SOUTH STACK LIGHTHOUSE
Sian left the old Newborough preparatory school and turned right onto Quarry St. She pulled the Jeep into a petrol station and filled up the greedy vehicle with fuel. She had over 100-miles to drive back home to Holyhead, it would take around two hours to make the journey if she stopped for breakfast on route. Sian had been ordered back to the customs unit where she was to oversee the tightened security at the port. Officers were searching for any explosives or munitions that the Irish Republicans may have traded, to stop them reaching the mainland. She was also to look for Mustapha. The general consensus of opinion was that he would head to wherever he felt was home, in this case that would probably be Holyhead.
Sian didn’t like to leave the case but she understood that recovering Mustapha was a priority, after all she had been in charge of his protective custody; it was her responsibility to find him. She put a compilation CD into the disk player as she joined the A55 expressway, which would take her along the North Wales coast to Anglesey. She reached a small Welsh coastal town called Penmaenmawr, and decided to stop there and eat breakfast.
She sat by the window in the Little Chef and enjoyed the view across the Menai Straights to Puffin Island. She smiled as she remembered the story that her father had told her about Puffin Island. The Island had once been the breeding colony of thousands of Puffins however in the early 1900`s an old wooden sailing ship had run aground on the treacherous rocks that surrounded it. The rat-infested ship sank quickly leaving the drowning rats no option but to swim to the safety of Puffin Island. Being an island it was ecologically isolated and there was little for the rats to eat except Puffin eggs. Puffins nest on the ground where their eggs were an easy meal for the hungry vermin invaders; therefore, Puffin Island no longer had any Puffins on it.
She ate breakfast and washed it down with three cups of strong coffee. Sian used the washroom on her way out to the Jeep, and brushed her Auburn red hair. Feeling refreshed she started the Jeep and pulled back onto the A55 toward the island of Anglesey.
The Britannia Bridge was the crossing point from the Welsh mainland to the island of Anglesey. It would take her twenty minutes to cross the island from the bridge to Holyhead.
Sian drove the Jeep across the island feeling anxious about Mustapha`s disappearance. She drove through a small village called, Valley, and she could see Holyhead Mountain towering in the distance. The mountain lies about a mile west of the town, which is built at its foot; it slopes steeply down to the Irish Sea on two sides. Sian decided to take the coast road through Treaddur Bay and Porthdafarc beach. She was hoping that Mustapha might have made his way back to his caravan there.
She slowed the Jeep down as she approached `cow shit corner` looking for evidence of their shootout with the Axe men. She shuddered as she looked at the deep holes in the dry stonewall where bullets had struck. Sand had been sprinkled over the tarmac to cover any bloodstains. There was a solitary bunch of flowers tied to the farm gate. Flowers were generally left at the scene of a death by someone who cared about the deceased. Sian thought this was a little bit odd but didn’t read too much into it.
The Jeep climbed the crest of the hill away from the scene. As the vehicle came over the crest, Mustapha`s caravan came into view on the cliff tops across the bay. The caravan was in darkness, Sian`s heart sank. She drove the Jeep up the hill towards her house on the mountain. An idea occurred to her. Mustapha loved the lighthouse that was at the bottom of the mountain; he might have walked there. The South Stack Lighthouse had stood on its little island warning passing ships of the treacherous rocks since 1809. It could be seen from up to 28-miles away. An iron suspension bridge was added in 1828, which crossed the deep-water channel between the island and the mountainside. Before the suspension bridge was built, the only means of crossing to the island was by means of a basket, which was suspended from a hemp cable. Sian drove up the steep mountain road passing her own house on the way. About a mile past her house she reached the car park, which serviced the lighthouse and its visitors. The car park was empty apart from an estate car that was parked in the far corner of the lot. Sian got out of the Jeep and reached inside her jacket for her gun. She opened a lock box that was positioned between the front seats and placed the Glock inside. She put on a warm coat that was in the back seat over her jacket; the wind on the mountainside was bitterly cold.
She walked toward a gap in a low dry stonewall that lead to a path which made its way down the mountainside to the lighthouse. She could see the white building perched on its island in the sea below her. Local legend suggests that there are 365 steps descending down to the suspension bridge, which leads to the island. It`s believed that was one step for each day of the year. In actual fact, that is just another urban legend. There are actually over 400 steps, which zigzag down the cliff face to the lighthouse bridge. In the summer time the steps are crowded with tourists and birdwatchers. The cliffs at South Stack are home to thousands of sea birds and puffins.
Sian started down the path toward the steps. She descended the first flight of smooth stone steps and reached the first tight turn. The path turned back on itself and descended sharply. Sian looked over the edge of the low wall toward the flights of stairs below her looking for any signs of Mustapha.
She saw him three flights below her, he was walking up the steps toward her. There was another man with him that Sian did not recognise. He was definitely not from Holyhead but then hundreds of people used the area for bird watching. He could just be a tourist. The two men looked up at her simultaneously and stopped their ascent. Sian knew immediately that something was wrong. She reached inside her jacket instinctively and touched the empty holster. The stranger reached toward Mustapha pressing a small revolver into his ribs. Sian was confused by the situation, the man didn’t look Asian. She watched as the men started to ascend slowly up the steps the gun was still pointed at Mustapha. Sian quickly stepped back away from the wall and out of sight of the two men. She turned and started to run toward the Jeep. It was at least 200-yards across the heather to the car park.
Rasim Janet was a Bosnian Muslim. He looked like any other white European male. He had been allowed to leave the raid at the cold room in Warrington because the taskforce had focused only on Asian or Middle Eastern men. He was pointing a Colt revolver at the younger brother of his Caliph, Yasser Ahmed. Rasim was born in Sarajevo in 1970. He had still lived in the city when the breakup of Yugoslavia began and the country descended into civil war. He was trapped in the city with hundreds of thousands of its inhabitants for four years. The siege of Sarajevo is the longest in modern history. The Serbian army surrounded the city in 1992 and laid siege to it for nearly 50-months. Rasim and his fellow Muslim countrymen made up less than a tenth of the city`s population. Rasim fought bravely alongside his fellow Muslims, some had travelled from other countries to help their religious kin. Many of the Muslim fighters from the Afghanistan conflict, the Mujahideen, travelled to fight alongside their Muslim brothers in Bosnia.
The Christian Serbian forces carried out a campaign of genocide, seeking the annihilation of the Bosnian Muslims. There were mass killings, mass gang rapes and torture conducted by different Serbian forces. Rasim escaped the city in 1995 and fled to Poland. As the immigration barriers in Europe began to fall, he travelled to England using a Polish passport; along with hundreds of thousands of other Eastern Europeans looking for work. He headed for the North where rental accommodation was cheap and settled in Warrington. Rasim worked for employment agencies moving from one casual job to the next. It was whilst working for one of these agencies that he had met Nasser al Masri. They found that they had a lot in common. Both men had fought as Mujahideen in Muslim struggles against Christian invaders the colour of their skin was irrelevant. It wasn’t long before Rasim joined `Ishmael`s Axe`.
Nasser had told Rasim to drive to Holyhead and to look for Mustapha Ahmed. He had waited on the cliff tops opposite Mustapha`s caravan with a pair of binoculars. He looked like all the other bird watchers and tourists that visited the island.
When Mustapha arrived at his caravan, he had gone inside only briefly. He came back out shortly after and started walking along the headlands toward South Stack Lighthouse. Rasim had followed at a safe distance until he had Mustapha alone on the steep stone steps that led down to the suspension bridge. He had approached Mustapha in a friendly manner at first but when he mentioned that his brother Yasser had sent him he had become frightened. That was when he had pulled the gun out. Now he had been spotted by a woman with red hair who seemed to know Mustapha, he could tell by the look on her face when she had leaned over the small wall. Now this changed the dynamic of the whole situation.
“You had better run because she is a police woman and she has a gun. Go now while you still can. I don’t want to go to my brother. Just leave and say you couldn’t find me,” Mustapha hissed at the man.
“Of course she is a police woman. Do you think that I am stupid? There are hundreds of woman cops around here carrying guns. Now shut up and keep walking,” Rasim pushed the muzzle of the gun hard into Mustapha`s ribs.
“Look my brother is a lunatic and I don’t want anything to do with him. My sister has just been shot because of that bastard. He is not worth the trouble that he will cause you. Whatever he is paying I will double it, please just let me go.” Mustapha finished what he was saying when Rasim punched him hard in the solar plexus. The breath in his lungs was forcefully expelled and he dropped to his knees gasping for breath.
“If you were not his brother I would cut your tongue out and feed it to you, you whining dog. You are not fit to speak about a Muslim warrior of Yasser Ahmed`s calibre. How dare you speak of him that way? Do you think that I follow him for money you little pig?” Rasim kicked Mustapha hard in the side of the head jerking it backwards violently.
A high calibre bullet smashed into the low wall a yard to Rasim`s left hand side. Splinters of stone and hot metal spat into face making him lose his balance. Mustapha saw his opportunity as Rasim staggered to maintain his footing on the smooth steps. He lunged at Rasim grabbing him around the knees making him fall backwards down the hard stone steps.
Rasim tumbled head over heels backwards for what seemed like an age until he hit the low wall, which stopped his momentum. He cracked his head on the hard rock and cried out. Warm blood started to trickle down the side of his face. Rasim looked for the gun but he had lost it in the fall. He spotted it lying close to Mustapha who was lying stationary just a few yards away. Mustapha stirred and looked at the gun. Both men launched themselves for the weapon at the same time.
Sian rounded the sharp corner of the second flight of steps and pointed the Glock at the two men as they tumbled down the third tier. She couldn’t shoot at the stranger without endangering Mustapha. She ran down the steps keeping her weapon trained on Rasim. `He must have laid the flowers at the scene of the shootout`, she thought. He wasn’t Asian or Middle Eastern in appearance, which didn’t make sense.
The two men collided as they leapt for the weapon. Rasim managed to grab the revolver first. Mustapha punched Rasim hard in the mouth. His lip split as they were forced back against his front teeth, and the coppery taste of blood filled his senses. Rasim grabbed Mustapha by the hair and pulled his face down toward his bleeding lips. He bit down hard on Mustapha`s face and twisted his head sharply at the same time. A large flap of cheek flesh tore away from Mustapha`s face and he screamed in agony. Rasim was on him in a flash and he pinned his arms together tightly. He smashed the hard bone of his forehead into the fleshy bulb of Mustapha`s nose crushing the cartilage and making it bleed profusely. Rasim had fought hand to hand for his life many times during the Bosnian war. He had killed many men with his bare hands. He stood over Mustapha and kicked him violently in the groin. The blood vessels in one of Mustapha`s testicles burst under the power of the impact. Mustapha kicked out in desperation knocking the Bosnian over, and he fell on top of Mustapha. Rasim raised his right elbow and smashed it in to Mustapha`s windpipe, and the blow closed the already winded Mustapha`s throat momentarily and he blanked out.
Rasim stood up quickly and turned to face the approaching woman with the gun. A bullet slammed into his shoulder knocking him over the low wall onto the thick heather that clung to the steep cliffs. Rasim lifted himself to his knees and fired twice at Sian. The first bullet hit her in the chest and smashed her sternum into splinters of bone. The shards of bullet and bone ripped tissue and punctured her lungs as they travelled through her body. She had felt nothing as the second bullet hit her in the middle of her forehead, she was already dead. Sian`s body tumbled down the steps and landed crumpled next to Mustapha. His eyes were watered by the impact of the headbutt that he had received and he had to blink to focus them on Sian`s ruined face. The woman that he loved was dead beside him. It was only half a day since his sister met a similar fate. The rage inside him surpassed the pain that he felt in his body. He looked like a man possessed as he rose, covered in his own blood from the cold stone steps to face his lover`s killer.
Rasim raised the gun toward Mustapha but he was seconds too slow. Mustapha cleared the low wall and struck Rasim in the chest with both feet. The impact catapulted the Bosnian down the steep slope toward the cliff face. Rasim grasped at the thick heather and managed to stop himself from falling over the precipice. Mustapha ran headlong at Rasim hitting him in the midriff with his shoulder. The momentum took the two men over the edge. They fell, locked together in a violent embrace toward the foaming surf far below.