“Hello Malik.” The other medic smiled at him as they reached the corridor. His face morphed into a long scream, the eyes were black holes and the mouth a gaping black hole. “I’m David,” he said. “David Bernstein, you remember?”
Malik tried to shout for help, but he couldn’t. He could hear other voices as he past reception and then he felt the breeze as they exited the hotel.
“Will he be okay?” the hotel manager asked as they left. Malik wanted to shout to him and tell him that he wasn’t okay at all. He was far from okay. His mouth flopped open and nothing came out.
“Oh, he’ll be fine. We’ll look after him well, won’t we, Mr Shah,” David Bernstein said as they lifted him into the back of an ambulance. They switched on the siren and drove out of the car park with their patient on board. Nick followed them off the car park in Malik Shah’s BMW.
The hotel manager was relieved that the guest was in safe hands, but his relief only lasted for a short time. It was fifteen minutes later when the real ambulance crew arrived.
The divisional commander sat at his desk and listened intently to what his detective superintendent was telling him. The press were right, someone was targeting Shah’s people, but not because of their religion, it was a purely personal motive. That was the way the evidence that the MIT had uncovered was looking.
“So you think that the Bernstein family are responsible for the bombing campaign?” The commander found it hard to take in.
“I wasn’t sure until we traced their current whereabouts,” Alec explained. “It adds up if you look at the evidence.”
“Run it by me, what changed your mind?”
“We traced them and pulled their personal records,” Alec began. “Richard Bernstein went to university and became a PhD in chemical engineering. He holds several patents for fertiliser-based mass crop production. His second subject for his Honours degree was the history of Irish politics and terrorist mentality.”
“You think he’s our bomb maker?” the commander asked.
“He’s a chemical expert with a detailed knowledge of terrorist tactics. The van bomb was made by someone with an intricate knowledge of Irish republican explosive devices.”
“Okay, Richard Bernstein has motive and the knowhow. I’ll accept that part of your theory for now.”
“His older brother David went to Israel when he left school,” Alec changed the page he was reading notes from. “He joined the military on a commission and became a captain in the Special Operations Unit known as the Sayeret Duuvedevan.”
“That means nothing to me, Alec,” the commander shook his head. His double chins folded over his crisp white collar, and Alec noticed that the grey hairs, which grew from his ears, were out of control.
“They infiltrate enemy states, identify, track and then neutralise terrorist leaders.”
“Bloody hell!” the commander raised his bushy eyebrows. “Assassins?”
“Israel’s finest, commander.”
“I’m assuming that he is still in the army?”
“They never really leave, they become reservists, but David Bernstein is listed as being on active duty, whereabouts unknown,” Alec raised his hands as he spoke. “The Israeli military were not very forthcoming I’m afraid.”
“I bet,” the commander agreed. “So he could be here.”
“We’re checking flight lists into the country for the last six months. Nothing so far, but I think he’s here.”
“Is that it?” the commander mulled over the information. It was compelling evidence and definitely put the Bernstein family on the suspect list. MI5 had nothing on extremists or rival gun-runners and the organised crime units had drawn a blank too. The only tangible evidence of a suspect was the events of decades ago.
“Not quite.” Alec sat forward and showed the commander a picture of Nick Cross. “This is Nick Cross. He went down for the murder of Saj Shah, the cousin of Malik Shah after a fight over Sarah’s death.”
“I read that bit in the report.” the commander wasn’t sure what the relevance of Cross was.
“He was released on licence seven months ago from HMP Kennet,” Alec said. The commander looked up from the picture. “We checked his visitation records and the only visitor he had outside of his immediate family was Richard Bernstein. He saw him every month without fail, all the way through his sentence.”
“He was young when he went to prison.”
“Yes, he was. The only blip on his record was the death of an Asian prisoner three years into his term. The prisoner was found hanging in his cell, but there were concerns that it might not have been suicide. There were rumours that he’d been paid to kill Cross, but he got wind of it and took the guy out before he could try anything. There was an investigation, but nothing proven.”
“Why wait so long to avenge what happened to their sister?” The commander asked.
“I think they were waiting for Nick Cross to be released from jail,” Alec replied.
The commander sat back in his chair, He placed his palms together in a praying position, and he leaned his chin on the top. The motives were plain to see now they had the information in front of them. Nick Cross’s release from incarceration coincided with David Bernstein’s disappearance from the military radar, and both were a matter of a few months before the trouble started. That would account for a detailed planning phase.
“Do you know where Bernstein is?”
“We have an address for Richard. It’s a farm on the outskirts of the city. I’m guessing we’ll find all three of them there,” Alec said confidently.
“If they are responsible for this, Alec, you’ll need armed backup and the bomb squad with you.”
“They are on standby, commander.”
“Bring them in, Alec,” the commander slapped his fist on the desk. The death and destruction over the last ten days was unprecedented. It brought an unprecedented number of headaches along with it. Alec stood up and headed for the door. “Superintendent,” the commander called as he left.
“Yes, sir?” Alec turned.
“You be careful.”
Alec nodded but he didn’t reply. They were going to walk into the lion’s den, and he had a sneaking suspicion that the Bernsteins would be ready for them when they arrived. He had a hunch that they were working to a timetable, and time was running out.
It was dark when Ashwan awoke. He could feel the wind buffeting the car, but he couldn’t remember what car he was in. Rain bounced off the roof and it sounded like he was in a car wash. There were flashing lights all around him and he couldn’t understand why. His head ached and his limbs were stiff, as if he had pins and needles everywhere. He was in the driving seat of a BMW. The brand emblem in the centre of the steering wheel told him that. He wasn’t one hundred percent sure, but it smelled like Malik’s car. His strong Armani cologne lingered in the vehicle. Above him a colossal steel archway was illuminated against the night sky. He looked left beyond the handrail and the abyss the other side of it. A dark sandstone railway bridge stretched off into the distance. Huge medieval shields adorned the giant towers, Britannia’s crest emblazoned on them. He was parked on Runcorn Bridge, but he couldn’t for the life of him think why. To his left was a highway patrol vehicle, and an officer was placing plastic cones around the vehicle to guide the traffic into the outside lanes. His memory began to come back to him. He remembered the kidnap, and he remembered accepting a lift from a highway patrol. It was a blank after that. Had Malik come for him after the ransom drop?
“Hello, Ashwan,” Richard Bernstein said. He sat in the back of the BMW. “You don’t look so good.”
“Who are you?” Ashwan tried to turn around in the seat, and then he realised that he was strapped to the seat with thick elastic bungee cords. “What the fuck is going on?” he struggled against the restraints.
“Oh, don’t you remember me, Ash?” Richard put a silenced Mac-10 against the back of his head and smiled at him in the rear view mirror. “I remember you every time I take a shower. I still have the scars.”
Ashwan stared at him in the mirror. His face was in the shadows but the flashing lights illuminated it momentarily. He was dark-haired and fat. There was something familiar about him, but he couldn’t place it.
“I don’t know you.” Ash began to think that this was part of the kidnap. His head was beginning to clear a little. “Did you take my son? Where is he? What do you want, more money?”
“Your son is home, safe and sound, only now he knows what a murdering rapist tosspot his father is.”
“He’s home?” Ash looked confused. They had lived up to their side of the bargain. “So why am I here, you going to ransom me now too?”
“No, we’re past the money stage, Ash, we want to see you rot in hell with your rapist friends. I just want you to know who is behind this, before you die.”
“Rapists?” Ash frowned. “What are you talking about?” Then it hit him like a steam train travelling at full speed. “Richard Bernstein?”
“Well done.”
“Look, I had nothing to do with your sister dying.”
“You did, Ashwan. You are as guilty as Shah is. You raped her at that party, didn’t you?”
“I didn’t.” Ashwan realised what it had all been about now. They had been clueless as to why they were being wiped out – and now he knew. “The others did, but I didn’t touch her.”
“Bye, Ashwan.” Richard pressed the muzzle hard against his head. “Mamood and your wife will know the truth about you by now, and I bet they don’t shed a tear over you.”
“Wait,” Ashwan gasped. “Wait, please, look I’ll give you whatever amount of money you want. I’m sorry for what I did to you and I’m sorry about your sister.”
“Sorry doesn’t cut it, excuse the pun.” Richard leaned forward pressing the muzzle harder behind his ear. “Admit the truth. Did you rape Sarah?” Richard hit him with the gun. “Think very carefully what your answer will be, you have got seconds to live you maggot.”
“Okay, okay, please.” Ashwan was panicking. His eyes filled with tears and his lips started quivering.
“Are you scared?”
“What?”
“Are you scared?”
“Of course I am, you’ve already murdered the others, but I can give you millions. You could call it compensation. I have a wife and child, Richard. I’ve changed.”
“Sarah had a family and a child inside her when you maggots raped her. I don’t think your wife is going to be around very long when she finds out the truth, do you?”
“Name your price, three million, four?”
“Did you rape Sarah, last chance?”
“Yes, and I’m sorry, Richard.” Ashwan Pindar was about to apologise again when Richard pulled the trigger. A nine-millimetre bullet drilled its way through the seat and tore through the base of his spine. It ricocheted off his pelvis and travelled down his thigh, tearing muscle and ligament tissue, before ripping of a chunk of kneecap off as it exited. Ashwan tried to scream but Richard gagged him with a gloved hand.
“You’re sorry, Ash?” Richard yanked his head sideways. “Do you see that safety rail?”
Ashwan nodded his head rapidly. Tears flowed freely down his face and mucus bubbles blew from his nostrils.
“Sarah jumped from there. Can you imagine how scared she was when you fucking pigs raped her one at a time?” Richard pulled his head backwards hard. “Can you imagine how scared she was before she tossed herself over there, can you?”
Ashwan gritted his teeth and tried to fight through the pain barrier. His clothes and the seat beneath him were soaked with his blood. He was going to bleed to death in minutes and he knew it. The highway patrol officer looked in the window and saw the gun and the blood. Ashwan thought he would intervene and call him an ambulance, but he ignored his pleading expression and laughed. An ambulance pulled alongside and the highway patrol officer moved the cones and let it pull in. Ashwan was confused when the officer looked at him and winked. He lifted a hand and waved goodbye to him as darkness crept through his mind. Richard Bernstein unclipped the elastic cords and let him slump against the steering wheel.
The decision was made to raid the farm under the cover of darkness. Ashwan Pindar and Malik Shah were both missing and concerns for their safety were not shared by everyone. Alec Ramsay was convinced that they were either hiding, kidnapped as Mamood had been, or they were the latest victims of the mosque bombers. The farm owned by Richard Bernstein was situated in a wide valley with gentle grassy slopes leading down to the stream which flowed through it. Thick woodland formed the perimeter of the farm. The armed response unit were ready to move, but Alec wasn’t happy. There were no lights on in the farmhouse or any of the other outbuildings.
“It looks to me like there’s no one home,” Alec said, looking through night sights. Thermal imaging was picking up nothing either. “I’m concerned that the place will be booby-trapped.”
“They could be in the cellar system,” Will commented, looking at the plans of the building. “We wouldn’t see a heat trail down there would we?”
“No, not with this equipment,” Inspector Green replied. He was the unit leader on call with the armed response team. “We could check the outbuildings first, Alec, and then take it from there?”
“Okay start with the stable block here, and keep your eyes open. This bomb maker is in a different league,” Alec frowned, deepening the creases in his face. He swept the blond fringe from his face and let out a deep breath. There would be plenty more grey strands on his head when this case was all over, that was for certain. “The bomb squad have finished with the yard, yes?”
“Yes, guv, they’ve swept it and found nothing.”
“Move in.”
Alec and Will donned bulletproof jackets and followed the armed unit as they advanced towards the farm buildings. The farm was silent apart from the sound of the water running through it. Armed officers wearing full body armour, Kevlar helmets and combat boots moved silently in a four by four cover formation. One unit approached the stables, while another unit readied by the barn.
“Black one, ready to penetrate,” came over the coms unit.
“Black two, ready,” the second troop called in.
“Roger that, you have a green light.”
The doors were opened and the armed officers swooped through them with practised ease. Torch light flickered as they moved through the buildings.
“Black one, clear.”
“Black two, clear.”
“Roger that.”
Alec and Will looked through the outbuildings they had searched, as the troops prepared to search the workshops and enter the farmhouse. They were empty. There wasn’t a cobweb or a layer of dust to be seen.
“This isn’t right,” Alec said. “The place is spotless.”
“It’s the cleanest farm I’ve ever seen,” Will said. “Not that I’ve seen many, but this place has been scrubbed from top to bottom, recently.”
“I think whatever they were doing here is already done,” Alec said. They walked across the farmyard and waited for the armed officers to breach the farmhouse. Alec remembered the van at the mosque. It was clean, as were the other devices that the bombers had used. They left no evidence behind them wherever they operated. He didn’t think that the farm would be any different, unless they had left any nasty surprises.
“Superintendent, we’re ready to move into the workshop and the farmhouse,” the Inspector called on the coms.
“Move in, but leave the cellar areas for now,” Alec had a bad feeling about it. The lengths that the Bernsteins had gone to not to leave any evidence was just one indicator of how much planning they had put into the attacks.
“Roger that.”
“Black one, ready.”
“Black two, ready.”
“Roger that, green light.”
The armed officers moved like shadows and the support teams held their breath and waited for the ‘clear’ call to come. Long minutes went by as the teams searched the workshop.
“Black two, workshop clear.”
“Roger that.”
Alec glanced at his watch as torchlight flickered from inside the farmhouse. Eventually the call came through the coms.
“Black one, the farmhouse is clear.”
“Roger that.”
Alec skipped the workshops and headed into the house. It had been stripped of furniture and ornaments, and cleaned from top to bottom. There wasn’t a light bulb or lampshade left anywhere.
“Is it the same upstairs?” Alec asked.
“Roger that, guv, It’s empty. It doesn’t look like it’s been used for years up there.”
“Mamood said he thought he might have been underground, because there were no windows, and no noise,” Will thought aloud. “Ashwan Pindar and Malik Shah could be down there now, and so could the bombers.”
“I don’t like this, something isn’t right,” Alec turned to Will. “Get everyone out of here. I want the bomb squad in to sweep the cellars first.”
“We should check that it’s safe down there first, superintendent,” Inspector Green was disappointed that his teams wouldn’t be the first in. “I must insist armed response sweep first, sir.”
“Get your men out of the building and pull everyone back a hundred yards, and do it now,” Alec growled across the coms network. “Captain Bishpam, I want one officer in the blast suit to check out the basement. There’s something not right here and the bombers haven’t put a foot wrong so far.”
Captain Bishpam was an officer in the army. The Royal Logistics Core were the world’s foremost Explosive Ordinance Disposal experts. He was seconded to the police bomb squad as an advisor and a trainer. Bishpam had three tours of Iraq and two tours of Afghanistan behind him, and he missed being in the front line. He felt as if he was letting his army unit down being on secondment with the police. Members of the logistics core were dying every week trying to make safe improvised devices in Afghanistan, and he felt that he should there alongside them. His police team were good, loyal and brave, but they had little real experience of locating and defusing terrorist devices. He was the most experienced member by far, and as such, he would wear the suit. The blast suit was a full body armour kit designed to protect technicians who were looking for or defusing bombs. They were nicknamed Demon Suits, because of the high number of men that died wearing them. The reality of the situation was that if you were in the blast radius of a bomb, with or without the Demon Suit, then you were dead. Bishpam wouldn’t allow anyone to don that suit in live theatre, except himself.
“Roger, superintendent, I’ll check it out myself, give me ten minutes to climb into it,” the captain said. He was aware of the skill of the bomber, he’d been called to every scene to inspect the devices, or what was left of them. “You got a hunch, Alec?”
“It’s not right, captain. Why clean down the outbuildings and the stables?”
“You’ve got me there.” the captain sounded muffled as he struggled into the heavy suit. The clumsy suit offered bomb technicians a small amount of protection during reconnaissance procedures. It protected from fragmentation, blast pressure and the thermal and tertiary effects of an explosion, but their effectiveness was limited if a device detonated in close proximity. “What are you thinking?”
“Let’s say they were done here. If they were going to level the place and they had left anything in the buildings above ground, then there would be evidence left in the rubble, right?” Alec explained his hunch on the coms. The officers of every unit there could hear them, and he made sense. “Anything below the buildings could be destroyed with say, incendiary devices maybe?”
“You think the bomb factory was below ground?”
“Where would you build them if you were the bomb maker?”
“In the cellar, no doubt about it,” the bomb squad captain agreed. Five minutes later, he was suited up and ready. The rest of the teams were pulled back away from the house. The captain checked the plans one more time before he neared the house and he noticed a shaded area beneath the workshops.
“Superintendent.” The coms clicked into life and the voice of the captain came over.
“Go ahead, captain.”
“I think the cellars run beneath the workshops too, Alec. There’s a shaded area on the plans, best to move your men away from that building.”
“Roger that, move everyone back from the workshop area,” Alec ordered. “You’re green light to go in, captain.”
“Roger that.” The captain and his bulky suit squeezed through the doorway sideways, and he disappeared into the darkness.