Jarkko Sipila - Vengeance

“No, you won’t. Get in the car-both of you!”

Steiner stared at Larsson, who was obviously serious. Salmela obeyed at once and headed toward the car. Larsson followed close behind and Steiner groaned. Drawing this out further would not bode well.

Salmela settled into the back seat and Steiner slid in next to him. Larsson climbed into the driver’s seat and whipped a U-turn in the parking lot. He didn’t say a thing. In the back seat, next to Salmela, Steiner twirled a bloody knife in his hand.

MONDAY, 9:00 P.M.

SKULLS’ COMPOUND, HELSINKI

Beneath their helmets, the S.W.A.T. officers were wearing black ski masks. The first in line next to the wall was Jack Saarinen. Though Jack wasn’t his real name, it had stuck because of his appearance, which was uncannily similar to TV’s “Jack Bauer” of 24 .

All twelve of the officers in the stack were decked out in black. The majority of them held MP5 sub-machine guns, though a couple had shotguns. Jack was also wielding a ballistic shield. The street lights cast the dark shadows of the policemen onto the concrete wall of the Skulls’ headquarters.

The S.W.A.T team’s vehicles were parked a couple of hundred yards away and the team had crept in from there. They had snipped an entry hole in the flimsy fence. Back at police headquarters, they’d gone over the blueprints and the plan was clear-a surprise attack would give them the upper hand.

Just behind Jack, officer Jarmo Eronen waited. He had a heavy battering ram to bash open the lock on the front door. If that didn’t work, a third policeman had a shotgun equipped with a lock-slug at the ready. Instead of a regular cartridge, it was loaded with a heavy metal slug that would destroy any ordinary lock.

Jack thought this was a perfect location. Far away from any residences in the middle of an industrial district. Almost like training.

The order came over his earpiece. “Let’s go,” said the calm voice of Turunen, the S.W.A.T. team’s commander. Each officer was wearing a headset with an earpiece and microphone.

Jack lifted the heavy ballistic shield off the ground and quietly covered the remaining distance to the door.

Eronen ducked out of line, came next to Jack and studied the door and lock. It would be too time consuming to pick and they didn’t have the code for the keypad. Eronen swung back the hulking battering ram. For the moment, the element of surprise was still theirs, but not after the racket he was about to cause.

The ram smashed into the lock and the door bounced open.

The entryway was dim, but not completely dark. No need for night-vision. Jack took up the lead behind his shield and the others followed in a tight line.

A squad car pulled up to the curb with its lights flashing and two officers and a German shepherd joined the others.

The S.W.A.T. officers had flipped on their laser sights. Through the window of the shield, Jack watched the red specks dancing in front of him.

The entry was empty and the stack of officers proceeded up the stairs. A glimmer of light came down the stairwell, telling Jack there was no door at the top of the stairs, or at least it wasn’t closed.

“The top of the stairs is open,” he reported over the radio. They continued halfway up before Jack stopped. Eronen dug two canisters, each slightly longer and thinner than a beer can, from the cargo pocket of his pants, pulled the pin out of the first and hurled it through the doorway to the left. Immediately afterwards, the second one flew to the right.

“Police!” Eronen shouted.

The officers shielded their eyes as the stun grenades exploded. The brilliant flashes of light would blind anyone on the upper floor for about five seconds, and the 180 dB blast would slam their ear drums shut.

* * *

Niko Andersson was sprawled on the sagging office sofa, his body hardly able to fit. After hearing the crash downstairs, he struggled to his feet and hurried into the main room, where Roge and Osku were already on their feet. None of them knew what to do. The intruders were likely already on their way up, so they couldn’t go down the stairs.

Osku hurried to the window, pried the cardboard aside and saw the squad car at the curb with its cherries flashing. He pulled out the AK-47 assault rifle that had been stashed behind the sofa. There was no need to load-a full magazine was already inserted with a cartridge in the chamber. He pushed the safety all the way down, setting it on full-automatic.

Niko and Roge, standing behind the bar now, were holding their handguns. Osku was positioned opposite them, near the pool table. Just as he was preparing to unleash a barrage of bullets out the window at the cruiser, a shout came from the stairwell.

“Police!”

Osku glanced at Niko, who raised his gun.

In the corner of his eye, he saw an object fly about ten feet from him, bounce off the pool table and land on the sofa behind it. Another one hurtled toward Niko and Roge.

The explosion was deafening and the image of the instant before the blast was seared into Osku’s eyes. He blinked frantically, struggling to locate the top of the stairs, then swung the assault rifle in that direction.

Fuck, thought Osku. With his vision and hearing off line, it was the only thing going through his mind. If they were coming up the stairs, they’d be at the top right around now. He raised the weapon to his shoulder and squeezed the trigger hard.

Fragmented thoughts swirled through Osku’s mind. This was just the situation Larsson had been talking about. Surrender to no one. Fight fire with fire. That was all that mattered. Only that.

Osku couldn’t hear the shots, but he felt the rifle bucking against his shoulder. The rounds departed toward the doorway. In a few seconds his vision would recover. A second magazine lay on the sofa waiting its turn. He could find it by groping around with his free hand.

Osku felt the lurching of the gun as the AK-47 spit out a volley of shells toward the doorway. He could see nothing but the ghosted image of the stairwell, and he paused briefly as the white light gave way to red. After that, he squeezed the trigger once more. The rifle fired the final bullets from the magazine.

* * *

The S.W.A.T. team poured up the stairs after the stun grenades. Despite having plugged his ears, Jack Saarinen’s were ringing. Just as he reached the top, a bullet ricocheted off his shield. The impact twisted his wrists, but the shield stayed put. He swung it toward the muzzle flashes and tried to retreat, but Eronen, who was charging forward just behind him, stumbled and collapsed on top of him.

On the left, somebody unleashed another volley of shots. Jack couldn’t tell where the bullets were going, nor could he move with Eronen lying on top of him. He turned his head in the other direction, where the bar was supposed to be.

Jack watched as a fat man behind the bar took a bullet in the forehead and half his face vanished. Where had the shot come from? Were the police shooting or was it the assault rifle? He wasn’t sure, but he didn’t think he had heard an MP5-all the shots had come from an assault rifle.

He concluded that the hit had come from the shooter on the left. After that, the bullets zipped past well wide, but soon, the barrel swung back toward the door. The assault rifle rattled off another series of shots. The flash bangs had disoriented the man enough that he didn’t know where he was shooting.

Jack tried to draw his pistol, but it was impossible with Eronen on top of him. The helpless officer could feel his partner shifting around.

Downstairs, Eronen had ditched the shotgun and picked up his MP5. He spotted a man blindly firing next to the pool table and swung the barrel of the gun toward him. The red dot quickly found his face, then his forehead. Jack felt the muffled shudder of Eronen’s MP5 submachine gun.