Go Out With A Bang! (22 page)

Mollie
Mulligan retreated to the other side of the big carved stones, the
panoramic view of the city laid out in its urban sprawling way, the
International Conference Centre in all its uninspired glory,
sticking up like a middle fingered salute to the much smaller
buildings below it. Fifty yards away, the other side of the carved
rocks, the men were jabbering on about what to do next. What she
desperately needed to hear were the size eleven feet of the
Tactical Enforcement team and many more police officers racing up
Monument Hill.

'You lot
had better bloody hurry up. There's just me up here. Me and lots of
them. I'm big, but I'm not that bloody big.'

Then as
she sat with her back against the strange carved rocks with
meanings lost in the sands of time, she heard the men plotting
their plots, scheming their schemes. Then suddenly her malaise, not
exactly dissipating, was tempered with the wailing of the sirens
getting closer and closer.

'Great.
Not a good idea announcing your bloody arrival. All I need right
now are jumpy terrorist's with lots of guns and missiles, and me
thinking, who the hell will feed my bloody cat when I'm
dead.'

All she
could do was to stay put, wait for backup and pray the terrorist's
didn't decide to have a casual walk around the top of The Hill.
'Here I am, crapping myself, three months into the job, and who
gets to call in about the bloody terrorist's? Yeah. Frigging
brilliant. I'll dine out on this for years. All I have to do is
survive.'

Mollie
closed her eyes, sighed, and prayed for the best.

Chapter 70

At the
mansion, a long and restless night had slipped by. They watched the
morning news on the television as they had breakfast. All except
Steve.

Sandra
scrambled eggs. 'Is Steve joining us?'

Frank
said, 'He's messing with the helicopter. It takes his mind off
things.'

'The
Prime Minister's coming on,' said Hank.

'Oh,
that'll be a hoot,' said Titch.

Sandra
turned up the volume. '...here at the International Conference
Centre, Prime Minister Sinclair Carlisle is about to give the
concluding speech. We go live to the Prime Minister.'

Frank
said, 'It looks like the terrorists had a change of
plan.'

'Shush,'
said Sandra.

'...have
had a very productive conference. We have strengthened our resolve
to trade our way to mutual prosperity. Much progress has been made
on international trade issues and....'

Carlisle
and the other world leaders were instantly covered by security
agents as the whole building was rocked by the
explosion.

'Crap.
It's happening,' said Hank.

Sandra
grabbed the phone and poked numbers. 'Bernie. Sandra. My God. Yes.
Right. And?...I know. Okay.'

'What
was that about?' asked Ferret.

'Monument Hill. It's all happening at The Hill. I have to
go.'

Sandra
raced out of the mansion to where Steve was busy on the chopper.
'Steve. The first missile's hit the centre.'

'Bloody
hell. Anyone hurt?'

'Not
sure, yet. But they will be if they aren't stopped. A cop saw the
truck arrive on Monument Hill. I called Bernie...'

'Who the
hell is this Bernie?'

'He's
my...never mind. The police have the whole damn lot pinned down,
but can't get to the truck. Somethings wrong with the launcher and
the terrorists are trying to fix it.'

'Get in
the chopper. Hurry.'

Two
minutes later, they were in the air. By chopper, they were just
minutes away from Monument Hill. The others piled into cars to make
their way by road.

'There's
the conference centre,' said Steve. 'God, what a mess.'

A pall
of black smoke belched from the damaged side of the building,
flames from the the compromised electrics flaring out like dragons
tongues, licking the sky.

'Get us
to The Hill.'

'Just a
couple of minutes.'

Steve
banked over towards The Hill as the second high explosive missile
slammed into the centre. They saw the flames and the smoke
bellowing out. Even above the roar of the engine they could hear
the sirens, and Sandra thought she could smell the fear blended
with the acrid black smoke.

'They've
fixed the launcher,' said Sandra.

'No
shit. The next missile will be nerve gas.'

They
could see the the chaos at Monument Hill; police cars, flashing
lights, more arriving by the minute; ambulances and fire appliances
filling the roads. They could also hear the sound of gunfire. In
the middle of everything were more then twenty vehicles surrounding
the missile launch truck.

Shielded
by their own vehicles the terrorist's were holding the police at
bay from the launch truck with intermittent gunfire from their
AKSU74's. Tactical returned fire with their AK74's

Steve
swooped as low as he dared over the truck, taking out the tops of
several trees. Below them, three men were were loading the third
missile. The first of the nerve gas warheads.

A lucky
police shot hit one of the loaders and he fell from the truck,
dying, blood spurting from his neck. He writhed on the ground, his
legs kicking out erratically, then with a final convulsion, his
tongue extended from his mouth, his eyes rolled back in his head
until only the whites showed. Foamed blood gurgled from his mouth
then he called out to his god as he died.

The
police were sent diving for cover by return gunfire and a police
patrol car exploded in a ball of flames. One officer was standing
too close and his jacket caught fire and he rolled in the dirt to
extinguish it. He was back on his feet, singed but unhurt, more
determined than ever to get his own back and kick ass.

He ran
at the missile launcher and shot a terrorist in his leg who started
hopping around, swearing incomprehensibly as the next missile was
launched, guided by the laser with deadly accuracy. Then the
terrorist laughed obscenely, danced awkwardly on his one good leg,
and he pointed and cursed at the police, took another hit in his
chest, then fell to his knees with such force, bones must have
broken. His final smile was rearranged on the ground with smashed
nose and teeth. A final shudder and he willed his spirit to another
world; success was not guaranteed in the small print. His passing
was ignored by those around him. Perhaps in another land, a candle
would be lit to honour his passing, but not that night.

In the
chopper, 'That's the nerve gas missile gone,' yelled
Sandra.

'I
noticed,' said Steve.

Morris,
Crowe and Andersen stood behind something big, bad and
angry.

Hancock
growled, 'See him? Simpson's T shirt? I got a special recipe for
cooking that bastard's intestines. Great with garlic
bread.'

'Okay
for an entrée,' agreed Andersen.

Hancock
took careful aim and the top of a head sprayed brains. The man
fixed them with a surprised dead grin as he folded slowly, down on
his knees first, then came the sound of a slow smacking of a face
into the ground. Not much moved after that.

'One
less to worry about,' snarled Hancock behind his black visor,
looking for another head to blow away.

But the
terrorist's bullets were still splitting the air, with several
shots aimed at the chopper and Steve banked away and took them out
of range on the other side of The Hill. He rounded the crown of The
Hill, around the huge, revered carved stone, as the second nerve
gas missile burst out of launcher.

'That's
it,' Sandra shouted, trying to make herself heard. 'Thermonuclear
next.'

'Hold
on. Keep your head down.'

Steve
skimmed the ground, and pulled a lever. The gallons of weed spray
at twenty pounds per square inch, soaked the enemy below them. The
terrorists were down on their knees, gasping for air, their eyes
stinging from the spray. Three men were trying to load the
thermonuclear missile as they choked and gasped. The police took
advantage of the situation of the men rolling on the ground,
choking, trying to wipe their eyes free from the stinging chemical
assault.

Steve
landed the chopper, keeping the engine running.'Stay put. I mean
it.'

'I can't
play?'

'Not
this time.'

Steve
ran to the launch truck, grabbing one man and pulling him over the
side of the truck, smashed his fist into his face. The other two
men were struggling to load the final missile with the deadly
thermonuclear device, still suffering from the effects of the
spray. One man keeled over, the spray from the chopper filling his
lungs. Then the other man left holding the heavy weapon was
buckling under the weight. He swayed and wobbled, unsure of which
way to fall.

As his
strength gave up, he staggered back and forth, his eyes becoming
wild and confused, tottering around with the total weight of the
missile in his arms. The one that if launched would change the
destiny of the whole world. He saw the hands of the man trying to
stop him, trying to grab him. He kicked out and missed, the sirens
and lights filling his mind; the screams filling his soul. Thoughts
of his family, so far away, family who perhaps one day would
understand and be proud.

He stood
as if his life was over. And it was. His family would understand.
He turned to face the barrage of lights, sirens; the well aimed
single shot from Hancock hitting the spot between his eyes. He was
about to hit the ground, the warhead primed and ready to take out
life.

Steve
dived forward as the missile and man landed on top of him. They hit
the ground hard and Steve was winded. Sandra had dived from the
chopper and raced over to help. She rammed her knee between the
terrorists shoulder blades, got his head in her hands and twisted
hard, snapping his neck, then she dragged the dead body off
Steve.

All
around them, bullets were flying and police officers and
terrorist's were exchanging bullets and blows. A silver haired man
walked through the mayhem, pausing to drive his fist into a
terrorist's face, dropping him to the ground.

'Sandra.
Are you okay?'

'Never
better, Bernie.'

'This is
Bernie?' Steve asked.

'Steve
Telford, this is my brother Bernie.'

'Nice to
meet you,' said Steve. 'Mind getting this damned missile off
me?'

'My
pleasure, Steve.'

'Careful, Big Brother. That's a thermonuclear
warhead.'

'Yeah?
Any reason why these red numbers are flashing?'

'Oh,
crap,' said Sandra, kicking the dead man with the broken neck. 'It
has a timer built into it. Shit-head here set it off.'

Barnie
and Sandra carefully lifted the missile off Steve who struggled to
his feet and asked, 'How do we turn it off?'

'Pass,'
said Sandra.

'I
thought you knew all this shit?'

'Can't
know everything, Steve.'

Bernie
said, 'Does this mean what I think it does?'

'Twenty
four minutes before it goes off,' said Sandra, staring at the
ominous red numbers ticking away just above the tail
fins.

'There's
an army bomb disposal expert on the way,' said Bernie.

Steve
said, 'No time. Help me get it the chopper.'

'Are you
crazy, Steve?' said Sandra.

'I can
get it to the sea in twenty minutes. Hurry.'

Bernie
said, 'You can't do that.'

'Not if
we stand here arguing about it,' said Steve. 'Come on. I need help
with this thing.'

The
three of them hauled the missile the fifty yards to the
chopper.

'I've
some rope back of the seats. Help me get the missile across the
spray boom. Easy. Easy. Closer to the body of the chopper. Hold it
like that.'

As
Sandra and Bernie held the heavy missile across the boom, Steve got
a length of rope from behind the passenger seat and lashed the
missile tight.

'I'm not
putting knots in it,' Steve said, 'I just need somebody to hold the
end of the rope until we let it go over the sea.'

'I'll do
it,' said Bernie.

'Move
out of the way,' said Sandra.

'Not
this time,' said Bernie. 'You've done more then your
share.'

'We got
twenty one minutes,' said Steve, climbing inside the
chopper.

'You're
not going, Sandra, and that's final.'

Sandra
hooked a leg around Bernie's legs and pushed him hard in the chest
and he was down on the ground. 'See you soon, Big
Brother.'

She
climbed into the passenger seat and grabbed the end of the rope and
pulled it tight. 'I have it. Go, Steve.'

All
Bernie could do was to watch as his sister took off in the chopper,
hanging onto a rope that lashed a thermonuclear missile to the side
of it. He could see the red numbers flashing as it sped away
towards the sea.