Exit Wounds (23 page)

Paul brother was silent.

Richard couldn’t help feel angry, knowing his brother’s unsettling eyes were on him, judging him.
You think I’m weak don’t you? You think that you would have done better!

Finally, Paul placed a hand on Richard’s shoulder. “Hey, it’s okay. What the fuck are they going to do with the M.I.T. server anyway? Erase evidence that links them to the murders? I think we got them for a little more than that now!”

Richard looked over at his brother. Paul grinned back at him, just like a kid. The corners of Richard’s mouth started to rise on their own and soon he found himself laughing loudly. Paul laughed with him as moved back into the back of the car.

“You do know you fucking stink right?” Richard asked.

Paul nodded, “Yep.”

“You smell like you wet for a swim in the bloody Taff!”

Paul shrugged, “That’s because I did.”

An Abandoned Warehouse, Cardiff Bay

Giacometti thundered into the computer room, slamming the door open with his fist. He turned quickly to the armed man at his side. “Clean up everything. I want no trace.”

The man nodded, “Understood.” He quickly rushed off down the catwalk towards the stairs, shouting at other men as he did.

Giacometti cursed and lashed out at the dead body in his way. His bare foot snagged mid kick and his toes bled, but the release calmed him. A little. He looked up at the skinny man sat at the computer terminal in front of him. “Thomas,” he said through gritted teeth. “What are you doing?”

“He did it, boss! He actually did it! We’ve got access!” Thomas replied, excitedly, his fingers fluttering away at the keyboard.

Giacometti stepped forward quickly, his interest peaked. He rested a hand on the back of the chair. “Is Zeddemore logged on?”

A series of windows scrolled through the screen and Thomas nodded frantically, “Yes. Yes! He’s streaming video to the J.I.C. server through Colgan’s office.”

Giacometti smiled, “Then we have access to the Joint Intelligence Committee network through his login?”

Thomas nodded again. “Yes!”

“Outstanding, my friend Thomas,” Giacometti patted Thomas on the back. “Now, find me the files containing the fight plan of Shepherd One.”

12.04 BST (British Summer Time)

Present Day

Cardiff. Wales. Great Britain.

HM Prison Cardiff, Adamsdown

No one at H.M. Cardiff could tell Tony Horton the name of the missing prisoner and the prison lockdown had automatically shut down the entire internal secure computer infrastructure to protect the data. Now, all he could do was sit and wait in the server room until the prison’s computer mainframe finished the reboot cycle.

He glanced over his shoulder at his associate. Craig Hughes had acquired a packet of crisps from somewhere and was happily tucking in, showing not a hint of the unbearable frustration that was aflame inside Tony.

It was infuriating, knowing full well that he was at least two steps behind the action and that distance was growing every second. Today’s events were getting out of hand. Slipping through his fingers like running water. He could try and close his fist but it was no use, still the water would cascade over his knuckles. Forever unattainable.

“Hey up,” Craig said suddenly, scattering Tony’s stray thoughts.

Tony looked up, the monitors and lights on the terminals in front of him had began to blink and moan and sparkle back to life.

He quickly slid his wheeled chair over to the nearest keyboard and began typing in the override user information the warden had already provided him with. It took him only a few seconds to get to grips with the prison interface and within a few more he had the name of the prisoner Paul Russell and Giacometti’s men had freed.

“Aldo Boccanegra,” Craig read aloud over Tony’s shoulder. “Convicted child molester serving a ten year sentence.”

“Father Aldo Boccanegra. He’s a priest,” Tony told Craig, reading on further. “Moved from Italy to England because of the church. He was transferred to a parish in Bristol first. Had no trouble getting permanent residence.”

Craig snorted, “Course not. He’s a paedophile not an actual refugee who needs asylum.”

“I doubt they knew about his sexual tendencies when they gave him his passport, Craig.”

Craig rolled up the empty crisp packet and grumbled something incoherent as he discarded it into a metal mesh bin.

Tony continued, “Although, alarm bells must have started ringing when he got moved to seven different dioceses in three years.” Tony scrolled down further but found nothing else of interest. He turned on his chair to face Craig. “I don’t see the connection here. Why would Giacometti want to break out a sex offender?”

Craig shrugged, “They’re both Italian?”

“That’s it?”

Craig’s eyes went to the bottom left as he thought, “Maybe... Well, they do say that most sex abusers were abused themselves...”

Tony nodded quickly, “Maybe this Father Boccanegra molested Giacometti as a child back in Italy? Giacometti becomes a rapist himself and he wants absolution. Purpose to his actions. He wants revenge.”

Craig let out a small, dry laugh, “He breaks the guy out, just to kill him himself. Ain’t life a bitch?”

“He’s been tried by a jury of his peers and sentenced, Craig. He has the same right to live as the rest of us.”

Craig folded his arms across his chest, “If you say so, Boss.”

Tony steeled Craig’s gaze over the top of his glasses. “Right now, Boccanegra is the best lead to Giacometti we’ve got. Call Zeddemore and see if he can use S.O.C.A.’s liaison with Interpol to dig up Boccanegra’s Italian background.”

“Shouldn’t I run this past Colgan first?” Craig asked, retrieving his mobile from his trouser pocket.

Tony had already turned his back on Craig and busied himself at the computer terminal.

Craig shook his head and sighed. He dialled the number for Colgan’s office where he knew Zeddemore would be sat behind his boss’ desk. An electronic, unreceptive sound chimed and then a bored, pre-recorded female voice informed him that they were unable to connect his call. “That’s odd.”

Tony didn’t bother to respond.

Craig tried again, “I said that’s odd.”

“What is?” Tony asked eventually.

“The M.I.T. line is dead.”

“What do you mean dead?” Tony asked over his shoulder.

“It won’t ring.”

“It’s probably just engaged. Try again in a minute.”

“No,” Craig said, Tony’s attitude beginning to annoy him. “I know when a line is engaged. This was different. It’s like the number doesn’t exist. Like they’ve been cut off or something.”

With a huff, Tony snatched up his own phone from his right and quickly dialled. An electronic, unreceptive sound chimed and then a bored, pre-recorded female voice informed him that they were unable to connect his call. He turned round in his chair and looked up. “How the hell does M.I.T. get cut off?!”

Craig shrugged, “Maybe someone forgot to pay the phone bill?”

M.I.T. (Murder Investigation Taskforce), Cardiff Branch

“Woah!” Michelle Williams pushed her chair back from her desk and stared at the animated mosaic of coloured pixels that had spread across her computer monitor.

Similar cries echoed around the room. Michelle glanced over at the other monitors nearest to her. The same nonsensical collage of squares was present on every screen in the bullpen.

“What the hell’s going on?!” Colgan shouted to be heard over the continuous exclaims of his officers as he made his way to the centre of the room.

“My screen’s completely frozen!” one yelled back.

“The phones are down too!” another added.

“Sharon!” Colgan called out, scanning the room.

The small woman quickly shot her hand up from behind a computer monitor like a school girl at registration. “Here, sir!”

Colgan marched over to the desk. “What the hell’s going on?!” he asked again.

Sharon’s fingers danced over the keyboard as she talked, her face etched with frustration and determination. “I’m...um... I don’t... actually know, sir. I think we’ve been breached. Somebody’s hacked into our system and now they’ve completely locked us out.”

“Locked us out? Of our own system?!” Colgan’s thoughts instantly went to Richard. They knew Giacometti wanted him to write a program that gave them access to their servers. He didn’t want to believe that Richard would ever do such a thing but they had lost contact with him hours ago. There was no telling what Giacometti had done to him in that time. He shook his head, dismissing his thoughts. The task at hand. He needed to get M.I.T. control back up. That was his priority. “What about the phone lines? Why are they down?”

“Well, all calls are filtered through the system to log and monitor. My guess is that they blocked our lines when the shut down our access.”

Colgan reached into his pocket, “But they can’t block our mobiles, right?”

Sharon broke from typing and considered this for a moment. “I don’t think so...”

Before he could even press the unlock keys Colgan’s mobile started to vibrate in his hand. Recognising the number he immediately accepted the call. “Richard! Where are you?”

“I’m fine. I’m okay. I’m out,” Richard answered.

“How?” Colgan asked quickly.

Richard glanced over his shoulder at his brother, busy tending to Gary’s gunshot wound. “Paul saved me.”

“Yeah, and don’t you forget it,” Paul interjected.

“Listen. Andrew, there’s a lot I’ve got to catch you up on, but the most important thing is that Giacometti has access to the M.I.T. server.”

“Yeah, I kinda noticed that.”

“I’m sorry Andrew. I didn’t have a choice. They knew about Jade and the kids! Andrew, they knew everything about me. Even my fucking arrest count for Christ’s sake!”

Colgan knew what that meant. There was a leak in their ranks. Somebody inside was working with Giacometti. He did his best to hide his concern. “It’s ok. We’ll sort it. Sharon’s working on getting us back in now. Aren’t you, Sharon?”

Richard didn’t have any idea who Sharon was and the mumble that he heard in the background of Colgan’s end didn’t give him any clues but he nodded anyway. “Okay.”

“I don’t suppose you know why they wanted to get in our system do you?”

“Something to do with getting into the Joint Intelligence Committee’s server. It doesn’t make any sense though! M.I.T. doesn’t have access to the J.I.C.!”

“Oh my god.”

Richard didn’t like the sound of that. “Andrew? Andrew, what is it?”

“Zeddemore’s here. He’s in video conference with the J.I.C right now!”

“Andrew, you’ve got shut his computer down right now. Pull it out of the mains if you have to! Just sever the connection right now!”

“I’m on it!” Without thinking Colgan dropped his mobile and ran as fast as he could out of the bullpen and down the corridor towards the video conference room.

Zeddemore was already heading towards him, ranting about the screen freezing. Colgan pushed past him without a word and darted into the room. He sprinted over to the power terminal and on his knees pulled out every cable he could find as fast as he could.

“Have you gone mad?!” Zeddemore shouted at him.

Somewhere in Cardiff Bay

Richard turned round in his seat. Once they were sure they weren’t being followed he had parked up in another of the bay’s industrial estates behind a long row of prefabricated storehouses to call M.I.T..

Paul was hunched over Gary, pulling tightly on the bandage he had made out of what was in the first aid kit and the sleeve of his shirt.

“He gonna make it?” Richard asked.

“I’ve stopped the bleeding for now,” Paul replied. “But that round is still in there.” He looked up from his handiwork to Gary’s face. “We’ve gotta get you to a hospital.”

“No!” Gary shouted.

“I’ve done all I can, Gary. I’m a soldier, not a magician.”

“You can’t! You can’t! You promised
,
Paul!”

“Promised you what?” Richard asked, turning further in his seat.

Paul ignored his brother. He held Gary steady by the shoulders as he wriggled to sit up. “Gary, if you don’t get to a hospital you are going to die.”

“I help you save your brother and then you let me walk. That was the deal!”

“Are you fucking deaf? You’ve got a bullet in your belly! You’ve been shot, you stupid sod! You need medical attention!”