Dreams to Die For (53 page)

They watched, fascinated. Cindy was willing the police to arrive soon. Paulette became agitated and scurried across the grass, crouching next to Gordon.

“I can't see Dean,” she said.

“Nor me. He must be on the plane,” Gordon replied.

Suddenly, the eerie silence was broken as the 375 horsepower port engine started up and spluttered into life, quickly followed by the matched starboard engine. The initial slow steady whirr of the propellers began increasing to a whine, and then to a high roar. Mattar and Khan were climbing the steps, each carrying a rucksack in one hand whilst holding onto the rail with their other to maintain their balance.

“Time's up,” Gordon shouted above the noise. “We have to act now if we are going to. Whatever you do, stay down behind the rocks.”

He passed Cindy a handgun. “Use it only if you have to” and kissed her briefly on the cheek.

Gordon set his machine gun to fire three round bursts. He looked across at Sandy and gave the thumbs up sign. Sandy reciprocated. Carefully, slowly, they raised their MP5's, took aim and fired.

“Bronze, are you receiving? Over.”

“Go ahead Sky 2. This is Bronze. Over.”

“Am one minute from target. Can see light aircraft on the ground… coming into camera range now. Cessna 421 C – the aptly named Golden Eagle. Over.”

“We have pictures, Sky 2. Deploy as soon as you can. The ETA of TSG is four minutes.”

The news that the support group was three minutes behind them was some comfort to the three armed officers on the helicopter, but not much. The pilot of Sky 2 said that he could land on the airfield but that had obvious risks, otherwise he would have to put down some distance away and by that time the Cessna would probably be airborne.

“Bronze. Sky 2 again. Over.”

“Go ahead Sky 2. Over.”

“Do I have permission to land on the airfield, in front of the plane? The alternative landing is half a mile away.”

The next few seconds seemed like an eternity to the pilot. Curry and Ritson looked at each other. Both knew that sending the helicopter into the airfield was likely to result in the deaths of the crew, even if it did delay the plane's take-off or thwart the kidnap. The joint commanders were spared making the decision.

“Sky 2. This is Silver. Negative. I repeat negative. If the plane takes off, we will follow its course. Land where safe. Over.”

“Understood, Silver. And thanks. Sky 2 out.”

The helicopter began to circle over the scene seeking a clear area to touch down, when the crew noticed the images coming into view from the camera. The operator immediately switched to high resolution mode and adjusted the zoom.

The initial quick bursts of gunfire spat from Gordon's and Sandy's highly efficient machine guns, taking Fadyar and her three comrades totally by surprise. Mattar, halfway up the aeroplane steps, dropped his baggage and reached for the weapon still slung around his shoulder.

“We're under attack! Fadyar, we are under attack!” the frenetic note in his voice evidence of his alarm.

No sooner had he shouted his warning than he let out a loud scream of pain and fell backwards off the steps, clearly having been hit. He lay still on the grass alongside the plane, blood slowly staining the side of his shirt. Khan dropped his bag and raced up the steps, but a second burst from Sandy felled him on the top rung and he twisted and fell over the side rail smashing his shoulder onto the hard ground. Bagheri was halfway between the plane and the camper van when the shooting started. He immediately grabbed an automatic weapon and fired towards the rocks protecting his pursuers, before taking up a position behind the camper van, using it as cover. Splinters of rock exploded from the boulders that were sheltering the quartet. A hail of bullets zinged and fizzed about their heads as they flattened themselves on the ground, not daring to move.

“Get down, get down” shouted Gordon superfluously.

More incoming fire bounced off the rocks. Gordon and Sandy both switched their guns to auto, allowing them to fire repeatedly all the time they pulled the trigger. Sandy inched his way around his hide and fired in the general direction of the plane, before rolling backwards to the safety of the makeshift shelter. Gordon watched him and did likewise. A fierce gun fight ensued with rapid automatic fire being exchanged by Bagheri and the prone, but not fatally stricken Khan, still sheltering behind the aircraft's large tyres. High velocity bullets were still exploding large chunks of rock around Gordon and Sandy, forcing them to turn their heads away from those firing at them.

“A helicopter has just landed in the field, over on the right,” Cindy went to point with her hand but immediately another round of firing started causing her to quickly place her arms by her side, and not notice the two armed police running from the helicopter the moment it touched down. Within a few seconds it was airborne again and rapidly rose into the air where it hovered above the battle being waged below, relaying its pictures. Unnoticed by the officers on the ground, and the four sheltering from the kidnapper's bullets, the aluminium steps were being raised. As soon as they had been fully retracted and inside the plane, the fuselage door was pulled shut and the pilot pushed forward the twin control levers to accelerate the engines to take off speed.

“Shoot at the wheels, the tyres” Gordon shouted to Sandy. Don't aim for the plane we may hit Dean.”

The plane moved forward, slowly at first then gathered speed. Sky 2, acting without instructions, aborted his surveillance and approached the airstrip, flying low and fast. Its side door was wide open and, as it passed the plane, the officer who moments before had been operating the radio and camera, fired. Black, smoking holes spread along the Cessna fuselage as it was hit by the volley of shots, but its speed along the grass runway continued to increase. Once the plane moved off, Khan, no longer able to hide behind its tyres, became critically exposed. The officer in the helicopter aimed and fired mercilessly. Clods of earth and grass kicked up from the ground before the bullets seared into Khan's body, causing wisps of blue smoke to rise from the punctured, red hot wounds. His torso was lifted into the air from the battery of bullets striking it and he landed in a grotesquely contorted shape little more than a metre from where he had been sheltering. No one saw a woman's anguished face, pressed hard against the large side window, straining to see what was going on below. If they had, they might have noticed her wipe her eyes as Khan's torn body rolled on the ground.

“Sky 2. This is Bronze. Cease fire. Do not, repeat not, fire at the plane. Do you read me? Over.” Ritson understood the pilot's motives in the heat of the moment but his actions could easily lead to Assiter's death, either at the hands of his kidnapper's or, worse, by a police bullet penetrating the fuselage.

“Understood. Bronze. But we are not the only ones firing at it. Looks like Truscott. There's a Range Rover and nearby there appears to be two persons – no three, I think – firing SMG's; moving the camera into position now. Over”

“Yes, I see it” replied Ritson, “but keep the camera on the plane.”

The Merlin and Cessna were now rapidly moving apart and travelling in opposite directions. Assiter would be in the air before the helicopter could turn again. Gordon replaced the magazine and slotted it into position on the MP5. He checked it was still set to fully automatic. He held the trigger as he aimed at the offside tyre. Several bullets hit the grass, kicking up large mounds of earth and stone, which he used as tracer indicators until his last five bullets found their mark. The tyre exploded and lumps of fabric and rubber showered into the air. The plane slewed sideways, the naked rim cutting a trench across the soft grass. The pilot was desperately trying to decelerate and steer the aircraft. A wall of rock ran down part of the side of the airstrip, and as the aircraft continued to turn it looked for a moment as though the wing would crash into it. The pilot and Fadyar held their breath as the wall passed safely underneath and the plane continued to slow under the controlled braking, finally crawling to a halt thirty metres from the camper van.

“You've done it, you've done it. Well done you two.” Cindy turned and hugged Gordon.

The relief in Cindy's face was self-evident, but Gordon shouted a warning, “Stay down. Everyone stay down. It's not over yet.”

As if to remind them, another burst of machine gun fire hit the rocks around where they were sheltering. It was Bagheri, still hidden behind the camper and obviously with plenty of ammunition in his belt or rucksack. The pilot of the plane cut both engines just before the aircraft had come to a complete stop, the noise of the propellers gradually fading as the speed of their revolutions dropped. The moment the plane came to a halt, the pilot opened the cockpit door, jumped to the ground and started running. Bagheri, angry at seeing the fleeing pilot deserting them, lifted his Galatz and, focusing the man in the centre of the scope's cross hairs, fired a short burst dropping him instantly.

“At last!” shouted Gordon as several police vehicles rushed onto the scene. One car, the unmarked Vauxhall, sped past the van and the plane before turning almost at right angles across the runway. Several officers quickly got out and took up protective positions alongside the edge of the strip, their weapons in hand. Two other vehicles stopped near to Gordon and Cindy, and more armed police emerged and spread themselves amongst the rocks. Bagheri was hopelessly trapped. At the camper van, he was between both sets of armed officers and he knew his position was defenceless. He wriggled underneath the van and lay totally still, waiting, his hand resting gently on his machine gun. An uneasy calm and silence spread across the scene and two officers crawled their way toward the civilians.

“Are any of you hurt?” one asked politely.

“No, we're fine,” a relieved Cindy answered.

“Then you have been very fortunate, but I'm pleased. Now, make your way back to the safety of the officers on the track.”

“I'm not going,” Paulette stated bluntly. “I will not go. My husband is aboard that plane and I want to be here when he comes off.”

“He is still in the plane is he?” enquired the officer.

“Yes, and there is a woman terrorist with him.”

“OK. Stay here and keep your head down. Everyone stay down.” They did as they were told as the officer talked into his radio.

“Bronze. This is Juliet 3. All civilians are safe at the scene but refuse to leave. The area is not yet secured and we have a hostage on the plane. Believed one or more suspects are holding the American. His wife is here. Over.”

“This is Bronze. Thank you Juliet 3. Await instructions. Over.”

Curry, pleased at the reporting officer's care not to use Assiter's name over the radio, had taken the call, but needed time to confer with Ritson, and if necessary Silver. Although the immediate area had not yet been declared secure, it was clear that the scene was now becoming one of a hostage recovery. Hostage situations can change very rapidly, almost in an instant, giving no time for instructions to be obtained by the usual protocols and niceties of radio messages. Ritson knew from experience that it would be useful to have either himself or John Curry at the scene, able to give immediate orders. He explained his thinking to Curry who agreed his assessment. Ritson switched on the radio to talk to the crime scene officer.

“Juliet 3, this is Bronze. Are you receiving? Over.”

“Go ahead Bronze.”

“Do not force the civilians to leave until the area is fully secure unless you believe them to be in imminent danger. They have survived very well behind those rocks, where they should remain. If this is prolonged we will have to move them but if it wasn't for them that plane would be in the air. Perhaps you could give my thanks to Mr Truscott and his friends for their assistance today.”

Ritson knew he was stretching operational rules to the limit, if not beyond, for the safeguarding of civilian personnel in a hostile environment, but he was genuinely concerned that the area could still be very dangerous for moving them.

“I will, Sir. Could you confirm your order to leave the civilians where they are?” Juliet 3 was ensuring that there would be no misunderstanding as to the instruction he was being told to follow and Ritson repeated the order.

“I take full responsibility, Juliet 3. Over.” Ritson added by way of further reassurance.

“Thank you Bronze. I note you take full responsibility.” Juliet 3 signed off.

Ritson pressed another switch on the radio. “All units, this is Bronze. Do not attack the plane. Repeat. Do not attack the plane. Do not return fire at the plane. Continue to secure the area. Await the arrival of Bronze.”

Ritson turned to Curry. “Good luck, John. It could be a long night.”

“Thanks Bill. I'll radio in when I get there.” Curry replied before he rose from his chair, stretched his arms above his head and picked up his coat. On his way out of the door he said goodnight to the armed guard, of which at least one is permanently stationed outside the door of every activated Command HQ, despite the general security of an operational centre.

Ritson then spoke to Silver who, after several minutes of what seemed more like debate than discussion, agreed not to countermand his order regarding Truscott and his friends. This was not the same as Silver endorsing or confirming Ritson's instructions, but it was enough for the spirited detective chief superintendent who continued by listing his requirements for the next phase of the police operation.

“We shall need two trained hostage negotiators at the scene as soon as possible”.

Silver confirmed they were already on standby at Fort Augustus and would be sent immediately, although it would still take them up to an hour to arrive.

“We shall need additional lighting crews and rigs, it will be getting dark soon.” Ritson interjected. Silver confirmed they would be sent but pointed out the ESU did carry some emergency lighting.

While the radio conversations were happening, more and more police units were arriving on the scene. Others were held in reserve, on the tarmac unclassified road near the turn off to the airport. At least six ambulance vehicles of varying types were also parked on the road, away from the airstrip, and they had been joined by three fire tenders. The Territorial Support Group vehicles carrying the specially trained officers arrived at the same time as the Tactical Support Unit with its cargo of various electronic equipment and other gadgetry, both reporting they were at the scene within minutes of Juliet 3's call, their noisy diesel engined vans breaking the uneasy quiet once again. As the number of police increased, several slowly proceeded to move closer to the stricken aircraft, concealing themselves by crawling on all four limbs behind the rocky walls that lined both edges of the airstrip. They moved closer towards the camper. When it finally came into their view, several uniformed police slowly left the protective cover of the outcrop and eased their way forward, still unaware that a member of the terrorist cell was lying close by. Bagheri remained totally still, silently watching and waiting for his moment. Suddenly the loyal fanatic rolled over and shouting, “Praise be to Allah”, fired his fully automatic weapon at as many officers as he could see, downing three, before he succumbed to the barrage of return fire.