NEWBOROUGH PREPARATORY SCHOOL
Sian was woken from her sleep by the ringing phone that was on the bedside table. She was in the bedroom of the accommodation suite that was located on the upper floors of the old school. Mustapha stirred next to her. She picked up the handset and listened to the excited voice on the other end of the telephone. The old preparatory school that they were staying in was used as a listening post for the government’s security services. The basement and the ground floor areas were packed with receivers that picked up information from all over the northern part of the country. Telephone taps, bugging devices, surveillance cameras and a thousand hidden microphones all relayed their information to the equipment that was fitted into the old school. MI5, MI6, and the Terrorist Task Force all had their operatives using the information from this facility.
When Chen and his surveillance team bugged the house in Warrington, they had placed motion trackers inside as many items as they could, in the time given. They then entered the corresponding code of the bugging devices into a computer, which identified the item into which the bugs were planted.
One of the bugs that Chen had planted was now moving at speed. Alarm bells were ringing all the over the country as the TTF was alerted to the situation.
The agent on the telephone informed Sian and she got out of the bed and quickly dressed. Mustapha snored quietly in the warm bed. She left the accommodation suite that was situated on the fourth floor of the old school. It had once been a science laboratory for young children but the gas taps and Bunsen burners had long since been removed. The accommodation suite was the temporary home for tired agents from a myriad of security services. It was also used as a safe house for high profile informants, whose lives could be threatened.
She headed down the wide wooden staircase, her footsteps echoed through the open stairwell. She entered the ground floor control room that she had seen earlier with Mustapha; the room was busy with excited security agents.
“What have we got?” asked Sian as she scanned the bank of screens that filled the wall in front of her. On the centre screen was the image of a motorbike, which was being ridden at speed on a motorway that she didn’t recognise.
“We have a motion sensor that has been tagged to a Scuba diving wet suit. It was picked up from a marked address in Warrington ten minutes ago, by the rider of this motorbike, which we know is a Honda Blackbird with false registration plates fitted to it.” The surveillance agent never took his eyes from the screen as he spoke. He was concentrating on a small joystick that was in front of him. This was the control for the pilotless helicopter drone that was silently following the Honda.
“The wet suit is in the rucksack that the rider is carrying, and the bike is heading west on the M62 motorway toward Liverpool. We are using the drone to follow it and we have the bike on visual. The Terrorist Task Force has been informed, and there is an armed response team on the roundabout eight miles ahead of the target. They are on the Tarbock Motorway Island at the junction with the M57. The section of the motorway that they are positioned on is elevated. The motorbike will pass underneath their position in approximately four minutes,” another agent said talking into a telephone on a desk to the right of the screens.
“I have got Inspector Tankersley on the line for you,” he said passing the handset to Sian. Sian took the handset from the agent and spoke to Tank.
“Who do you think the motorbike rider is, Sian?” Tank asked. He could not see the visual information that was in front of Sian.
“We don’t know who it is yet. Whoever it is, they knew where to find that wet suit. All the occupants of that house are in our interrogation rooms in the city, except for one man. He is an Eygptian national called Nassir al-Masri. He is registered on the electoral roll as having lived at that address for six months, but he wasn’t arrested at the distribution centre raid. He is the most likely suspect for the shooting of our officer at the raid in Warrington. We have to assume that he`s armed and dangerous.” Sian summarised for Tank.
“Well if it`s him he has escaped from us once already, we can`t risk losing him again. If he`s heading toward Liverpool he could be going straight to the river with that Scuba gear. Can you get the x-ray from the drone on to that rucksack to tell us if he is carrying explosives?” Tanks voice had come through the room’s speakers.
“I am switching to x-ray now,” a surveillance agent said. He was controlling the remote drone. The camera that was sending images to the centre screen on the wall, zoomed in on the rider`s rucksack. The picture changed to a black and white image. The x-ray penetrated the material and photographed the contents that were inside the rucksack.
“We have a mobile phone in the side pocket which could be used as a detonator. There is some non-metallic bulky material, which is probably the wet suit. There is also a cylindrical container in the bag. It could be explosives but it could just as easily be a bottle of liquid, even water.”
“Where is the bike now?” Tank asked.
“Just passing the old Burtonwood Air Base, he`s now six miles from the Armed Response Unit. If he passes the Response Teams` position he will be three mile away from the River Mersey Tunnels. If he takes the bike into one of those tunnels we will lose him completely,” said the drone`s pilot.
There were three traffic tunnels beneath the River Mersey, each crossed from the city centre to the town of Birkenhead, which was three miles away, on the opposite bank. The tunnels entrances were in the city centre. Inside the tunnels there was a labyrinth of ventilation shafts and small access tunnels that a fugitive could hide in.
“Is it possible that we could put a road block across the M62 to stop him before he reaches the city?” Sian asked; being from Holyhead she was unfamiliar with the local motorway networks.
“There are too many exit roads between the target and the city centre. He could use any one of a number of them to escape. We need to take him out before he gets there.” The drone’s pilot turned briefly to look at Sian emphasising his point.
A digital printer that was on the desk lit up as a profile of the target was sent electronically from the CIA headquarters in Langley USA. The target`s name had tripped a software programme that allowed security services worldwide to share information.
“Nassir al Masri is the CIA`s top suspect for the bombing of the USS Cole in 2000. She was an American destroyer that was anchored in the Yemen when extremists sailed a small boat alongside her and blew a huge hole in the side. CIA pointed the finger at al Qaeda but it looks like Axe was involved now.” Sian read the information out for everyone to hear.
The room remained silent for what seemed like an eternity as they waited for orders to be given.
“Put the drone in front of him, and see if he is willing to stop. If he doesn’t stop then order the Armed Response Team to drop him before he reaches the city.”
Tank gave the order. The choice to live or die was now the motorbike rider`s decision.
The drone`s remote pilot flew the helicopter directly over the speeding motorbike. He turned the engines from silent mode to normal. The sudden booming noise from the helicopters` rotor blades as it flew above startled the motorbike`s rider. The bike veered across two lanes of motorway before the rider regained complete control. A powerful spotlight that was mounted beneath the drone illuminated the Honda with its dazzling beam. The drone hovered only metres above the road surface in an attempt to stop the bike.
The remote pilot activated a loud speaker on the helicopter and demanded that the rider stopped the Honda. The motorbike veered around the hovering drone and accelerated by it heading toward the city. The bike was now just two miles from the Armed Response Teams position, in just over a minute`s time the motorbike would pass beneath some of the country`s best sharpshooters.
“He has not responded. I will place the drone in front of the motorbike again to obscure the riders view as he approaches the armed unit.” The agent remotely flew the drone overhead the speeding Honda Blackbird and shone the dazzling beam onto the target. The motorbike increased its speed again trying to escape the blinding light.
“Have we stopped normal traffic from entering the motorway?” Tank asked through the room’s speakers.
“Yes, Sir, the area is clear. We have thirty seconds before he is in range, Sir.” The surveillance agent focused a second camera from the drone to the Armed Response Teams position. They were positioned ready to take out a moving target. Four men wearing full body armour were lying prone on the elevated section of motorway above the targets route. They were aiming 0.5 calibre Barrett sniper rifles. Each sniper had a section of road to aim for. They would fire at 1-second intervals to counteract the oncoming speed of the Honda, until the target dropped.
“Tell the Armed Unit that they have my authority to fire.” Tank had to think long and hard about the decision to shoot at an unidentified target. The risks of allowing a potential bomber to escape gave him no option but to take the shot.
“Armed Response Unit, you have a green light to engage the target. Inspector John Tankersley has given full authorisation. Lethal force is required.” Sian relayed the order to the firearms unit. Lethal force was ordered in case the target was carrying explosives; a wounded man could still press a detonator button, and so they had to make sure he was dead.
The four snipers from the Armed Response Unit simultaneously chambered a 0.5 calibre bullets into the firing chambers and deactivated the safety catches. The Honda Blackbird came into sight, spotlighted by the helicopter drone.
The rider of the Honda saw only two of the four muzzle flashes that lit up above the motorway, before they died. The huge high velocity shells tore baseball size holes in the rider`s chest, smashing and tearing vital organs. The fourth bullet had shattered the face guard of the crash helmet before splintering the teeth and jawbone of the Honda`s rider. The Honda Blackbird scraped along the motorway for a hundred yards before it stopped, leaving a shower of sparks behind as it travelled.
Mustapha had been standing in the corridor outside of the control room for about five minutes, and he was mesmerised by the action on the big screen, and also a little shocked at what he had just witnessed. The man who appeared to be controlling the pictures was zooming in on the dead motorbike rider. The face guard had gone, as had the face behind it, and it had been replaced a bloody mess of bone and tissue. He watched as heavily armoured men approached the dead rider. They were still aiming their guns at the body as if it may suddenly come to life and attack them. The men removed the rucksack using sharp combat knives on the straps and they made it safe by placing it into a thick lead blast proof bin that two of them carried.
They searched the pockets of the rider and removed a small leather wallet. The jeans that the rider had been wearing were in tatters due to hitting the road surface at high speed. Another agent unzipped the leather motorcycle jacket that the rider was wearing, and he looked up at the on-looking officers an expression of shock and horror was on his face. He stood up and snatched the small leather wallet from the hands of the agent who had removed it and opened it quickly.
“Who gave the order to shoot? This is a woman. We have just shot a fucking woman.” The Armed Response Team men started to remonstrate with each other on the screen.
“Are you sure the target is female, the face looks pretty messed up from here?” asked the drones remote pilot.
“The last time I looked women had breasts right? This body has got breasts.”
Mustapha looked at the small photo identity card that the agent on the screen was holding. The picture was of his older sister Yasmine. He had just watched Sian giving the orders that resulted in the death of his sister, and he couldn’t cope. Mustapha turned and walked toward the big wooden front door of the old school in total shock, opening it he stepped out in to the cold night air unseen by anyone inside. Yasser had caused this terrible thing to happen, and Mustapha had no doubt that his brother and his followers had been responsible for Yasmine`s shooting. He walked through the big rusting metal gates into the night.