Exit Wounds (25 page)

Even with his seatbelt on Paul snapped forward but was then whipped back into place like a rag doll. His head pounded and it felt like he had been burnt all down the right side of his neck. He fought back the urge to throw up and raised his hand to his head. Wet. His wounds had opened up again, denied a chance to heal properly.

“My second car crash of the day,” he reached out and patted Richard on the shoulder. “Thanks for that, bro.”

The glass next to Paul shattered and a round thudded into the dash in front of him. A second gunshot sounded off and the glass gave way, spraying all over him and making another hole, in the radio this time.

“Get out!” Paul shouted to his brother who was already half way out the door.

The second Merc was just behind where they had hit the first and three men in dark suits were firing submachine guns at the Russell brothers. Paul quickly clambered round to the other side and hid behind the back tyre, slouching down as low as he could. Richard had already done the same and looked up as bullets tore through the Mondeo’s metal shell.

“This is fucking ridiculous,” Paul moaned over the hail of gunfire.

Richard avoided making eye contact. He thought about the last time he had been in a situation like this. Hiding behind his car as he was shot at by men with machine guns. He had wound up in hospital with five rounds to the chest, and that time he had been armed. He needed a weapon.

Without thinking, Richard went to move but bullet holes erupted inches in front of him.

Paul shouted, “What the fuck are you doing!?”

“There’s the weapon tray hidden in the underneath of the boot! We can’t just sit here!”

“The same boot that just so happens to be in their line of fire?” Paul thudded his head back against the tyre. “Shit!”

Richard wanted to say something. Chances were they would both die here. Paul was going to die. And it was all his fault.

“I’ll go,” Paul told him. Richard opened his mouth to protest but Paul shouted, “I’m closer! For once in your life don’t argue with me!”

Richard scrambled round in the ground around him and picked up a rock the size of his fist. He changed hands and carefully moved himself onto feet, facing the shooters but still crouched behind the wheel.

Paul laughed when he saw him, “Cover me?”

Richard stood up a little and threw the rock as hard as he could at the man closest to him. It hit him in the stomach and he buckled a little but didn’t go down. The other two quickly focused their attention on Richard and he felt the air ripple above him as he dropped to the ground.

The gunfire suddenly changed direction again and just as he came round the back of the car again, Paul fell to the ground.

“Paul!” Richard screamed, already climbing to his feet.

“Stay there!” his brother shouted, pulling himself back behind the relative cover of the wheel. “I’m ok
ay
! I’m ok
ay
! It just clipped me!”

Paul held a Franchi SPAS-12 shotgun tightly in his hands. He checked the chamber and pulled back on the pump action to load a new round into the pipe. He took a deep breath and shot a grin at his brother. “Wish me luck.”

Still crouched, Paul spun out from behind the back of the Mondeo and fired. The first gunman’s ankles exploded, detaching his feet from the rest of his body. He fell screaming to the floor as the last remnants of flesh holding his legs and his feet together collapsed like a backwards hinge.

Paul stood up and moved forward as he pumped in another round. He fired a shot into the second gunman’s chest and spun quickly to avoid the third’s gunfire, simultaneously pumping in a new shell. Firing on the move, Paul caught the last shooter higher than the rest. His head and most of his neck exploded off the top of his shoulders in a wet, crimson firework.

The back door of the Merc suddenly opened and a fourth man started running as fast he could in the opposite direction.

Paul pumped in a new round and took aim but Richard shouted, “We need somebody alive!”

Sprinting as fast his battle weary body could, Paul soon caught up with Kuznetsov and jumped on top of him, pinning him to the ground.

Richard walked over, helped Paul up and kicked the old man over onto his back, resting a foot on his chest. “Where’s Dean?”

The Russian looked bewildered
for a moment, and then replied, “Reynolds? He’s long gone.”

“What were you meeting him for?”

The Russian ignored him.

“What were you meeting him for!?”

“пойдите к черту!” Kuznetsov spat.

Richard snatched the shotgun from Paul’s hands and pushed the barrel
into the Russian’s forehead. “Tell me what I want to know or I swear to god I’ll blow your brains apart just like my brother did to your comrade back there!”

Paul was too shocked to move. He had never seen this side to his brother before.

“Weapons!” the Russian blurted. “He was buying weapons!”

“What kind of weapons!?”

Kuzenetsov looked from one of them to the other, trying to decide what to do. He saw the madness in Richard’s eyes, and he looked to Paul for help. Paul’s eyes were still on Richard. It was
as
though he w
ere
staring at a stranger.

Richard pushed the shotgun harder against the Russian’s skull.

“Missile!” Kuzenetsov shouted quickly. “An anti-aircraft missile and launcher!”

13.04 BST (British Summer Time)

Present Day

Cardiff. Wales. Great Britain.

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

The bullpen was alive with movement, everyone now working on their own allocated task. Several technicians from downstairs had joined Sharon to help bring M.I.T. back online and there was now a shortage of chairs. Most of those who had managed to secure one, slid across the room on their wheels when they needed to move rather than get up and risk losing their prize stool. The Murder Investigation Taskforce department had suddenly become host to the Office Olympics.

Andrew Colgan had tried phoning Richard back after he realised his mistake but only ever got as far as his answer phone. He hadn’t bothered to leave a message. Richard would recognise his number and chances were he was on his way back to the headquarters building anyway.

Sharon rushed up to Colgan as he moved through the hustle and circled round in front of him like an excited puppy. “Sir! I’ve successfully rebooted the system!”

Colgan patted her on the shoulder, “Good work, Sharon. When can we be up and running again?”

“In a matter of minutes, sir! It will take hours, maybe even days to assess the full damage to the infrastructure but I can return us to basic operating protocol standard almost immediately.”

“Can we stream the live feed from the A.T.S.T.?”

Colgan turned at the sound of Zeddemore’s voice.

John’s collar was angled neatly and his tie straightened and he showed no signs of his previous fluster. He nodded his head up at the projector that Colgan had used earlier that morning for the briefing and then tilted it toward Sharon as he came to a stop in their standing.

“Um, yes sir. No problem.”

Zeddemore nodded, “Good.” He held out a laminated card. “These are the transmission frequency and authorisation codes. The A.T.S.T. are launching in the next few minutes I want full live feed up on here by then.”

“Yes, sir.”

Colgan waited until Sharon had left before asking, “How’s London taking the security breach?”

“Not well.” Zeddemore kept his eyes focused on where the projector would display the video feed. “Somebody’s going to have to answer for it.”

Somebody?
Colgan tried to force eye contact but Zeddemore was cemented in his stare.

Old Taff's Well Quarry, Taff's Well

The rain had eased off to a light drizzle but the s
ky remained dark and Richard Russell knew the storm wasn’t over yet. He handcuffed the Russian to the door handle of the tangled mess of their Monedo.

“ваша мама сосет петух коровы,” Kuzenetsov told him.

Richard smiled back, “Keep it up, pal. Morgue paper
s are easier to fill in than arrest reports.”

Paul crouched down and pressed his two fingers against the neck of the man whose feet he had blown off.

“How’s he doing?” Richard asked, walking over.

“He’s dead,” Paul said, standing up.

Richard rested a hand on his brother’s shoulder, “Are you okay?”

Paul nodded, lifting up his shirt to survey the damage, “Yeah, yeah. It just nicked me. See? Didn’t even go in.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

Paul forced a short laugh, “It’s not the first time I’ve killed people, Rich.” He moved away from the scene and pointed to the Russian. “He tell you anything else useful?”

“No.”

“Want me to have a go?”

“No,” Richard said, sternly.

Paul nodded slowly, “Fair enough.”

Richard pulled his phone out of his pocket, or what was left of it. The front screen was cracked like a spider’s web and the keypad unresponsive to his touch. He marched back up to the Mondeo. The Russian flinched as if expecting a beating but Richard headed for the collection of belongings they had retrieved from hi
s pockets resting on the roof. He scooped up Kuzenetsov’s phone and clipped off the battery back and slid in his own SIM card.

“Nice phone,” Paul noted.

“ Вы вонять так плохо, как дерьмо,” the Russian noted.

Richard dialled Colgan’s number and was actually
surprised when he answered before the end of the first ring. “Richard! Where are you?”

“I’m with Paul at the old Taff’s Well quarry.”

“What the hell are you doing in Taff’s Well?”

“Following up on some intel we received.”

“From where?”

Richard ignored the question. “We were after one of Giacometti’s men. A man called Dean Reynolds. Tony should be working background on him, but we didn’t know his surname then, can you pass it on to him?”

“Tony’s not here, Richard. I thought he was still at the prison.”

Richard paused, taking the phone away from his ear for a moment to check the time. Tony should have got back to M.I.T. by now. He dismissed it. He would have to deal with that later. “Whatever. Listen
,
Andrew. We were too late to catch Dean but we did apprehend one of the men he was meeting. A Russian arms dealer. He won’t tell us his name, but we did get out of him what Dean was buying. Andrew, it’s an anti-aircraft missile launcher.”

“Jesus Christ! Just when you thought this day couldn’t get any worse!”

“Is that him?” an angry voice shouted in the background. “Give me that phone!”

Richard heard some rustling and then Zeddemore’s irate voice bellowing down the line, “Russell, is that you?”

“It’s me,” Richard answered.

“You need to come back in now! We need to fully debrief you on this stunt you’ve pulled.”

“I don’t think that’s the best course of action. We need to be proactive if we’re going to stop what Giacometti’s planning. I’m more use in the field than behind a desk answering questions.”

“I don’t give a damn what you think, Russell!” Zeddemore snapped. “You wrote a code for terrorists that they used to hack into a government system. You’ve got a hell of a lot to answer for!”

“I’m sorry, what was that? You’re breaking up.”

“Russell, don’t you dare!”

“I can’t hear you.” Richard hung up, turned the phone off and pushed it into his pocket. “That’s enough of him.”

“Hey, Rich,” Paul called.

Richard looked up. His brother nodded his head towards the main gate. A silver Audi TT had rolled into the grounds and was slowly headed towards them. “We got company.”

Paul moved to pick up the shotgun again but Richard shook his head. “He’s with me.” He added unhappily, “Unfortunately.”

The Audi pulled up behind the wrecked Mondeo and Craig Hughes quickly jumped out of the passenger seat. He rushed round the car toward Richard and Paul, almost tripping over the headless body.

“Only shit!” he said, staring down at the carnage.

“Craig, this is my brother Paul. Paul, Craig Hughes. One of my favourite officers,” Richard introduced with a smile.

Paul shook Craig’s hand as he negotiated a bloody patch on the ground. “Mind your step.”

“Yeah, thanks.”

“And this is Tony Horton.”