jannieswrite

The Man from Hamburg

The building had been under scrutiny for several weeks by the two operatives Dave Huxton and John Gall. The two men had been in the field of spying for several years and were experienced in surveillance. Long, cold waits outside buildings checking on dubious people was their bread and butter.

“He must be inside,” said Dave to his partner. “I saw a curtain twitch just a second ago and I’m sure a pizza delivery guy has just dropped off an order to the office.”

John stretched like a cat: “I think we should just kick the door in and pull them out,” he said angrily.

“But, that will blow our cover, you tube!” grunted Dave.

The two soft ‘pops’ of the silenced pistol was drowned out by the passing traffic noise and the two men dropped onto the ground. Their bodies were dragged away behind the warehouse that they had been hiding behind. Minutes later a dark van pulled away and drove off down the road in the general direction of the river.

“Ok!” shouted James Dalton over the noise. “It’s highly likely that we have lost two of our men!”

Instantly an uncanny silence fell over the occupants in the room. Several of them began rubbing their throats, a clear sign of the effect of death on an individual and a  few looked about them in shock, as if to see on who was absent.

“Dave and John were keeping a check on the dental surgery in Oldham Street,” Dalton said with no emotion in his voice. “The relief team arrived to take over from them and found the site empty. A pool of blood was also discovered in the vicinity and it is thought that the operation has been compromised.”

The room erupted with noise, people shouting questions to James, as well as to one another.

“Quiet!” shouted James angrily. “We have to decide what our next move is to be.” He went over to a map of the town of Gainborough and pointed to where Oldham Street was situated. “We have to find out what is going on in the surgery,” James said. “A drop is to be made any day, but if they know we’re on to them, then they’ll get scared off.”

The dental surgery of Garston, Gray and Hedley in Oldham Street had been under scrutiny for the past three months after a MI5 informant had intercepted and passed on information regarding several deliveries made to the premises after dark. The informant went on to say how the ‘word on the street’ was, that surgery had been set up as a ‘front’ for equipping the members of a spy ring operating between Britain and Europe. And, in the next few days a large shipment was to be arriving, that, if the authorities managed to seize, would severely hamper the spy operation. The manifesto included firearms, ammunition and explosives which in the wrong hands would prove disastrous.

Ralph Hedley made a slight adjustment to the metal plate by screwing the small dial on the side of the transmitter. He looked at his watch and realised that the first of his clients would be arriving in an hour. Pulling back one of the curtains he checked outside the surgery. He knew that a surveillance team had been situated just behind the warehouse but both his partners, Emiel Garston and Louis Gray had told him that it would be ‘sorted out’.

Ralph was the ‘techie’, while the other two kept up the appearances of a normal running, dental practice.

Various people who were sympathetic to the cause had been recruited for the ‘Main Event’, as Louis called it. It was to be a display of the Group’s strength and its willingness to show that what it advocated was right. No one listened to rhetoric anymore. It had to be action, if one wanted to be heard.

The Sword of Justice as the group was known had made various threats to the Government, that if their demands were not met, then blood would be spilled. The end of the Group’s patience was fast approaching.

A bell in the practice’s foyer sounded and the receptionist, a pleasant girl called Jenny went to the door to see who it was. As she opened the door a man stepped inside. He was six foot in height, was wearing a long coat and sported a black beard. “I am Herr Schroder. I have just flown in from Hamburg. I am expected,” he grunted and then walked off down the hall towards the surgeries.

James Dalton was standing on a small stage before a large screen. The auditorium was partially filled with his operatives. On the screen was displayed a large picture of one of the dental practice’s partners, Louis Gray. “This man is dangerous,” hissed James looking out over his audience. “He is just back from Africa where he attended one of the terrorist camps. He received training in weaponry and ordnance before returning to Britain. Do you have any questions?”

A man near the front row raised his hand and Dalton pointed at him. “Go ahead,” he ordered.

“That is one of the partners,” the man drawled, “but, what do we know about the others?”

James Dalton fixed the man, who had asked the question, with a steely glare, “That is what we must find out. We know that this group intend chaos and discord here in Britain and we must be ready for anything.” Then he turned to his second in command and asked; “Who is on the surveillance team for tonight Vince?”

Vince Yule, a small, rotund man checked a piece of paper he was carrying: “That’ll be Young and Fowler,” he said. “I hope the lads stay alert, for tonight could be the drop off we’ve been waiting for.”

That night in Oldham Road all was quiet and Fowler and Young watching from a new location considered the unchanging scene with a growing boredom. Nothing, apart from a mangy looking dog moved on the darkened street.

“Here, Bert,” said Young to Fowler. “You reckon them beggars will try anything tonight?”

Bert Fowler raised his binoculars to his eyes and took in the quiet street before he answered. “There’s nothing going down here tonight, Jan.”

Deep below the streets ran a Victorian sewer, which, unless road maps before 1890 had been consulted, no one knew about, apart from an old engineer who happened to be a member of the Sword of Justice. His father had been responsible for the upkeep of the fabric and had spent many hours plumbing its depths. This information had been lovingly passed on to his son who now used the sewer to make deliveries to the dental practice.

As the authorities kept the practice under their watchful eye, unbeknown to them, boxes were being raised from the sewer into the surgeries where they were unpacked. Explosives, detonators and guns were delivered, unpacked and stored within the building. The Sword of Justice was preparing to mete out it’s punishment to an unresponsive government.

Herr Schroder paced up and down as large piles of explosive were unwrapped from crates and stored in cupboards. He was impatient, for he thought that preparations for the ‘Event’ should begin immediately and not be put off until the following day, as he had been informed by Emiel Garston. These British, thought Herr Schroder, everything is tomorrow, tomorrow! He went through to the kitchen to make himself a coffee and found Ralph Hedley there, stirring a cup of milky looking tea.

“Herr Schroder, I am Ralph Hedley. It is an honour to work alongside you,” said the young man.

Ahh,” replied Schroder. “You are the technician?”

“Yes,” replied Ralph. “I have been initialising the transmitters to the detonation signal.”

“How are they activated to emit the signal?” asked Schroder, leaning over to pick up a clean cup.

“The agent merely uses his tongue to lift off a cap covering the tooth’s surface and then grinds his teeth. It is the piezzo-electric surface on the molar which will send power to the built in emitter, very compact and very effective.”

“Excellent... as soon as I get a chance to rig up the explosives.” Herr Schroder turned to the kettle and switched it on as he spooned coffee into the cup. As soon as he had made his coffee he left the room.

The following day after Young and Fowler had been relieved; they went for a debriefing with James Dalton.

“Well, gentlemen, did anything stir last night?” Dalton asked as they entered his office.

“Nothing, sir,” replied Jan Young. “The building was in darkness for the full twelve hours.”

“I take it you mean sixteen hours?” grunted Dalton. “They close at five p.m. and open at nine a.m.,”

“There was someone working in one of the surgeries till nine p.m., sir” said Bert Fowler.

“Couldn’t you see in the window?” Dalton asked angrily.

“No, sir, our orders were to stay outside the warehouse and observe any deliveries that occurred during the night,” said Young.

“Damn!” cursed Dalton. “Ok, men, thank you for your report.”

Deep in the cellars below Garston, Gray and Hedley’s practice, Herr Schroder worked quietly.

He emptied the cupboards of the packed explosive, the carefully unwrapped the plastic looking C4. It smelt strongly ammoniacal due to its method of production. Schroder liked the smell; it cleared his head and made him think clearer. He began to fashion the explosive into small balls of about four inches in diameter which he packed into round pieces of metal, decorated with mirrored glass. He did not install the fuses, leaving that operation for the final touches. Each fuse was connected through a wire to a receiver.

“Well, Herr Schroder,” said Emiel Garston loudly making the bomb maker flinch. Schroder hadn’t seen the man enter the cellar.

“Ah, Herr Garston,” said Schroder, as pleasantly as he could manage. “We are approaching the big day, are we not?”

“Yes, the ‘ornaments’ are set to be fitted tomorrow night after the building is empty,” replied Emiel with a wicked smile. “We will announce our responsibility as soon as possible after the explosions.”

Upstairs in the two surgeries, Ralph and Louis were busy with their respective patients. A steady flow of patients that day were expected and all were to undergo the same operation, namely the removal of a molar and the replacement of an artificial tooth in its place. Ten operatives were to be used guaranteeing there be no chance of failure. The signal to the explosives would be transmitted, whether once or ten times, the outcome would be the same.

The following day the decorated balls were delivered to the Asher Hall in Gainborough, where a large delegation of M.P.s were to meet the following day, for a high level conference to discuss anti terrorism tactics and plans for the future monitoring of recognised terrorists. The Prime Minister was to be attending as was his close various members of the Cabinet. The mirrored balls were to be placed as centre pieces on the dining tables. Their surfaces were designed to sparkle and reflect the light from the overhead chandeliers.

The mirrored balls had been a creation of the French nouveau art expert, Pierre Chastelly and had been specially made for the occasion by him personally, but the original collection of balls had been intercepted and had been replaced with the Group’s. Now they sat prettily on the dining tables, glistening and scintillating, awaiting a signal, which would turn them into something ugly and destructive.

Herr Schroder was eager to get back to Germany, but Emiel Garston had insisted he stay until the ‘Event’ had occurred.

“After the explosions,” explained Schroder, “all the airports will be closed and a manhunt for suspects will commence. I must get out of Britain now, I cannot wait.”

Garston shook his head. “No one is leaving till we have seen this scenario completed. Do you understand…no one!” he shouted loudly.

“There is no need to shout, Herr Garston,” said Schroder angrily. “You called me in as a consultant. I have carried out my part of the transaction, now I must return home.”

Garston turned his back on the German and left the room. “No one leaves till I say!” he shouted before banging the door shut.

That night the dental practice of Garston, Gray and Hedley was a scene of hilarity and celebration. As far as the ‘Event’ was concerned, all was ready and so, before the participants made their departure the following day, some relaxation could be observed.

The ten operatives who were to be the waiters at the Event were joining in with the merriment  but, as if mindful of their responsibilities on the following day they were keeping their intake of alcohol down to a minimum.

By nine o’clock even Herr Schroder had lost all his annoyance at being unable to return to Germany and was singing and drinking with the best of them. Emiel Garston was pouring liberal amounts of champagne into his partners’ glasses and Louis Gray was standing on a table kicking his feet up in the air like a dancer. Ralph Hedley was swaying about and looking exceedingly drunk as he went over to where Schroder was sitting.

“Herr Scroder,” Ralph said in a drunken tone. “My old buddy.”

“The name is Schroder, Mr Hedley,” corrected the German. “It looks as if you have had too much to drink!”

“Sorry, Herr Schroder, my apologies, have you had much experience of bomb making?” Ralph said dribbling drink from his glass, down his shirt.

Herr Schroder’s feathers were ruffled and he turned to the young man and said: “I have been involved in bomb making for the last six years. Do you remember the Breinhof Tunnel explosion last year? That was one of my devices. Other ones were the Fraunschless Docks, when we destroyed a naval warship and the Dreingross Tower which effectively ruined telecommunications for six months!” bragged Schroder drunkenly. “Yes, I have quite a lot of experience!”

The festivities broke up at one a.m. and the building was dark and silent by two o’clock. Two dark shapes made their way cautiously along Oldham Street until they were at the door of the dental practice.

“Here, Bert,” said Jan Young. “You reckon you can open this lock?”

“Of course,” replied P.C. Fowler. “We’ll get a look inside and see what they’ve been up to.”

As the two men entered the building, after the lock was picked, they walked as quietly as they could. They didn’t have a search warrant and would be in ‘hot water’ if their boss, James Dalton knew of their action. But, they just had to turn something up. They all knew that something ‘was afoot’ and if breaking and entering was the only way to find out what it was, then so be it.

But, neither man found anything and after a fruitless search, they left the building, reset the lock and vanished into the night.

The Asher Hall was lit up like a Christmas tree. No expense had been spared in making this conference the highlight of the year. Limousine after limousine arrived and departed after dropping off their loads of V.I.P.s. Waiters handed out glasses of champagne as the guests arrived and soon the hall was humming with conversation. A band played quietly on a stage that was situated at the front of the hall.

All at once, the maitre d’ tapped his glass with a spoon and bade all the guests sit down at their respective places around the large dining tables. Soon all were seated and the hors oeuvres were served. Comments were made regarding the marvellous table decorations which scintillated and twinkled as the light struck them.  

By the time the main courses were served by ten very smartly attired waiters, the guests had totally relaxed and conversations were taking place up, down and also, across the tables. Everyone was having a wonderful time. The food was excellent and the wine flowed freely as the evening proceeded.

The ten operatives disguised as waiters left the hall and positioned themselves around the periphery. Emiel Garston and Louis Gray had made sure all the doors from the hall were locked to avoid anyone escaping.

The minute hand of Emiel’s watch slowly moved round until it approached the top of the hour.

This was to be the time when the ‘Event’ would occur.

“Right men,” hissed Emiel “Uncap and grind!”

Inside the hall quite a few of the guests had finished their main course and were anticipating the arrival of the dessert.

“I hope it’s Baked Alaska!” said one elderly gentleman. “I like that!”

It was at that point when several small explosions were heard outside the building.

“Fireworks!” shouted some guest. “I wonder if we should go outside, there might be rockets!”

Quite a few people tried to open the doors, but found them locked. Instantly the mobile phones were out and ‘999’ was rung, informing the police of the guests’ predicament.

Several police cars were dispatched and the scene that was waiting for them outside Asher Hall would have turned even a veteran policeman’s stomach.

Twelve bodies lay around the hall, amid large pools of blood. Ten of the bodies were lacking their skulls which were laying some way from the bodies.

Ambulances arrived half an hour later to remove the corpses and soon after the guests’ limousines returned and quickly ferried the V.I.P.s away, a shocking end to a lovely evening.

Not long after, acting on the strength of an anonymous tip, the bomb squad arrived and fourteen mirrored orb table decorations were removed for destruction, by way of a controlled explosion.

Herr Schroder was picked up by the police, attempting to get a flight back to Germany. He was taken to Scotland Yard where he was charged with terrorist activities. He protested his innocence and demanded a lawyer which was obtained for him.

Demanding to know what evidence the police possessed, a tape recorder was produced and he was allowed to listen to himself admitting involvement in the Breinhof Tunnel, the Fraunscless Docks and the Dreingross Tower explosions. Herr Schroder refused to comment further and was committed for trial at the next Crown Court.

James Dalton sat looking out of his window at the tugs moving up and down the Thames. The Asher Hall Incident had shaken him and had helped to make him realise that Britain must always be on its guard, for the terrorists were everywhere, in every walk of life.

A knock at the door drew his attention away from the river and turning he saw Ralph Hedley enter his office.

“Good work Hedley,” said Dalton. “It was certainly worth infiltrating you into that dental practice. Who would have thought that a dentist could be as effective as James Bond! What did you do to avoid the bombs being detonated?”

Ralph looked down at the floor modestly, “I just put a small amount of C4 inside each fake molar. It must have caused the worst case of toothache they’ve ever known!”

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Cairniehill

Arbroath

01/09/2015

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