No Man's Land - A Russell Carter Thriller (29 page)

16

Samudra looked through the water-streaked cabin window toward the bridge and smiled. He was sitting in the galley of the launch he commanded, moored off Watsons Bay, not far from Sydney Heads, rocking back and forth in the wind.

Rain lashed the deck above, reminding him of the many tears the heathens of Sydney would shed in the morning and the days, weeks, months and years ahead.

God was indeed great.

Everything was in place.

The two men who had been with him on the boat, Jamal and Akeem, were on their way to the second target, the Sydney Opera House foreshore, with C4 explosives packed into the vests hidden under their shirts. No one would give them a second thought among the packed crowds in the foul weather.

A truck packed with explosives – a chariot of destruction – was heading for the Sydney Harbour Tunnel.

Ubal, a member of the Lakemba cell, would join Samudra on the motor-launch shortly.

Abdul-Aleem would not be coming on board as he presumed, or collecting his $250,000. This would be his last job for the clan. His usefulness had come to an end.

The men under his command, Zaheed and Putu, had been instructed by Samudra to shoot Abdul-Aleem when he attempted to leave the pylon on his hang-glider shortly before midnight.

In future only true believers would be allowed into the clan’s inner circle.

His mind turned to the midnight explosions. The sound of God’s vengeance would reverberate around Sydney and then the world.

By 12.10 a.m. all of the brave mujaheddin who’d come with him to Sydney would be dead, only to be resurrected as heroes enjoying the magnificent fruits of paradise they so richly deserved for their noble acts of courage and devotion.

That was not his fate. God had even greater plans for him.

Following the climactic moment where his jihad became reality, he’d use the launch’s dinghy to land at Watsons Bay. He’d then travel to a safe house in Lakemba with Ubal, who’d made all the arrangements. In the morning he’d leave this accursed country and return home to the loving arms of his wife and family.

His thoughts turned to the traitor Djoran, for whom he’d once held such high hopes, and now felt such bitter disappointment.

To his credit, the man had demonstrated great courage at the end of his life. Samudra had to admire him for that, even if he was deeply misguided and would spend eternity in hell.

The cell phone vibrated in his breast pocket. He took it out and looked at the number. It was Abdul-Aleem.

He held it to his ear. “Yes?”

“Carter and Erina have been spotted coming onto the bridge from the water as I predicted.”

“That is indeed good news. Proceed as planned.”

“Yes, sir.”

Samudra clicked off.

He gently stroked the keypad of the phone with his forefinger. To unleash the wrath of God on Sydney, all he needed to do was dial a number and hit send.

The phones would vibrate simultaneously around the harbor, detonating the explosives his men wore on the bridge, near the Opera House and inside the truck. If anyone tried to tamper with the bombs, they’d explode instantly.

The men would die as heroes and enter paradise, as was their wish.

A bolt of energy shot through him. He’d never felt so close to God.

17

Carter and Erina dangled from the nylon cord with the gusting southerly buster blowing them back and forth in an arc.

The harness dug into Carter’s chest. He held onto the ascending cord with his left hand and the trigger guard of the SIG with his right, aware of how exposed and vulnerable they were.

Time, always elastic, slowed. All of his senses were heightened, enabling him to take in every detail of the world around him.

He looked up. The bridge’s underbelly loomed cold and malevolent, casting an ominous shadow of energy that sent a tingle down Carter’s spine. It was as if the bridge knew it was under threat.

Its crisscrossing steel girders and metal beams formed an intricate pattern of interlocking angles, all providing myriad potential hiding spots. If a sniper was concealed on one of the metal struts, there was nothing he and Erina could do to defend themselves.

He shook off these counterproductive thoughts and looked to the south, toward the city, seeking inspiration. Thousands of bright lights shone through the slanting rain, homes and offices to hundreds of thousands of people ignorant of the threat facing their city.

His gaze swept a hundred and eighty degrees over the twinkling nightscape of Sydney’s harbor suburbs, stopping at Luna Park. The huge lit-up clown face grinned at him as if amused by the folly of their endeavor and wishing to share the cosmic joke of human existence.

The Magnogun pulled them steadily toward the base of the walkway, now less than fifty feet away.

A strong gust of wind blasted them. He gripped the cord tighter. Erina’s cold wet cheek brushed against his. He looked into her eyes and saw no sign of fear, only alert anticipation.

Without thinking, he stroked the small of her back with his left hand. She gave his right shoulder a gentle squeeze. The shared touch was one of the most intimate connections he’d ever felt.

—

The Magnogun clicked to a jolting stop. They hung in the center of the three-foot-wide walkway, buffeted by the wind.

Carter pushed the SIG back into its holster and said, “Time for some monkey business.”

“Okay, you big ape,” Erina said, “show us what you’ve got.”

A steel bar ran along both sides of the base of the walkway, suspended about six inches below it.

He reached out with one hand, grasped the cold wet metal bar closest to him and hung from it by one arm. Then he unclipped his harness and swung his body around, reaching out to grab hold of the bar with his free hand. He hung there at full stretch, facing Erina, who was still attached to the Magnogun.

“Nice move,” she said.

The bar was slippery from the rain, making it hard for him to gain a firm hold.

“I’m going to need a leg up,” he told her.

“No kidding.”

He tightened his grip on the bar and raised his right leg toward her until his foot found her cupped hands.

She held his foot firmly. He pulled himself up as if doing a chin-up and pushed off her hand as she gave him a final shove. The combined force thrust his body up into the air and he grabbed onto the metal bars of the security fence above with his left hand and then his right. Clinging tightly, he scrambled one foot, then the other, onto the bar he’d just been hanging from, and pulled himself up into a standing position.

He yelled down to Erina, “Your turn.”

Erina repeated his maneuver and hung from the metal bar to the right of where he was now standing. This was the riskiest part. He needed to get a firm hold of Erina to pull her up.

He gripped onto the security fence hard with his left hand and then leaned out and down toward her, bending his knees until he could reach her with his right hand.

Their hands locked on each other’s wrists and he pulled her up next to him.

They took a moment, standing beside each other, holding onto the rungs of the side of the metal walkway, giving their arms and hands a chance to recover.

The southerly buster whistled through the struts and rigging, and the walkway shook and shuddered. Looking over their shoulders, they peered down at the dark waters of the harbor a hundred and fifty feet below.

“No point hanging about here admiring the view,” Erina said.

“I guess not,” Carter replied.

He stretched his right hand upward and started climbing the fence, using the crisscrossing metal bars as footholds. On reaching the top, he jumped over and dropped onto the three-foot-wide metal floor below. Erina followed closely behind, leaped down and squatted next to him.

He studied the creaking dark shadows of the metal structures above them.

“See anything?” Erina asked.

“Nothing – but I have a creepy sense of being watched.”

“Me too.”

“Let’s go.”

—

Carter led Erina across the walkway toward the western side of the bridge, holding the SIG in his right hand. The thin soles of his Vibram shoes made him feel light on his feet, connected to and part of the cold metal structure underneath.

They moved at a steady, even pace, the wind pushing them as if urging them forward.

His gaze flicked from left to right, but he saw nothing suspicious.

A semi-enclosed metal cage made of galvanized steel grating was attached to the end of the walkway, connecting it to the deck of the bridge above. They passed through its rectangular entrance, stopped in the center and looked up. A metal lid sealed what looked like an access point leading up the inside of the cage onto the deck.

“An internal ladder would’ve been nice,” Erina said.

“So would a hot coffee.”

Carter stretched upward and pushed hard against the metal cover. It didn’t budge. There was no way round or through it. As he’d always suspected, they’d need to climb up the outside of the cage.

There was a rectangular opening at the end of the cage, almost like a window, giving a view out over the water, and they moved toward it. Carter leaned out over the top of the chest-high security railing, turned his head and looked up.

He liked what he saw. The front of the cage, about five feet wide, ran approximately thirty feet up the outside of the bridge, stretching all the way to the top of the security fence on the main deck.

A flat metal grid formed its roof. Once they’d climbed up the outside of the cage and onto its roof, they’d be able to jump over the barbed-wire security fence that ran south to north along the side of the bridge, and land on the bridge’s deck on the bicycle lane. There was no need to utter a word. Both understood that climbing the cage and getting onto the bridge was the easy part.

The hard part would come if a squad of Alex’s men were in position above, armed with automatic rifles, waiting for them.

But they could only deal with one problem at a time. Carter had a motto in situations like this:
If in doubt, keep moving forward
. Waiting any longer would change nothing.

Erina pulled the climbing cord over her head, untied it and handed it to Carter. He slung it over his right shoulder and pulled himself up onto the open metal ledge of the cage. He stood facing Erina, holding a bar above him with his left hand for support.

His daypack hugged his back and the SIG hung over his left shoulder. He shrugged the climbing cord off his shoulder into his free hand, then uncoiled six feet and dropped one end toward Erina.

She took hold of it with both hands.

If he discovered the way forward was clear when he reached the bridge’s deck, he’d pull the rope twice to signal for her to come up and join him.

He leaned away from the cage and balanced outside over the water. He let six feet of the top end of the rope drop below him and began twirling the hook in the air.

After half-a-dozen spins, it had gained enough momentum. He hurled it upward toward the top of the cage, releasing the rest of the cord as the hook flew through the air.

The hook landed on the flat top of the cage. He pulled the cord hard to make sure the hook had caught and turned to Erina.

It felt like that instant before taking off on a giant wave, where everything hung in the balance. He had no idea what was waiting for him up there on the bridge’s deck.

Alex and his men had probably been on the bridge for over twenty-four hours, and once he pulled his head above the line of sight, he’d be totally exposed.

“If I don’t signal you within three minutes,” he said, “call Watto.”

“Carter?”

Erina let the word hang in the air.

“What?” he asked.

She shook her head. “Nothing.”

He started climbing.

18

By 10.04 p.m. Erina and Carter had reached their target, the entrance to the south-west pylon on the main deck of the bridge. Footlights bathed the pylon in a golden glow, making them both easy targets, but there was nothing they could do. Shooting out the lights would only draw attention to their position.

Erina was working on the lock of the thick grey metal door with acid and picking keys while Carter covered her back, swinging his SIG in an arc, scanning the deck.

It looked like an urban wasteland from an end-of-the-world disaster movie. Wind and rain swirled over the concrete and steel structures. Street lamps lit up the bike path, two railroad tracks and the eight empty traffic lanes. All four pylons were illuminated.

So far everything had gone to plan. They’d worked together like dancers in a ballet, each anticipating the other’s moves. They’d jumped down onto the bike lane from the top of the cage without incident. Erina had picked a lock that opened a gate in the security fence that separated the bike lane from the train tracks and the pylon. They then climbed down a four-rung yellow ladder onto the tracks, ran to their right along the sleepers and finally pulled themselves up onto a wooden deck right by the entrance to the south-west pylon.

Carter kept a keen lookout as Erina worked. There was still no sign of human activity, but once they passed through the pylon door, they’d be in territory controlled by the clan. It all depended on when Alex chose to make his move against them.

Sun Tzu, the famous Chinese military strategist, would’ve approved of the clan’s strategy.

The clan had chosen the location of the battle well. They’d arrived first, occupied the high ground and were numerically superior. They’d be watching and waiting for their enemy from a position of safety and had given themselves plenty of time to prepare and execute an ambush in an enclosed space. Once inside the pylon, Carter and Erina would have nowhere to run, making escape almost impossible. The odds were all in Alex and his men’s favor.

Yet Carter knew that in any fight there was always something you couldn’t plan for. And that something invariably made all the difference.

Their job was to find it.

“We’re in,” Erina said.

He turned around. The door was slightly ajar and the lock was smoking.

“Cover me,” he said.

She stepped away from the door, gripping her Glock in both hands and holding it out in front of her. Carter pushed the door open, his SIG pointing forward, cocked and ready.

He moved into a small, gloomy stairwell, barely illuminated by light coming from above. He counted twelve metal steps, three feet wide, leading to a small landing, from which a second set of steps led upward to another landing, then another.

According to their research there were three levels above the main deck: the second floor, a third floor, and then a rooftop level, partially covered, but with an open-air balcony. They would have to climb sixteen staircases and nearly two hundred steps to reach the lookout that surrounded the roof of the pylon.

Erina closed the door and forced a throwing knife into the lock, twisting and breaking it so that it jammed. She then slid two more throwing knives under the door and pushed them forward so they formed a tight wedge.

She gave the door a good shake. It appeared to hold firm. It wouldn’t deter a determined force, but at least they’d hear anyone coming in.

Carter gripped the SIG lightly and started walking up the metal steps on the sides of his rubber shoes, not making a sound.

Erina followed one step behind.