Scion (30 page)

Regent’s Park was an oasis of calm in an otherwise bustling city and covered over 480 acres, it was one of eight royal parks in the greater London area and was the largest within central London. Originally, fifty six villas were planned to be built within the royal grounds but only eight ever were, making them some of the most sought after real estate in the world. One villa, Winfield House, home to the American Ambassador had the largest private gardens outside of Buckingham Palace. Another was home to Charles Russell, the head of Transcon EMEA and had recently been valued in the $150 – 200 million bracket.

As the car drew up to the grand mansion, Hunter struggled to believe that they were in the middle of a park in the centre of one of the busiest cities in the world. Had he fallen asleep during the trip and woken at the front door, he would have sworn they were deep in the English countryside visiting some grand stately home. Before he had a chance to open the door, a butler had opened it for him and taken his small bag for him.

Refusing to let his bag out of his sight, Hunter quickly followed the butler and was led through the grand hallway into an adjoining library which Hunter reckoned was bigger than his whole apartment. Safely reunited with his bag, Hunter relaxed and took a seat on the sofa in front of the roaring fire, set in the largest fireplace Hunter had ever seen.

Charles Russell entered the room dressed from head to toe in tweed, looking every bit the English country gent. His accent, however, put to rest to any doubt.

“Good morning, Mike,” was delivered in a thick Texan accent.

“Good morning Mr Russell,” replied Hunter somewhat nervously. Despite working for Transcon for many years, Mike Hunter had very little interaction with the bosses. Most of his contact was through Walker who had guarded the secrecy of the Transcon bosses with religious fervour. It was only recently that Hunter had actually put two and two together and with Walker’s retirement and Max Ernst’s involvement, all had become clear.

“Please call me Charles. Now, how are we progressing?” asked Charles taking the seat facing Hunter.

“Very well, I have already contacted a number of freelancers who are, as we speak arriving in London. After our meeting, I will be giving them their final instructions and I believe by this time tomorrow, the country should be mourning the tragic loss of its Prime Minister.”

“Excellent. Any tie back to us?”

“Absolutely not, Sir. All are freelancers who work for the highest bidder. No member of our staff will be involved. My meeting will be by telephone only, using voice distorters and secure lines. The freelancers will probably assume Al Qaeda is stepping up the war on the West.”

“Well good luck and let’s hope by tomorrow we’ve got a new Prime Minister.” Charles stood up, as good a signal to Hunter as any that their meeting was over.

“We will,” assured Hunter as he stood up and walked out of the room, the doors to the library opening for him as though by magic. The butler stood waiting and escorted him back to his waiting car.

The butler, having insisted on carrying Hunter’s bag again, handed it back as he sat in the car and bid him ‘a good day’ in a clipped English accent. As the car sped away, Hunter looked round once again at the bizarre country scene which less than a minute later was lost in the greyness of London’s busy Marylebone Road.

“Let’s go past Downing street,” suggested Hunter to his driver who accepted the instruction with a nod.

Eight minutes later, Hunter was driving down Whitehall and looked casually at the gates and police guard that separated Downing street from the rest of the world.

***

London’s Luton airport was the second smallest of the five that served the city and lay 35 miles to the North of London. With over 99% of its flights servicing European destinations, primarily by budget and charters airlines, Luton was never seen as a major security threat. Its ownership by the local council further enhanced this and the distinct difference between the three major BAA operated airports was tangible.

The timings of the six arrivals had been planned to avoid any potential conflict with the Moroccan arrivals, the only flights that caused more eyebrows to be raised by Passport Control, Immigration and Customs than any other. As such, the six individuals arriving from Malaga, Paris, Dortmund, Geneva, Berlin and Amsterdam slipped into the country without anyone knowing that six of the most sought after and highly skilled assassins had converged on one city. Had they been detected, alarm bells would have rung across every one of the UK’s security agencies and the country put on high alert for possible terrorist activities.

The last to arrive was the Amsterdam flight and fresh from her activities in Aruba, the previously named Miss Martinez was greeted by the UK official as Miss Green. Her UK passport did the trick ensuring only a cursory glance to confirm a photo match.

Her task, unlike the other five arrivals was to go straight to Downing Street and await further instructions. Of course straight to Downing Street did involve one stop at a safe house to secure the necessary equipment for the task. She boarded the bus that would transfer her to the nearby train terminal at Parkway where she could catch a train to London King’s Cross. She would then catch the London Underground. Commonly known as the tube, it is the oldest and still one of the largest underground networks in the world consisting of 253 miles of track and 275 stations. Despite the city’s congestion, nowhere was really more than thirty minutes away if it was served by the tube.

By the time she reached King’s Cross tube station, the morning rush hour had subsided and she boarded a ‘Circle Line via Paddington’ train and got off at Bayswater station. A short walk from there was a row of tall Victorian houses, one of which was her London safe house. Entry through the first door was simple and required nothing more complicated than the key secured behind a loose piece of door frame. However the second door was a different matter and required a 12 pin keycode that if entered incorrectly would lock out the code for twelve hours. Although it appeared to be made of wood, the door and frame were made entirely from steel and covered with a wooden facing. It was, to all intents and purposes, a vault.

Once inside, she secured the various tools of her trade and was back out and lost in the bustle of London’s West End within five minutes. She had a rough idea where to position herself but after an hour of surveillance, she settled for the one location that would give her an unrestricted view of Number 10. The only problem would be getting there without being noticed or discovered. Although not easy, she was in position within the hour and had a perfect view of everything to the rear of the building, the business end of Number 10.

Chapter 54

The massive aircraft approached the runway in complete darkness. Only at the last second were the runway lights illuminated as the C-5M Super Galaxy touched down. Ernst had spared no expense in fulfilling his promise to
Dan Baker to take care of Eduardo Ramirez. The largest air lifter in the US military, each aircraft cost a massive $180 million and as long as Ernst got it back in one piece, the cost would be reduced to a mere one million for the 24 hour loan. If anything did happen, The Unit would not only have to fund a replacement but somehow prevent the general who had leant it to them from going to prison.

The rear end was already opening as the C5 came to a halt at the end of the runway and the roar of five powerful diesel engines kicking to life could be heard from the hold. With the aircraft stationary, the plane began to lower, its ramps extending and the five Strykers moved out onto the now darkened runway. As the drivers pulled the vehicles to a stop, the heavily armed members of the unit began to file into the vehicles, each dressed from head to toe in black. It was only thanks to their night vision equipment that they knew everyone was aboard and accounted for. Ernst gave the instruction and the five vehicles sped off into the darkness, no lights would be used on the forty mile journey.

As the vehicles disappeared, the ten guards left behind took up defensive positions around the aircraft. Their orders clear. Anybody who saw the C5 was to be killed on sight. The first of two fuel trucks arrived, driven by the advance party. They had landed just before the airport closed for the night in a small Gulfstream jet and had quickly secured control. It was they who had ensured the runway lights were on for the landing and it was they who would ensure the C5’s gargantuan fuel tanks were full and ready for departure when Ernst returned in less than 2 hours.

The Paraguanan Peninsula on the Northern tip of Venezuela was deserted at the best of times but at 3 a.m. it was devoid of any life whatsoever. The Strykers were the army’s newest troop carriers and the eight-wheeled 18 tonne vehicle came in a number of variations. For this trip, Ernst had selected two M1128 MGS’s with their 105 mm cannon and three M1126 ICV’s with their 50mm machine guns. With a further nine heavily armed ex-special forces Unit members in each, the firepower available to Ernst was enough to ensure an overwhelming advantage against Ramirez’s guards. However, Ernst was leaving nothing to chance. In addition to his overwhelming force, he also had visual superiority. A KH-13 satellite was stationed over the Ramirez compound and would stream the exact location of every one of his guards in real time to small computer screens located in eye pieces worn by each of the Unit members. The small eye piece was attached to each of the soldier’s helmets and could be lowered and retracted as required. Each unit sent a signal to the satellite ensuring its own image stood out from the crowd in bright blue, other units showed up as green and thermal sources with no unit glowed red. The image cast onto the screen therefore highlighted for each of Ernst’s soldiers exactly where they were, where their colleagues were and most importantly where Ramirez’s guards were and quite literally allowed them to see round corners and through walls.

At 3.50 a.m., the first of the MGS Strykers drew to a stop just out of sight of the main gates. Another two ICV’s stopped closely behind. The other MGS had taken a slightly different route and was drawing to a halt near a service entrance accompanied by the final ICV. Ernst in the lead MGS, surveyed the satellite image displayed on the MGS targeting system. He designated the targets and sent the details to the second MGS. Each had three targets. As Ernst checked everyone was ready, he signalled to open fire. The first round from his MGS was a fragmentation round, its target one of two barracks housing a number of guards, all of whom could be seen from the image on his screen lying in horizontal lines on bunks. The other MGS had a similar target and within a second, two flashes on the screen confirmed direct hits.

The second round from Ernst’s MGS took out the guard tower over-looking the main gate. The second round from the other MGS was a high explosive round taking out the generator and plunging the compound into darkness. Red dots were running wildly all over the screen. Chaos had descended on the Ramirez estate. The final MGS round obliterated the main gate and sent the ICV’s off and running with their 50mm machine gun cutting down anyone in their way. The other MGS destroyed the Service gate and the final ICV sped on up into the compound. The two MGS’s following quickly behind targeting and firing at anything in their way.

With half his guards wiped out in an instant, the fight was already over. The second rate druglord guards stood no chance against the 21st century all seeing elite soldiers. As the ICVs drew to a stop at the main house, 75% of Ramirez’s guards were already down. The MGS’s delivered a few well placed rounds that reduced the numbers further and within five minutes of the first shot, Ramirez and only ten of his men were left standing.

Ernst had been clear that Ramirez was to be captured alive and therefore the final assault on the house would be on foot. The doors of the Strykers swung open and Ernst and 44 of the Unit’s best men began to sweep through the massive villa. Every room was systematically cleared and checked. The KH-13 vigilantly scanned every inch for any thermal signal and sending the data down to each of the soldiers ensured the job was as simple as shooting a line of sitting ducks. The only check before killing was that the face did not match Ramirez.

Ernst stood and watched as his men swept through the first floor with ease. Five more down. The second floor, three more down. As he made his way up the staircase, it was obvious that the last room on the third floor held Ramirez and two other bodies, either his guards or his family. Whatever, the mission was almost complete.

Ernst moved to the door and standing to the right of the door behind the wall stretched over and knocked on the door, quickly pulling his arm back. As predicted, the door erupted into shards of splinters as a volley of bullets crashed into it from inside.

Waiting for the gunfire to stop, Ernst shouted.

“Ramirez, you’re surrounded. If you want to live, throw down your weapon and come out.”

The offer was met with silence. Ernst checked his watch, he wanted to be out of there in the next ten minutes. It was imperative they took off before daylight. He counted to thirty and with no response, cocked his MP5-10, spun and dived through the door. Firing two bullets as he entered the room, sending Ramirez’s bodyguard and a woman straight to hell. Before Ramirez could respond, Ernst was already aiming a bullet straight at his head.

The soldiers around him looked at each other in surprise, none knew Ernst could even shoot, never mind pull off some crazy manoeuvre that none of them could replicate. Ramirez dropped his gun and raised his hands.