Darke Mission (61 page)

The Pride of Rotterdam
arrived in the port of Hull on northern England's east coast just after 8am the next day. The drive to London, more than 200 miles away, would take nearly four hours, provided some jackass hadn't jacknifed his articulated lorry over all three southbound lanes near Birmingham.

Robson thought he would grab some breakfast in a Hull town centre café. On advice received there he made his way to Holdernen Road and stole a Nissan Pathfinder 4x4 from the Enterprise car park. He had just about enough cash on him to pay for breakfast and a full tank of petrol.

Robson was scoping out his plan as he drove to London. His home in St. George's Hill would most definitely be under surveillance, maybe even house sat by a couple of MI5 officers. He did not absolutely need to get into the house proper, but he did need to get into his garage. In there was his underfloor safe with lots of cash, unused credit cards and a couple of pistols. He would not be able to open the main garage door remotely, that would be spotted by any night watchmen. There was a side door, however, off the utility room which itself was off the kitchen. If he could get in that way then Bob would indeed be his uncle. Cashed up and tooled up Robson could then embark on his schedule of retribution before heading overseas for an extradition free territory as yet undecided. Top of the retribution list was one JJ Darke.

* * *

The Darke's house on Bute was an impressive dwelling. Built in the mid-19
^th
century, mainly of sandstone, it was a tall two storey robust house which sat square and central in the three acre plot. To the rear of the plot was a steep hillside, populated by tall and numerous trees. The undergrowth was thick and the soil soggy. It was unlikely that any attack would come from there. Potential assailants would likely career down onto the open spaces below and well within range of a decent marksman. To the front of the property there was a walled road, the front gate, a pebble and rocky beach and the wide aspect of the River Clyde. The tall ground floor windows, almost floor to ceiling, allowed a fantastic view but provided no cover or elevation advantage over any approaching attacker. JJ knew that the six of them would not be able to hold off a well-armed gang for long. Their only realistic hope of victory and survival would be if they could pick off a few of the Russians before they breached the house.

JJ allocated weapons and rooms to defend. Gil and Cyrus would take the right side bedroom at the top of the stairs, JJ and Becky the top left. Robert Darke would occupy the single back bedroom just in case there was an attempt at a rear breach. Frances Darke, with six knives sheathed and strapped criss-cross on her chest would shuttle between front and back. JJ wanted to be with Cyrus, but Becky was a total wreck, unable even to contemplate holding a firearm, so he decided to stay with her. The calming influence of JJ would encourage her to sit in a corner of the top left bedroom, hunkered down behind the dressing table and away from the windows. JJ managed to convince her to hold his loaded crossbow and point it at the open door. If anybody she didn't recognise came through then fire. JJ had given Cyrus the same Glock 22 hand gun that he had loaned to Victor Pagari for the gold heist. Cyrus was a little apprehensive but calmly so. He was sure he could handle that. Cyrus's positioning was to be similar to Becky's in the other bedroom. Keep your head down, away from the window and point your weapon at the open door. Cyrus could have felt abandoned by his dad, but he didn't. He felt that he had been given a grown up responsibility for the first time, albeit a very dangerous one.

Gil and JJ had the heavyweight weapons with them. Gil had taken her Nemesis Vanquish high-powered sniper's rifle. She was setting it up and was now content. If she had to get up close and personal she also had two hand guns, a SIG Sauer SP2009 and an old Desert Eagle MK1. JJ had his crossbow, currently in the possession of the petrified Becky, his commando knife, his Glock 19 and a ChayTac M-200 intervention rifle, brought out of storage just for the occasion. Robert Darke had his old hunting rifle, a Lee Enfield No. 5, and not much else.

The Bute six had neither sub-machine guns nor grenades. In a serious shootout they were weapons light. As the experts of the group, JJ and Gil briefed everyone else on weaponcraft, taking cover, the need for clear and loud communication. If the attackers were indeed Russian they'd have a hard time understanding the three heavy Scottish accents on hand so loud information would not necessarily mean a thing to them. Under the circumstances and with the equipment they had, the group were as prepared as they could be.

Gil stayed in her position as first watch, while the other five took the opportunity to grab a bite to eat. They did not have time to digest.

“Positions!” yelled Gil.

There followed a mad dash from the kitchen and up the stairs. Cyrus was first into his location, not far from Gil, crouched down and pistol pointing. By the time he had got there, Gil had already accounted for the lead Russian Mercedes driver. As Babikov's gang sped through the gates and up the drive, the lead Merc came into plain view. The Russians weren't here for a friendly chat on the doorstep concluded Gil so she thought she'd even up the odds a little with a deadly accurate first strike. The second Mercedes and Babikov's AMG screeched to a halt. Babikov and Boris were not clearly visible, gaining cover from both the cars in front and some giant chestnut trees overhead. The ex-FSB and related thugs scrambled out of their cars. They were quick, though the last one out of the lead Merc was not quick enough. JJ had him in his sights. Zip! Babikov was two down.

The advantage of surprise gained by the Bute six had now run its course. Bogdan Zhirkov was Babikov's head bodyguard and he was barking commands at his remaining men. They were now under cover, in bushes, behind natural mounds in the grounds of the house and one crouched behind each of the Merc saloons. Babikov was laying low in the AMG's rear seats, with Boris Akulov next to him. As feared by JJ, the Russians were heavily armed.

The upper windows of the house were now nearly all shattered, glass spraying everywhere. Becky was shrieking but then calmed down surprisingly quickly. It was nearly impossible for JJ or Gil to pop their heads up to shoot. JJ couldn't tell from his under siege vantage point but it seemed like all of the attackers were armed with sub-machine guns. Heckler & Koch MP5s or Micro UZIs were the most likely he surmised given the sound and non-stop barrage of bullets peppering the house's upper floor.

The Darke's house was not isolated but there were no neighbours within two or three hundred yards, either side of its coastal perimeter. The deadly sniper shots fired by Gil and JJ had not aroused the suspicions of any locals.

No such luck once the thugs' machine guns started ventilating. Phone calls to ‘Precinct 13' ensued and four local policemen turned up, two in their fettled BMW and two in a Land Rover. On hearing the racket caused by the machine guns they stopped short of the house's main gates. This was Britain, and although Scotland may not seem like part of it on occasion it was as far as gun laws were concerned. The four local policemen, used to arresting locals for peeing in a shop doorway, were not carrying weapons. They needed back-up. They called for it but it would not be arriving any time soon. The closest armed police unit was based in Glasgow. If they scrambled straight away then it would take them at least an hour and a half by road and boat. Less than an hour if the armed police could use one of their helicopters and land at some old field known as ‘the airport' to the locals, or in the grounds of Kames Castle. The local police did the only sensible thing that they could. They blocked off the main Ascog road connecting Rothesay with Kingarth and Mount Stuart. They alerted the local, small hospital, called for an ambulance with paramedics to be on standby, and kept their distance from the raging gunfight.

“Cyrus, Gil!” yelled JJ. “You OK?”

“We're fine,” Cyrus hollered back.

“I've left my window position, Gil. I'm on the landing, covering anyone who comes up the stairs. Keep your sights on the front garden. OK?” JJ shouted.

“OK,” said Gil. There was an ominous lull in the machine gun rat-a-tat. This was a tough house to defend, multiple points of entry, too many doors and windows. JJ deduced that the absence of machine gun peppering meant that the assailants were probing, searching for a way in. He would need to go down a level.

“Becky, do you want to stay there or come with me? I'm headed lower?” asked JJ.

“With you,” said Becky, rushing out of the bedroom door, still clutching the crossbow so tightly that she was almost welded to it.

“Dad, Mum!” hollered JJ. “I'm headed down. Dad take my position here on the landing.”

“Aye,” said Robert Darke, still calm and still ready for action.

JJ and Becky progressed gingerly down the stairs, JJ at the front and now joined by Frances Darke taking up the rear of the threesome. Becky felt a little safer being in a Darke sandwich. Before they could reach the ground floor, one of the non-FSB thugs in Babikov's employ came crashing through the front door. Clearly untrained and impatient he tumbled onto the hallway carpet. Before he could steady himself and fire at the descending trio he had a knife in his chest and a crossbow arrow in his left leg. Becky just freaked out at the loud commotion when the door gave way and instinctively loosed an arrow from the crossbow. Frances Darke was, in the same instant, more calm and methodical. Circus knife-throwers opt, predominantly, for one of three types of knife; handle-heavy, blade-heavy or balanced. Black Nana preferred balanced. She remembered the drill, left-handed throw meant right shoulder faces the target, one step forward with her back foot, step towards her throw line with her front foot, aim, throw as hard as you can and follow through like a baseball hit or a golf swing. Whoosh! Thud! Knife embedded in bad guy. In her circus career Frances Darke was skilled at missing the human target. It did not take much effort for her to adjust to hitting it. These communist bastards were intent on wrecking her lovely home. They would die for that.

As the knife victim lay bleeding out on the hallway carpet, Gil concluded that she had no further visible targets from her vantage point. She thought that she had winged another one of the Russians, she had, but it was not a kill shot. There was no sign of movement in the front garden or from behind surrounding bushes, mounds or other natural defences. She decided it was time to head lower as well.

“Cyrus, we're off. We're going down, next to your dad,” said Gil.

“Fine,” replied Cyrus, scared but not quite rigid. “Hi Granddad,” said Cyrus as he and Gil high-crawled onto the upstairs landing before descending.

“Hello Cyrus,” replied Robert Darke. “Guess this is like
Call of Duty
in 3-D,” quipped Darke the elder.

“More like 4-D,” replied his grandson just as the large stained-glass window above the small landing on the stairs, mid-floor, smashed and gave way.

The incoming Russian landed full on Gil, knocking her rifle out of her grasp and sending it tumbling down the stairs, landing inches from his stricken comrade on the hallway floor. The attacker recovered first and was about to shoot Cyrus.
Crack
went Robert Darke's Lee Enfield. It hit the Russian in the shoulder. He fell backwards, spraying the ceiling and the top floor with a barrage of bullets from his UZI. By the time he had landed on his back all 20 rounds from his magazine had emptied. Eighteen of them had gone nowhere interesting but two had hit Robert Darke. One round grazed his head and was not life-threatening but the second one had hit him in the chest. Frances Darke could see and hear the chaos from her position on the ground floor. As the Russian was trying to get back up, she threw two more knives in rapid succession. Both hit their target. Babikov had now lost four men with one injured.

“Dad!” yelled Cyrus. “Granddad's been hit.” JJ acknowledged his son, rushed into the pantry opposite the dining room and grabbed the first aid box that he knew was there.

“See what you can do, Becky, please,” JJ said as he relieved Becky of his crossbow and swapped it for the first aid kit. “Mum, stay with Dad, help Becky. Here take this,” JJ handed his mother his sniper's rifle.

“Gil, you alright?” asked JJ.

“Fine, a bit groggy, he sure was one fat bastard that landed on me,” replied Gil.

If she can complain, thought JJ, then she's peachy.

“Good. Gil you and Cyrus, down here with me,” beckoned JJ.

Frances Darke hunkered down on the landing. She glanced every few seconds at her husband and the fine first aid work that Becky appeared to be doing. When she had done her first aid course sponsored by the Treasury in 2013, Becky had been thinking more of her mum maybe absent-mindedly burning herself; not attending to a gunshot wound in the middle of a firefight.

In between glances, Black Nana had one eye on the ground floor with its wrecked front door and one on her husband. “You alright Bobby?” enquired Frances Darke.

“Naw, I'm no…” Robert said with a grimace. “It feels like a fuckin' heart attack. Is Cyrus OK?”

“He's good, Bobby, with his dad and Gil,” she replied.

The Chelsea Three were on the ground floor, making their way towards the back door of the house, checking the utility room and cloakroom as they went. JJ had his Glock 19 in his left hand and crossbow in his right. He was not as deadly accurate with his right hand but he could hold the crossbow steady and if the target was close enough he'd hit it. Cyrus was in the middle, still holding his gun and Gil took up the rear, Glock holstered but rifle out and ready. As they passed by the door on their left which led to the basement they could hear movement. The attackers were probably in the house having entered from the basement's exterior door that led to the side garden of the property. There sure were too many points of entry and egress in this bloody place bemoaned JJ. He could see, from the space between door and floor, that the invading Russians had not yet found the light switch. That was going to be an unexpected bonus.