Go Out With A Bang! (21 page)

Four of
them had met up at the unit on an old industrial estate. It had
been a perfect location for manufacturing all the parts they
needed. Due to be closed down with the new units completed ten
miles away, only two of the units had been in use for months. The
other one had been an antique furniture restoration business, only
used three days a week.

The four
men were in their unit, where the expensive machinery was capable
of achieving accuracy within microns. It was a combination of
complimentary skills, honed to the highest possible degree. Only
perfection was acceptable. Some of the materials, such as the
irreplaceable isotope, was handled with consummate care.

This
wasn't anything that could be done by trial and error. Blasting off
test trial missiles for fine tuning, wasn't an option. It would
help them to have their God on their side, as well as their
engineering excellence. It was time to put the plan into
action.

They had
a simple hand operated boom hoist with which to manoeuvre the
missiles in place. The single launcher on the back of the flatbed
truck had been winched out of the way, so the five missiles could
be stowed safely underneath. The total weight of each missile,
including the propulsion system, came to one hundred and seventeen
pounds. They had been carefully laid across two beams of wood with
foam rubber between it and the missile to protect the outer
shell.

The
hoist boom straps were slipped underneath the first missile, the
two loops were separated to provide even distribution. With three
men steadying the missile, the fourth man wound up the handle,
raising the missile off the table. Inch by inch, it was manoeuvred
closer to the back of the truck. The cone of this missile was light
blue. It was one of the two explosive warheads.

The R D
X, or cyclonite explosive charges, had not been fitted inside the
missile cones, because it was too sensitive to being set off by
impact shock. Two R D X charges were in a specially made steel case
with foam rubber packing to protect it from shaking during the
journey to the launch site. They were to be fitted prior to the
missiles being launched.

Each
missile had its own specially made runners to rest on, one pair for
each, extendible to pull two feet out of the back of the truck when
required.

Of the
four small stability fins at the rear of the missile, the one
adjacent to the propulsion system on the top, was eased into place.
Working as a team, the missile was slotted in place on the runners,
and then slid back on the ball bearing rollers until it was as far
back as possible, the soft nylon webbing strap was tightened with
the ratchet. Four more to go.

It took
an hour from start to to finish to get to the fifth missile. This
was the only one painted black at the nosecone. Dropping the
missiles, would have been disastrous, especially the black tipped
one. Nervously, the hoist boom straps were slipped under the body
and spread apart. With sweaty hands, the hoist eased the missile
off the table. More sweaty hands reverently handled the missile to
the final place on the bed of the truck. The bottom stability fin
slotted perfectly in place and all it needed was to roll back to
line up with the others. One man man gently placed a hand either
side of the front of the missile and pushed. It rolled back on the
pair of runners and made it half way and then it stuck.

The man
pushed a little harder, but it didn't budge. Another go. Nothing.
The four men looked at each other. Neither man fancied his chances
getting the missile in place. Then the hoist operator had an idea.
Instead of shoving it harder backwards, he pulled it forwards, and
it slid easily. Then he looked at the rear of the runners. He
started laughing, reached into the runners and pulled out a very
dead rat. He held it up by the tail for the others to see. The
sight of the dead rodent broke the tension and they all
laughed.

With the
missile lined up and secure, the launcher was lowered to cover
them, then a large blue tarpaulin was tied in place to cover
everything. They checked their AKSU74's. At 19.3 inches with the
folding stock, it was a shorter AK74. They were using those for
ease of concealment when not in use, but were using the standard
5.45 x 39.5 MM cartridges.

It was
time for them to go. Depending on traffic,it was a little over half
an hour to the chosen launch site. The others would meet them there
at the appointed time. The truck was driven out of the unit and the
roller shutter door pulled down and locked. It was time to meet
their destiny.

Chapter 68

Police
Constable Mollie Mulligan was at once feeling, nervous, excited,
confused and a little lonely. There was nothing dainty about
Mollie. At five eleven in her bare feet, and a well padded one
hundred and seventy four pounds in her ill fitting undies, she made
an odd sight in her pink tracksuit. Deciding the likelihood of her
bumping into a gang of terrorist's was somewhere between zero and
zilch, she might as well do her odd version of power-walking to get
in some much needed exercise.

Monument
Hill, or The Hill as locals referred to it, was an ideal location
for such activities. A tar sealed track, one vehicle wide to allow
access for anyone wishing to park near the top to enjoy the
panoramic view of the city, rounded the peak to head back down the
other side. The steady incline to the top was popular with joggers
and skateboarders, but being a weekday, Mollie had the track to
herself.

On her
third lap of the track, she paused on the peak, and stared out over
the city, pleased to see how much countryside still surrounded it.
She paused to study the strangely carved rocks. Books and papers
had been written about the carvings, and estimations of their age
ranged between two and ten thousand years. Mollie just thought they
were interesting and fun.

She
contemplated more power walking, perhaps a final lap, but a person
could overdo the fitness thing, she decided. Instead, she sat on
the grass with her back against the rocks. She took out the phone
from her breast pocket. The clock on it told her she still had
another twenty minutes before she was to move on to the next
destination on the list. Maybe she'd join a gym club, one day.
Perhaps meet a man there. Maybe a police uniform would be a turn-on
for some men. She smiled, thinking it would be fun to find
out.

She had
certainly earned the right to wear her uniform. Like the rest of
her life, she had bruised her way through the police academy as she
had done with all of her twenty seven years.

“
Big
Bones,” her mother had said, during her preteen years.

“
Probably hormonal,” her father had said as she charged her
way into her teens.

“
She's
a fat cow who pigs out too much,” said her acne riddled younger
brother.

Through
it all, Mollie ignored the comments, ate the burger and fries, grew
like a weed to be a head and shoulders above her parents, and had
given up with any aspirations of being glamorous by the time she
was fifteen.

A flurry
of jobs had followed her leaving school, never fitting into
anything worth doing. It was during a stint at home with a cold,
attempting to cheer herself up experimenting with chocolate covered
popcorn, she had settled alone on the settee wrapped up in her
robe, watching a film on television about a woman cop, a light went
off in her head. She wanted to be a cop. Her height and weight
would be an asset, right?

“
lose
some weight,” said the recruitment officer.

Easy for
you to say, you skinny bitch, thought Mollie.

She'd
had all the name calling, the teasing and downright abuse. She had
put up with it all through her life. Even flattened a few kids at
school, but hadn't found it as satisfying as she'd have hoped. But
the thing that yanked her chain the most, was little miss bloody
perfects, five foot five's petite women who could live on a diet of
cream cakes and beer and not put on an ounce of fat.

Mollie
held her smile. “Why?”

Little
Miss Perfect, with her hair in a bun, dazzling blue eyes and a hint
of gloss on her full lips, sat smugly back in her swivel chair and
smiled, her long thin fingers with her perfect nails interlocked
across her apple sized breasts, and a wedding ring probably from
some hunk, said, “Training is particularly arduous. Fitness is
where more recruits get weeded out than on the academic
criteria.”

Mollie
still held Little Miss Perfects Dazzling blue eyes, and fought hard
to stop herself offering out the woman in the best of five rounds
in the boxing ring.

“
How
much?”

“
How
much what?”

“
Weight,” Mollie said, leaving out the “Shit
head.”

“
Ah!”
Mollie could see it in the bitches eyes. the look had said, Shit!.
This fat cow is really serious. But let's have some fun with her.
“Thirty pounds should do it.”

I could
saw my frigging leg off, thought Mollie. “In what time
frame?”

“
Three
months. That's for the next intake.” Yeah. That should get rid of
Miss Flabby.

Mollie
stood up and blocked out the light from the sun. “Three months. I
come back here in three months, thirty pounds lighter, I get a
shot?”

Little
Miss Perfect in her immaculate uniform and a face Mollie wanted to
rip off and take home as a souvenir, said, “I don't see why
not.”

Mollie
may well have imagined the chuckle and the “In your dreams, fatso,”
comment as she walked out the door.

She had
never been so determined to do something in all her life. Ten
pounds per month. Two and a half pounds per week. Less than half a
pound per day. How hard could it be with a little will
power?

Jogging,
lettuce, gallons of water, no sugary treats, and burgers became
something on posters on windows to salivate over, rather than
actually consume.

Then,
with clothes that once made walking painful, actually hanging off
her, Mollie had barged her way into the recruitment office. Little
Miss Perfect hadn't even recognised her.

“
May I
help you?”

“
Three
months, thirty pounds.”

“
Oh!.
It's you again.”

Mollie
wasn't about to take any prisoners. “Three months, Thirty pounds.
That's the deal.”

“
I
remember. Lets weigh you.”

Behind
the screen, Mollie had her height rechecked, thinking, you idiot,
I've lost weight, not bloody shrunk. Miraculously, her height was
as before. Then she stepped on the scales.

“
Hmm.”

“
Hmm,
what?”

“
Twenty nine and a half pounds lighter. Maybe next
time.”

Words
like are you frigging kidding me? came to Mollie's mind. That face
could be ripped off and sewn up into a dainty purse. But Mollie
stripped off her bra, her pants, her sneakers and considered
ripping out her pubes. Then she gave Little Miss Perfect an “I
bloody dare you,” glare.

“
Welcome to the force, Mollie Mulligan.”

Mollie
shook the cool hand with the long fingers, manicured nails and the
the wedding ring from the hunk, smiling and thinking, “Good job you
said that, peaches, 'cus this could have turned nasty,” instead
hearing the words from her own mouth saying, “Thank you. And thank
you for your encouragement.”

“
You're very welcome. Good luck with the
training.”

And just
five months later, she was on a stakeout on Monument Hill, looking
for international terrorists, all by herself in broad
daylight.

As
Mollie Mulligan contemplated the police recruitment officer and the
training, scraping through by a mere two points, she found herself
hiding behind the big carved rock, as the flatbed truck drove up
the tar-sealed road followed by another sixteen vehicles that
parked up around it.

Chapter 69

Mollie knew suspicious when she
saw it. This lot might as well have had
suspicious
tattooed on their foreheads. She
pulled out her cell phone and called Andersen.

'Hello?
Inspector Andersen? Police Constable Mollie Mulligan. I got some
suspicious looking characters just turned up. Monument Hill. Yeah.
Loads of them. Right near the top of The Hill. Now? Hang
on.'

Mollie
wriggled along on her much slimmer belly, so that she was looking
out behind the huge carved rock.

'Ooh!. I
dunno. A bit foreign looking. All out of their cars. Sort of
chattering together. No. I've no idea what they're on about.
Oh,around forty of them. Yeah. Truck thingy. Big blue tarpaulin
over the back. I might be able to get a picture on my phone and
email it to you, if you want? Right. Don't risk being seen. I
should stay put? Good idea. And if they see me? Run? That all you
got? Run fast. I can do that. Now get your bloody asses over here,'
then added just in case, 'Err, Sir.'