Aggressor Page 3

  The gun battle lasted for an hour, the longest in American law enforcement history. At the end of it, four ATF agents lay dead, with another sixteen wounded. When little brother gets his arse kicked, big brother comes to sort it out. The FBI took over. From that moment on, the Branch Davidians were doomed. This was one movie that wasn’t going to have a happy ending.

  Tony took a sip of coffee and looked at me sadly as he listened to the conversation that followed.

  The Davidians wanted water . . .

  The negotiators said they wanted to help out, but they just couldn’t oblige. Their hands were tied.

  People were starting to die of thirst here . . .

  It was possible the FBI might be able to do something if some of the Davidians came out and gave themselves up, as a token of goodwill. How did that sound?

  Tony was totally out of his depth here. He didn’t like the sound of the AFVs, and he didn’t like the shouting that came as part of the law enforcement package. He particularly didn’t like being so near things that went bang. He’d have given anything right now to be tucked away in that lab of his, feeding laughing gas to Roland Rat or whatever the fuck it was they did there. He gave me a brave smile. ‘Another day, another dollar, eh?’

  ‘Easier said than done, mate.’ I tried to sound upbeat for him. ‘Best not to worry about what you can’t change. It’ll give you a headache.’

  Tony looked away, staring sightlessly through the side of the trailer as Bastendorf’s audience got right on with enjoying the show.

  7

  I didn’t particularly care which way this thing panned out. I was just looking forward to getting back to Hereford and the squadron. I was out of the Regiment in a couple of months’ time and needed to sort a few things. Not that I had much to organize. The Firm [Secret Intelligence Service] were going to do everything for me, sort out bank accounts, take control of my life.

  Islamic fundamentalists had been on a slaughtering frenzy in Algeria ever since the army seized power in 1992. They’d unleashed a fierce terrorist campaign against a broad spectrum of civilian targets, including secular opposition leaders, journalists, artists, academics, and foreigners – especially oil industry foreigners.

  A job looking after oilmen and rigs came up; the wages were three times what I was on, so there wasn’t much thinking involved. Why get out of the Regiment in five years’ time and start doing the same job? Why not start right away? I was out in five years anyway, whether I liked it or not. The army had wiped my arse for me ever since I’d joined at sixteen. They’d only used three sheets at a time – one up, one down, one to shine – but I’d still been wondering what it would be like to have to stand on my own two feet. And now I didn’t have to worry.

  I handed in my notice and got approached by the Firm a week later. I still wasn’t sure why, but it didn’t matter. It meant not having to fill in tax forms or pay rent. And I’d find out what they wanted me for soon enough.

  I was just about to suggest a stroll to the canteen to see if the queue had gone down when a series of loud crashes came from the compound.

  ‘What are you doing? You’re attacking the children, what about the children?’

  The negotiator went straight into monotone. Bastard and his crew quit their banter to listen. ‘Do not open fire. This is not an assault. We will not be entering the building. I repeat, do not open fire. This is not an assault.’

  The line went dead. Almost at once, the loudspeakers on the armoured vehicles began to blare, in the same monotone as the negotiator, ‘This stand-off is over, do not fire any weapons. This is not an assault. This is not an assault, do not fire any weapons.’

  Tony and I put down our brews and ran to the back of the cattle trailer to get a better view. Three combat engineer vehicles, tracked, armoured monsters with big battering rams out in front, were rumbling around the compound. One pushed straight through the wall like a finger through wet paper.

  Searchlights and Nightsuns jerked around the target. Another CEV forced its ram into the far corner of the building and stopped.

  ‘Oh my God, oh my God . . .’ Tony couldn’t get the words out quickly enough. The searchlights were still dancing like dervishes as the third CEV half disappeared through a wall.

  ‘This is not an attack,’ the loudspeakers barked. ‘Do not open fire.’

  Tony couldn’t believe what he was seeing. ‘If this isn’t an attack, then what the hell is it? Look, Nick, look . . .’

  I was looking, along with close on two hundred law enforcers standing on the roof of every vehicle, trying to get a better view. Some of them even had their flash cameras out, getting a few snaps for the folks back home.

  Tony scrambled over the trailer gate like an uncoordinated child. He hit the ground and started running towards Alpha Pod.

  I followed. The structure was kept upright by air forced through inflatable tubes in the frames. A generator chugged away just outside. This being an American command post, there was also air conditioning. Warm air hit our faces. There was a strong smell of coffee. It was a smoke-free area, and there were signs up to say so. Health and safety initiatives in a war zone were always good to see.

  Every table was groaning with TV monitors and computers. Cables trailed across the floor. Radio operators were hunched speechlessly over their sets. Everyone had their eyes glued to the screens.

  The monitors showed all elevations of the target, apart from the rear. The two screens that had been covering the back were now just black and flickering. Two screens displayed aerial views from P3 cameras still circling at twenty-five thousand feet. The IR and thermal images looked like black and white negatives. Bright white light showed the heat coming from the exhaust of the CEV at the back of the building, then white flames as the driver changed gear before ramming into it.

  Bastard stood in front of the screens, and he liked what he saw. ‘Get some!’ he yelled at the screen. He muttered a few asides to his cronies and gobbed baccy juice into his cup. The crew around him added their cheers.

  ‘Yo, Momma!’

  Thirty seconds later, the vehicle reversed.

  ‘Hey, Koresh, how you like that new air freshener?’

  ‘Y’all find that tank’s ass stinks more than ours!’

  I looked at Tony. ‘Gas?’

  ‘They’re injecting like mosquitoes.’

  The FBI’s patience had run out. They’d gas them and then round them up as they staggered out, coughing and spluttering, fluids dribbling from every orifice. Next stop would be the back of a wagon or an ambulance, and downtown to the ER before they got arrested.

  ‘Good news.’ I grinned at Tony. ‘That’s you and me on a plane home.’

  But Tony wasn’t smiling. He strode up to Bastard. ‘What gas are you using?’

  Bastard just kept on staring at the screens. He shrugged his shoulders. ‘Dunno, old bean. Just gas, I guess.’

  Tony was flapping, looking around at the room for some kind of moral support. He didn’t receive it. A couple of Bastendorf’s men started to smirk, sensing fun. Tony pointed to the monitors as another CEV crashed into the compound. ‘Have they got respirators in there? What about the children? In those confined spaces you’re going to kill them! Why aren’t they already coming out?’

  Bastard ignored him. Outside, the symphony of slaughtered animals returned and another CEV embedded itself in the building. It stayed put for about twenty seconds and then pulled out. Another mosquito injecting its poison.

  Bastard just stood there, glued to the screens.

  Tony grabbed his shoulder and spun him round so their faces were only inches apart. ‘This is going to kill them, do you not understand?’ His voice was choked with emotion. ‘They’re all going to die!’

  Bastard sneered. ‘Not your party, son. Get out of my face, I got work to do.’

  No-one else spoke.

  I was standing in the doorway. First light was just cracking; visibility had improved.

  A cheer went up from the
onlookers at the edge of the cordon.

  I scanned the perimeter, and the penny dropped.

  Where were the ambulances to treat the casualties? Where were the reception parties to process the prisoners? Where were the wagons to take them away? Why were all these guys watching the attack, rather than being part of it?

  8

  I turned back. Bastard had reached breaking point. ‘Get the fuck outta here, faggot! What the fuck you Brits doing here anyway?’

  Bastard lifted his spade-sized right hand and pushed against Tony’s face. Tony wasn’t made for hard sleeping, and he wasn’t built to take a slapping either. He reeled back and toppled onto one of the radio operators. The guy stood up but he wasn’t going to help. This was the boss’s business.

  I took three quick strides and got in between them. The command tent fell silent and the rabbits and the rumble of the CEVs filled the space. Bastard didn’t have to say anything. His intentions were written all over his face. Tony was spread across the radio operator’s table and was sliding towards the ground.

  ‘I’ll take him away. I’m sorry, he’s not used to seeing this sort of thing. I’ll get him out of the way for you.’ I raised my hand in conciliation.

  But Bastard was feeling too feisty to back off. He poked me in the chest. ‘Who the fuck are you anyway? Another fag Brit?’

  I was here to look after the talent. I stood my ground. Tony’s shoulders rubbed against my legs as he tried to get up.

  I put out my hand and touched Bastard’s jacket. His chest was rigid; the fucker had body armour on. I glanced right and left to see if I could sense how much support he’d be getting. The answer seemed to be plenty.

  There was no way I could win this. Bastard was a big old boy, and his mates would pile in the moment anything kicked off. If the two of us had a day of reckoning, it wasn’t today.

  ‘We’ll go now.’ My eyes were locked on his. ‘This isn’t his thing.’

  One of the guys in the tent came up and put his hand on Bastard’s shoulder. ‘It’s not worth it, Buster. These guys were sent here to help. Special relationship, right . . .’

  Bastard’s jaw jutted as he returned my stare, weighing his options. His eyes never left mine. Then, without a word, he turned on his heel.

  I guided Tony out of the tent but he didn’t come willingly. He still wanted answers.

  The light was good enough to see the US flag fluttering from the antenna of one of the CEVs as it manoeuvred round the compound. It wasn’t the only Stars and Stripes flying. I wondered if any of them had noticed the much bigger one hanging from the Davidians’ own pole.

  The armoured vehicles had churned up the ground so much round the target it looked like the Somme. Litter from crushed wheelie bins was scattered by the strengthening wind.

  I had my arm round Tony’s shoulder, guiding him back to the trailer. But he didn’t want to go. ‘I’ve got to check something.’

  ‘What can we do? There’s—’

  Tony pulled free and started to run. The steel container flown in by the RAF was about two hundred metres away.

  I set off after him. It wouldn’t hurt. If nothing else, it took him two hundred metres further away from Alpha Pod.

  As we approached the container, I could see it had sunk an inch or two into the ground under its own weight. When we got closer, I could see the two back doors had carved an arc in the soft ground where they’d been pulled open. The padlock had been cut.

  Tony was almost hyperventilating with rage. ‘They had no right, Nick. You know the deal. They were only to take it after consultation. In the name of God, Nick, what are they doing?’

  I looked inside. Several of the half-size oil drums were missing. The gas inside was under such pressure, Tony had told me, that it was solid. When the seals were removed, it degraded into fine particles, which could then be pumped into a building under pressure.

  He leaned against the container as if he’d taken a punch in the gut. I hadn’t noticed until then, but the animal screams had stopped. The only sounds were the rattling of tank tracks and Nancy Sinatra singing ‘These Boots Are Made For Walking’.

  Wind gusted off the prairie as I shut the container doors.

  Another roar of approval went up from the spectators. Tony’s eyes followed a flurry of activity alongside several 4x4s on the track to the outer cordon. Binos raised, the thrill-seekers were pulsating with excitement as they munched on their fresh breakfast muffins. In an hour or two the funfair would start up again, and the novelty stalls would churn out more Davidians: 4, ATF: 0 T-shirts. But by then the scoreline would be well out of date.

  I leaned against the container with Tony. Police in body armour, M16s over the shoulder, milled around with cups of coffee and egg rolls, eager to get a good view.

  Tony shook his head in disbelief. His eyes welled with tears. ‘They’re going to die in there, Nick. They won’t be coming out. Some of the children are probably dead already. We must stop it. Who do we see? Who do we call? This is madness!’

  I turned my head. ‘We’re not going to stop anything, mate. Look at this lot.’ The BDU-clad bodies took more pictures and cheered Nancy’s every word. ‘You’re flogging a dead horse, mate.’

  The tears started to roll down his cheek. ‘What? What are you talking about?’

  ‘What the fuck do you think is happening? Look at those wagons.’ I pointed at the CEVs rampaging round the compound. ‘And fuck knows what’s going on round the back. Why do you think the lines have been cut? There’s an agenda, mate. They want the fuckers dead.’

  His jaw dropped. Tony didn’t share the Rambo mindset of those in the helicopters and tanks. He invented toys for them to play with, but I could see he wasn’t used to joining in the game.

  ‘Look, the people on the ground here aren’t the decision-makers. That’s way above their pay scale. They’re just having fun doing it. They got the go from way up, mate. And you can bet your bottom dollar they wouldn’t touch this gas of yours unless the UK said they could. They’ve just fucked you off the plan now they’ve got your gear.’

  ‘But it’s women and children in there. They’re killing them! Someone must do something!’

  I put my hand on his shoulder to stop him from bouncing up and down. I also wanted to make sure he wasn’t going to run off again and try to do something that I wouldn’t be able to reverse him out of. ‘Listen. Ever since this thing kicked off, Koresh and the rest of them have been made to sound like the devil’s disciples. Think of it in Bastard’s terms. It’s a black and white world, and these are the bad guys.’

  Tony’s head was in his hands, and his shoulders had started to shake.

  ‘I’ll go and get a brew on.’ I let go and patted his shoulder. ‘Coffee?’

  What else was there to say?

  9

  By eleven o’clock it was getting pretty hot on my vantage point on top of the cattle trailer. I’d fetched Tony several brews, but last time I looked he hadn’t touched any of them. He still had his arse planted in the mud and his back slumped against the container.

  I took off my jacket and pulled up the sleeves of my sweatshirt. The wind had picked up, blowing tumbleweed across the heat haze between us and the target. The way things were going round here, it wouldn’t have surprised me to see Clint Eastwood ride into shot.

  Still no-one had come out of the buildings. Either they’d all been killed by the gas, or they’d killed themselves rather than surrender, or were being kept inside by Koresh. I wondered what had been going on round the back. I hadn’t seen anything, but I knew automatic gunfire when I heard it. Our guys, their guys, or both? Who knew? At this stage of the day, if they wanted to drop each other it was up to them. I just wanted this to be over and done with so we could pack up and go home. Maybe I’d buy myself a T-shirt on the way out.

  I looked back towards the container to check on Tony. He was still there, and still very much in his own little world. The urgent roar of a CEV engine pulled me back towards the co
mpound. It was making another entry into the building, and this time the monotone had replaced Nancy Sinatra. ‘This is not an attack. Do not open fire.’ They seemed to think that if they repeated the message often enough, we’d all start to believe it.

  The police and federal marshals’ day shift had clocked on hours ago, but the overnight guys had hung around to watch the finale and they were starting to get a little bored now. If Tony was right, most of the Davidians were dead. So why weren’t the FBI masking up teams and sending them in to look for survivors? I didn’t have much sympathy for the adults, but the kids hadn’t asked to be there.

  An angry yell came from near the command tent. I jumped to my feet to get a better view.

  Tony and Bastard were squaring up to each other. Tony was almost jumping up at Bastard’s face, pushing him back with his hands as the FBI man tried to pass. A group had gathered. But I knew none of them was going to intervene. Bastard’s body language said he was going to take care of this piece of business himself.

  10

  I jumped off the trailer and ran towards them. Tony was certainly making me earn my money today. I barged though the gathering crowd.

  ‘Tony, calm down, mate. It’s all right.’

  His head didn’t move. His eyes, red and swollen, were still fixed on Bastard.

  ‘It’s not all right.’ He jerked a finger over at the buildings. ‘Do you know what’s gone on over there? Do you?’

  I was about to answer when I realized it wasn’t me he was talking to. ‘They will have died horrendously. That gas is the same stuff they use on death row. Did you know that?’

  Bastard couldn’t be bothered to answer, but Tony wasn’t going to give him the chance. ‘Do you know why they strap men down before they press the button?’

  There wasn’t a flicker in Bastard’s eyes. But everybody else’s looked at Tony for the answer.

  ‘Because it makes the muscles contract so violently they break every bone in the victim’s body. And that’s what’s happening to the women and children in there!’