The Chop Shop (21 page)

The policeman in
the front passenger seat glanced around at them. “Hang back when we hit the
rally point, and keep your heads down until we set the perimeter up.”

Michael looked
out the front window and saw the convoy separating, and beyond that the four
story buildings and shipping containers lurking inside the remains of a
security fence.

Archibald opened
the rear doors, and they clambered out the back of the vehicle in time to see
an IFV pass them by, turning left further down the road. The pair of tanks had
set up just ahead where Harris and one section were disembarking from their
vehicle.

The major waved
them forward. Michael moved along and took cover behind another patrol vehicle
containing medical equipment. A crash sounded through the night, and then another,
as the vehicles to their left and right drove through the fence.

Harris pressed
the transmit button his radio. “Tango One, are you picking anything up on your
thermal sight?”
“Negative, no heat sources at all. Looks like they've blocked the windows up,”
came the response.

Harris grimaced
and beckoned for first section to gather around. “All right, we're short on
options, so we're going to have to go in, check each building and rat them out.
Once we get them out into the open, the other units can take them apart.
Understood?”

“Can't we just
level the place with the tanks? It'd be easier and safer,” a private said. Some
of the others nodded.

Harris shook his
head. “Unacceptable. What happens when one of those shells goes straight
through that office and hits a civilian house down range? The press would lynch
us. It's too risky, and there'll be nothing left for us to recover. I'll clear
them to engage once we find the enemy, understood?”

The policemen
nodded.

“Lieutenant
Anderson will hang back here and remain in charge of the perimeter. I want you
detectives to watch the medical team and make sure nobody gets through here.
I'll be with one section making the sweep. If you see a man go down, get him
back here. We've got spare vehicles if they need hospital treatment and more on
short notice if this blows up in our faces.

“I'll push the
panic button if I need to. Nobody is getting left behind to bleed to death out
there. Questions?”

“I'm coming too;
I want to see this through,” Michael said.

“Fine, you've
combat experience. Let's move.”

They ran through
the remains of the main gate, following behind the lead policeman who carried a
ballistic shield. Their footsteps echoed across the asphalt.

“Transport
vehicles to the right,” one of the policemen said.

Michael glanced
right and saw cars and vans parked behind an office block. They kept moving.
Corporal Hill's section lay prone to the left beside their fighting vehicle.
His heart raced faster, and sweat stung the webs of skin between his fingers.
The emergency lights turned the compound blue.

Floodlights
shone down from the platform above, shifting focus now and then to light up a
different area. It was open ground all the way to the first building, with
nothing to hide behind. He kept waiting for a shot to ring out, but it never
did. They pressed up against the brickwork.

He shivered from
the cold, as the section stacked up at the door. The point man fed a fibrescope
beneath the door. He glanced at Harris and shook his head. Another eased the
door open with a click of the handle, edging forward inside with his rifle
raised.

Michael held his
breath, still expecting the shot, still hearing nothing but the sound of
footsteps. The next in line followed, and then the next. He stepped into the
darkness, and they turned on their torches.

The pale blue
paint had flaked away from the walls and collected along the skirting boards.
There was a cork notice board mounted on the wall, but everything pinned to it
had crumbled and decayed, leaving only scraps and the drawing pins stuck in.

The entrance led
into a T-junction, where rows of identical doors ran in both directions, and
health and safety regulations hung from the walls in plastic frames.

“Dormitories for
the workers when this plant was still operational,” Harris said.

“We'll be here
all night clearing them, and there are four other buildings to do,” said the
point man.

“Then we'll be
here all night. Everything needs to be checked. Okay, I want two man teams. One
team to two rooms. When you've cleared your sector, rally at the staircase down
there. Understood? Good. Go.”

Michael moved to
the end of the hallway and stopped at the last door. Harris took the other
side.

“Ready?”

Michael nodded.
Harris turned the handle and thrust the door wide open. The hinges creaked, and
then there was a bang as it swung back far enough to strike the wall. Michael
pressed the shotgun against his shoulder, squinting down the sights. He
advanced into the room.

He held his
breath, hands trembling, wobbling the torch attached to his weapon, and the
shadows moved back and forth like they were alive. His finger inched closer to
the trigger.

Bunk beds lined
the walls, and beyond them a bare living room, a kitchen and a communal
bathroom. He swept the weapon back and forth. The floorboards were bare, and
each step sent an echo through the dorm. Harris followed after him. He sniffed
the air, smelling damp and rot.

“Clear,” Michael
said.

Harris opened a
wardrobe. “Clean clothes.”

“There's fresh
food in the kitchen as well. Did we miss them? Maybe they've abandoned the
place already.”

“I'm not ready
to make that judgement,” Harris said.

They checked the
next room. Empty. The section rallied at the staircase, and Harris checked his
watch. “Okay, let's keep it moving.”

A voice cut in
on their radios. “Tango One, all units, we just caught a possible thermal
signature on the third floor of building two. I've lost visual.”

The major keyed
his radio. “This is Harris, copy. East side of the building?”

“Affirmative.
Looked like somebody moved one of the curtains. It glowed hot, but I couldn't
get a proper look. Request permission to put a round into the building.”

“Denied, Tango
One. Stay alert; Alpha One has just cleared the ground floor. We've got three
more floors to hit before we move onto the next building.”

He waved the
point man on. The officer took each step with a cautious gait, pausing briefly
to peer through the vision slit on his ballistic shield. He stopped again.

“Up there, on
the underside. See it?” he said, training his sidearm on an object nestled in
the corner, where the flight of stairs above them met the wall.

More torches
illuminated the spot. It was grey and shaped like a brick, stuck down with
strips of black masking tape. Faint red letters were printed on the side, and
three small boxes had been stuck next to it.

“That's plastic
explosive. Those little boxes are probably filled with shrapnel. Nobody move.
Not one step,” Michael said.

The policeman
beside him let out an anxious breath that steamed up his visor.

“What's the
trigger?” Harris said.

“There'll be a
wire or laser somewhere. Trip it and it'll send a wireless signal to that
detonator sticking out of it. I'd bet on it being a wire; lasers are too
sensitive. We should have brought a ladder with us,” Michael said.

“Shit,” Harris muttered.
“Okay, everyone back off. Ward, find that trigger and disable it.”

The section
hurried past him, their footsteps echoing off the concrete stairs. Michael
wiped the sweat from his forehead.

“I haven't done
this since the war. I don't even have the right equipment.”

“Just get it
done. This mission is scrubbed unless we can proceed, and we'll never get
another chance. Call us when it's safe,” Harris said.

Michael grabbed
the last policeman by the arm. “Give me your laser pen. And take these. I need
my hands free.”

He made the
trade, and then waited until everybody else was clear of the danger zone. An
officer leaned around the corner, gave him a thumbs up and returned to cover.
The world had gone silent.

Michael took a
deep breath and wiped his sweaty hands on his body armour. The tremble in him
worsened. He flicked his pocket torch and laser pen on, going down low as he
inched up the stairs. The red beam picked up specks of dust floating in the
air. He reached the landing.

Something
flashed and cut the beam in half for an instant, and Michael froze. A drop of
sweat ran from his palm and splattered on the concrete. One of the floodlights
shifted position outside, white light piercing through the window like dawn had
come. He shivered from the cold and retraced the line he'd cut with the laser.

The trip wire
blocked the beam again just above ankle height, stretching across the landing
from baluster to a slender nail protruding from the wall. Black electrical tape
secured the trigger to the baluster. He removed his coat, dumped it on the
stairs below him and held the torch closer to the device.

Michael put the
laser pen on the step. He reached out with his free hand, one finger extending
forward towards the switch, only to stop an inch from it. His gaze drifted up
to the underside of the handrail, where he saw another black shape the size of
a matchstick box pointing down at the primary trigger. An acidic taste filled
the back of his mouth.

A tiny glass
bulb was set inside a dip in the plastic. He stood up, taking another breath,
and touched the switch with a trembling finger. A green LED lit up on the box,
and Michael knocked the switch on the primary trigger. Another green light
appeared, and then on the detonator attached to the explosives as well.

He clenched his
jaw tight and tugged the wire free of the nail. Nothing happened. His body
alternated between exhausting heat and a shivering chill so cold that it made
his teeth chatter.

“Clear,” he
said. The section moved up. He put his coat back on and retrieved his weapons.

 Harris nodded
to him. “Good. Keep moving.”

They stacked up
at the entrance to the first floor, peeking around the corner with the
fiberscope. Harris keyed his radio. “This is Harris, Alpha One just cleared a
booby trap in the stairwell. Now moving to clear the first floor. What's your
status out there?”

“It's dead, sir.
Nothing on the thermal sight,” came the response.

“Copy, stay
alert.”

“Careful on the
corners. There'll be more traps,” Michael said.

The point man
flexed his fingers and nodded. “Moving?”

“Move,” Harris
said.

He stepped out
into the corridor, looking through the vision slot on his ballistic shield as
he walked forward. The others followed in single file. A draft blew through the
shattered window at the end of the corridor, and old newspapers drifted towards
them, baring headlines of flu pandemic, hysteria and death.

“Same drill as
before,” Harris said.

They took up
positions outside each dormitory. A single nod later and they cleared the
rooms. Empty.

“Jesus Christ,
maybe they bailed on us,” Michael said.

“Keep it
together. Nobody else has pussied out. Do you want to be the first? I'll make
sure there's a commemorative sign in the station lobby, just to remind
everybody that you didn't have the balls the follow through,” Harris said.

They stared at
each other for a moment, until Michael looked away and moved to the window. He
brushed the curtain aside. The floodlights shone down from above and bathed the
compound in harsh light. Long shadows stretched across the concrete.

He could make
out three section and the front of their infantry fighting vehicle. The
policemen lay on their bellies, weapons trained on the building ahead of them.

“Is there
another way out of here? A tunnel?” Michael said.

“No tunnels, not
in any of the records we turned up. They'll be here somewhere, we just need to
flush them out.”

They moved up to
the second floor, and another trip wire crossed the corridor. The block of
plastic explosive was attached to the ceiling. Michael removed the trigger, and
more empty dormitories awaited them.

The third floor
was empty, too. They gathered in the last dormitory and looked out the window.

“Shit,” the
point man muttered. “Three other buildings to clear?”
“The factory and storage warehouse won't take long to check. They picked up
thermals in the office block, so that'll be their most likely position. Just
keep it together, and we'll get this done before morning,” Harris said.

“Hey, I see
something,” said one of the policemen. He leaned closer to the window.

A jagged hole
appeared in the centre, and the glass fractured as the bullet shattered his
visor, snapping his head back. It ricocheted off the rim of his helmet and
lodged in the wall, and the shot rang out through the compound. Michael threw
himself to the ground.

The police units
outside opened fire. Michael knelt beside the officer, and he turned the man's
head towards the light. “Hey, look at me. Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

The policeman
prodded at his balaclava and then blinked. His chest heaved up and down. “I'm
good, I think I'm good.”

Michael propped
him up against the wall.

“This is Harris,
we just took sniper fire from the office block, no casualties. We're going to
move back down to the ground floor. I want a status update.”

“Alpha Three
taking heavy fire from the office block,” a voice said.

“Alpha Two does
not have a clear line of sight; the dorms are blocking our view. Requesting
permission to move up on the left so we can put some heat on them,” Corporal
Hill said.

Harris pressed
the transmit button, but he didn't say a word. He peeked out the window. A
rocket streaked from the office block and landed short of the tanks. “Do what
you need to do to get a clear line of fire, but I don't want you getting
decisively engaged. Hang back, you hear me?”