Under Fire: (A Dan Taylor thriller) (7 page)

Grant screamed as the hammer fell onto his outstretched fingers.

‘The code,’ hissed the man at his ear. ‘Tell us the code.’

Grant took a deep shuddering breath. ‘I can’t!’ he said. ‘I can’t remember!’

He strained at the bindings which held his arms securely to the wooden chair, kicked at the ropes which bound his ankles to the frame, then vomited onto the floor when he saw the remains of the little finger on his right hand.

The man glanced up at his colleague, who was breathing heavily through his black mask, his eyes wide.

‘Do it again.’

‘No!’ Grant twisted on the chair, trying to move his hands away from the fall of the hammer.

His scream echoed off the walls of the basement, cutting through the dank air.

‘Please,’ he whimpered. ‘No more. I can’t…’

His head fell forward, a sigh escaping his lips.

The man next to him straightened, grabbed a fistful of Grant’s hair and tipped his head back.

‘Shit. He’s fainted.’

He turned, reached down for a bottle next to his feet and tipped the contents over Grant’s face.

The engineer spluttered, opened his eyes and coughed violently, his head falling across his chest as he brought up the water that had assaulted his lungs.

The other man rolled his sleeve back, glanced at his watch, and raised the hammer once more.

‘We’re running out of time.’

‘Hold on.’

The man next to Grant crouched down. ‘Hey. Grant.’ He patted the engineer’s face, forcing the man to focus. ‘Don’t pass out on me. What’s the code? That’s all we need, Grant. The code. Tell me.’

Grant’s head fell forward, a sob choking his voice. ‘I can’t remember. The drugs – I can’t focus.’

‘Maybe this will help.’ The man stood up, took the hammer from his colleague and waved it in Grant’s face.

The engineer started to hyperventilate, his eyes wide. ‘Please, no…’

The man smiled as he tossed the hammer from one hand to the other. ‘Come on, Grant. They don’t pay you
that
much. Tell us the code.’

Grant frowned, then lowered his head, his mind racing. What
was
the code? Why couldn’t he remember?

‘I’m waiting, Grant.’ The man’s soft voice burrowed into Grant’s brain, turning his bowels to liquid.

‘Christ.’ The man stepped back as Grant shit himself, the stink filling the small underground room.

Tears streamed down the engineer’s face. ‘I can’t remember!’ he sobbed. ‘Whatever you gave me – I can’t remember!’

The man tested the weight of the hammer in his hand, stepped around the chair and pulled Grant’s hand free of its bindings.

‘Try harder,’ he said, and swung the hammer down.

***

‘Something hit it!’ Rashid continued to stare at the screens in shock.

‘What do you mean something hit it?’ demanded Adil. ‘There’s nothing else near it!’

Rashid frowned. ‘Something definitely hit it – I saw it! The tanker moved, like… like it was
shoved
or something..!’

He broke off suddenly. ‘Quickly, quickly!’ he said, waving a hand at Adil. ‘Shut down the outbound pipes so no gas goes out to that jetty!’ He pulled his chair upright and sat down, wiping his forehead with his hands.

Adil began typing in keystrokes, all his graduate training jumbling in his mind as he tried to recall their emergency drills at the facility.

‘We’ve already got gas travelling through that pipe, Rashid! What do I do?’

Rashid pulled his own keyboard towards him and began typing furiously. ‘We’ll redirect it, loop it round to the overflow pipeline and send it back into the facility.’ He pointed at the telephone on the desk between them. ‘Call them now. Warn them it’s coming back their way.’

Rashid glanced up at the computer monitors and gasped in disbelief as another string of data appeared across the screen. The cursor stopped at the end of the line of text, blinking ominously.

 He read the data string, his mind automatically translating what the hacker had typed, then began typing in a counteractive command. He shook his head in frustration as the hacker started to delete the text as fast as he could type in the commands.

‘Rashid – hurry! The gas is flowing already!’ urged Adil, his hands gripping the desk.

‘Phone the processing plant – tell them to stop it –
now
!’

Adil nodded, picked up the phone and hammered in the four digit number for the processing plant, his hands shaking.

Both men glanced up as Samir ran towards them. ‘IT are onto it – they say it’s definitely a virus in the system,’ he said.

‘It doesn’t matter now,’ said Rashid and pulled Adil’s keyboard towards him. ‘We’re going to have to try the emergency procedure.’

Adil frowned. ‘That hasn’t been tested under stress yet,’ he said, the phone to his ear. ‘Are you sure?’

‘Have you got a better idea?’ Rashid opened up a programme on the computer’s desktop and typed in a user name and password. As the programme window opened, he quickly scrolled across to a red button on the screen which simply said
FIRE
.

He glanced at Adil, who nodded, then depressed the button.

The schematic on the screen flickered, and a white box appeared on the screen, a red line tracking across its length, timing the progress of the new anti-virus programme.

‘Come on!’ urged Rashid. His eyes remained glued to the red line, his heart beating so hard in his chest it made him feel sick.

The red line reached the end of its progress bar, the white box disappeared from the screen, and the schematic appeared once more.

Rashid tentatively moved the mouse across the screen, anticipating the hacker’s return.

Nothing.

He watched the command screen for the new software, its red
FIRE
button blinking calmly on and off. Rashid glanced up at the CCTV screens above their computer monitors. Alarms howled through the facility, their urgency echoed in Adil’s voice as he spoke to the people in the processing plant. His heart hammered in his chest and, as he removed his fingers from the keyboard, he noticed his hands were shaking. He blinked as a bead of sweat ran from his forehead, the sound of alarms from the jetty carrying through the facility as emergency crews began pouring over the stricken ship.

Wiping his eyes, he looked at Adil, shook his head and glanced at the new software displayed on the monitor which he’d launched on the system just in time.

‘That was close. That was way too close.’

Adil frowned and pointed at the CCTV monitors. ‘We still have a huge problem down there.’

Rashid followed his gaze and saw the collapsed jetty, fires spreading around the stricken ship’s hull while the facility’s fire and rescue crews helped people from the deck. A helicopter hovered above the wreckage using its searchlight to help find crew who had dived into the deep water of the port.

He shook his head in disbelief. ‘We’re going to be out of action for weeks.’

Dan shielded his eyes from the bright lights exploding from the camera flashes as the limousines cruised to a smooth halt. He glanced over at the Sheik’s bodyguards and nodded. One exited the car away from the cameras, peering up at buildings then scanning the crowd for any sign of threat towards his employer. He was joined by the other men from the first vehicle who walked to the media side of the car, glared at the photographers, and then eased the car door open.

Dan slid across the leather seat and held up his hand to the Sheik. ‘After me.’

He eased his large frame out of the car and raised himself up to his full height, seeking out potential threats. He turned, slowly, peering over the roof of the car. His eyes rested on one of the bodyguards who nodded in return, before they each returned to their observations of the surrounding area.

Satisfied, Dan leaned down, rested one arm over the top of the car door and spoke quietly to the bodyguard sitting next to the Sheik.

‘Now. Quickly.’

He turned his attention to the Sheik and looked him in the eye. ‘No stopping. You can talk to whoever you want once you’re safely inside.’

The Sheik pursed his lips, displeased, but nodded in agreement.

Dan straightened up, beckoned the bodyguards towards him and indicated they should form a barrier between the press and their employer.

As the Sheik stepped out of the car, there was an almost perceptible surge forward by the photographers, all trying to capture the elusive perfect shot.

Dan glared at the photographers nearest to him and concentrated on ushering the Sheik forward and through the doors of the conference centre. It was only a few metres between the car and their destination, but to Dan, it felt like a marathon. His heart racing, he felt the responsibility for the other man’s life on him like a weight, slowing him down.

Finally, they reached the double doors of the building. Dan used his shoulder to push open the doors before the concierge could do so, and stood holding them open for the Sheik, flanked by the four men protecting each side of him as he swept past.

The man at the rear turned and faced the photographers as the doors swung shut behind them and held up his hand.
Enough
.

Dan breathed out, the cacophony of the international press corp replaced with the bedlam of a party in full swing. He got his bearings, nodded to a familiar face working security for the venue, and watched the Sheik and his retinue as the crowd parted before them.

He wandered over to the bar, ordered a soda water and turned, leaning back against the wooden surface as he sipped his drink. Although he’d only been ordered to provide back up to the security team, years of training meant he wouldn’t relax until the Sheik was safely back at his hotel.

As the room filled, Dan glanced to his right, catching a movement in the crowd, and spotted a waiter making his way towards the Sheik.

Dressed in the hotel uniform comprising a dark suit, white shirt, and red tie, he was of average height, with brown hair and dark brown eyes. He held a tray of drinks in his hands, a mixture of alcohol and fruit juices to suit the differing tastes or religious tendencies of the eclectic crowd.

As he drew nearer the Sheik, Dan noticed the waiter was sweating, his eyes darting around the room as he walked. His gaze fell momentarily on Dan, and then he looked away, back at the Sheik.

Dan frowned and eased himself away from the bar, his heart starting to beat faster. He edged closer to the Sheik, keeping a respectable distance between the man and his entourage, but making sure he slipped into the natural perimeter the Sheik’s bodyguards had adopted.

The waiter approached the Sheik, glancing at the nearest bodyguard as he did so, then began to offer drinks to the Sheik and his guests.

A woman moved into Dan’s line of vision. He side-stepped to his right, and saw the waiter holding out a smart phone to the Sheik.

‘There is a phone call for you sir,’ he murmured, bowing slightly.

The Sheik excused himself from his guests and reached out for the phone.

‘No!’ Dan pushed past the bodyguards and an overweight man in a grey suit. ‘I’ll take that,’ he ordered.

The Sheik’s head turned at the interruption.

The waiter’s face fell, a look of shock in his eyes, the phone still held out to the Sheik’s wavering hand.

Dan snatched it away and put it to his ear. ‘Who is this?’ he demanded.

‘Watch the video,’ said a disguised voice.

The line went dead. Dan looked down at the phone in his hand and heard the distinctive trill of a message being received.

‘What’s going on?’ the Sheik asked.

Dan shook his head. ‘I’m not sure.’ He held up the phone to the Sheik and showed him the message which had appeared.

Watch this.

Dan glanced at the Sheik, who nodded, and pressed ‘play’.

The screen lit up with a fiery scene – a television news report showed a ship capsized against a port jetty, while searchlights from helicopters scanned the surrounding waters. Fires swept around the hull of the ship and fire crews aimed jets of water across the structure. An excitable television reporter mouthed silently while a ticker line appeared below his face.
Ras Laffan port facility attacked in Qatar
.

The Sheik eased the smart phone from Dan’s grip and watched the video, his lips pursed. He held up the image to Dan.

‘This is my family’s facility,’ he said hoarsely. ‘What’s going on?’

Dan looked up and watched as the waiter stood in the middle of the floor where the Sheik had left him and appeared to search around the room, craning his neck from side to side, before turning and hurrying towards the corridor which led to the rear of the building.

Dan turned to the nearest bodyguard. ‘I’ve got a bad feeling about this. We’re taking him back to the car
now
. Don’t let anyone come near him.
Go
.’

The bodyguards began to push the Sheik towards a side entrance, the leader with a hand cupped around his throat microphone, speaking to the drivers of the limousines, telling them to meet the Sheik’s group outside.

Dan threw himself against a fire exit door, and pulled the Sheik down a set of concrete steps, just as the two limousines screeched around the corner of the building and slid to a standstill below them.

He jumped the last two steps, wrenched open the back door of the first limousine, checked inside, then turned and grabbed the Sheik.

‘Get in – quickly!’

Dan stood to one side as two of the bodyguards leapt into the car with the Sheik, the others making for the second vehicle. Both cars launched away from the steps towards the street.

Dan ran back inside, heading towards the main reception area.

A commotion near one of the waiters and a crash reverberated around the room as a tray of drinks hit the floor, splintering glass everywhere. Then a scream, and the crowd parted as the waiter came charging through the guests.

Dan frowned and looked over his shoulder. He tuned into the voices over his earpiece, frantic stilted phrases.

‘We’ve got the stairs covered… he tried to escape through the car park… he’s coming your way!’

The waiter pushed past Dan, who turned to grab the man as he ran. The man’s jacket slipped from Dan’s grasp as he ran through the crowd. Dan cursed and pushed past people, gaining on him.

The waiter looked around in desperation then pushed his way through the panicked crowd, stumbling over people as he fled the room.

Dan’s height gave him an advantage – he could see over people and noticed the man was heading down the corridor, past the office where Browning’s team had based themselves. He pushed a woman out of the way, sending her towards the front doors, towards safety. A man elbowed his way past Dan, grabbed the woman and propelled her forward.

Dan looked over the man’s head and saw the waiter facing them. His mouth was open in an ‘o’ of shock.
 

Dan realised too late what was going to happen.

As one of Browning’s security men reached under his jacket, Dan yelled. ‘Gun! Everybody down!’

Screams filled the air as the guests ducked as one, scrambling for the floor of the lobby, while Browning sprinted towards the waiter.

Dan drew his own weapon from under his jacket, glanced down at the human carpet, and jumped over people as he pushed his way towards the security guard.
He wasn’t going to make it
.

‘Don’t shoot!’ he shouted. ‘We need him alive!’

The security guard raised his gun, sighting it on the waiter.

‘No!’ Dan yelled. ‘Stay down!’

He felt the gunshot echo around the enclosed space a split second before he heard it.

Browning and the waiter collapsed in a tangle of limbs on the floor.

Dan frantically pushed his way through the swelling number of people now stampeding towards the front doors of the hotel. He glanced over a woman’s head and saw the waiter pushing Browning’s still form away from him.

The waiter stood, dazed, and then saw Dan heading his way. He turned and bolted down the corridor.

‘Move! Move! Get out of my way!’ Dan thundered.

He reached Browning at the same time as the security guard who had fired his weapon. The man’s face was pale.

‘I didn’t see him running – I was aiming for the waiter!’ he said, his voice shaking.

‘You shouldn’t have been waving your gun around here in the first place,’ growled Dan. He dropped to the floor next to Browning and rolled his body towards him, then swallowed as he saw the damage the bullet had made to the man’s rib cage.

‘Is he dead?’ asked the security guard, dropping to a crouch.

‘No,’ said Dan, and glanced at Browning’s face as he heard a gurgling sound. Blood had started to bubble from between the man’s lips. Dan turned the man’s head gently to one side, and then spoke to the security guard. ‘Stay with him.’

Dan looked around him and down the corridor. He turned back to the lobby and saw two security guards running towards him.

‘Follow me!’ shouted Dan, pointing down the corridor. ‘He went this way!’

Dan ran down the corridor, pushed open an emergency exit door and bolted down the stairs, his jacket flying open. He gripped the handrail as he jumped off one flight, slid across the landing and launched himself down the next. He could hear footsteps on the levels above him as the security team left the hotel’s upper accommodation floors and ran after him.

He heard the staccato shouts of commands over his earpiece. He tuned them out mentally – he was concentrating on one thing and one thing only. To find the mysterious waiter who had eluded the security that had been meticulously planned for the event.

Dan leapt down the last four treads of the staircase and propelled himself through an open fire exit door. He emerged in the alleyway to the rear of the conference centre and slid to a halt, panting, his heart hammering between his ribs.

To his left, a dead end – a brick wall, the rear of another building. Spinning to his right, the open end of the alleyway was ablaze with red and blue flashing lights. The silhouettes of two armed officers ran towards him.

‘Where did he go?’ demanded Dan, shielding his eyes against the bright lights of the emergency vehicles.

Dan spun round, his eyes frantically searching the surfaces of the buildings crowding in around them. As Browning’s security team burst through the fire exit door and joined him, he heard one of them exclaim, ‘There he is!’

Dan craned his neck and saw him – the waiter was clawing his way up the wall towards the roof, his jacket flapping in the breeze. Dan pushed his earpiece into place and activated the microphone. ‘Where are those extra security guys?’

A voice filtered through the static. ‘On their way.’

Dan peered up at the waiter as the man reached the top of the building.

He suddenly stopped in mid-air. A split second later the echo of a gunshot reverberated around the alleyway and the man scrabbled wildly at the air before plummeting towards the ground.

Dan turned away, but couldn’t avoid hearing the sound of the body hitting the footpath below. He cringed, then looked. The body lay spread-eagled across the ground, blood pooling out from under the man’s caved-in skull.

He glanced up at the roof opposite. A lone sniper stood, his rifle cradled casually across his folded arms. He saw Dan and nodded once.

***

Dan stood next to the waiter’s body, blood leaking from the ragged exit wound and over the pot-holed tarmac of the alleyway.

Dan watched as the new security chief closed his eyes and tapped the radio antenna against his forehead. Finally he opened his eyes and spoke into the transmitter.

‘Okay,’ he said, breaking away from his thoughts. ‘Seal the area and wait for the police and forensics.’ He put the radio back on his belt clip and turned to Dan.

‘You can go – you’re no longer needed here.’

Dan frowned. ‘Wait a minute, I’m here to help – aren’t you at least going to wait and see what your surveillance cameras have picked up?’ He pointed to the waiter’s body. ‘We need to find out who he was working for…’