Authors: Jarkko Sipila
“The top of the stairs is open,” he reported over the radio. They continued halfway up before Jack stopped. Eronen dug two canisters, each slightly longer and thinner than a beer can, from the cargo pocket of his pants, pulled the pin out of the first and hurled it through the doorway to the left. Immediately afterwards, the second one flew to the right.
“Police!” Eronen shouted.
The officers shielded their eyes as the stun grenades exploded. The brilliant flashes of light would blind anyone on the upper floor for about five seconds, and the 180 dB blast would slam their ear drums shut.
* * *
Niko Andersson was sprawled on the sagging office sofa, his body hardly able to fit. After hearing the crash downstairs, he struggled to his feet and hurried into the main room, where Roge and Osku were already on their feet. None of them knew what to do. The intruders were likely already on their way up, so they couldn’t go down the stairs.
Osku hurried to the window, pried the cardboard aside and saw the squad car at the curb with its cherries flashing. He pulled out the AK-47 assault rifle that had been stashed behind the sofa. There was no need to load—a full magazine was already inserted with a cartridge in the chamber. He pushed the safety all the way down, setting it on full-automatic.
Niko and Roge, standing behind the bar now, were holding their handguns. Osku was positioned opposite them, near the pool table. Just as he was preparing to unleash a barrage of bullets out the window at the cruiser, a shout came from the stairwell.
“Police!”
Osku glanced at Niko, who raised his gun.
In the corner of his eye, he saw an object fly about ten feet from him, bounce off the pool table and land on the sofa behind it. Another one hurtled toward Niko and Roge.
The explosion was deafening and the image of the instant before the blast was seared into Osku’s eyes. He blinked frantically, struggling to locate the top of the stairs, then swung the assault rifle in that direction.
Fuck, thought Osku. With his vision and hearing off line, it was the only thing going through his mind. If they were coming up the stairs, they’d be at the top right around now. He raised the weapon to his shoulder and squeezed the trigger hard.
Fragmented thoughts swirled through Osku’s mind. This was just the situation Larsson had been talking about. Surrender to no one. Fight fire with fire. That was all that mattered. Only that.
Osku couldn’t hear the shots, but he felt the rifle bucking against his shoulder. The rounds departed toward the doorway. In a few seconds his vision would recover. A second magazine lay on the sofa waiting its turn. He could find it by groping around with his free hand.
Osku felt the lurching of the gun as the AK-47 spit out a volley of shells toward the doorway. He could see nothing but the ghosted image of the stairwell, and he paused briefly as the white light gave way to red. After that, he squeezed the trigger once more. The rifle fired the final bullets from the magazine.
* * *
The S.W.A.T. team poured up the stairs after the stun grenades. Despite having plugged his ears, Jack Saarinen’s were ringing. Just as he reached the top, a bullet ricocheted off his shield. The impact twisted his wrists, but the shield stayed put. He swung it toward the muzzle flashes and tried to retreat, but Eronen, who was charging forward just behind him, stumbled and collapsed on top of him.
On the left, somebody unleashed another volley of shots. Jack couldn’t tell where the bullets were going, nor could he move with Eronen lying on top of him. He turned his head in the other direction, where the bar was supposed to be.
Jack watched as a fat man behind the bar took a bullet in the forehead and half his face vanished. Where had the shot come from? Were the police shooting or was it the assault rifle? He wasn’t sure, but he didn’t think he had heard an MP5—all the shots had come from an assault rifle.
He concluded that the hit had come from the shooter on the left. After that, the bullets zipped past well wide, but soon, the barrel swung back toward the door. The assault rifle rattled off another series of shots. The flash bangs had disoriented the man enough that he didn’t know where he was shooting.
Jack tried to draw his pistol, but it was impossible with Eronen on top of him. The helpless officer could feel his partner shifting around.
Downstairs, Eronen had ditched the shotgun and picked up his MP5. He spotted a man blindly firing next to the pool table and swung the barrel of the gun toward him. The red dot quickly found his face, then his forehead. Jack felt the muffled shudder of Eronen’s MP5 submachine gun.
The man with the assault rifle collapsed to the ground. Jack knew that he was killed instantly. Eronen shuffled to his feet and Jack followed. The remaining officers piled in, stepping over the heavy shield. Jack drew his pistol from his belt holster and advanced into the room.
Little by little, Jack’s hearing was returning to normal and he detected a faint whimpering on his right, like the whine of a dog. Eronen was kneeling down, pressing his knee into a muscled gangster’s spine. He twisted the man’s arms behind his back and slapped the cuffs on his wrists.
“Anybody else here?” Eronen shouted.
The whimpering continued and Jack realized it was coming from the man lying on the ground in cuffs.
The officers quickly checked the upstairs rooms, but found nobody else. These three had been the only ones in the building, and of those, two were now dead.
Jack snapped on the safety to his weapon and shoved it back into its holster.
The unit leader grabbed Jack by the shoulder and looked into his eyes. “You alright?”
He was still dazed, but nodded. “Yeah.”
The unit leader put up his thumb and grinned faintly. “The guy emptied the entire magazine blind. Shit!”
Jack heard the report through the earpiece. “All clear. No officers down. Two assailants dead and one under arrest. The other unit is checking the lower level.”
The S.W.A.T officer pulled the helmet off his head and peeled the knit ski mask off his face. He lowered himself into the nearest chair. Only then did he notice one of the rear-guard officers dousing the flaming sofa with a fire extinguisher. Apparently, the flash bang had ignited the fabric.
Jack began to cough from the smoke. His face was drenched in sweat, which he wiped away with his hood.
* * *
Takamäki stood in the yard of the Skulls’ compound, talking on his phone. The air had turned cold and the occasional fleck of sleet fell to the ground. Soon, it would freeze and the sleet would turn to snow, he thought.
A half-dozen squad cars and an ambulance were parked in front of the building.
“Two suspects are dead, and one under arrest,” Takamäki said into the phone. He’d been following the raid from the command vehicle a couple hundred yards away. As soon as they had gotten the “all clear,” the van had pulled into the yard.
“What happened?” asked Honkala.
“The S.W.A.T. team went in and one of the Skulls opened fire with a Kalashnikov. The Skulls’ bullets killed one of their own and an officer shot the guy with the AK. The third was arrested.”
“Who were they?”
“The fatalities were Niko Andersson, a full-fledged member, and Oskari Rahkonen, a prospect. This Osku is the one who shot Niko with the AK. Roger Sandström is under arrest.”
Takamäki recalled his son’s stories about Osku’s little brother Ripa. A tragic event for a kid who idolized his older brother. The incident could affect him in two ways: either it would embitter him or it would frighten him. Difficult to say which way Ripa would swing.
Honkala paused. “So Larsson and Steiner weren’t in the building?”
Takamäki’s mind returned to the matter at hand. “No. We have no information on their whereabouts. I’ve been notified about the raids on their apartments. They found Larsson’s girlfriend, Sara Lehto, in his flat, and Steiner’s was empty. They’re bringing her downtown and forensics is going through both apartments.”
“Son of a…,” Honkala growled on the other end.
Takamäki glanced around the industrial area. So far, nobody but the police had arrived. “We raised quite a ruckus here, so I suppose the media will be here soon. We should probably make some kind of a statement.”
“Yeah. We’ll put something together. I’ll call you when they have it roughed out.”
The S.W.A.T. team filed out and the forensics team, decked out in white coveralls, was holding a briefing in the yard.
“We’ll also need to inform the state prosecutor so he can evaluate the S.W.A.T. team’s conduct in connection with the fatalities.”
“We’ll take care of that too,” said Honkala. “Have you heard anything from Nykänen or Suhonen?”
“Not for a while now. They would’ve called if they found anyone.”
“Pity,” said Honkala. “The undertaker’s tally for the day is two thugs, a police officer and a civilian. This has got to stop.”
Takamäki sighed. “You said it.”
TUESDAY,
OCTOBER 27
CHAPTER 25
TUESDAY, 3:20 A.M.
SUHONEN’S APARTMENT, HELSINKI
Suhonen awoke to his ringing phone. He groped around for it on the nightstand, coughed once, then answered.
“Hello.”
Suhonen heard the sobbing first. “Help me.”
“Who is this?”
“Salmela,” the man whispered.
Suhonen bolted upright in bed. “What’s wrong? Where are you?”