Killers and Dreamers by Chris Page

Author:Chris Page
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Genocide, violence, death, mass-extermination, bio-destruction, thriller, counter-terrorism, Gurkha, kukri, legionnaires desease, Quisling, Norway, terrorism, counter-terrorism, vengeance, crime, lover, sexual, bi-sexual, Spurs, football, war, retribution
ISBN: 9781785383366
Publisher: Andrews UK Limited 2015
Published: 2015-11-30T00:00:00+00:00

Sixteen

They stored the C4 in their cellar. It was a cool and functional space and nobody but Beryl and Rowley had the combination of keys necessary to open the door - not that Rowley went down there if he could help it. The proximity of that much powerful explosive stacked in one place and what it could do to him, let alone to the entire block of houses in their street, unnerved him, even though Beryl had assured him, even demonstrated to him, that it couldn’t go up without the correct detonator plugged into it fed by a fat spark of electricity or some other intricate form of ignition. There were ten boxes of the stuff in the stack, each of them with a prominent yellow skull on a black square set on the lid and holding five kilograms. Fifty kilos of C4 going off would be a mini Hiroshima. Apart from wiping out most of their street and the one running parallel to it, the blast would also destroy any tube trains pootling along twenty-five feet below ground.

The detonators, battery-backed cyclonite primed combustion triggers, timers, unregistered mobile phones, thin plastic-covered copper wire, soldering irons, flux and Beryl’s small hand tools - all the bomb-maker needed to produce a mega bang - were stored in a steel box in their attic, the only key this time held by Beryl. The distance between the two sets of elements necessary to produce a massive bomb were just about as far apart as their three-bedroomed house in Kilburn allowed.

Beryl was the bomb-maker. Self-taught in IT, in which field she had worked before they got the huge payout from the Lloyds Hardship Group, she’d always had a sure touch and confidence in her own ability and learning. When the C4 arrived, although she didn’t know much about it other than what she had read on various dark internet sites, its presence in their cellar was totemic to her. Like the now imprisoned Ida, a previous bomber and former army colleague of that bastard Cork, who had always carried a small ball of C4 in his pocket, Beryl took great comfort from keeping a similar-sized ball in her handbag. It felt to her as one of the tablets must have felt to Moses; there was something biblical about such power coming from a soft lump of putty-like substance. She might be sitting quietly over a coffee in a London café when the urge to touch it would suddenly overwhelm her. Part of the lure was the power of the stuff, and that she alone had control over that power as she sat among so many innocents. Some people got the same feeling from the comfort of a gun nestled against their body, others from rosary beads. Many times, as a bold fuck-you gesture to those around her, she openly took out the tangerine-sized ball from her handbag and placed it in on the table in front of her, as if it were Plasticine or modelling clay.

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