Double Blindside. Don Pendleton
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you will have it. Go about your business with the committee. There is a great deal to finalize. Much to coordinate with our friends in America. I understand this will be hard for you, but it needs to be done, Kadir. If we lose our timing now, it may be too much for us to regain the balance.”
Polat did not need telling. He understood the implications of failure at this time. His personal feelings had to be put aside. His people and his country were the most important considerations right now. The long-term planning could not be compromised. As things began to slip into place, keeping the momentum was vital.
“You go,” Polat said. “Use whoever you need. Recruit if you have to. And do not worry about money. It is there for you to take.”
* * *
POLAT’S CAR WAS waiting at the quayside when he left the cruiser. He sat in the rear, his hands resting on his lap. He looked out the side window, seeing very little as the car eased out through the gates and picked up speed. In the front sat the driver and an armed bodyguard. They had a twenty-minute drive ahead of them. During the drive no one spoke.
Thoughts rolled back and forth inside Polat’s head. What he would say at the meeting. The logistics of the merchandise to be moved into place. How he would arrange the funeral of his brother… Polat could not quell those thoughts. No matter how much of the burden Kaplan handled, Amal had been his brother and the active memories refused to go away. Those thoughts plagued Polat to the point where he almost missed the sound of his cell phone. He pulled it from his pocket, glancing briefly at the caller ID as he activated the call.
It was General Demir Marangol, a member of the Turkish military, and one of the high-ranking Özgürlük group members.
“I learned about your brother’s death a little time ago,” Marangol said. “Accept my sympathies.”
“Thank you, General.”
With that out of the way, Marangol moved on quickly to the reason he had called.
“Is it true one of our people was wounded and taken prisoner?”
“Unfortunately, yes. Salan.”
“He must not be allowed to give away any information. This is understood? At this stage that is vital. We must protect ourselves. Can you have arrangements made that he will be silenced?”
“It will be done, General.”
“Good. Remember I can step in if need be.”
Polat knew Marangol meant every word. The man was strictly military. Down the line. There was no left and right in Marangol’s world. He walked the center. Polat felt a momentary pang of jealousy, wishing he could maintain such a posture himself.
“The offer is appreciated.”
“We will meet on your boat later to review matters,” Marangol said. “No mistakes, Kadir.”
The cell went dead. Polat had been dismissed. Marangol had the unfortunate habit of treating everyone as if they were one of his lowly military recruits. It seemed he was never off duty. There were times he forgot who Polat was and spoke to him with familiar contempt.
Polat pushed the thought away. He had too much to concern himself with to be overly worried about Marangol and his ego.
The truck pulled in at the service entrance to the hospital, and two figures dressed in the standard green uniform of ancillary workers climbed out. They both had identification cards hanging around their necks and were wearing latex gloves. They opened the rear of the truck and maneuvered a large wicker basket on wheels to the ground. It contained piles of folded towels and sheets. They pushed the basket in through the rubber doors leading to the ancillary department.
It was late, almost nine o’clock at night, and the department was quiet. They rolled the basket through the department unchallenged and entered a service elevator that accessed all floors. The men talked between themselves as they emerged onto the floor they wanted. At the reception desk they asked for the linen supply section and were directed along the corridor. They carried on until they reached the section they wanted and pushed through the swing doors.
Once inside, they reached into the basket and threw the sheets and towels to the floor. Resting in the bottom of the basket was a pair of AK-47 autorifles and two canvas bags. The bags were slung across the men’s shoulders and the AKs were quickly checked and made ready.
Emerging through the door, the men walked along the semilit corridor until they came to a junction. It was obvious they knew where they were going as they chose the left junction.
They were halfway along the corridor before they encountered anyone. A nurse, studying a patient chart, glanced up as the men appeared. She stared at them, surprised at what she saw. She was given no chance to warn anyone. One of the men produced a handgun from beneath his uniform top; it was a bulky weapon made larger by the suppressor screwed to the end of the barrel. The pistol fired twice, making a comparatively quiet sound. The 9 mm slugs hit the nurse in midchest. She fell back against the wall and slid to the floor, blood blossoming on the front of her uniform top.
The men didn’t break stride as they walked by the body. The shooter kept the pistol in his hand in case they encountered anyone else. They saw no one.
The corridor branched off at the end and again the two men changed direction without pause. The man with the pistol put it away so both hands were free to hold his Kalashnikov.
The corridor ahead of them ended after thirty feet. There were doors on each side of the corridor. Midway along, two uniformed city cops stood guard at one of the doors. They reacted when they saw the armed men approaching.
The AK-47s rose and the loud hammering sound of autofire filled the corridor. The cops never stood a chance as twin streams of jacketed slugs ripped into them. They were knocked back by the impact, bodies punctured by the slugs. Their bloody corpses slammed to the floor.
One of the men raised a foot and kicked open the door. The room inside, with a shrouded light, was empty except for the motionless figure in the bed. Monitoring equipment showed lights and a number of tubes were attached to the patient.
Standing side by side, the intruders trained the AK-47s on the figure. They opened fire and triggered their weapons until they snapped empty. Brass casings littered the floor around them. The shooters ejected the empty magazines. They took fresh ones from the shoulder bags and reloaded. While one man guarded the door, the other took out the pistol again, walked to the side of the bed and fired two shots into the head of the man in the bed. It was an entirely unnecessary action; the man on the bed, resting in a spreading wash of blood, had been shot almost to ribbons by the sustained AK-47 overkill.
Together the men left the room. Already alarms were sounding as they moved along the corridor. From their bags they produced smoke canisters. Activating them, they dropped them on the corridor floor. Thick smoke began to rise and fill the corridors. The men dropped more of the canisters as they proceeded to their escape route.
They pushed through the fire escape door, emerging on an iron landing, and made their way down the ladder. When they reached the bottom they made their way to the far corner of the hospital grounds, pausing only long enough for one of them to take out a remote unit. He flicked the power switch and waited for the light to come on. He thumbed the button. The van they had arrived in was suddenly engulfed in an explosion that blew it apart. Flame and smoke rose in a cloud. Pieces of bodywork were thrown into the air.
As the debris fell back to the ground, the two made their way to the trees that edged this section of the hospital grounds and concealed the AK-47 rifles, the pistol and the bags that had held their weapons in the undergrowth; they would eventually be discovered, but by then the assassins would be long gone. The latex gloves and the hospital uniforms were removed and dumped. The men wore casual civilian clothing underneath.
Three