Urban Assassin Page 9

  ‘You’re gonna have to stay there for the moment, Tug,’ replied Nelson. ‘We got something urgent on our hands.’

  ‘Copy that,’ said Tug.

  ‘Why hasn’t the emergency generator cut in?’ demanded Benny.

  ‘I guess Deacon’s dealt with that, too,’ said Nelson. ‘OK, boys, keep sharp. We don’t know which way they’re coming from, but with the power gone it has to be the stairs and the roof.’

  ‘Copy that, Colonel,’ said Benny. ‘I just heard gunfire below.’

  ‘I’m with you,’ said Nelson.

  Mitch saw Nelson rush through the door to the stairs. The next second rapid gunfire came from the stairwell.

  Two Moons appeared from his room to take Nelson’s place in the corridor by the doors to the lifts, becoming the last line of defence between the attackers and Mitch’s room.

  A burst of automatic gunfire from above made Mitch look up.

  ‘They’re on the roof!’ came Gaz’s voice over the gunfire. ‘Two of them.’

  So, Deacon wasn’t using any disguises after all, thought Mitch. Just a straightforward, full frontal attack. Two on the roof. There had to be two in the stairwell. So where were the others?

  The answer came quickly. A figure dropped out of the ceiling and landed right on Two Moons. Mitch watched as Two Moons battled with the assailant. In hand-to-hand combat an automatic rifle was no use. Two Moons had discarded his, and was getting to grips with his attacker, fists and feet striking out as both men tried to get the advantage. There was a flash as a knife blade appeared in the attacker’s hand.

  Mitch swapped his automatic rifle for his H&K23 pistol and tried to get a clear aim at the man, but it was impossible while he grappled with Two Moons.

  Where was the other assassin, Mitch wondered?

  He heard the phut of a silenced gun and felt a thud in his chest as his body armour took the bullet, the force of it sending him staggering backwards. He recovered his balance and swung his gun towards the corridor. As he did so there was another phut and a searing pain in his right hand. His pistol was torn out of it and went clattering to the floor. Clenching his teeth against the pain, Mitch reached down for his fallen pistol, but another shot sent it spinning away from him.

  Mitch looked up. A man dressed completely in black had just entered the room, night-vision goggles in place and a pistol in his hand.

  ‘I’m sorry about this, Mitch,’ said the man. Mitch couldn’t believe it. It was Mehmet Koman! ‘I got suspicious when I saw you holding a pistol,’ said Koman. ‘It struck me that it didn’t seem the sort of thing a British prime minister would do.’

  ‘Where’s Deacon?’ asked Mitch.

  ‘Where’s the prime minister?’ Koman countered.

  Mitch shook his head. ‘It doesn’t have to be this way, Mehmet,’ he said. ‘The job’s a bust. Give yourself up.’

  ‘And what happens then?’ demanded Koman. ‘When I get back to Turkey? I’ll be killed. Not officially, of course, but we both know how it will happen. An “accident”.’

  ‘You’ll stand trial here,’ said Mitch.

  Koman laughed. ‘I won’t be safe here, Mitch, and you know it,’ he said. ‘There are powerful and very rich people behind this operation. They won’t want us alive and talking.’ He hesitated, and then added: ‘I have to finish this job.’

  ‘Why?’ appealed Mitch.

  ‘Money, of course,’ said Koman. ‘What else?’

  ‘But why this way?’ asked Mitch. ‘I was told that Jimmy Deacon was some master of disguise. Yet you’re coming in like a parachute battalion.’

  ‘It seems our paymasters want it this way,’ said Koman. ‘Lots of carnage and explosions so everyone will know what happened, and why. It’s a message. Don’t mess with these boys.’ He shrugged. ‘That’s the way they want it, that’s the way they get it.’ He jabbed the pistol at Mitch. ‘Now answer the damn question. Where’s the prime minister?’

  Out of the corner of his eye Mitch saw Two Moons crash to the floor, his assailant on top of him. Gunfire was still coming from the stairwell and the roof above him. No one was coming to save him any time soon.

  ‘Forget it, Mehmet,’ said Mitch. ‘You’re gonna kill me anyway.’

  Koman shook his head. ‘I always keep my word, Mitch,’ he said. ‘If I say I’m going to kill the prime minister, I’m going to do it. If I say I’ll spare your life if you tell me where he is, I’ll do it.’

  ‘No you won’t,’ said Mitch. ‘You’re a professional.’

  Beneath his night-vision goggles, Mitch saw Koman’s mouth curve into a rueful smile.

  ‘Maybe,’ he said. ‘And right now I’m a professional holding a gun on you, and I might be telling the truth. One thing I will promise you, if you don’t tell me where the prime minister is when I count to five, I’m pulling this trigger. Because I intend to get out of here alive, but we need to know where our target is.’

  Koman pointed the gun firmly at Mitch’s head. Mitch tensed, ready to throw himself towards Koman, but he knew he’d have no real chance. The Turk had made sure he was at a safe distance from Mitch.

  ‘I’m getting impatient, Mitch,’ said Koman. ‘The countdown starts now. Five. Four. Three. Two. One . . .’

  BANG!

  25

  The shot, when it came, exploded in Mitch’s night-vision goggles in a blinding flare of white. Mitch threw himself to one side, expecting to feel the pain of the bullet tearing into the side of his head, but nothing happened.

  He crashed into the hospital bed and recovered his balance as a second shot rang out. He looked around, towards Koman. The Turk was lying on the ground, writhing in pain. Behind him stood Tug, automatic rifle in his hands.

  ‘Seems I got out of the lift just in time,’ said Tug. ‘You OK?’

  ‘Apparently so. Thanks.’ Mitch nodded.

  Two Moons got to his feet next to Tug, looking down at his assailant whom Tug had also dispatched. ‘Who’s that?’ he asked.

  ‘Mehmet Koman,’ said Mitch.

  In their earpieces they suddenly heard Gaz: ‘I’m hit!’

  ‘I’m coming up!’ responded Mitch.

  ‘Me too!’ called Tug. They ran for the door to the stairs, Mitch snatching up his rifle on the way. As he did so he called to Two Moons, ‘Keep your eye on Koman. He’s tricky!’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said the big Sioux. ‘I’ll take care of him.’

  Inside the stairwell, Nelson and Benny were keeping up a steady stream of fire as they worked their way down the stairs, forcing the attackers back down towards the lower floor and the MI6 backup.

  Tug raced up the stairs towards the roof, Mitch close behind him, both of them tearing off their night-vision goggles as they did so. On the roof, with the lights of London giving them sight, the goggles would be more of a hindrance than a help.

  They crashed through the doorway on to the roof, both of them rolling as they did so to avoid being hit. They dived behind a low parapet. Tug was the first to regain his position and balance and he swung round, levelling his rifle, taking in the situation. A burst of gunfire smashed into the bricks of the parapet, sending a shower of stones and shattered brick pieces over him. The captain responded immediately, letting off a tracer of bullets in the direction the shots had come.

  Mitch saw Gaz lying on the roof, one arm trailing brokenly beside him. A dead MI6 man lay next to him. Gaz was struggling to hold his rifle with his one good arm. Mitch worked his way towards his friend, speaking into his mic: ‘Gaz down. Two hostiles still operative. Support needed.’

  Mitch used a knife to rip open Gaz’s sleeve so he could see the wound. The bullets had torn an ugly hole in the Geordie’s upper arm as they exited, after breaking the bone.

  ‘It’s not pumping,’ Mitch said. ‘They didn’t hit an artery, but you’re still losing blood. I’m going to have to tie it up.’

  ‘Hurry up!’ groaned Gaz. ‘We got a battle to win.’

  Gaz winced in pain as Mitch placed a lar
ge dressing from his field pack over the wound, and then fixed it in place with an adhesive bandage. All the while Two Moons and Tug were firing, and return fire was coming back at them, bullets ricocheting of the stonework beside them.

  ‘Rest it now,’ Mitch instructed Gaz. ‘Leave it to us.’

  With that, Mitch snatched up his own automatic rifle and joined in the firefight. Suddenly he saw that one of the attackers was sliding away, heading for the edge of the roof.

  ‘Cover me!’ yelled Mitch. He broke into a run, chasing the man, his rifle pouring bullets. But the attacker dived behind a chimney stack. There was no return fire from him.

  He’s out of ammo or his gun has jammed, thought Mitch.

  Mitch sped towards the chimney stack, zigzagging as he ran. He was aware of the bullets continuing to fly behind him as Tug engaged the other assailant. Mitch reached the chimney stack and saw the attacker break out of hiding and make a definite run for the edge of the roof. He was obviously planning to jump across the gap between the hospital roof and that of the next building. Mitch aimed low at the running man’s legs and pulled the trigger . . . and nothing happened. He was out of ammo too.

  There was no time to pull out the empty clip and replace it – by the time he did that the attacker would have vanished.

  Mitch dropped his rifle and gave chase. When they’d checked out the hospital and the surrounding area before this operation, the gap between the buildings wasn’t just straight across; there was also a drop of about three metres. The attacker reached the edge, jumped and disappeared out of sight. Mitch, hot on his heels, ran faster to make sure he was at speed when he hit the edge. As he reached it he propelled himself with as much force as possible into space. He was aware of the street dizzyingly far below him as he sailed through the air, then he was dropping and the next roof was coming up fast. He just made the edge and rolled forwards, then sprang up.

  As he did so he felt a sharp, searing pain in his right ankle. He was sure he’d fractured a bone. He cursed and looked up. The man also looked to be limping badly as he tried to run. He had definitely injured himself in making the jump.

  Mitch reached for his pistol, then realised it was still on the floor of the hospital room where Koman had shot it out of his hand. He was unarmed, except for his knife. He wondered what sort of weapons the attacker had on him.

  ‘Halt or I shoot!’ yelled Mitch.

  It was a bluff, but it was one worth trying. The man stopped limping along and turned towards Mitch.

  ‘Well, well,’ he said. ‘We meet again, Mitch.’

  In the dim light Mitch couldn’t see the face clearly. But he recognised the voice. It was Deacon.

  26

  ‘Don’t make me shoot you!’ called Mitch.

  ‘With what?’ asked Deacon, his tone mocking. ‘If you had a gun you wouldn’t even be talking to me. You’d have shot me by now.’ He shook his head. ‘I think this conversation is over.’

  And with that he turned and began to limp away fast. Mitch tried to follow, but his ankle buckled beneath him. ‘Damn!’ Mitch cursed.

  Mitch pulled his knife out, balanced it, and threw it as hard and as accurately as he could, aiming for Deacon’s legs. It would be no use hitting the body armour.

  Deacon gave a cry of pain and crumpled to the roof. Mitch had struck home. He hopped as fast as he could to where Deacon lay, his ankle sending waves of pain through him with every movement.

  Deacon rolled and pulled the knife from his leg, then held it pointed towards Mitch as he reached him.

  ‘Give it up, Deacon,’ urged Mitch. ‘The rest of your squad is gone. It’s over.’

  ‘Not for me,’ groaned Deacon through gritted teeth. ‘There’s always a new identity. I can start again.’

  He struggled to get to his knees, holding the knife firmly in Mitch’s direction. Mitch hesitated. With his ankle fractured he couldn’t run at Deacon. If only he had something he could use as a weapon, anything. But the only thing he had was himself.

  He hopped painfully nearer, his eyes on the knife. Deacon crawled backwards.

  ‘Look at us, Mitch.’ Deacon chuckled painfully. ‘We’ve only got two good legs between us. We’re in a bad way.’

  ‘I’m not letting you get away,’ said Mitch firmly.

  Deacon shook his head. ‘You don’t have a choice, Mitch,’ he said.

  Suddenly he threw the knife at Mitch and rolled towards the nearest edge of the roof. The knife flew past Mitch’s head as he hurled himself at Deacon, pain searing through him from his ankle. He managed to grab hold of one of Deacon’s legs, his fingers clutching at the material. Deacon struggled and kicked out, trying to loosen Mitch’s hold. Mitch held on grimly, but Deacon was still able to drag himself ever nearer the edge, pulling Mitch along behind him. Using all his strength, Mitch hauled himself hand over hand up Deacon’s leg to his body. Deacon struck out, his fists hitting Mitch on the head and in the face, while at the same time he continued to push with his good leg, right to the very edge of the building.

  With a last heave Mitch managed to get a hold on Deacon’s neck. Now both men were right on the edge. Mitch saw the street below, and a window ledge about four metres below the edge of the roof. It was impossible to think that Deacon would even try such a drop – but then Mitch realised Deacon was a truly desperate man. He was fighting for his life.

  A sudden punch to his face from Deacon brought tears to Mitch’s eyes, temporarily blinding him, but he clung on grimly. He felt a shift and as his eyes cleared he realised they were balanced precariously, their heads right out over the drop of over fifty metres to the street below. Then suddenly, with a jerky movement from Deacon, they rolled off the edge of the roof, into the void!

  As they fell, Mitch yelled in agony from the pain in his fractured ankle. He just had time to let go of Deacon with one hand and grab hold of the window ledge. He smashed into the wall below, but his left hand still clutched Deacon’s clothing.

  The two men dangled, the cars and people in the street far below them looking to Mitch like small toys.

  I can’t hold him, thought Mitch. He’s too heavy.

  Deacon’s weight felt like it was tearing his arm out of its socket, especially with the way he was struggling.

  ‘Mitchell!’ yelled Deacon. He stopped struggling and looked up into the eyes of the soldier who had his life in his grasp. He looked calm. ‘You’re right, Mitch,’ he said. ‘It’s over.’

  And then he began to slowly undo the clips of his body armour.

  ‘Oh no you don’t!’ roared Mitch, but he could feel the weight on his arm beginning to shift.

  Suddenly the figure of Tug dropped past Mitch on a rope. His fist smashed into Deacon’s face, and the assassin went limp. Tug clamped his arms around Deacon and shouted, ‘Gotcha.’

  27

  Mitch lay on the roof, recovering his breath. The unconscious body of Deacon lay nearby. Mitch sat up and looked at Tug, coiling the length of rope.

  ‘You made that jump without breaking a leg?’ Mitch asked them, gesturing at the drop and the gap between the two roofs.

  ‘Of course,’ said Tug.

  ‘How’s Gaz?’ asked Mitch.

  ‘He’s OK. The medicos are on their way to deal with him. And with you.’ He watched Mitch wince in pain. ‘Broken ankle?’ he asked.

  ‘I think so,’ nodded Mitch. ‘How are the others?’

  ‘Everyone’s fine,’ said Tug. ‘Most of the attackers are dead.’

  ‘Koman?’ asked Mitch.

  ‘One broken leg, the other just torn up,’ the Captain replied.

  Mitch heard a loud whirring noise approaching. Looking up he saw lights in the sky.

  ‘Helicopter,’ said Tug. ‘Gerald must have called in the reinforcements. Bit late if you ask me. But at least they’ll be able to get you to another hospital.’

  ‘What’s wrong with the hospital we were in?’ asked Mitch.

  Tug looked uncomfortable. ‘The place got shot up quite a bit,
’ he said. ‘They say it’s going to need some repairs before it’s up and running again. Ceilings shot down. Bullet holes in the walls. Power generator blown up.’ He grinned. ‘Still, nothing major.’

  Mitch watched the helicopter coming down towards the roof of the hospital, and then disappear from his view as it landed to pick up Gaz. In a few moments it would be collecting him and taking him to safety. The operation was over. The prime minister was safe.

  Job done.

  28

  Mitch and Two Moons sat in the security room in the basement of the conference centre, watching the TV screens. As well as the constantly changing images from the CCTV cameras around the building, there was a screen displaying a news channel. It was showing the gathering inside the main hall in the conference centre. The British prime minister was at the podium, addressing the presidents, prime ministers and other heads of state assembled. The picture was on mute.

  ‘You wanna hear what he’s saying?’ asked Two Moons, reaching for the remote control.

  ‘Not particularly,’ said Mitch, shaking his head. ‘I can tell you what it will be. The fight against terrorism, the union of world leaders against international crime, that sort of thing.’

  Two Moons pressed the button, and the sound came on.

  ‘This treaty will make the world safer in the fight against terrorism. No more will international gangsters and criminals be able to use the border of one country to escape justice in another.’

  Two Moons pressed the ‘mute’ button again.

  ‘Guess you’re right,’ said Two Moons with a sigh. ‘You sure you didn’t write that speech for him?’

  The camera travelled away from the prime minister along the platform, showing some of the other dignitaries assembled at the conference. Then it moved to the side of the stage, where Nelson, Tug and Benny stood. They were dressed in neat civilian suits, white shirts and ties, but there was no mistaking the fact that they were there as security.