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    Go Out With A Bang!
    Go Out With A Bang!
    Go Out With A Bang!
    Ebook235 pages3 hours

    Go Out With A Bang!

    By Gary Weston

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    About this ebook

    By popular demand. A novel length “Ferret” book. Sandra Mitchell is back. The rogue agent with death in her hands. The city is in the grip of fear from a highly professional gang, threatening to blow up buildings worth millions, if the owners don't pay up. Detective Senior Sergeant Stanley Morris and the team need the Ferret, but he's missing. Sandra is on her own mission. Is the Ferret involved? The leaders of the Western world converge on the city for a conference about the global economy. It will take a special duo to keep them alive. It's all on the line and they could be going out with a bang!

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherGary Weston
    Release dateMar 8, 2013
    ISBN9781301140992
    Go Out With A Bang!
    Author

    Gary Weston

    Hello again.I've added Drifta's Quest 2 on this site. Unlikely to be a Drifta's Quest 3 but never say never. I am already working on a new book to fit in between other creative projects. As a mere lad of 68 I have a good few years to tell my stories so I hope people will keep enjoying them.

    Read more from Gary Weston

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      Book preview

      Go Out With A Bang! - Gary Weston

      Chapter 1

      Detective Senior Sergeant Stanley Morris could taste blood. They were about to close in. He could feel it, sense it, smell it. Solid, to the book police work would tip the case in their favour. The call had come through to his office a mere two hours earlier, and the mighty arm of the law had swung into action. Senior Sergeant John Hancock, head of the Tactical Enforcement team were sent in and they had contained the area in minutes. Nobody would get past him.

      'Any activity, Vince?'

      Detective Sergeant Vincent Crowe had just walked into Morris's office. 'Quiet as. The area is sealed up tighter than a drum. No gunfire for the last hour.'

      'If it wasn't costing the tax payer a small fortune, I'd be tempted to leave them boxed in overnight. Hancock ready for us?'

      Crowe nodded. 'The big guy says he's happy for us to stroll in and take all the glory.'

      'Sounds like John. Remind me to give him a big mention in the press release after the arrest. Let's get the Ferret.'

      They left the office with an almost casual saunter, confident that sheer professionalism and teamwork would win the day. Because firearms were involved, the case was not without its dangers and there was no room for complacency. It called for cool heads and smart decision making.

      The two men walked through the corridors, past the cafeteria entrance on the left and then the single flight of steps that led to the Chief's office on the right. They walked smartly on to the hi-tech world of Detective Constable Fred Ducket. It was generally considered the rank of constable was something of a misnomer when used to describe the now legendary Ferret. Other city centres were in the process of replicating what Ducket had put together.

      The cyberspace wizard had been only too pleased to work with other headquarters around the country in how to get the best from the highly modified computer hardware and software. Worldwide patents had been put in place to protect the specific advancements and Ducket had put together a training program for the ones selected to get their departments running efficiently. Young, fast-tracked, energetic geeky types with at least three years field experience as detective's were chosen. It was hailed as a blueprint of the future of police-work. There was just one problem. There was only one Ferret.

      Morris and Crowe suspected there was more to the circulating speculation that at the very highest levels, the Ferret was being considered to be put in charge of all the hi-tech departments, nationwide. Only time would tell. They came to the workplace Ferret had created, three times the size of Morris's own office. It seemed every time Morris ventured into Ducket's domain, things had been moved around, added to, expanded on and extended. And the magician who made it sing was usually in the middle of it. But not on this occasion.

      'Locked,' said Morris.

      'See?' said Crowe. 'It's brilliant deductions like that which is the reason you are a senior sergeant, and I'm merely a lowly sergeant.'

      'I wouldn't argue with that. So where is he?'

      'Washroom?' Crowe suggested.

      'He has his own. Fitted last week.'

      'I bet he has some hi-tech gizmo to wipe his...'

      'We have to go,' said Morris. 'He'd only be a spectator. I'll try calling him en-route.'

      'Fine.'

      Crowe drove them through the city to the scene of crime as Morris tried Ducket's number. 'Can you believe that? His phone's off.'

      'Don't worry about it. We're here.'

      It was nightfall and huge spotlights lit up the cordoned off area. Flashing lights cast eerie disturbing shadows and the tension was palpable. A very large dark shape blocked out the light as Crowe parked up. The shape growled.

      'Nice of you suits to show up,' said Senior Sergeant John Hancock. The face of the Head of Tactical Enforcement was shielded by the dark visor, but Morris could still feel the piercing stare. He and Crowe got out of the car.

      'Anything interesting happening?' Morris asked.

      'Not yet. I was supposed to be wining and dining my wife for our thirteenth wedding anniversary. When I finally get home, now that'll be interesting.'

      'Hmm,' said Crowe. 'Thirteen's such an unlucky number. Might have been a good thing you missed it.'

      'John,' said Morris, ignoring the banter. 'How do we get them out?'

      'We have several options. One, we wait them out. Might take a few days, depending on how well stocked they are with provisions, but they'll come out eventually. Three days tops.'

      Morris shook his head and said, 'Thirty officers, three days and nights. I'd love to see the Chief's face when he saw the overtime bill. What else you got?'

      'Gas grenades through the windows.'

      Crowe looked up at the brand new commercial building, three floors of steel and glass. It was the new Petroxel Haynes Company corporate headquarters, opened by the mayor only a week ago, due to be fully occupied and buzzing in two days time.

      'Hmm. And we have armed bad guys in there, who could be in any of the one hundred and sixteen rooms. To fill the building with gas that way would mean smashing most of the windows. Expensive.'

      'I knew that,' said Hancock. 'You asked for options; I was going through the options.'

      Morris said, 'Tell me you have one we can use where we can all get home before we retire and doesn't end up in the entire building having to be demolished?'

      'Just one,' said Hancock. 'We get a chopper to take a dozen of my men over the top of the building, they abseil onto the roof and fill the air-conditioning vents with gas.'

      Morris and Crowe looked at each other approvingly. Morris said. 'I like that John. You should run with that one.'

      Hancock pointed a gloved finger at the sky, where a chopper was already flying directly overhead. It hovered above the gleaming edifice of modern mans ingenuity; the lines were dropped out and twelve top Tactical officers abseiled down to the roof. They ran to the rows of air-conditioning vents, hurling their gas grenades inside. As they raced back to the lines dangling from the hovering chopper, the entire building exploded.

      Each corner of the structure disintegrated sending concrete, steel and glass flying through the air in all directions. With the outer shell destroyed, the concrete roof caved inwards, and a huge ball of flames roared from the middle, missing the men on the lines by a heartbeat as the chopper took them higher into safety. Officers on the ground were diving and running for cover, as tons of fragments blasted through the air. The ground was still shaking as the whole building collapsed in on itself. Then, slowly everything subsided and settled and the roaring noise suddenly stopped.

      'Ooops,' said Crowe, brushing dust off his shoulders.

      Chapter 2

      Nobody slept that night. In the morning, forty fire appliances were still hosing down what was left of the Petroxel Haynes building, where sporadic fires flared up from beneath the rubble. The conference room of the police headquarters had standing room only. The Chief demanded order and got it. The media had been corralled to one side of the room, Detective Inspector Andersen, Morris, Crowe and Hancock sat quietly to the side of the Chief. They all looked as if their souls had been surgically removed from their bodies.

      The Chief said, 'I have prepared a statement. You will all be issued with a copy. For the record. At eighteen hundred hours, yesterday evening, Dr. Ralph Thorman, Chief Executive Officer of the Petroxel Haynes International Company, took a phone call from a man demanding fifty million dollars or their new flagship building would be destroyed. We immediately despatched our Tactical Enforcement Team, headed by one of our most experienced officers, Senior Sergeant John Furlong.

      On arrival at the building, the Tactical officers were fired at from the top floor of the building. The Tactical team surrounded the entire building, and were shot at from all four sides. It has to be said, however, the shots were well short of the officers, to warn them off, rather than cause harm. At this time, no exchange shots were fired. It was impossible for the criminals to escape from the building undetected. A wait and see approach was adopted, and occasional intermittent bursts of gunfire were fired at the ground between the building and the police officers.

      By 20:00 hours, no more shots were heard. It was assumed that they had possibly exhausted all their ammunition. A plan was devised to have officers dropped on the roof from a helicopter to fill the building with gas by throwing gas grenades into the air-conditioning vents, in order to force an evacuation of the building. Instantly after the gas cannisters being deployed, a series of controlled explosives, planted by the criminals, destroyed the building. The police officers were fortunate to escape with just minor injuries received by two of them. The building has been completely destroyed, and we are reasonably confident that the criminals were killed. Which brings us pretty much up to date. Questions.'

      There was a barrage of questions from the media. The Chief used his significant presence to bring order to the proceedings. 'You there.'

      'Melissa Trubshore, Channel Nine News. Could the gas grenades thrown in by the police have caused the explosions?'

      John Hancock stood up, expression fixed. 'No.' That was all he said, then he sat back down again.

      'Dave Marton, City Observer. Did the Petroxel Haynes company offer to pay the demands?'

      Detective Inspector Andersen took that one. 'We were contacted by Mr Ralph Thorman, C E O of the Petrolex Haynes and our advice was sought. Our advice was not to pay the demands and allow us the opportunity to either remove the criminals or if there were no alternatives, negotiate on their behalf. No money was paid out by the company.'

      'Sally Carlton, Independent News. In hindsight, were there any alternative procedures that could have been followed that would have given a more positive outcome?'

      Hancock growled, 'Unlikely. Also a superfluous question seeing as how the criminals blew up the building.'

      'Paul Forbes, National Radio News. Why would they blow themselves up? Do you think it was some kind of suicide pact?'

      Andersen said, 'Possibly, but more likely an accidental detonation set off prematurely. That's merely conjecture on my part at this time.'

      'Tom Grover, Channel One News. How long do you think it will be before the bodies are recovered.'

      The Chief said, 'It could take weeks to extricate their remains from such extensive devastation. Ladies and gentlemen. This press conference is now concluded. Any additional information will be released as and when it becomes available, at the appropriate times. Thank you for your cooperation.'

      The media filed out and the Chief closed the door after them. He stood before his officers. 'What the bloody hell happened last night? I want answers and I want them soon.'

      He stormed out and found sanctuary in his office. From the drawer in his desk he took out a strip of paracetamol and washed two down. The phone on his desk rang.

      'Poppy. Hi.'

      'Uncle Bernie. Have you seen Fred?'

      'Fred? No. There's been such a lot of crazy stuff going on at the moment, I hadn't noticed him. I thought he was with you?'

      'I've been trying to phone him. His phone is off.'

      'He didn't go home last night?'

      'No, Uncle Bernie. I saw all that on the news and thought he was trying to help out.'

      'Poppy. I...Give me a moment.' He pressed the old fashioned brass intercom on his desk. 'Monica. Any idea where Fred Ducket is?'

      'I'll try to find him, Sir.'

      'Poppy. Monica is trying to locate him. What time is it? Hell. I feel like I've not gone home in a week. Fred should normally be starting work by now. Hang on. Monica?'

      'Sorry, Sir. I can't locate him anywhere.'

      The Chief was confused by the missing Ferret. 'Poppy. He isn't here. I'll give him an ear-bashing when I see him. I'm sure he's okay. I have a lot to do today, so...'

      Poppy said, 'I know. Tell him I want to talk to him when you see him, won't you?'

      'I will. Take care.'

      After the call from Poppy, Bernie wondered if the paracetamol was ever going to kick in.

      Chapter 3

      Fire Chief Rick Brooks orchestrated the firefighters. All streets around the collapsed building had been cordoned off with barriers. The fire appliances were the only vehicles allowed inside the barriers. Several crews were already rolling up their hoses and stowing the gear away. The thermal imaging teams gave the all clear. Morris and Crow dared to approach the busy man.

      'Hi, Rick,' said Morris. 'Winning the battle?'

      'We're wrapping up now. That was one hell of a night.'

      'Tell me about it. We're off home to get some shuteye. Do you think we'll ever get the bodies out?'

      Brooks shrugged. 'Stan. It could take weeks. What kind of mess we get out is anybodies guess. All the hot spots have been seen to. The thermal imaging hasn't picked up any living bodies. I'd have been surprised if they had. Nothing survives a building collapse like that. Somehow, I doubt they'll be doing time.'

      Morris agreed. 'You got that right, Rick. At least it'll save the poor bloody tax payer some money. We'll get a few clues when we find some body parts. Okay. To sleep, perchance to dream.'

      * * *

      It was five o'clock that evening after a few hours sleep, when Morris, Crowe and Andersen braved overdosing on black coffee by returning to work.

      Morris said, 'Disappeared?'

      Andersen said, 'Stanley. The Ferret's missing. His wife hasn't seen him for two whole days. He's not turning his mobile on. Nobody knows where the hell he is.'

      'That's not like the Ferret,' said Crowe. 'We could do with his help right about now.'

      Morris, on caffeine overload, tried to clear the fog from his mind. 'Whatever he's up to, he'll have a good reason for it.'

      Andersen said, 'We'll see. Right. Moving on. There was nothing useful on the recordings the Tactical team took. Just fully automatic weapons firing from top floor windows. The gunmen can hardly be seen. Just a vague shape.'

      Morris said, 'I suggest we check out the CCTV footage of the building.' He yawned, stretched and scratched the stubble on his chin. 'Dale. Tell me the security company had working CCTV?'

      'Partial. The owner of the security company is bringing it in himself. He should be here by now.' Andersen called reception. 'Is Mr Ripply here yet? Well, when he turns up, will you...Oh, right. Can you have him brought to my office, please. Thanks.' Putting the phone down, he said, 'He's here.'

      A constable escorted Sam Ripply to Andersen's office. Ripply was a short, barrel chested man in his late fifties, with thinning grey hair. His face showed the stress and concern he was feeling inside. He forced a nervous smile as he shook hands with the detectives. 'Sorry it took

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