Chapter 44

Southport, West Lancashire. April, the same year

The sound of rubber-soled shoes on the concrete step was inaudible to anyone more than two feet away. To each of the four men waiting there, their own heart-beat seemed louder. One man was carefully listening at the door, while the second and third were carefully watching the door itself so that the team wouldn’t be surprised if the door opened suddenly, the fourth kept watch behind them.

No words were said, but after nearly a minute of listening using a simple medical stethoscope, the listener held up his thumb and forefinger, circled. Okay, he was saying. The second gave him the thumbs up. All four knew what was supposed to be behind this door, and knew their role. Number three now bent down and began to fiddle with the lock, which came open very quickly.

One and three eased the door forwards and, when no noise was made, pushed it farther open, moving quickly in and to the left and right respectively. The darkened room, lit only by light coming in through the windows, was mostly empty. Even when it had been a police station, this room had been nothing more than a waiting and meeting room before bobbies went out on their beat. Now, used by the Patrol, it was dirtier and a lot messier, with large quantities of litter on the floor. It was still used for much the same purpose, and had just as little in the way of furniture or other obstacles.

Numbers two and four quickly entered, number four closing the door, and bolting it from the inside. It was a single bolt, and slid easily, so would allow the men to exit fairly quickly if needed, while preventing anyone from following them in. Number two glided quickly to the only other door, number one quickly following him, and once again listened.

After just three seconds he stiffened, still listening intently. He signalled the men behind him to drop back and spread out, while he moved to his left. The door would open inwards and onto him, so provided whoever was coming towards the door did not slam it open, he would be safe behind it.

He held up two fingers on one hand, pointing to the door with the other, and indicating coming in. Number two nodded. All four men crouched down and got their weapons ready.

The door opened. “ ... ord Street. We’ll walk it in five.” A male voice was talking as the door opened.

“Better not be another fuckin’ false alarm,” grumbled a second voice. “Oh bollocks, the light’s gone again.”

The door began to swing closed. The small amount of light coming through the external door was more than enough for the four men, but not enough for the two patrollers. There were four “phut” sounds in quick succession, followed by the sound of bodies falling. Numbers two and four quickly dragged the two corpses out of the way of the door, while number one again settled down to listen.

After a while he signalled that there were about four people on the other side of the door. All were alert and active. Number two gave the nod. The door pulled open this time, and number one pulled it open slowly but silently, lying almost prone. Like the others, he was dressed completely in black, with a black balaclava, and dark goggles to hide any glisten of eyes. The door had a safety spring, designed to close the door once opened, and number one, trying to keep as far back from the door as possible to reduce the chances of being seen, was struggling slightly to keep the door open against the strong spring, yet still hold onto his weapon with the other.

The “phut’s” were even closer this time, as three men all fired two shots each from silenced pistols.

“What the?” another startled voice, the speaker just out of sight of the men in the dark room, started to say. Numbers two and three were out through the door, and four more silenced shots quickly followed. Five more corpses were quickly dragged back through the door, just as the outer door rattled as someone tried to get in.

“Shit,” whispered number four to himself, but everyone else ignored both him and the sound of the door. It was bolted, so whoever was trying to get in would have to go to one of the other entrances. It did mean that someone might investigate shortly though.

Number two quickly investigated the second office. There were two other doors, plus a corridor leading away. In theory, if their information was correct, the door closest to the corridor was a stationery cupboard.

Number two pointed at the seven corpses, then at the hoped for stationery cupboard. “There, now.”

Luckily the stationery cupboard was unlocked, and the four men quickly moved the seven corpses into their new hiding place, and not a moment too soon.

“ ... s flamin’ bolted. How we s’posed to get in or out? Bloody tossers!”

Peering carefully through a crack in the barely open door, number two saw two men storming through the main office, and into the darkened outer office.

Moments later they were back again.

“Bloody idiots,” said one. He paused and looked around, frowning. “Where’s Squad Leader Schildt?”

“Probably gone for a leak,” said the second. “I’m sure he has the tiniest bladder ever.”

Both men laughed and left the way they had come, and the four hidden men quickly came out of hiding, numbers three and four heading back into the outer office to bolt the outer door again.

Numbers one and two quickly investigated the other door leading off, to find a small darkened office. That it was occupied during the day was obvious by the desk clutter: this was the office of someone who only worked during normal office hours.

They moved back to the corridor just as the other two rejoined them. Number one, down on his haunches, carefully held a small mirror, little bigger than a dentists mirror, around the corner. He watched for about three seconds before giving the all clear. Number three put his head around the corner for all of about two seconds before drawing it back again.

“Stairs, five yards on left; opening opposite, couldn’t tell what sort. Two more doors, one each side another ten yards farther down, one door at end, another five yards,” he quickly whispered. Their information from this point on wasn’t as detailed as any of them would have liked.

Number two nodded. The stairs were where they had been told they were. He hated having to do something like this without a proper reconnaissance, and without a detailed plan of the building. It was only because the operation was being done at two in the morning, and the place would be much emptier than normal, had he, reluctantly, agreed to go ahead with the highly risky mission.

The four men moved silently into the corridor, then moved quickly back again when voices were heard once more. There was no rush on the mission, so they weren’t worried on that score, but the longer they were in the building, the more chance there was that they would be discovered.

“ ... passed them on the way out?” came one voice.

“If they headed direct there, yes,” came a second. The four intruders recognised the voices of the two men who had come through here minutes earlier.

“Well there’s no other logical way of getting to Lord Street from here.” This was a third voice, and the four men tensed.

Number two quickly pointed at number one, and sent him over towards the empty office, where he crouched down beside the limited concealment offered by a large bookcase and a filing cabinet. Number four he sent into the tiny recess by the stationery cupboard door, while number three he sent back to the door into the outer office. He himself crouched down behind the large desk. The four men waited, tense, but alert.

The three Patrollers strolled into the room, oblivious to anything going on around them. The four intruders were not seen, despite the fact that they were, to all intents and purposes, in full view. The intruders were stationary, wearing black all over, and were in the darker corners of the room. The first any of the Patrollers knew they weren’t alone, was when number three moved his arm to raise his silenced pistol. Movement draws people’s attention.

“What...”

Each Patroller received two bullets in the head as numbers one, two and four each fired a double tap into their nearest patroller. With number four coming forwards to keep a look out, the other three men dumped the three new corpses on top of the previous seven. Ten men down, and still no signs of alarm. If number two’s limited intelligence was correct, there were probably no more than another ten men in the building, and probably about forty or fifty out on patrol. Since the ‘incident’ the previous month, all patrols were now done with a minimum of four, and sometimes six or eight people. It meant there were fewer patrols, but those patrols were bigger.

There was a clicking as number one quickly checked his pistol, and replaced his partially used magazine with a full one. Number two nodded, and the other three men quickly followed suit. All the men had a number of loose cartridges in pouches or pockets, so quickly topped up their used magazines, and slipped them back into velcroed pockets. They were professionals, and the smoothness and speed showed that this was something they had done many times before,

Number one again used his mirror to check the corridor was clear. He held up thumb and forefinger in an OK sign. Number four slipped silently down the corridor and paused by the opening, which turned out to be a set of swing doors, set back slightly, into another room. The doors were solid wood, so number one again got out his stethoscope and listened, while the other three ranged around him, keeping watch. After less than a minute he held up a thumb.

“Clear,” he whispered.

Number two nodded and indicated the stairs behind them, which was their destination.

Directly opposite the top of the stairs, which did a one-eighty degree turn to the left half way up, was another set of swing doors. Unfortunately one of the doors had been held open with a chair, in which sat a heavily built individual wearing the shoulder boards of a squad leader. A sergeant by any other name. He held a clipboard in one hand, and a steaming mug in the other. Beyond him was what appeared to be a staff canteen of some sort. No one could be seen, but a number of voices could be heard as could the very distinct sounds of plates and cutlery being used. At least three, possibly four. Should the squad leader turn his head, they would be seen, so the four intruders pulled back to the bend in the stairway.

“No way we can get past, Sarge,” whispered number one.

“Gotta take him out,” added number three.

The sergeant, number two, nodded. He knew this, he was just setting out a plan.

“We’ll go up on the left hand side. He’s more likely to spot us sooner, but we’ll also be better hidden from others in the room.” He indicated number one. “You’re point. Take him out when you get to the top, or as soon as he starts to turn. He pointed at number four. “Keep an eye out behind us as usual, but I don’t think there’s anyone else here to worry about.”

Number one had hardly gone up three stairs when the squad leader at the top casually turned his head. He was lifting his mug to his mouth, and number one knew that if he fired now, the mug would drop and shatter. Noise and a slippery floor would hamper them at least, and almost certainly raise the alarm. He raised his pistol and pointed it at the squad leader. Raising his left hand at the same time, he crooked his fore-finger. Come here, he was indicating.

The squad leader got over his shock, but now fear replaced it. He stood slowly, and moved jerkily towards the intruders.

Number one pointed at the mug. “Put it on the floor,” he whispered, pointing to the edge of the wall.

The squad leader managed to get some of his composure back.

“What do you want,” he muttered nervously.

“Your silence for one thing,” murmured number one. “And put what you are carrying down. Do it. Now.”

The squad leader’s eyes widened as he realised there were four, identically dressed, intruders. “Who are you?” but he did as he’d been told and slowly bent to place the mug and clipboard on the floor. He was only half way down, his movement uncompleted when there was a scraping noise as the pressure of the spring on the swing door finally overcame the resistance of the now empty chair and began to close, pushing the chair. It was enough for the squad leader and he tried to shout a warning. Number one, who had been waiting for something like that, promptly shot him in the throat. The mug fell, fortunately less than a foot, and though it spilled the still steaming drink, it didn’t break.

The squad leader wasn’t dead. But he would need medical attention soon if he was to survive. Number one made that unnecessary by putting a second bullet between the man’s eyes.

“You okay Dicky boy?” came a shout from inside the room.

The four intruders raced up the rest of the stairs. Number one used the dead squad leader’s body to help to contain the spilled drink, while the other three raced past the now closed door, where they all paused, backs to the wall, and waited, crouched down.

Nothing happened. After a few more seconds, number three reached up to the strip light and gingerly removed both tubes. Behind him, number four was doing the same farther down the corridor. There was now light from the stair well and from the other end of the corridor, but where three of the intruders were was now darkened.

They waited for a short while, but eventually they couldn’t wait any longer. “You two,” the sergeant pointed at numbers one and three. “Wait here, guard that door.” They nodded. The sergeant nodded at number four and the two hurried off up the corridor looking for the records room, which was their ultimate target.

“These doors push open from the other side,” whispered number three.

“Yeah? So?”

“Block it.” Number three pointed at the corpse.

Number one nodded and grinned. He dragged the corpse of the squad leader in front of the now closed swing doors. Number three had already moved the lightweight metal chair to one side. “Won’t hold them for many seconds, but it’ll give as that extra warning time.”

They waited, tense and alert.

Along the corridor, numbers two and four had come out of the first office, where they had set a small booby trap in one of the desk drawers. Probably not enough to kill anyone, but certainly enough to blow the hand or even forearm off anyone opening the drawer.

The second then third offices received the same treatment. The fourth office, while not the records room, was a big open plan office with desks for about eight people, and lots of paperwork. What they were looking for was probably not in here, but they couldn’t be sure.

“Shit,” muttered number four. Number two agreed, but for a moment said nothing.

“We’ll have to come back here if we can’t find what we’re after in the records room. Leave it for now.”

Number four nodded and the two men left, the office untouched.

The two searchers passed the two watchers, number one holding up an OK sign as they went past him. Number four removed the strip lights from that end of the corridor, while number two went into the first office. Another large, open-plan office.

He moved out again quickly and onto the next. “Bingo,” he muttered. He indicated to number four to check the last office, while he went into the records room. A fast look around showed that all the drawers had an alphabetic label on the front. None had names, none showed that they might hold anything particularly important.

Number two started on the drawers marked with an ‘A’, there were at least eight of them, and a minute or so later number four started on the half dozen drawers labelled ‘H’. Either might hold details of Adnan’s whereabouts. He’d been arrested locally, this was the best place to start.

Number four found what he was looking for quite quickly.

“Sarge. Found him,” he called softly.

The sergeant moved quickly over, and the two men scanned the brief notes. There wasn’t much. If this was correct, no interrogation had been done here. Not that surprising in one sense, it wasn’t a huge place. Even when it had been a police station, there hadn’t been much call to investigate truly serious crime locally.

“Bugger.” The sergeant pointed at a line about three quarters of the way down the second sheet.

“Ah, no. This has been a complete waste of time,” number four murmured. “He was taken to Liverpool the day he was captured, and if this is correct, was probably executed within hours.”

“Okay.” The sergeant quickly folded the record up small and stuffed it into the belt of his trousers. “Come on, part two.”

They each picked a draw at random, and went through every file in it. If it was a genuine criminal record, it was left where it was. If it was a record of a political crime: speaking out against Thorn, Earth First, Truth And Freedom, or the Patrol, or anything else that might relate, the entire record was removed and dumped on the floor.

They went through about three drawers each before the sergeant called a halt. By far and away the majority of the records were for ‘political’ crimes.

“Look at this one,” number four said. “Someone got arrested and charged because they stopped a shop lifter. Turned out the shop lifter was a member of the Security Patrol. Seems preventing a member of the Patrol from committing a crime is itself a crime.”

“Jeeze,” breathed the sergeant in disgust. “Come on, we’ve got more than enough here. Too many, perhaps.”

They quickly scooped the paperwork they had selected into a couple of large, heavy-duty, plastic sacks and left the room, dragging the sacks behind them.

Just as they left, they saw numbers one and three turn suddenly and raise their pistols, pointing them at the swing doors.

“What’s going on out there? Squad? Dicky? You okay mate?”

All four could hear the call from inside the canteen.

The two men dragging the sacks got them as far as the top of the stairs, then went to see what their colleagues were doing.

“They’ve only tried pushing so far.” Number one said softly. “No handles on the inside to pull, but they’ll either find something shortly, or they’ll all push together. So far me an’ Grant haven’t had to do anything to hold them.”

Grant, number three, just nodded his agreement, keeping his eyes on the doors.

The sergeant nodded. “Okay, let’s see if we can get down and out without any more bloodshed. We’ve got rid of eleven. There’s probably about nine in there. If there’s not, then there’s more elsewhere in the building.”

“If they’ve put anyone in the cells, then there’ll be at least two in the cell block. Or should be.”

“If they are, we don’t go near ‘em, and hopefully they’ll stay there. It’s the ones in there,” the sergeant nodded at the blocked doorway in front of them, “and the ones out on patrol that worry me.” He pointed at number one. “Point,” then at number four. “Rear. Let’s get going.”

“We could just kill all the ones in there, then we wouldn’t have the risk of anyone on our tails,” Grant suggested

“No guarantee we could get them all before someone in there managed to raise the alarm. And for all we know, there’s already someone in there on the phone right now.” The sergeant shook his head, and the three others accepted his decision without further discussion.

Number one headed down the stairs first, waiting at the bottom until the others had caught him up. The sergeant and Grant dragged the full and heavy sacks down the stairs. There was a chance they would rip, but if they did it would be merely irritating. Anything that came out would have to be left behind. Behind them, number four watched the doors into the canteen as long as he could.

The four men were just hurrying along the short corridor to their way out, when they heard noises behind them. No one needed to be told what had happened. They just carried on. There was nothing else to do anyway. When they got to the final, darkened, room, Grant found a rubber wedge that was obviously used to wedge the door open, and instead used it to wedge the door closed, just as number four slipped passed him.

They couldn’t bolt the final door closed, so number one squirted a full tube of superglue into the latch, then shut the door, while the others kept watch. It wouldn’t stop anyone for long, but hopefully it would slow them down enough.