses, which shattered into a hundred pieces in every direction. Silence fell as the metal bin rolled across the room. Roman entered his private office and slammed the door closed violently behind him. The senior members of the football club`s staff were left stunned in the boardroom. They looked at each other in shocked amazement. The football team manager, who was a Portuguese character named Moanerio, started to cry for the second time that season.

Roman Kordinski opened the first drawer of his leather-topped desk and removed a blackberry phone. He entered the memory and selected a number. He slammed the drawer closed as he dialled.

“Hello Roman. What can I do for you?” asked Alexis in a cheerful voice. He was a little surprised by the call from his employer. Their calls were always scheduled, and on the few occasions when they did actually meet, it was always at a public event so that it never looked suspicious.

“You can begin by explaining why Yuri is texting me on my personal number, and you can also explain what the fucking hell he is doing mentioning names!” the volume of Romans voice rose to a scream. The men sat around the boardroom table in the next room could hear him shouting. One of them stood and indicated that they should all leave. They headed for the door like naughty schoolboys pushing each other to get away from their enraged teacher.

 “Yuri is missing Roman. He was carrying out some work for me at Euston station but never returned. If he was still operational I would be very surprised if he would try to contact you directly,” Alexis explained trying to calm his employer. He had worked for Roman for many years now and he was well aware of how quickly his mood could darken. He was a very dangerous man indeed when he lost his temper, almost uncontrollable. The charming smiling business man could disappear in seconds to be replaced by a screaming psychopath who thought nothing of killing anyone in his path.

 “What do you mean he is missing? Is he dead?” asked Kordinski. He was starting to run the possible connotations through his mind. If Yuri was dead who was contacting his personal cell phone? If Yuri was dead then the fact that he was receiving messages was worse than he thought, much worse.

“I can only assume that he has resigned without notice or been incapacitated in some way,” Alexis said trying to keep the conversation meaningless to anyone listening in. He was aware of the British security service`s desire to tap Roman`s phone since his arrival in the UK. They constantly scanned his office for bugs. “We are currently experiencing some problems at our leisure facilities in Liverpool and Manchester. We incurred fire damage.”

 “Really, at which one,” asked Roman angrily. The situation was going from bad to worse. He had to maintain his composure; he couldn’t let the mask slip anymore than he already had today.

 “All of them,” replied Alexis nervously, “we lost over thirty sites, all the money and most of our staff have disappeared.”

 Roman Kordinski stayed silent. If he had a gun and Alexis was in the same room he would not stop firing until it was empty. His business was severely damaged. He did not have to ask who was responsible because Alexis had warned of some kind of retaliation following the Kellesh episode. However he had not expected a bunch of skinhead thugs to be so audacious in their response. He was almost impressed, only almost.

“It appears that the fascists are flexing their muscle internationally. We have received threats from the Aryan Brotherhood against our interests in America. Several smaller European groups are also making noises,” Alexis continued, “it could be more trouble than it`s worth to respond immediately. I think we should conclude our current projects first then deal with the Nazis at a later date. Yuri`s phone messages are a concern though. They are not being sent by Yuri. If he was still operational I would know it.”

“We must meet immediately Alexis. I think someone is setting up a sting. If Yuri really is indisposed then his cell is being used to make a link with me. Meet me at the garage at six o’clock tonight,” said Roman and the line went dead.

Alexis replaced the handset and stared silently at it for a long time. He had called many meetings at the garage over the years. If you were summoned to the garage it was usually a very bad thing. The garage was an empty ministry of defence vehicle testing station. Roman had bought the old army truck facility with a view to developing the land into apartments because of its proximity to the commuter belt. The structure was like an aircraft hangar in appearance. Inside was a wide-open area dissected by a huge inspection pit, which ran the length of the building. The inspection pit was used to detain suspected informers, disobedient prostitutes and opposition agents. Once thrown into the inspection pit there was no way out unaided. The ladders had long since been removed. The poor unfortunates in the pit often became the sport for their captives above. They became target practice for their pistols or game for the Rottweiler dogs that guarded the site. On several occasions multiple victims in the pit was armed with spanners or metal bars and left to fight to the death, a promise of freedom to the winner. No one ever left the inspection pit alive. The pit was frequently doused with concentrated sulphuric acid to dissolve any human remains and the slimy residue was then rinsed down a central grid into the sewers. The tiled walls of the pit were smeared with the bloody handprints of its victims. The grouting held several broken fingernails belonging to those desperate souls that refused to die quickly.

Alexis shivered slightly as he contemplated his meeting with Roman Kordinski. Alexis held the total loyalty of most of his men. He would handpick a group of his most trusted soldiers to protect him. If Roman had designs on placing him in the inspection pit, then Alexis would slit his throat and find a new employer.

Chapter 26

Tank/ JCB

Tank pressed his foot to the floor forcing the accelerator as fast as it could go. Chen had raised the digger`s huge steel bucket to eye level to act as a battering ram. Tank clung to the steering wheel as the machine careered across the car park toward the casino wall. He flicked on the JCB`s lights and two powerful spotlights which were fixed to the roof of the yellow machine illuminated. The powerful beam cast the shadow of the digger`s teeth onto the casino wall, and they grew larger as the machine approached. Tank took the safety switch off his Glock 9mm and chambered a round, and then he replaced it in its holster.

 “Hold on tight Chen,” shouted Tank over the noise of the diesel engine, “you break left on entry, I`ll break right.”

The huge yellow JCB weighed over 8 tonnes and it struck the casino wall at 40mph. The effect was devastating. The metal teeth on the bucket pierced the brick wall shattering brickwork over hundreds of yards. The casino wall collapsed beneath the gigantic force, and the machine crashed through the ruined brickwork as if it were matchwood. Chen covered his eyes, nose and mouth with his arms as the machine sprayed debris in all directions. The JCB screeched to a halt inside the main body of the casino. Slot machines and roulette tables were tossed in the air like balsa wood toys. Chen jumped from the slowing machine and rolled behind a bank of slot machines that were still standing. He identified a group of people in the centre of the building, some lying in shock on the floor, while others stood open mouthed. Chen was expecting heavy machinegun fire but none was forthcoming. The interior of the casino was bathed in the powerful beams of the spotlight. Deep long shadows were cast in the corners of the casino offering refuge to potential attackers.

Tank jumped left and took a covered firing position behind a slate dice table. He pointed the Glock toward the hostage position and then rotated the weapon looking for a target. Apart from the shocked civilians at the centre of the casino there appeared to be no other people present. Debris and broken wood crashed and rattled as Faz and the Armed Response Unit charged through the breached wall in support.

“Where are they Tank?” Grace Farrington asked on the open channel. The Armed Response Unit members secured the main area and then headed upstairs to clear the first floor.

“First floor area is clear,” said the voice of an Armed Response Unit officer.

 “Raised platform area is clear,” said the voice of another.

Tank waved the unit to progress into the anti-rooms that surrounded the casino body. The gents and the ladies toilets were empty, as was the cloakroom.

“We have two men down in the strong room, multiple gunshot wounds,” said Chen from the back office.

Tank organised the removal of the hostages and then regrouped with the Task Force at the entrance of the back-up corridor, which led to the kitchen service areas. The power was turned back on illuminating the back-up corridor. It looked completely empty.

 “There was an undercover Organised Crime Unit agent with the Brigade. He was informed about a ventilation shaft, which leads to the Mersey traffic tunnels. We know it`s located to the rear of the building. I think the agent has turned bad and the Brigade has used it as a getaway. If they have then they know that we will follow. There could be booby traps placed to hinder us so we do this by the book,” explained Tank, “first things first, let`s clear the building, and then we can find the shaft.” He pointed his hand toward the corridor and Chen entered it crawling on his stomach. Chen flashed a laser pen from floor to ceiling looking for trip wires. He signalled an ok with his hand indicating that he had found nothing. Chen took a cylindrical aluminium stun grenade from his battle vest. He twisted the cap, which activated it, and threw it down the corridor toward the kitchen. The grenade exploded in a blinding flash of phosphor light. The concussion wave from the device shook pots and pans free from their resting places and they clanged across the kitchen tiles. There was no enemy response.

 “Corridor is clear,” Chen`s voice crackled on the open channel. The Terrorist Task Force agents poured down the corridor hugging the walls as they advanced. An Armed Response Unit officer reached the corner of the wash-up area when suddenly a volley of 9mm machine gunfire smashed into the tiles near his head. He recoiled quickly back into the kitchen area diving for cover.

 “Shots fired from the rear service area, 9mm bullets from one machinegun,” said the agent from the kitchen floor.

Chen removed another stun grenade from his vest and signalled to Faz to do the same. Faz activated her thunder-flash device and rolled it into the wash-up area, seconds later Chen followed suit. The first grenade exploded with a huge flash of light and a deafening bang. Before the first concussion wave had finished the second grenade roared. The sound wave smashed tiles from the walls and the kitchen windows shattered. The whole purpose of concussion grenades was to completely immobilise enemy personnel without causing fatal injuries. They were especially effective in enclosed areas such as buildings or subways. Areas with strong acoustics such as concrete rooms or tiled areas amplified the devastating effects of the devices. Long seconds went by as the Terrorist Task Force waited for a response, and their patience was rewarded with a loud random burst of 9mm bullets, which ripped into the kitchen ceiling. Plaster fragments were blasted across a wide area, and the fluorescent light strip disintegrated into a thousand pieces.

“He is firing from a protected position,” Faz guessed. There was no way anyone could still be functional if they was caught in the open when the thunder-flashes exploded. She broke cover and sprinted across the kitchen area. She stopped by the metal door to the walk-in fridge and opened it so that it acted as a barrier. The chilled body of the young skinhead Pinn had killed earlier lay glassy eyed on the floor. His upper teeth were exposed in a macabre grin, which gave him a zombie like appearance. The exposed tongue, which lolled to one side, was already starting to blacken.

“Kitchen area clear, one man down in the cold room, gunshot wounds to the face,” she reported.

“Can you see their current position Grace?” Tank asked. Faz looked through the hinged edge of the doorframe and she could see the snub noised barrel of an Uzi 9mm machinegun leaning against the tiled floor at the bottom of an open door.

“I can see their position. It looks like they are at the top of a flight of stairs, which descend into a lower level. I`m going to bounce a grenade off the wall in front of him and try to deflect it down the stairs behind him,” Faz said twisting the cap of another concussion grenade. She tossed it across the wash-up area aiming just below the ceiling. The cylinder struck the white tiles and bounced across the room toward the open doorway. Grace heard the sound of footsteps running down the stairs and the clatter of the grenade striking the tiled floor of the cellar. There was an ear splitting explosion and a blinding flash followed by the sound of metal beer barrels clanging across the floor. Tank and his agents passed Faz`s position and moved with military precision to the top of the cellar stairs. The cellar ceiling obscured the view of the lower level and there was only a small area around the bottom of the steps visible. Tank gestured to one of his agents and he removed a thin carbon fibre rod from his utility belt. He twisted the rod and a rectangular mirror fanned out from the end. He then extended the rod to its full length and scanned the cellar area with it.

 “One man down in the centre of the floor space, looks to be incapacitated, Uzi 9mm machinegun in close proximity to his right hand side,” said the officer. Tank waved his team down the stairs were they secured the small cellar and covered the ventilation shaft entrance. The man on the floor unconscious was Organised Crime Unit officer Simon Pinn, although they wouldn’t know that until he regained consciousness. The effects of the concussion grenade were amplified tenfold in the confined concrete area of the cellar, rendering Pinn senseless. There was a small trickle of blood running from his left ear indicating some internal damage. He was trussed up with plasticuffs and dragged up the stairs to a waiting prison van, which would be taking him directly to the Terrorist Task Force custody suite.

 “Major, can you check the scanners for body heat? We only have one man in here,” Tank asked over the communication channel.

“It appears they moved to the rear of the building seconds before you breached the building,” the Major replied, “they`re off the radar now so we can only assume they are in the tunnel network. There is too much water and concrete above them for the scanners to work. They can only be minutes ahead of you.”

“Is there any indication which way they have taken?” Tank asked entering the access tunnel. He paused as it joined the main ventilation shaft and scanned the tunnel in both directions.

 “Negative Tank,” replied the Major.

Tank returned to the cellar and organised the Task Force into two groups. One group was to follow Chen and head west, further under the River Mersey; the second group was to follow Tank and Faz east, heading away from the river toward the tunnel entrance. The entrance was situated a half a mile away in a purpose built service building. The building housed huge ventilation fans that removed exhaust fumes from the traffic tunnels. Both units entered the tunnel and prepared to follow the Brigade men. Faz noticed that the thick layer of dust coating an emergency cupboard was disturbed, and fresh finger marks were clearly visible. She nudged Tank and he covered the door with his Glock while Faz flung the door wide open. Apart from two rusty fire extinguishers and a fire blanket the cupboard was empty.

“Are you going to shoot the naughty fire extinguisher?” Tank teased.

Faz punched him on the arm and shut the cupboard door. Simon Pinn`s hidden money was still safe for now.

Chapter 27

Yuri / Yusuf

Yusuf waited half an hour after he had heard the gunshot coming from the Russian`s cell. He knew what type of man Yuri was, and he knew that he had taken his own life with a single bullet. Despite one being Jewish and the other Muslim, they had a lot in common. Both were warriors of the highest degree. Their masters were essentially the same entity despite their cultural differences; they were powerful men who used violence to protect their empires. They paid the best wages to recruit the elite ex-military personnel for their private armies. Yusuf opened the door and ushered three guards into the cell. They picked up and removed two fellow Saudi guards, one was dead the other seriously injured but still breathing. Yuri was in a sitting position on the small cot bed. His chin was resting on his chest and the top of his head was splattered up the wall in a red slimy fan pattern. Grey globules of brain matter were running very slowly down the paintwork. Yusuf ordered a black plastic body bag to be brought from the nurses` quarters and they placed the big Russian into it. They left the gun in his dead hand and zipped up the fastener. The Saudis placed Yuri`s body into the boot of a black Mercedes SUV. It was scarily similar to the one he was brought to the Saudi embassy in.

 Yuri was seconded to Russia`s elite Counter Terrorist Unit, Spetsgruppa Alpha in 1991. During an attempted coup in late 1991, the Alpha group was led by Major General Viktor Karpukhin. The General had ambitions to storm the Kremlin using Special Forces and to wrestle power from the politicians. His plan was to attack and kill Boris Yeltsin and his leaders. Yuri and his platoon refused point blank to follow the General`s orders, and wiped out a division of rebel Russian paratroopers in the process. The ensuing fire fight lasted three and a half hours during which the Spetsgruppa Alpha killed every member of the rogue unit, without losing a single man themselves. Yuri was interviewed by the Soviet leadership about the plot and its possible connotations. Yuri had estimated that the Spetsgruppa Alpha would have stormed the Kremlin and killed the entire Russian parliament in under twenty-five minutes, had it chosen to follow the General`s orders. As the Russian Empire crumbled Yuri had found employment with the notorious Mafia, the Organizatsiya. Now the once great warrior was being transported in a plastic bag in the trunk a family saloon.

Yuri`s body was driven a short distance across London to Paddington police station. They pulled the body from the vehicle and placed it in a covered bus stop. The dumpsite was chosen carefully because it was not covered by CCTV cameras, but was less than two hundred yards from the police station. Yusuf saluted the body bag and placed a leather holdall containing the mobile phone and audiotapes next to the body. As the Mercedes pulled away Yusuf made an anonymous call on a prepaid cell phone informing the police that a man connected to the River Dee bombings was in the bus stop.

Chapter 28

Pete Dodge/ Terry Nick

Pete Dodge sat in a small interview room at the main police station in Warrington. The station was built in Victorian times, which gave the building historic listed building status. The down side was that the cells and interview rooms were prehistoric and stank of urine. Facilities were basic to say the least. The table Dodge was sat at was fixed to the floor with metal brackets to deter angry prisoners from throwing it. He was given a plastic cup containing a warm liquid, which vaguely resembled tea over two hours ago. Since then three different detectives was into the room to question him briefly but they had all concurred that the information Dodge was giving was beyond the jurisdiction of the Cheshire Police Force.

The door opened and David Bell entered. Bell was an information analyst from the Terrorist Task Force. The Warrington police had contacted them, and asked them to send an agent down to interview Dodge. Bell was involved in cracking a terrorist plot to bomb a football match at Anfield in Liverpool the year before. The nefarious terrorist leader Yasser Ahmed had wreaked havoc across American tourist destinations before attempting the same in the UK. David Bell placed two blank cassettes into an archaic recording machine and pressed record.

 “Agent David Bell is present interviewing Peter Dodge at Warrington police station. The date is 8^th January 2008, and the time is six pm,” the agent said starting the interview. He had a feeling that this was going to be a waste of time but he had to go through the motions. There was no doubt that two members of the 18^th Brigade was present at the River Dee incident, but Pete Dodge had walked into a police station announcing that he knew who was responsible for planting the bomb. The information may be genuine, it may be claptrap, but it couldn’t be ignored.

“Can you repeat for the tape what you told my colleagues earlier regarding the bomb on the River Dee,” Bell asked with a big sigh trying to give Dodge the impression that he didn’t believe his claims.

“I was approached by a Russian business man by the name of Alexis to abduct a young girl from a party, which was being held onboard the Princess Diana, on the River Dee” Dodge began, “It was a straightforward business transaction.”

 “So you personally became involved in a conspiracy to commit kidnap for financial reward,” Bell droned on thinking that Dodge was going to walk into an uncontested kidnap charge.

 “No, I certainly did not. I declined the offer however I think that several of my ex-employees were approached at a later date,” Dodge lied, “I now believe that they were involved in the alleged abduction.”

“Really Mr Dodge, so you had nothing to do with the organisation or planning?” the Task Force man probed, “can you explain how one of your ex-employees ended up burned to death at the scene of the bombing?”

“I can only assume that my ex-employees had some kind of disagreement with the Russians or each other,” Dodge shrugged his shoulders and he knew that no one could prove his involvement. The only corroborating evidence was destroyed when the Orford Arms burnt to the ground.

David Bell grasped what was happening. The 18^th Brigade was washing its hands of the incident and offering evidence of who the culprits really were.

 “We think that you were involved and that Jeannie Kellesh was taken to your headquarters,” Bell pressed for a reaction, “we also think you’re responsible for a series of arson attacks the following week.”

“Prove it Agent Bell, as my business premises was burned down by your officers you`ll find it difficult to support your accusations. Likewise with any alleged arson attacks. I am an honest businessman. I run a door security company, which brings me into contact with all kinds of dishonest characters. I can show you my telephone records, which will demonstrate calls made to me by Alexis Radev. He asked me to abduct a young girl, which I refused to do. The boat was blown up by terrorists and I think we both know who is responsible,” Dodge thumped his clenched fist on the table as he made each point.

“What is your relationship with Mr Radev?” Bell asked sarcastically.

“He sometimes provides me with door personnel when we have absenteeism, he is involved in import, export business,” Dodge answered equally sarcastically.

 “He is involved with the import and export of drugs and prostitutes Mr Dodge,” Bell said taking his spectacles off, “let`s not fuck about, he supplies you with drugs to sell inside the venues that your bouncers police. You kidnapped the Saudi girl, and then things went sour with the Russians so you burnt down their brothels.”

“You have an incredibly vivid imagination Agent Bell. I have come here out of my own sense of public duty and offered valuable information about a horrific crime,” Dodge adopted a hurt expression as he rambled on, “if you’re going to continue making such allegations then I think I’ll leave and come back with a lawyer.”

“That`s your prerogative Mr Dodge,” said the agent, frustrated at playing games, “why would Alexis Radev want to involve you? Why blow up a riverboat?”

 “I am speculating of course because I refused to be involved in the incident, but I think the whole palaver is a set up,” Dodge thumped the desk again, “they blew up the boat to cover up the abduction and they wanted someone else in the frame. What you really need to do is speak to his boss.”

 “And who would that be Mr Dodge?” said Bell looking over the top rim of his glasses curiously.

 “Roman Kordinski,” Dodge replied very slowly pronouncing each vowel.

David Bell removed his glasses again and stood up. He walked to the end of the small interview room and leaned against the wall, “Roman Kordinski the oil magnet? Roman Kordinski the premiership football club owner? Roman Kordinski the celebrity businessman?” he asked incredulously.

 “Roman Kordinski the drug baron, the sex slave trafficker, the assassin and all round mafia boss,” Dodge laughed, “that`s the very same man.”

Chapter 29

Tunnel/ Chen/ Clarky

As Clarky and the Brigade men reached the ventilation tunnel the lights in the casino went out. Seconds later there was a deafening crashing noise as the JCB breached the walls.

“Something isn’t right Dano,” Clarky said grabbing his arm, “did you see the blood in the kitchen? Pinn is fucking us over.”

“We haven’t got time to mess about Clarky. We need to get out of here. We can sort this out when we get rid of the dibbles,” Dano said, “You take half the lads that way and I`ll take the other half this way. We`ll meet up at the Quarterdeck tomorrow.”

Clarky shook his head in frustration. He checked that the magazine of his Uzi 9mm was full and then headed off west down the tunnel. Emergency lights were fixed to the wall every hundred yards and he could see them reaching far into the distance until the curvature of the tunnel made them disappear. The tunnel was angled down about twenty degrees as it followed the descent of the traffic tunnels beneath the River Mersey.

“Glinka, have you got your hammer?” he asked one of the younger skinheads. Glinka always carried a four-pound claw hammer on his belt, which he used at every available opportunity to break things and hurt people.

“Yes, of course I have,” Glinka answered. A blue tattooed Swastika became visible on his tongue when he spoke.

 “Smash the lights as we pass them, we need to slow the dibbles down,” ordered Clarky.

Glinka looked pleased with himself as he took the claw hammer and shattered the emergency lights. The group jogged quickly down the slope away from the casino, and it was four minutes before they heard the first concussion grenades exploding in the kitchen area. The noise of the grenades gave Clarky an idea. He stripped the electric wires from the tunnel wall and then separated a thin plastic coated length from the bundle. He placed a fragmentation grenade against the tunnel wall and stuffed it behind a metal conduit. Clarky tied the electric cable across the tunnel and attached it to the activation pin of the grenade. The other end he tied to a metal grill making a tripwire. Glinka waited until Clarky had finished and then he laughed as he smashed the light above it.

 “Great stuff, we`re going to blow them to bits,” Glinka was laughing like a schoolboy as he ran away.

 Clarky had no intentions of blowing up anybody. The grenade he had trip wired was called a sting grenade. It was based on the basic design of a military fragmentation grenade, but instead of being made of shrapnel producing metal, it was made from rubber instead. Two spheres of hard rubber encased an explosive charge, primer and detonator. The interior was filled with hundreds of small hard rubber balls. Anyone close to the device when it detonated was incapacitated by the blunt force of the projectiles, but not fatally injured. The sting in the grenade was provided by an additional payload of CS gas. The tear gas was produced by 120 grams of CS gas, which upon detonation combines with a small pyrotechnic composition that burns to generate an aerosol of CS-laden smoke. It would stop any pursuers in their tracks. The combination of blunt force trauma and choking gas would slow even the most determined enemy. To the rest of the Brigade men it looked exactly like a normal fragmentation grenade. Neil Clarke, or Clarky, was an MI6 agent working directly for Agent Garden. It was his intelligence gathering that had uncovered the information about the Saudi Princess. Agent Garden had blindsided Major Timms during their earlier video conference call with the defence minister. MI6 was investigating the 18^th Brigade and several other Nazi factions linked to the British National Party for years. They had no interest in their minor crime activities but their fascist agendas and political aspirations had to be closely monitored. Right wing political parties would only be tolerated as long as they enjoyed limited success. The skinhead organisations were infiltrated by a myriad of law enforcement agencies. The law enforcement departments rarely shared information with one another, especially when undercover agents were involved.

Clarky needed to stop the Terrorist Task Force agents from apprehending him, without causing any fatalities, or years of undercover work would be wasted. He had suspected that Simon Pinn wasn’t all that he seemed, but he couldn’t expose him without compromising his own position. He checked the tension of the trip wire and then followed his men further down the ventilation shaft beneath the River Mersey.

 Chen and his Task Force agents entered the main shaft from the casino and proceeded down the tunnel in pursuit of the Brigade men. Their protective boots made a crunching sound as they crushed the broken glass from the emergency lights.

“Switch to night vision and dark mag-lights,” Chen ordered his team as they edged down the tunnel hugging the walls. They stayed close to the sides of the shaft and made it harder to be seen by keeping low. Dark mag-lights were fitted to the helmets of his team. They cast a light imperceptible to the human eye without infra-green vision. This stopped the enemy from seeing your torchlight, which made you a simple target. The dark mag-light improved vision up to about twenty feet without alerting the enemy. They made steady progress down the gentle slope. Chen spoke briefly to Tank over the coms-channel and ascertained that they had made no contact with the Brigade men either. He felt nervous as they progressed in formation down the shaft. Chen scanned the way ahead with a laser light looking for trip wires belonging to mines. The laser light prompted a short burst of 9mm machinegun fire fired from somewhere up ahead. The fat shells blasted chunks of concrete from the ceiling above them and he extinguished the light immediately to discourage another salvo.

 “That came from a long way ahead,” Chen spoke to his men, “we`ll have to advance using infra-green only.” The lead agent stopped and bent low to inspect the tunnel and then gave the thumbs up sign. The rear agent jogged from the back and overtook the front man, and then the rest followed in formation. Chen was following the agent in front of him when the Terrorist Task Force man stumbled over something. Chen saw that the wires from the tunnel wall were stripped a split second before the sting grenade exploded in his face.

Chapter 30

Tank/ Dano Tunnel

Dano reached the end of the access tunnel when he heard the grenades explode in the casino. He and his men had jogged six hundred yards up a gentle slope away from the river, and he could see Clarky and the others disappearing around the long curving bend into the distance. There was a wooden door in front of him and he grabbed the handle with a sweaty palm and twisted it. The door wouldn’t budge. Dano stepped back a few yards and fired a short burst from his 9mm machinegun at the handle. The wood around the locking mechanism splintered into a hundred pieces and the metal handle was ripped from the door as it sprung open. Dano looked into the cavernous service building. The large motor room beyond was dimly lit by emergency lighting, and it appeared to be completely unoccupied. The Brigade men entered the building silently checking for any employees. The noise from the huge exhaust extraction fans was deafening. Dano noticed a bank of seven steel lockers across the room that were used to secure tunnel employee belongings while they worked.

“Barricade the door with those lockers,” Dano ordered. He was acutely aware that the police would be in pursuit in a matter of minutes. The Brigade men carried the heavy lockers across the room and jammed them into the tunnel entrance. Dano opened every door as the lockers passed and removed overalls, high viz jackets and yellow safety helmets from them. He distributed them between the group of skinheads and they dressed quickly in silence.

 “When we leave the building we leave one at a time and in different directions,” Dano explained. The entire area surrounding the river was a series of construction sites. The City of Liverpool was granted European Capital of Culture status in 2008. The award preceded huge amounts of money being invested in the redevelopment of the city centre. New shopping malls were springing up all along the riverbank. Old derelict warehouses were being transformed into art galleries and cafe bars. From the Mersey tunnel service building to the myriad of construction sites was a few hundred yards. The brigade men would stand a good chance of escaping unnoticed if they could leave immediately and split up. The work wear would act as the perfect disguise.

 Dano entered a corridor and a short distance along it he discovered a small control room that was surrounded by clear Perspex walls. Three sides of the room were dedicated to switchgear and electronic gauges. There was a single technician wearing a white overall and a yellow jacket, sat at a desk. He was blissfully unaware of the uninvited guests behind him as he listened to his MP3 player, and read the newspaper. The gauges monitored carbon monoxide levels caused by engine exhaust fumes in the road tunnels. The tunnels were over three miles long, and descended a mile beneath the River Mersey. Huge exhaust fans worked round the clock to maintain a breathable atmosphere in the tunnels. Any increase in carbon monoxide levels could render unsuspecting motorists unconscious. The lethal gas is an invisible killer and because it is denser than oxygen it lingers close to the floor, making it especially dangerous in traffic tunnels. Dano struck the technician on the base of the skull with his heavy metal gun. He collapsed in a heap on the floor beneath the desk. There was a large red switch on the right hand panel, which controlled the electricity supply to the fluorescent lights that illuminated the road tunnels and its service shafts.

“Start leaving one at a time. I`m going to give them something else to worry about,” Dano ordered, “meet up at the Turf and Feather, in Locking Stumps when you get back.” He flicked the switch to off, plunging the traffic tunnels into total darkness in an instant.

As the tunnels were plunged into inky blackness, the driver of a number twenty-six Arriva bus was caught completely unaware as he carried his passengers beneath the river from Liverpool to Birkenhead. He slammed his brakes on in the inky darkness but couldn’t keep the bus straight. It careered across the centre island into the oncoming traffic causing a multiple pile up. The fuel tank of the bus was punctured as it hit the metal safety barrier, and diesel fuel sprayed over the road. The rider of a Honda Blackbird motorcycle couldn’t focus in the gloom as the lights went out, and he ploughed into the back of the bus. The motorbike scraped along the tarmac and the exhaust pipe disintegrated into a shower of sparks which landed in the spreading fuel. The diesel ignited into a wall of flame and the number twenty-six bus started to burn. The pile up continued to grow quickly in both directions as oncoming traffic crashed into the stationary vehicles in front of them. Thick acrid smoke started to fill the tunnel as the bus tyres caught fire. Just when things couldn’t possibly get any worse, Dano turned off the huge exhaust fans.

Chapter 31

Roman/ Alexis

Alexis sat in the passenger seat of a black Volkswagen Toureg and pulled on a pair of black leather gloves. He reached into his leather jacket and removed a Colt 45 from its holster. The heavy silver pistol made famous by Clint Eastwood in his Dirty Harry movies weighed over three kilos when fully loaded. He ran his hand along the cold steel and its touch reassured him. The Colt was his favourite weapon and he had used it to kill many times before. Alexis was born in 1968 in the Russian state of Georgia to ethnically Russian Jewish parents. His family moved to Moscow when he was three years old. Alexis was an amateur wrestler in his youth and his reputation as a fighter was fearsome, even before he had left school. He served a short prison sentence at the age of seventeen for his participation in a bar fight during which he dislocated his opponents shoulder. Once in the penal system he was introduced to the Russian Mafia, who identified him as a potential future asset. After his release he began to move up the ranks of the criminal world, selling goods on the black market. It wasn’t long before he had become involved in gang activity. Alexis and his gang used forged police documents to enter people`s houses and then rob them. In 1992 he was arrested on firearms, forgery and drug trafficking charges. Alexis received a fourteen-year jail sentence but was released after serving just two months of his term. He had made connections with Russian state intelligence organisations, and their organised crime partners, corruption was rife. Alexis was nicknamed Yaponchik, which means `little Japanese` due to his vaguely slanted eyes, and his criminal reputation had reached the ears of Roman Kordinski. Roman was a powerful businessman, and he reportedly bribed a Supreme Court judge to set aside Alexis` conviction. Their partnership in crime began upon his release.

Alexis was sent to America to set up business for Roman in the West. He arrived in the United States with the reputation as one of the fiercest criminals in Russia. He entered America on a regular business visa, which stated that he was to work in the film industry. The Russian Ministry of Internal Affairs advised the FBI that Alexis had come to manage and control Russian organised crime activities but their warning was ignored. The editor for the newspaper, Novoye Russkaye Slova wrote an article in 1994. He alleged that Roman Kordinski had left Russia because it was too dangerous for him there, since the new Muslim Chechen criminal entrepreneurs had set up business.

Alexis was put in charge of a Russian gang on Brighton Beach, New York, which numbered around a hundred men. It became the premier crime group in Brooklyn. He systematically used violence and corruption to establish a monopoly on criminal enterprise. For four years they ran riot through New York`s criminal underworld netting millions of dollars in the process. In 1998 he was arrested by the FBI and charged with the extortion of several million dollars from an investment advisory firm, which was run by two Russian Muslim business men. In June of the following year he was convicted with two co-defendants on the charge of extortion. During the trial one of his victims` fathers was assassinated in Moscow, along with his wife and elderly mother. The murders were committed to discourage further testimony being given, and as a warning to a nervous jury.

The extortion charges collapsed, however Alexis was deported to Russia to face charges that he was responsible for all of the three murders. The jury in the murder trial found him not guilty and he was acquitted again. During the subsequent murder trial six witnesses, including three Russian policemen and a high-ranking government official, failed to appear in court. Alexis was released and joined Roman Kordinski in the United Kingdom where rebuilding had already begun.

Today Alexis was parked on an old World War 2 airbase on the outskirts of Warrington called Burtonwood. The airbase was the home of the United States Air Force through the war and into the 1960`s. In the 80`s it was closed and partially dismantled. There were still eight aircraft hangars standing on the old base. The hangars were 500yds long and twice as wide. They were shaped like huge barrels cut in half and laid on the floor. The curved buildings were designed to confuse enemy bomber pilots who were programmed to look for groups of rectangular shapes to bomb. The Ministry of Transport purchased part of the airfield, and several large hangars, which they converted into an inspection centre. Ten years on, Roman bought the site for redevelopment, and they had used it for the interrogation and disposal of troublesome employees, and rival gangsters. Alexis was ordered to meet his boss at the derelict inspection hangar, which made alarm bells ring in his head. He had three of his most loyal men with him in the Volkswagen, and three more in a similar vehicle 100yds away. He wasn’t going to take any chances.

Self-preservation was making his senses ultra-sharp, and he had noticed that his driver was sporting a new Rolex watch. He could be being paranoid, but paranoid was better than dead. Mafioso would often change allegiances for money, and he didn’t want to take the chance that his man had betrayed him.

 “Wait here and keep the engine running,” Alexis ordered the driver, “the rest of you come with me.” The driver flushed red, which made Alexis more suspicious of him. He locked eyes with the driver and the driver looked away immediately. Alexis took the big Colt from his shoulder holster and pulled the trigger. The massive 45-calibre bullet hit the driver in the side of the head above his ear, leaving a ragged hole the size of a plum. The force of the bullet smashed the Russians head against the window shattering the glass to smithereens. One of Alexis` men had exited the rear of the vehicle, on the opposite side, and was sprayed from head to toe with blood and gore. He stood frozen to the spot with brain matter running down his cheek, which he wiped off with the back of his sleeve. He looked at the sticky fluid with bulging eyes and then vomited against the side of the vehicle. Alexis had sent a powerful message to his men that betrayal was a capital offence. The men in the other vehicle heard the shot and ran toward them with their weapons drawn.

“Everything is fine,” Alexis said replacing his gun into his holster, “Take the watch from his wrist and bring it with you,” he ordered. A fat Russian Mafioso with a blond ponytail leaned into the Volkswagen and removed the Rolex. He then patted the dead man`s jacket looking for his weapon and took a 9mm Luger from his waistband. The five men headed toward the hangar and the fat man handed the Rolex to Alexis. He studied the watch face and its gold metal strap. Alexis recognised it as a Submariner, which was the model Roman Kordinski favoured.

 “Be on your guard,” Alexis said to the group as they approached the hangar door, “I have got a feeling that we may be heading for a career change.” He knew that things had gotten out of hand since Roman had received notice from the Kremlin that his oil business was to be renationalised. Greed was the route of all evil especially where money was concerned. Alexis didn’t agree with the kidnap of the Saudi Princess. Roman had ordered the bombings of the riverboat and Piccadilly rail terminus to cast suspicion on Islamic extremists, and to increase the public mistrust of the Muslim communities. Judging from the reaction of the British public the ploy had worked. Public opinion was turning against an acceptance of integration with foreign immigrants, and Islamaphobia was spreading across the nation.

The previous year`s terrorist attacks committed by Yasser Ahmed, and his Axe group had prompted a violent reaction from Britain`s indigenous Christians. Mosques were burned to the ground and Muslim businesses became targets for vandalism. There were riots in some areas with large Muslim populations. The volatile situation was compounded in January 2008 when five Muslim men were found guilty of conspiracy to murder. Imran Parvis and his co-conspirators plotted to kidnap a Muslim British soldier from the streets of Birmingham and behead him on camera. They were then to post the footage on the internet as a warning to other Muslims, who were considering a career in the British armed forces. Public reaction to the plot was one of horror and it added fuel to flames of racial hatred. The United Kingdom had not witnessed civil unrest on this scale since the race riots of the late 70`s.Roman had counted on a similar response to the river bomb and the incident in Manchester, and he wasn’t disappointed. The countries law enforcement agencies were swamped trying to maintain public order, which allowed organised crime families to trade unabated. Anti-immigrant political parties such as the BNP, and neo-Nazi groups like the 18^th Brigade and Combat 18 were receiving a record number of new members. Alexis realised that the authorities would see through the plot eventually and would target all its resources against those truly responsible.

 Maybe it was time for Alexis to become self employed. He could surround himself with a hardcore of ruthless Russian exiles, and concentrate on simple honest lawbreaking like drugs and prostitution, all this religious bull shit was getting out of hand. He was in fear of his life and his liberty, but he would meet with Roman one last time, and give him the opportunity to remain as his long term employer. There would be no discussions about severance pay or pension funds. It would be fine or he would give his resignation in the form a 45mm bullet.

 They reached the massive hangar shutter door, and approached a smaller door, which was set into it. Alexis opened the metal door and stepped into the cavernous hangar. His footsteps echoed across the concrete. The hangar was dimly lit and at first he thought that it was empty. A black rent in the ground ran the length of the hangar splitting it into two halves. Alexis knew it was the old vehicle inspection pit. About two hundred yards away across the inspection pit, he could see a white transit van. The headlights flashed acknowledging their arrival.

“Spread out and hold your line on me,” Alexis said quietly, “I don’t want them to panic and do something rash.”

“Rash, like shooting one of your own men in the face because you want his watch?” said the fat Soviet with the ponytail. Alexis stopped and glared at the man who glared back. The ponytail placed his hand inside his jacket and gripped the handle of his pistol. His fat face flushed, because he knew that now was not the time to challenge Alexis.

 “The watch belongs to Roman you stupid fat fuck,” Alexis hissed, “now why do think he would be wearing Roman`s watch?” The man removed his hand from his pistol and his facial muscles relaxed giving him a confused expression. Alexis shrugged his shoulders and nodded toward the van. The men walked toward it in a line, conflict forgotten for now. They spread out as they walked, leaving fifty yards between them, and the next man. The Russians loyal to Alexis were big men. They wore leather coats of various styles and lengths and looked menacing as they approached the transit van, which was parked on the far side of the inspection pit. They looked like the reservoir dogs on steroids.

From the gloom at the far end of the hangar a set of headlights illuminated and a long black limousine crawled into view and parked next to the van. The doors of the van opened and three men exited from the front; four more climbed out of the back, making seven. The men took up positions along the deep inspection pit. No weapons were drawn yet but the anticipation of violence was tangible. Alexis` men stopped short of the pit leaving seventy yards between them and Roman`s men.

The driver of the black limousine stepped from the vehicle and opened the rear passenger door to allow its occupants to alight. Roman Kordinski exited the limo followed by three more leather clad bodyguards who were all carrying Brugger & Thomet tactical TP 9mm machinegun pistols. That made twelve, including the driver. The machine pistols were favoured by Special Forces worldwide and are capable of firing 900, 9mm armour piercing bullets in a minute. Astonishingly they can be bought on the internet by anyone with a credit card for just $1200 via mail order. They stood menacingly along the inspection pit. Roman was wearing an expensive wool suit tailored at London`s Saville Row. He didn’t look like he was here for a scrap; he looked more like he was attending a board meeting. Roman stepped forward a few steps and indicated that Alexis should do the same.

“Why are you carrying all the hardware Alexis?” Roman asked smiling like a snake, “We are old friends. Don’t you trust me anymore?”

Alexis looked along the inspection pit and counted twelve men including Roman and his driver. The fact that three of them were carrying Brugger and Thomet machineguns tipped the balance completely in Roman`s favour.

“I would say that a man of your intelligence can work out who is carrying the hardware Roman,” Alexis answered stepping forward slowly.

“Tell your men to place their weapons on the floor and we can talk,” Roman said, “I need to get you out of the country quickly Alexis.”

 “What are you talking about? Where would I go?” Alexis asked.

“The police will be looking into my affairs very closely,” Roman said, “Yuri`s disappearance is no coincidence. Someone is trying to implicate me in the Saudi`s kidnap. They will come for you first because of your previous record, and our history of working together. Tell your men to place their guns on the floor while we talk Alexis. I can smell the sweat of fear from our men. There is no need for bloodshed. We are on the same side, remember?”

Alexis thought about it, but he knew Roman too well. If he thought Alexis was a liability because of his intimate knowledge and involvement in Romans business, then he was already dead. He would not be dying easily, not today or any other day.

“My men will lay down their weapons when your men lay down theirs,” Alexis challenged Roman.

“I am afraid that’s not possible,” Roman said laughing, as arrogance oozed from his every pore.

Alexis signalled his right hand toward an elevated metal walkway, which was situated above the hangar doors behind him, and a suppressed shot hissed across the cavernous airplane hangar. The limousine driver was knocked of his feet as .75mm bullet smashed into his chest. A hidden sniper that Alexis had deployed as insurance in case Roman turned up mob handed had fired the massive bullet. His instincts had proved correct. The bullet was fired from an A10 Marine Corps sniper rifle, and it made an exit wound the size of a football as it ripped his back out. His ribcage and lungs were liquidised by the power of the impact, and sprayed the bonnet of the long black limo with a crimson mush. A second shot impacted the concrete between Romans` feet as a warning, and shards of shattered stone covered Roman`s pristine suit with cement dust.

Romans` men pulled their weapons from their holsters, and Alexi’s men responded in kind. Both sets of men pointed weapons at each other across the dark inspection pit in a Mexican standoff. No one fired for fear of starting a fire fight that couldn’t be won. Roman`s men had the added fear of becoming the unseen sniper`s next target.

Roman raised his hands in a gesture of surrender, “Tell your sniper not to shoot Alexis, and you have made your point that we are covered by your sniper. Alexis you are a very clever man. That’s why I hired you. It seems that you are holding all the aces, but our problem hasn’t changed. You must understand that someone is trying to implicate us in the bombings, which puts me in a precarious position my old friend.”

“You made your position very clear `old friend`, by turning up with all this firepower. I don’t believe for one minute that you wanted to discuss smuggling me out of the country.” Alexis said walking backwards slowly and indicating that his men do the same. Sniper or no sniper Roman and his machineguns could decimate Alexis` men in a matter of minutes. It was time to make a sharp exit.

“It would be far easier for you to throw me into the pit and dispose of me with the acid, like we have a dozen times before boss,” Alexis emphasised the `s` in boss as edged closer to the door.

“Do you really think you can just walk away Alexis?” Roman Kordinski hissed aggressively. He was starting to lose his temper because he was out witted, and was no longer in control. He looked from left to right trying to gauge how many men would die before they killed Alexis, and his blasted sniper.

Alexis watched Roman intently, and he could see that he was about to do something rash. He lifted his right hand again in a different direction, and another silenced rifle shot spat. This time the shot came from the rafters behind Roman and his men, as a second sniper took aim and fired. A bodyguard next to Roman staggered like a zombie toward the dark inspection pit, holding his machinegun in front of his body. His head had exploded beneath the colossal force of a .75 bullet, which had hit him from behind, arterial blood splatter sprayed Roman and his men. All that remained of the Russian`s head was his front lower jaw, but his body continued to walk reflexively until it toppled over the edge of the oily service pit.

Roman`s men froze, raising their hands in the air aware now that they were surrounded by at least two expert snipers. Roman stood as still as a statue as his face turned crimson with anger. Warm blood trickled down his neck into his crisp white collar. Alexis turned and ran toward the hangar door signalling to his snipers as he went. The A10 rifles spat their deadly load from both directions and Roman`s men started to fall. Panic set in and both sides opened fire with fully automatic weapons, and the old hangar became a deafening killing zone.

Chapter 32

Yuri`s Body/ Graham Libby

 Graham Libby was the Terrorist Task Force coroner. He pulled on his white coat and rubber gloves, and switched on a computer web cam. The camera was pointed at the tortured body of the Russian Yuri, who was discovered at a bus stop in Paddington London, following an anonymous phone call. The discovery of certain evidence with the body quickly linked it to terrorist events in Chester and Manchester. Yuri`s body was flown north to Liverpool where the final affront of an autopsy would be carried out.

“The subject appears to be in his late thirties or early forties. He is circumcised and has several Hebrew tattoos indicating he is of Jewish stock. The tattoos are the insignia of belonging to the Russian Mafia, and we can look at Wikipedia later to translate their exact significance.” The coroner looked closer at the genital area using a pencil to lift the discoloured penis away from the charred testicles. He would have to remember not to chew the pencil later, or stir his coffee with it in an absent minded moment. It wouldn’t be the first time it had happened.

 “There are electric current burn-in marks on the head of the penis, and deep abrasions which appear to have been caused by some type of clamp.” He lifted the scrotum with the rubber end of the pencil and studied the injuries.

 “Similar abrasions are on the testis however the burn marks are more severe so I am concluding that they are burn-out marks, caused by the same electric current leaving the body.” Graham Libby took a scalpel. He switched on a spotlight to improve the view of the groin area. He now had a pencil in one hand and the cutting tool in the other, which gave him the appearance of a mad drummer, or a barking professor. He moved the penis with the pencil and cut through the burn marks on the scrotum.

“The scar tissue on the interior of the scrotum is substantially thicker than it is on the surface, indicating burn-out marks from a low voltage electric current. There is heavy blood staining around the groin and inner thigh area. The amount of blood is not contusive to electric shock injury, even if sharp clamps were applied.”

Graham Libby pulled down a steel spray head, which hung from the ceiling above the mortuary slab. He squeezed the handle and a gentle spray of warm water was directed on the congealed blood that clung to the corpse. He asked his assistant to help him turn the body.

“The blood has cleared revealing no lacerations to the thighs or groin area.” He parted the fleshy buttocks with the pencil and winced as he saw the damage to the anal area. There were two deep tears to the rectal sphincter, which travelled several inches in each direction and appeared to continue upward into the lower intestine.

 “The subject has been subjected to sustained electric shock torture. A low voltage has been used to ensure the victim doesn’t die of a heart attack, but he would have endured incredible pain. The rectal area shows extensive lacerations contusive with violent anal rape probably by several perpetrators.”

Graham Libby had seen every kind of victim a coroner could see. Victims of violent torture always made him feel incredibly vulnerable. The thought of being restrained and subjected to excruciating pain made him nauseous. The Jewish man on the slab bore all the marks of a gang member, and gang members lived by a violent code of ethics. It made little difference in the end though how tough they were. Everyone was made of flesh and blood that is frighteningly fragile. Devastating trauma can be caused to the human form by anything hard or sharp, fire, chemicals or electricity. The man on the slab was subjected to a hideous ordeal before the bullet, which had killed him, finally ended his pain. It appeared to have been self inflicted although he couldn’t confirm it until the tests for gunshot residue was completed and returned. The fact that the dead man had finally ended his own torment gave Graham Libby little comfort. He took several swabs from the dead man`s hands to send to ballistics. The science of ballistics identifies which gun was used to commit a specific crime. It is the oldest forensic science. It`s especially used to link a firearm to the bullets they have fired. All gun barrels leave distinctive marks on their bullets, and once a firearm is found it can be identified with absolute certainty whether it is the particular gun being sought for that particular crime. Firing a bullet leaves distinctive marks on the bullets, which are caused by the rifling grooves found inside the gun barrel. Graham Libby had to apply forensic pathology to the firearm wound to distinguish whether it was definitely suicide, an accident or murder.

By studying the inlet and exit holes, he deduced the direction of the bullet. He also knew from which distance and angle the shot was fired. A bullet striking the skin at right angles makes a clean hole in the skin, which is slightly bigger than its own diameter. The skins elasticity makes it stretch in front of the bullet and then shrink as it passes, leaving a rim where the surface of the skin has been destroyed. If the bullet strikes from an angle then the entrance hole is oval shaped. Exit wounds on the other hand, show substantial tearing and puckering outward. The exit holes are usually much bigger than the entrance wound as the hot metal bullet flattens when it impacts with muscle and bone tissue. In the case of firearm suicides when a muzzle is held against the skin, a rush of compressed gas and their subsequent expansion tears the flesh into a cross shape and the wound is much wider than the bullet.

“The skin around the bullet wound to the lower jaw, beneath the chin is severely blackened. The skin inside the wound is torn into a cross shape and is also blackened, indicating suicide,” Graham Libby said for the camera. He removed the latex gloves from his hands and dropped them into a medical waste bin, and then he walked to a hand sink and washed his hands for much longer than he needed to. Graham Libby glanced into a square mirror, which was fixed to the wall above the sink, and he noticed that the deep lines at the corner of his eyes were spreading. He sighed trying to expel the sick feeling in his guts but he knew that it would stay with him for a while yet.

Chapter 33

Chen/ Mersey Tunnel

Chen was thrown backwards by the blast from the sting grenade. He felt like a sledge hammer had hit him. His battle vest had taken the brunt of the blast, and protected his vital organs from the rubber shrapnel projectiles. The night vision visor saved his face and eyes from any critical injuries, but the apparatus was hanging shattered from his face. He glanced around the service tunnel at his men. Two of them were sat on the floor nearby in a similar state of shock to him, but they didn’t appear to be seriously injured. The men at the rear of the column rushed forward to the aid of their Task Force colleagues, and as they reached Chen the gas from the sting grenade hit them. One of his men removed his respirator from his utility belt and placed it over his face. It covered his eyes, nose and mouth and fed him oxygen through a valve. Chen’s eyes were streaming as he was helped up to his feet. The Task Force team checked each other over for any serious injuries and made sure that everyone was protected from the tear gas.

“We need to move out,” Chen said, “fire a volley down that tunnel at boot level. Let`s see if they have left us any more nasty surprises.” Two Task Force men opened fire and the muzzle flashes illuminated the tunnel. They emptied full magazines and the bullets ricocheted down the narrow tunnel knocking huge chunks of concrete from the walls. The tunnel remained silent.

“Did you see something then?” Chen asked the group. He shone his torch down the tunnel and dark tendrils of smoke drifted across the beam. Chen raised a finger to his lips hushing his men into silence. The dull sound of metal and glass crashing reached them.

“They`re in the main traffic tunnel and there`s a fire down there,” Chen spoke into the coms channel, “Major we`re going to follow the Brigade men into the main tunnel. There seems to be a fire there and we can hear what sounds like a car crash.” The channel crackled then went silent. They were too deep beneath the river and thousands of tons of concrete too communicate with the support departments above. Chen checked his watch. The small oxygen valves in their respirators would last twenty minutes.

 “We follow them for ten minutes then we will reassess our oxygen,” Chen ordered and the Task Force team headed down the tunnel into the choking fumes in formation.

One hundred yards further on there was a culvert, which joined the service shaft to their right hand side. Chen held up his hand to halt the team. He held three fingers up and pointed down the culvert. A Task Force member fired three shots down the tunnel through the thickening smoke. There was no response.

 “Let`s move,” Chen ordered. The Task Force men entered the culvert, which was pitch-dark. Twenty yards on they entered the main body of the two lane traffic tunnel. Flames danced from somewhere in the tunnel that they couldn’t see. The tunnel had a bend about five hundred yards to their left, and the fire was beyond that out of their sight. The tunnel was two lanes wide and was shaped like the inside of a giant pipe. Either side of the road there was a raised walkway, which was for service crew to access the tunnel without affecting the traffic flow. Every hundred yards there was an emergency fire point, which contained a fire hose and portable extinguishers. In the event of a serious road traffic accident fire crews had no chance of bringing fire engines into the tunnel until all the traffic was moved. Metal railings separated the raised walkway from the road.

 The Task Force men looked at the bedlam in front of them and waited for Chen. Chen looked in both directions along the walkways and there was no sign of the brigade men. Cars were stopped bumper to bumper as far as the eye could see. Some had crashed into the cars in front when the lights were turned off. The drivers whose headlights were intact once they had come to a standstill had switched them on, and dark shadows flickered across the arched ceiling. Many of the people were out of their cars helping those that were injured, but many had already abandoned their vehicles when the smoke had started to appear, and headed back up the tunnel on foot. It was a scene of sheer chaos. The approaching sound of gunfire as the Task Force cleared their path down the tunnel had caused even more panic. There were hundreds of people wandering up the tunnel away from the fire, some of them injured, and most of them with dirty faces. Breathing normally was becoming almost impossible as the thick acrid smoke drifted up to the ceiling and then down the walls. They had no chance of identifying the Brigade men in this mayhem.

 “We need to get to that fire,” Chen said, “if they came this way then that`s the way they would have gone.” Chen was correct in his assumption. Undercover MI6 agent Neil Clarke was leading his men past the burning bus as the Task Force men had entered the culvert behind them. The bus passengers had long since run away from the crash and the ensuing fire. The unfortunate driver of the car that had collided with the bus was trapped in his seat by the steering wheel. The fire had licked around the underside of his car for ages while concerned witnesses tried to free him from the wreck. Eventually the fire had become too intense for even the bravest Samaritans, and they had to leave the screaming driver to burn. Clarky and his men had watched fascinated as they ran past the bizarre scene.

“He`s fucking toast,” Glinka laughed as he stared at the burning car.

 “Shut up you moron,” Clarky hissed to the young skinhead. He reached into a car and took an abandoned baseball cap from the back seat and pulled it onto his shaved head. The Brigade men clicked onto what he was doing and followed suit. Some grabbed abandoned jackets and raincoats to make them look more normal. Baseball caps covered their bald heads and discarded gloves hid Swastika tattoos. They headed up the tunnel away from the fire taking as much looted clothing as they could muster.

 Chen and the Task Force team arrived at the bus minutes behind the skinheads. They surveyed the carnage and they watched in horror as they saw that the driver of the burning car was still twitching in the inferno. Despite the raging flames that engulfed him his will to survive wouldn’t allow him to surrender to the flames. The truth was that he was beyond saving. Chen nodded toward the car and passed his fingers across his throat. The Task Force man closest to him understood the order, and fired four bullets into the burning man. He stopped struggling and slumped in his seat, his pain all gone.

“Grab that hose,” Chen ordered and three Task Force men sprang into action.

“Jam it into the railings and point it at the bus, you two do the same with the hose on the opposite side of the road.” Two more men jumped over the railings onto the roof of an abandoned car and then leaped from roof to roof across the tunnel until they reached the other side. The brass hose nozzles were jammed into the metal bars and then the water was switched on. Two powerful jets of water arced across the tunnel into the burning bus. Steam billowed upward toward the tunnels curved ceiling. The hissing noise was deafening and it echoed down the tunnel.

 Chen gave thumbs up sign and the Task Force men headed up the tunnel away from the bus. Two men were on one walkway; Chen and the others were on the opposite side of the road. They made good time as they moved up the tunnel and passed the first members of the escaping public in a few minutes. Chen pointed to his eyes and then to the stragglers. The Task Force men studied them looking for anything that would identify them as 18^th Brigade members.

Neil Clark and the brigade men had reached the back of the traffic jam. Cars were trapped in the tunnel by the vehicles behind them, but the last car in the line was drivable, as there was nothing behind it.

“We`re splitting up here,” Clarky said heading for the vehicle. He opened the passenger door and climbed across the centre console into the driver`s seat. Glinka opened the rear door and attempted to climb in. He froze when Clarky shoved the cold metal barrel of his 9mm Berretta in his face.

“I said we are splitting up knobhead, now shut the door before I put a big hole in your thick head,” Clarky needed to get away from the Brigade men without blowing his cover.

“Hey that`s my car,” said a black man, who was standing on the walkway trying to see what was going on in the tunnel. Clarky climbed out of the seat and approached the man smiling.

“Listen I was moving it out of the way so that we can all move....” Clarky didn’t finish the sentence; instead he head butted the man on the bridge of the nose. The black man collapsed to his knees, and Clarky searched his jacket pockets and found the man`s car keys. With the car keys in his hand he turned back toward the car. Glinka was stood in front of the open driver`s door with a .38mm Colt in one hand and his claw hammer in the other.

“I`ll take them. I am a fucking moron am I?” Glinka snarled. He had never liked Clarky. There was something sneaky about him, something not quite right.

Clarky tossed the keys at him gently aiming toward the hand that held the Colt. Glinka instinctively tried to catch the car keys and only succeeded in dropping his gun. His face had a stunned expression as he watched the weapon clatter along the road. Clarky reached for his own gun and Glinka launched at him with the hammer. The steel claw glanced off his forehead cleaving a flap of skin from the bone. Blood flowed from the gash into his left eye. Clarky dipped his knees slightly and twisted his hips simultaneously making his body like a coiled spring. He thrust his right fist upward beneath Glinka`s chin, straightening his knees and hips to maximise the impact. The vicious uppercut caught Glinka with his mouth open, which any boxer will tell you is `Goodnight Vienna`. Glinka staggered backward against the car and spat three broken teeth mixed with blood and saliva onto the tarmac. He managed to compose himself and launched forward again, bringing the hammer down in a flashing arc. Clarky stepped sideways to avoid the blow and kicked Glinka in the stomach. The young skinhead bent double with the force of the kick and he gasped for breath. Clarky stamped the edge of his boot against the side of Glinka`s knee dislocating the joint and ripping the tendons. Glinka fell against the car screaming in agony. The other Brigade men watched in awe as Clarky destroyed Glinka, who had a fearsome reputation as a fighter. They weren`t sure what they should do, run or join in. While they watched the action deciding what to do, Chen and the Task Force men had caught up with them, and had them covered from the elevated walkways on both sides of the road.

“Drop your weapons and lie down on the floor with your hands above your heads. Do it now,” Chen shouted. The Terrorist Task Force who looked like Robocop and bristled with weapons surrounded the Brigade men. The skinheads put up their hands, dropped their weapons and lay on the ground, all except for Clarky.

Clarky picked up the car keys and bolted for the abandoned vehicle. He slammed the door and put the keys into the ignition, and started the engine. The Task Force men opened fire at the tyres and they were shredded in seconds before the car had even moved. Chen fired six well aimed shots into the engine block and a plume of steam rose from the vehicle. The engine stopped and Clarky raised his hands in surrender. He placed his bleeding forehead on the steering wheel exhausted. Uniformed policemen arrived with sirens blaring and blue lights flashing.

“Cuff them and take them to the Task Force office,” Chen ordered.

Chapter 34

Tank/Faz/Dano

Tank and Grace Farrington reached the motor room, and found the door barricaded.

 “Blow it open,” Faz ordered. A Task Force member approached the door and placed a disc shaped charge to the frame next to the hinges. The charges were shaped, which forces the explosion in a desired direction to maximise the destructive effect. He flicked a red button to activate the timer, which could be set to five second delays.

“Fire in the hole,” the squad man shouted, and the team took cover to protect themselves from flying debris. As the dust cleared the door appeared to have remained intact despite the hinges being blown off. Tank took three big strides and smashed his huge shoulder against the weakened door. The wood splintered and cracked down the middle but only moved a few feet. He stepped back and launched his shoulder against the door a second time. This time the door disintegrated and the metal lockers behind it clattered across the motor room allowing them access. Tank kneeled and pointed his 9mm Glock into the dark building, and signalled the team to enter. The Terrorist Task Force entered the motor room hugging the walls and searching every potential hiding place, and then quickly declared the area clear.

“There is one casualty in the control room,” an agent informed Tank, “he`s got a nasty bang on the head, but he`ll live. It looks like they`ve killed the power in the tunnel.”

 “Can you get it back on?” Tank asked.

“It`s already done Tank. It was an isolation switch, which was turned off. We should hear the motors kicking in any minute now.” Sure enough a loud mechanical whirring noise began as the exhaust fans started to turn.

 “Major have you picked up anything from the drones?” Tank asked over the coms channel. The unmanned helicopters were fitted with heat seeking equipment, which could locate, and track human body heat. Military drones were also armed with air cannons capable of firing fifteen hundred .75mm shells a minute. They have been used extensively in the mountains of Pakistan and Afghanistan in the hunt for Osama bin Laden. Unmanned drones are the cutting edge of military technology because they are fast, silent and have a range of devastating weaponry.

“They are showing several suspects entering a building site close to your position, but the CCTV pictures can`t distinguish Brigade men from the construction workers,” the Major answered, “uniform police units are moving into the area now, but there are over four hundred workmen on that site.”

The City of Liverpool was granted the status of City of Culture Capital for 2008. The title had sparked a tidal wave of building work as the city was regenerated and refurbished in anticipation of the tourists it would attract. The historic skyline now looked like a scene from H.G.Wells` War of the Worlds, as huge metal arms crisscrossed the city. Colossal cranes worked day and night building museums, art galleries and shopping malls. A two mile square area of the city centre was bulldozed and was undergoing rebuilding work twenty four hours a day. The Brigade men had split up and with the aid of the safety gear they had dressed in, were almost impossible to distinguish from genuine construction tradesmen.

“We need to get onto that construction site and look for them up close and personal,” Tank said, “we will split into four teams, one hundred yards apart, and stay in contact at all times. Major we need air support and back up from uniform units. Tell them to identify suspects but not to approach, repeat do not approach.” Tanks request went over the open coms channel so that every uniformed officer in the city centre could hear it. The secret listening post at the old Newborough School programmed two unmanned drones to cover the area. They were deployed to hover unseen like huge black wasps above the unfinished buildings. Uniformed police monitored exit and entrance gates to the building sites, but the perimeters were so extensive it would be impossible to stop a determined fugitive from escaping.

Tank and Faz entered the construction site and headed toward a four storey concrete structure. It wasn’t possible to identify exactly what it was destined to be, but there didn’t appear to be any work taking place on it. Tank scanned the open floors of the structure and noticed a lone builder on the second floor. He spotted Tank and the other Task Force members entering the site and scurried off behind an unfinished staircase.

 “I have a suspect on the second floor of the structure I am labelling now,” Tank spoke into the coms channel. Tank had used lasers and the labelling system many times as a member of an international Special Forces unit, who were tasked with finding the whereabouts of the nefarious terrorist leader Yasser Ahmed, in the mountains of northern Turkey.

Labelling a site or a target was done using a laser, and was perfected in the mountains of Afghanistan called the Tora Bora during the search for Osama bin Laden. Ground forces would aim a laser gun at a distant group of Taliban, or a suspect cave and then request air support. Minutes later quadruple vapour trails could be seen scoring the Afghan sky as American B-52 bombers approached at ten thousand feet. Suddenly huge dust plumes and boiling orange flames would erupt from the target identified by the laser, leaving nothing alive. Over a six month period Tora Bora was the most concentrated cluster bomb attack ever launched, but the elusive mastermind of 9/11 slipped the net.

 Faz broke left and took up a position of cover on the ground floor of the structure, at the bottom of the staircase. Tank ran to the right and waited at the bottom of a scaffold, which was attached to the open side of the building. He lifted a canvas sheet, which covered the metal framework, and waited for the information from the drones.

 “The drone is showing a single target located on the second floor, and he is positive for metallic substances,” said the recon agent from the listening post.

The drone had scanned the suspect for the presence of any substance, which could be a weapon. The presence of metal indicated a gun, but it could just as easily be a drill or a spirit level. Faz used a thumbs-up sign to indicate that she was clear to proceed. Tank responded with an ok signal and started to climb up the scaffold with his gun holstered. Grace started up the stairs.

 Neil Danelley, Dano, waited silently in the dark stairwell. He was holding his breath so that he could hear everything, even the lightest footstep. His hand was sweating around the handle of his 9mm Luger, and then he swapped the gun to his other hand and wiped the sweaty palm on his jeans. He studied the gun in his hand and smiled. The Luger was a German made pistol used extensively by Nazi officers in World War 2. They were standard issue for all ranks above Sergeant. Dano had bought it from a collector in Glasgow, and paid three times the firearms value. The vendor had shown Dano papers, which belonged to its original owner, who was stationed at the Auschwitz death camp in 1943. The fact that gun was used to kill Jews thrilled Dano and his fascist friends; he recounted the gun`s history to anyone who would listen. He hadn’t always been a racist, but the changing Britain he had grown up in made him into the worst kind of bigot.

His auntie was a primary school teacher for twenty years, and she always dreamed of teaching underprivileged children in Africa. The opportunity to teach in the Sudan arose and she jumped at the chance. She settled in well at first although she never really became accustomed to the blazing heat. She decided to apply some of her most successful teaching methods to the curriculum of her new school. She first donated a teddy bear to her class of forty students, with the idea of each pupil taking it home for the night, and then writing a diary of what the teddy bear had done in class the next day. The project had worked well as it incorporates the whole class and improves both reading and writing skills. The first task was to name the bear. The children in the class chose the name Mohammed for the bear, which didn’t seem to be a problem to the unsuspecting teacher, as she had twelve pupils with the same name in the class. The pupils had gone home very excited and told their parents about the new teacher and their new project. Extremist Islamic hardliners in the community became offended and complained to the police. Using the name of the great prophet of Islam was taken as an illegal insult against Islam itself, and the teacher was arrested. The incident was to cause one of the biggest political incidents ever experienced between the West and the Islamic community of North Africa. The naive schoolmistress was imprisoned in appalling conditions while radical fundamentalists took to the streets of Sudan demanding that she be beheaded for the affront to the great prophet.

The incident made Dano question his faith and more importantly the rational of other religions. It did not seem at all fair that someone wanted to cut off his aunt`s head over a teddy bear. As his education progressed, and he grew older, immigration in Britain became daily news. Large sections of the country`s biggest cities became ghetto`s and no go areas for the indigenous white population. The borders of Europe were dismantled in 2005 and a tidal wave of Eastern European migrants swamped Britain`s welfare state. The education system couldn’t cope with the influx of foreign children, and the health service imploded beneath the strain of pregnant immigrants that came here specifically to give birth. The final straw was when he was sent home from school for wearing a crucifix, which his grandmother had given to him shortly before she died. The government and large blue chip companies banned the wearing of the crucifix because it caused offence to minority religions. Dano couldn’t believe what was happening to his country when the government banned schools from performing children`s Christmas nativity plays. The indigenous Christian population of the United Kingdom felt as if it were under siege. Centuries old traditions like Christmas and the wearing of the symbol of Christ, the crucifix, were becoming outlawed in their own country, to appease immigrant opinion. Yet Islamic extremist teachers were allowed to preach sermons of Jihad and hate openly on the streets of Britain, protected by the British police. Political correctness and the rise of radical Islam created more racists in the late 1990`s, and early 21^st century, than any other influence. Dano quickly became involved in far right politics and was swept into the 18^th Brigade along with thousands of like-minded angry young men.

 Dano leaned against the dusty wall behind him and listened intently. He heard a scuffle on the stairs below him and he jumped, someone was close by. The scaffold frame attached to the outside of the building to his right creaked beneath Tank`s heavy weight, and Dano knew that he was being hunted by several foe. His Luger was loaded with eleven rounds, and that was all he had. He hadn’t expected to be in a gunfight with Special Forces. He wasn’t ready to die just yet either, and he realised that if he fired one bullet he was fair game to every armed officer in the country. Another scuff on the stairs made him hurry his decision making process. He had to lose the weapon or risk being shot.

 “Don`t shoot,” Dano shouted down the stairwell, “I am throwing my gun down the stairs.” He loved his Luger but he could always buy another with same sick history attached to it. He tossed the gun onto the concrete stairs and it clattered into the darkness out of site.

“Step away from the stairs and raise your hands where I can see them,” Faz shouted as she climbed the steps slowly. She picked up the weapon. The command echoed across the unfinished building. Grace rounded the first landing pointing her Glock 9mm into the second floor space. There was no sign of the suspect. Tank reached the same floor and signalled to her that he couldn’t see the target either with an exaggerated shake of his head. She rounded the corner and pressed her back against the wall staring into the gloom trying to make sense of the shadows, but she couldn’t see who had thrown their gun away.

Dano appeared from behind a stud wall and hit Faz with a short length of three-by-two wood. The wood made a thunking sound in the empty concrete structure. She cried out and fell forward onto the dusty floor causing a cloud of cement dust to rise around her.

“Fucking hell you`re a bird!” hissed Dano startled by the female cry, “and a bloody nignog as well,” he snarled as he kicked her in the ribs knocking the wind from her lungs. Tank fired a warning shot above his head to stop the attack, and ran across the concrete floor quickly closing the distance between him and Grace. Dano twisted back behind the stud wall out of sight and followed it until he reached an open lift shaft, then he froze and held his breath once again.

“Are you ok Grace?” asked Tank as he approached her. She was breathing deeply trying to get her breath back, and holding her ribs where the vicious kick had landed. Tank and Grace was an item for nearly two years now, which was completely against Task Force policy. There was sexual chemistry between them since the first day they had met. They kept their relationship a secret but rumours about them were rife. Little glances and intimate comments overheard by nosey ears had fuelled speculation.

He touched her cheek and she opened her eyes. She seemed a little startled. There was a trickle of blood running down her dark skin just below her ear.

 “Did you hear what he called me Tank?” she asked as she sat up. She was pouting in a false expression of distaste. Tank had seen that look a hundred times and he knew that she wasn’t seriously hurt.

 “What offended you most, the bird bit or the nignog?” asked Tank as he pulled her to her feet. He hadn’t heard the term nignog since he was a child, and even then he thought it sounded like something his grandmother would drink at Christmas.

“Bird!” she said exasperated, “Now I`m angry and he`s in really big trouble.” Faz dusted herself down and checked that her gun was safe. Tank watched her facial expression fascinated by her dark eyes and chiselled features. She turned quickly and disappeared behind the stud wall without saying a word.

 “Oh dear, she really is pissed off,” Tank said to no one. He began to move in a parallel direction to her but on the other side of the partition. Tank moved quietly for a big man, and he arrived at the unfinished lift shaft completely unheard. He moved swiftly round the partition and bumped straight into Neil Danelley. Dano was as surprised as Tank which slowed his reaction for a split second. Tank smashed his forehead into Dano`s face breaking his nose with the devastating force of the impact. Dano was knocked backward by the sickening blow but swung the thick piece of wood instinctively. Tank ducked beneath the blow and hit the big skinhead in the midriff with a vicious side-kick, which catapulted him through the partition wall. Chunks of plasterboard flew in all directions as the stud wall disintegrated beneath the big man. Amazingly Dano shook his head and picked himself up from the floor and faced Tank again. The two men were evenly matched for weight, and both were unusually muscular from years of pumping iron. Tank saw a flash of uncertainty in the skinhead`s eyes. It was only for a second but it was definitely there. Mentally he was already beaten. Tank caught sight of a blur of movement to the man`s right hand side, but unfortunately for Dano he hadn`t. Faz had approached him from the side and once she was in striking distance she transferred her weight to the ball of her left foot. She began a 360` spin and raised her right leg at an increasing angle as the spin progressed. The physics behind spinning kicks means that the further the exponent spins the more devastating the impact becomes. Faz caught the skinhead in the face with the heel of her thick military boot, cracking his jaw in three places and knocking him backwards through the plaster partition again. Dano lay on his back out cold.

 “I hate that phrase `bird`,” she said as she patted cement dust from her battle vest. Tank thought that he would be well advised to remember never to call her that.

Chapter 35

Roman/ Alexis/the Airbase

Roman darted for the limousine as the hangar turned into a bloodbath. He dived into the open passenger door and slammed it closed behind him. He watched one of his bodyguards spinning violently as he was hit in the shoulder by a bullet fired by one of Alexis` men. The injured man jerked a second time reminding Roman of some teenagers he had once seen break-dancing. The man twitched robotically, and then he toppled into the oily inspection pit as a third bullet made his face disappear. A stray round struck the door and Roman backed away from the window. The limo had two and a half inch thick plasti-glass windows, which were totally bullet proof when they were intact. Any bullet damage to the material made it susceptible to any further ballistic impacts. Beneath the normal body panels were armour plates, which were initially manufactured for British Warrior tanks. The underside of the vehicle was reinforced to protect the occupants from a bomb attack. The front driver`s door was flung open at the same time as the front passenger door. Two bodyguards clambered into the driver`s compartment trying to escape the deadly bullets of the snipers. The window next to Roman shattered into a spider`s web pattern as the sniper above the hangar door turned his attention to the limo.

“Get this fucking thing moving!” Roman shouted, moving away from the damaged window instinctively. The bodyguard in the driver`s seat reached for the ignition keys and found they weren’t there. He pulled down the sun visor desperate to find them, but it became obvious that the dead chauffer had them on his person. Two more high velocity bullets struck the windscreen causing web patterns to appear, and long deep cracks radiated across the glass. It was holding for now but wouldn’t withstand the bullets forever.

“Get the keys, what are you waiting for?” Roman hissed and banged the back of the driver`s seat. A bullet hit the damaged side glass panel and a chunk the size of coin hit Roman in the cheek. He touched his finger to the wound and felt warm blood trickling down his face. The driver saw the look on Roman`s face in the rear view mirror and he knew that he was probably safer outside the limo at the moment. Mikhail Lebedev had worked for Roman Kordinski for five years. Roman had selected him because of his Russian Spetsnaz training. He had spent six long years fighting the Muslim rebels in Chechnya before the Soviet dissolution began. Mikhail was Jewish and hated the Muslim insurgents with a passion. Once in the employ of Roman his hatred and talents were applied to seeking out, and assassinating Chechen gangsters that threatened Roman`s business interests. He was eventually arrested for the murder of a Chechen gang leader, his wife and three children in a suburb of Moscow. Mikhail was sentenced to eighty years hard labour. He was sent to one of Russia`s Stalin built gulags situated near the borders with China and Mongolia. The prison was called IK-10, which is four-hundred miles away from the nearest city Chita, three thousand seven hundred and seventy four miles east of Moscow. The journey for any prospective visitors by train from Moscow takes one hundred and six hours, and ends with a two-hundred kilometre taxi ride from the station to the prison. For the impoverished Russian public this ruled out the chance of ever receiving a visit from loved ones. The prisoners are forced to work in nearby uranium mines for twelve hours a day in sub zero temperatures, which was back breaking, and soul destroying work. The radio-active minerals from the uranium mines affect the water table that supplies the prisoner`s drinking water. Life expectancy for prisoners is four years.

 The chain gang, which he was part of, was involved in a bus crash. He was just eight weeks into his jail term. No one survived and most of the bodies were never recovered because of the remoteness of its position. The bodies recovered were burnt beyond all recognition, which pointed to a road accident, however there were reports locally which alleged the dead bodies recovered had gunshot wounds, but all the witnesses gradually disappeared too.

 The bus crash was caused by Roman Kordinski and his men in order to spring Mikhail from his incarceration. Mikhail owed Roman his loyalty and his life. Mikhail opened the door of the limo and darted round the bonnet to where the dead chauffer lay. He rifled his pockets desperately trying to find the keys. The jacket pocket was empty. A sniper`s bullet slammed into the bumper of the vehicle just inches away from his head. Shards of plastic fender struck him in the neck, and he dived to the floor. The sniper above the hangar door had a clear shot at him unless he did something. Next to the dead chauffer was his discarded machinegun. The driver grabbed the Special Forces weapon and removed the safety. He couldn’t see where the sniper was hiding but he was somewhere on the access platform above the hangar entrance. The platform was manufactured from 2mm steel plate which would stop any normal bullets however, the B&T machinegun was full of armour piercing bullets. He squeezed the trigger and the machinegun bucked in his hand as if it were trying to escape from his grasp. The volley of high powered armour piercing bullets ripped through the metal plates and blew large holes in the hangar wall above them. The bullets hit the steel with enough velocity to penetrate it, but they were severely flattened by the force of the impact. Six of the flattened projectiles entered the snipers chest, abdomen and groin areas virtually cutting him in half. He rolled over the edge of the platform, but his exposed intestines caught on a protruding steel bolt leaving yards of glistening viscera flesh hanging from the structure.

The bodyguard breathed a sigh of relief because he knew that the second sniper was behind the vehicle and couldn’t see him. The gunfight seemed to have dissipated and he could no longer see Alexis and his men. The hangar door that they had entered through was flapping open in the wind. There were three bodies close to the door. One man was seriously injured and was crawling slowly toward it. He searched the chauffer`s trouser pockets and found what he was looking for; all he had to do now was get back into the car alive. He took a deep breath and bolted for the open door, a shot hissed past his ear and he felt the breeze as the bullet narrowly missed him. He threw himself into the driver`s compartment and breathed a massive sigh of relief as he slid into the seat. He said nothing as he inserted the keys into the ignition and started the engine. The bodyguard selected reverse gear and released the handbrake. The vehicle lurched backward at high speed, and the tyres squealed on the concrete leaving a melted rubber trail behind. The back window exploded in a shower of broken glass and Roman flung himself onto the floor of the limo. The driver turned the steering wheel violently to his right and the limo turned one hundred and eighty degrees, so that the windscreen faced the elevated sniper. He accelerated hard and the limo drove beneath the snipers position to safety. Roman sat up and patted the driver on the shoulder in congratulations.

“Alexis is a tricky man,” Roman said laughing “he is very clever placing snipers in there. But he is not the only one with brains. I have a trick or two of my own, don’t you worry about that.”

The limo screeched out of the hangar onto the old runway system. Grass and weeds poked through the ancient concrete surface in random patterns. Roman could see Alexis and the two surviving members of his team approaching the black Volkswagen they had arrived in. They were three hundred yards away across the ancient tarmac.

Alexis stopped running when he heard the limo escaping the hangar, and he stared at the elongated vehicle as it sped away. He locked stares with Roman across the abandoned airfield. The two men glared at each other with venom in their eyes. They lived in a fickle violent world where friends became enemies and enemies died quickly.

“Get in, we need to get out of here, we can deal with Roman Kordinski another day when he least expects it,” Alexis shouted to his remaining men. Alexis climbed into the passenger seat and thought it was odd that the engine hood didn’t look closed properly. The driver inserted the ignition keys into the steering column. Alexis watched him turn the keys, and it was as if the world was switched to slow motion.

“Slow down,” Roman ordered. He lowered the shattered window to get a better view. He watched Alexis and his men climb into the Toureg, and laughed uncontrollably when the vehicle exploded into a massive fireball, which plumed sixty yards into the air.

Chapter 36

Terrorist Task Force Meeting / 1 Week later

 Tank looked from the top floor window of Canning Place, which was the headquarters of the Merseyside police force, and the home of the international Terrorist Task Force. The dark waters of the river Mersey flowed passed on its journey to the Irish Sea. There was a flotilla of tall wooden sailing ships floating near the Albert Docks, with their white canvas sails billowing in the wind. Tank loosened his tie around his thick neck but still felt very uncomfortable. He picked up his suit jacket and pulled it on. The feeling of being restricted increased as the material stretched over his muscular frame. The wearing of business suits was mandatory for meetings when government ministers were attending, unless one was a serving member of the conventional armed forces, in which case military uniform was worn. Tank looked through the glass porthole in the door at the meeting room and frowned. The Admiral of the fleet stood talking to the Field Marshall of the British army, and the Wing Air Commander of the Royal Air Force. Behind them was the Minister of Defence, who was in deep conversation with Major Stanley Timms. Across the room were senior officers from MI5, MI6 and the Organised Crime Unit. Tank hated meetings with the top brass, especially the spooks of the intelligence agencies. Grace Farrington entered the office that he was in, and she joined him at the round window to inspect the gathering of Britain`s military boffins.

 “All we need now are the yanks and we`ll have a complete set,” Faz said squeezing Tanks huge bicep through his jacket sleeve.

“They`re on their way up,” Tank said, walking back to the window.

“What, you are kidding aren’t you?” she replied, “Who are we expecting?”

 “NSA, CIA and the FBI, full house I think,” Tank said.

The door opened and three well groomed men in dark suits walked into the room. They inspected Tank and Faz with expert glances, recognising them as allied agents. The intelligence agencies trained operatives to assess people quickly with the briefest of glances. They were taught to scrutinise subjects in seconds without raising suspicion. Tank and Faz was identified as members of an agency, which agency didn’t really matter. One of the men at the rear of the new group nodded to Tank in recognition. Tank nodded back but remained silent while shaking hands with the American agents. Tank recognised the agent as a member of Delta Force, who had accompanied his unit in the search for Yasser Ahmed in the mountains of Pakistan. Delta Force men were often recruited into America`s secret services, just as the Terrorist Task Force agents was picked from Britain`s elite fighting forces. The door to the meeting room opened and Major Timms ushered them into the inner office. Everyone took a seat around an elongated wooden table. The table had a just polished sheen to it, which only a dozen layers of lacquer can achieve. The Major cleared his throat and tapped his hand on the table to gain attention.

“I think we are all here,” he began, “I would like to just start the meeting by introducing our American colleagues, who some of you may not be familiar with.” The Major pointed to one of the Americans, who was blond and tanned. Freckles covered his nose and cheeks; a sign that most of his time was spent on the golf course in the sunshine.

 “Gentlemen this is agent Shaw from the National Security Agency,” Major Timms said.

The NSA is the American government`s intelligence agency. It is responsible for the collection and analysis of foreign communications. They are experts in the fields of cryptanalysis and cryptography, which is basically code breaking and code making. The NSA has the capacity to eavesdrop every telephone call and e-mail made anywhere on the planet. The agency mission is to identify and secure military, diplomatic and all other sensitive, confidential communications made by enemy and allied governments alike. It is also the world biggest employer of mathematicians, and the owner of the largest single group of supercomputers. For many years the US government never acknowledged its existence. The NSA was referred to as `no such agency` and also `never say anything`. The headquarters are at Fort George, Maryland, approximately ten miles north of Washington. The electricity bill for the NSA building in 2007 was thirty one million dollars, and there are satellite photographs of the site, which show eighteen thousand parking spaces for its non-existent employees. It is the largest listening post in the world.

“This is agent Galvin of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, and agent David Grey of the CSA,” the Major continued. The ex-Delta Force man nodded at the other people round the table. Tank remembered him well, as an outstanding soldier. He had obviously been drafted into the CIA, which was based at Langley, Virginia, a few miles east of Washington. A Muslim suicide bomber attacked the headquarters at Langley in 1993. Mir Aimal Kansi, a Pakistani national killed himself and two CIA agents with his improvised device. The CIA had field operatives all over the world; many were deployed as junior members of a diplomat`s staff to cover their real identities. They are usually ex-Special Forces men, and are responsible for America’s clandestine and covert operations. The CIA now acts upon the information gathered by the NSA, where previously the CIA gathered its own data. In the 1950`s before the formation of the NSA, the CIA were also responsible for gathering vital military information. Their intelligence gathering had proved to be floored on several key occasions in modern history. On October 13^th, 1950 the CIA director assured President Truman that the Chinese Army would not invade Korea. Six days later over one-million Chinese troops crossed the border. The most recent CIA gaff was the absolute certainty that Saddam Hussein was in possession of weapons of mass destruction. Years after the allied invasion of Iraq there were no such weapons found. Saddam was found hiding in a hole in the ground. Despite all the efforts of the Allied invaders no weapons of mass destruction were ever found.

The formalities over, the Major went on to outline the situation to the multi-agency gathering. A wall opposite the window had a plasma screen attached to it. Images appeared and changed as the Major talked through recent events.

“We are now certain that the River Dee attack was carried out by members of a Russian organised crime syndicate. They employed members of the 18^th Brigade to snatch a Saudi national called Jeannie Kellesh. She is the daughter of a member of the Saudi royal family.”

“The riverboat bomb was made to look like an extremist attack in an attempt to confuse the investigation. A second attack at the Piccadilly rail terminus was also carried out to implicate Islamic extremists as the culprits. It was actually committed to destroy all the loose ends from the kidnap plot, and to cause civil unrest against our Muslim communities.”

 “It appears that there was a breakdown in the relationship between the two parties involved, and the Brigade went on the rampage, targeting Russian interests across the North West. We have six members of the Brigade in custody and they are undergoing interrogation. We also have two, and I repeat, two undercover agents being debriefed.” The Major looked over the top of his glasses and glared at the MI6 director, Garden. The Terrorist Task Force was aware that an Organised Crime Unit officer was working in the Brigade, but the MI6 agency had not disclosed that it too had penetrated its ranks.

“We have two dead Russians in the strong room of the casino, both shot with 9mm bullets from a gun which we recovered from Agent Simon Pinn of the Organised Crime Unit. The same gun killed a nineteen year old member of the Brigade who was found in the walk-in refrigerator of the casino.” The uniformed police superintendent in charge of the Organised Crime Unit flushed red with anger, which made Tank smirk. The police chief glared at Tank, and Grace kicked Tank`s foot under the table in an attempt to avoid the obvious oncoming conflict.

“My men had that casino sealed off, and the situation was under control until Officer John Tankersley and his team turned up. Do you have evidence that officer Pinn shot these people?” the police chief spluttered. Tank shifted in his chair and loosened his tie again. He grinned at the police chief.

“We have the gun, the bullets, three dead bodies, an empty safe and your officer`s prints all over the weapon. He has tested positive for gunshot residue on his hands, which proves positive that he fired that weapon. You don’t have to be Sherlock Holmes to work out that your officer will be charged with murder,” Tank countered. The police chief reddened again but thought better of arguing. The evidence was overwhelming, and they had expressed concerns themselves about their officer.

“We also have agent Neil Clarke in custody, who it turns out is a current employee of her Majesty`s MI6. He was arrested trying to escape capture and was bloody lucky that he wasn’t shot in the process,” the Major looked over his spectacles again at the MI6 director who wouldn’t meet his withering gaze.

“We needed to keep our agent`s position in the 18^th Brigade intact. He was trying not be compromised, which unfortunately did not happen. He was on the verge of communicating the contact names and details of right wing extremist leaders on the continent and across the US,” the MI6 director explained and he coughed nervously, “Clarke was just one of many agents we have infiltrating these groups. He was part of an Anglo-American intelligence gathering operation.”

 The three Americans glanced at each other embarrassed by what the MI6 man had disclosed. The operation was clandestine which meant that it should not be discussed outside of the agencies directly involved. The Minister of Defence glared at the Americans and made a note on his pad. Protocol insisted that allied intelligence agencies must inform the host government of any covert operations on its soil. Now was not the time or the place for remonstrations but the issue would not be forgotten.

“Washington has serious concerns about right wing extremists groups in our country and abroad. They are gaining significant political ground, especially when immigration and racial integration is concerned,” the NSA man explained, trying to lift the tense atmosphere. “They are receiving campaign funds running into the millions and their networks have become worldwide and well organised.” Tank looked at Faz and rolled his eyes up to the ceiling, politics, politics, politics he thought.

 “Back to the subject at hand gentlemen please,” the Major steered the meeting back on track. There were several serious breaches of political protocol highlighted so far, which could be dealt with by the Minister of Defence at a later date.

“The situation has gotten out of hand. We are staring at a serious international incident. The Saudis incorrectly bombed a suspected terror camp inside Syria`s border. The Kuwait army are reinforcing their borders with Saudi Arabia with over two-thousand tanks, which in turn has caused the Iranians to mobilise their armoured divisions. Syria and Israel are also moving troops into stand-off positions either side of the Golan Heights. The situation is a tinderbox gentlemen, which is exactly what the Russian Jewish gangs intended to create. They have caused a significant rift between the Islamic Arabian countries in the Middle East, and domestic turmoil in our towns and cities.” The Major paused to allow the significance of what he had just outlined sink in.

“Now the facts here in the UK are as follows. We have a dead Russian exile with injuries consistent with interrogation under torture. He was dumped along with audio tapes near a police station in London. The tapes hold recordings in which he accuses a high profile Russian businessman of kidnapping Jeannie Kellesh. We also recovered a mobile telephone which we can link to Roman Kordinski,” the Major paused a moment because the mention of the Russian oil tycoon`s name had caused a reaction from the Americans.

“We have recovered ten dead bodies from a disused airbase in Cheshire. All the men have injuries consistent with a gun battle. The men bear tattoos consistent with those found on Russian gang members, or the Organizatsiya. We haven’t identified all of them, but several have Russian military records, and all of them are Jewish extraction. The land is owned by a company which is registered in the Caiman Islands, and the director is one Roman Kordinski,” the Major studied the faces round the table and the Russian`s name was definitely familiar to them. His instincts told him that there was some history between Kordinski and the American intelligence agencies.

 “The Saudis now know that Jeannie Kellesh was not killed in the River Dee incident,” the Major stood up and walked to the window. A packed Mersey passenger ferry was docking at the Pierhead and hundreds of Japanese tourists were disembarking, cameras at the ready.

 “They know that she has been kidnapped, and the unprecedented spike in the cost of crude oil adds proof to the pudding. They also know that we know. The problem is that no one can actually broach the subject without endangering the girl. We think that she is in a Chechen medical facility inside Dagestan.”

“Are you planning to arrest the Russian?” asked agent Shaw, from the NSA.

Tank looked sternly at the tanned American and had to restrain himself from being abusive. “What kind of question is that? The man is responsible for two major terrorist attacks, which claimed hundreds of lives, and has sparked an international incident. Maybe we should ask him to apologise and stop being so naughty,” Tank was starting to lose his temper. The Major stepped into the breach.

 “We are going to arrest Roman Kordinski today. He will be taken to Belmarsh prison and held under the suspicion of terrorism act 2002, which means that we can hold him for 28 days before concrete charges need to be filed.”

“I am afraid that we must object to Kordinski being arrested today or any other day Major,” agent Garden of MI6 interrupted. The room was stunned into silence and the atmosphere suddenly became charged. The American agents were looking very uncomfortable every time Garden opened his mouth. He had already dropped them in it once today by exposing the covert Anglo-American intelligence mission. Tank and Grace looked at each other and a silent communication passed between them. Tank wanted to shoot Garden in the face but it probably wouldn’t go down well with the Minister of Defence. The Field Marshall, Admiral of the fleet and the Wing Commander shook their heads in disbelief. They were the heads of Britain`s armed forces, soldiers and fighting men. They didn’t hold any respect for the intelligence agencies, especially, MI6. Major Stanley Timms removed his glasses and placed them onto the polished table top. He reached for his glass of water and sipped it. His hand was shaking slightly as he placed the glass back down, but he remained silent. Everyone looked to the MI6 director to qualify his statement, except for the American agents who were looking down to avoid eye contact with anyone. They knew that agent Garden was about to slip on a huge political banana skin.

 “We have been gaining information from Kordinski for a number of years now, when I say we, I mean the joint intelligence agencies of the UK and America,” he stuttered, “his connections in the Kremlin, and other influential Soviet organisations are a valuable source of intelligence.”

Agent Galvin of the FBI looked up at the ceiling exasperated, and he could not believe that a spy of Garden`s rank was so incompetent, not to mention forthcoming. The room stayed silent.

 “The New York Police Department arrested Roman Kordinski and four of his Organizatsiya brigadiers six years ago. They were charged with racketeering, extortion, kidnap, multiple murders, and robbery with violence, I could go on all day,” agent Shaw said, “Kordinski is a very rich man with power and influence in the Soviet halls of government. He made a trade with the department of justice. He attained sensitive Russian military documents and other such top secret information; in return he was given his liberty.”

“He was given his liberty on the condition that he moved his business enterprises to the United Kingdom,” Tank finished the sentence for him. “Her Majesty`s MI6 knew all about this trade-off, and allowed him to come to Britain without letting anyone else know, because the Americans were sharing the information with them.” Tank spoke slowly and stared at the MI6 man in disgust.

“The information we have received from Kordinski has been vital to our dealings with the Soviet Union. We have detailed information about their nuclear fleet,” Garden tried to defend his position but the incredulous expressions around the room brought him to a stuttering halt.

 “It would be highly embarrassing for both our governments if Kordinski was to be arrested. If details of our arrangement were leaked to the press then every defence lawyer in America would have a field day in the appeal courts,” agent Shaw butted in, trying to assist the MI6 man. The British government would never acknowledge that such an agreement existed, but the look on the Minister of Defence`s face showed his horror at the situation. He had no prior knowledge of what he had just heard from his own head of department.

 “When is Kordinski being arrested Major?” the Minister asked looking at his watch. He needed to speak to the Prime Minister immediately. The political fall-out from this type of situation could be devastating to a government that won the general election on the back of a `tough on crime` policy. The fact that MI6 had agreed to an international gangster setting up business on British soil in return for military secrets was a shocking breech of public trust.

 The Major looked at his watch and then looked at Tank and smiled.

“We arrested him forty-five minutes ago,” the Major said, smiling at the now purple agent Garden.

Chapter 37

International Agencies meeting cont.

“I insist that he is released immediately, Minister,” Garden slammed his hand on the desk for effect. He was a very small weedy man in stature, so he felt the need to use grand gestures to make a point. Tank responded by slamming his huge fist on the table causing it to shudder violently, spilling water from the glasses on the table. Agent Garden jumped in fright on his chair, and looked at Tank with fear in his eyes.

 “You are in no position to insist anything Garden, this is a Terrorist Task Force investigation and we answer directly to the Prime Minister,” Tank said pointing a finger at the MI6 man, “and if you bang your hand on this table again I`ll break your arm.”

Garden sat back in his chair. His mouth opened as if he was about to retaliate, but the look in Tank`s eye made him think better of it.

 “Minister I think you should step in here,” said agent Shaw, “both our governments will suffer if Kordinski speaks out about our arrangement.”

The minister flicked through his papers aimlessly as he mulled over the conundrum. The intelligence agencies from both countries had shattered his confidence in their operational integrity. They had no integrity from what he had heard today. He looked at Tank across the table and imagined that he probably would break agent Garden`s arm without a second thought.

“At this point in time agent Tankersley I am inclined to believe that you would indeed break the MI6, Chief of Staff`s appendage, and I would jolly well recommend you for a commendation if you did,” growled the Minister of Defence. He could tell that his military chiefs were speechless at the behaviour of their allies, and their own intelligence community. Tank, the Major and Grace Farrington had brought this investigation this far in a professional impartial manner. The intelligence agencies appeared to operate unilaterally, with their own agendas top of the objective list.

 “Agent Garden, how long exactly have you been aware of the Kordinski affair?” the Minister asked, “was this agreement entered into by you or your predecessor?”

“Err, we were made aware of the situation from the beginning Minister, we....I mean that,” Garden mumbled as the Minister interrupted him.

“Did you or your predecessor make the agreement with the American secret service agent Garden? It`s a straight forward question,” the Minister pushed.

“It was my decision Minister made for....” spluttered Garden.

“You`re fired Garden, I will have your desk cleared and your things forwarded to you. Please leave your security pass at reception and leave the building,” the Minister turned to the American agents who were sitting open mouthed.

“Roman Kordinski is the hub of a Terrorist Task Force investigation, and he will feel the full weight of the British judicial system upon him,” the Minister began, but then he turned his attention again.

“Agent Garden why are you still here?” the Minster snapped at the stunned MI6 director, who was still sat in his chair. The ex-director stood up shaking, and picked up his papers. He walked toward the door, opened it and stepped into the outer office. He paused as if he were about to speak. Tank stood up and walked toward him. He placed his huge hand gently against Garden`s chest and firmly pushed him through the door, and then he slammed the door shut on Garden`s face and career simultaneously.