Wolf Angel, Mark Hobson [best free ebook reader for pc .txt] 📗

and each time he tried to suck in, instead of oxygen he sucked in the plastic into his mouth.

Thrashing and kicking, Daan Beumers felt consciousness slipping away.

CHAPTER 11

THE WEEPING TOWER

Pieter slammed on his brakes and the car slewed to a stop by the corner of St Nicolaaskerk Cathedral. Seconds later a pair of patrol cars, each with two police officers on board, came to a halt on either side.

Ahead of them was the huge bulk of Schreierstoren tower, all brooding and silent. There was no sign of Daan Beumers, and Pieter could only prey his colleague hadn’t been foolish enough to go in by himself. On the journey over, as he’d gunned the engine and drove straight through several stop lights, he had tried phoning once more. The result was the same: no answer. With a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach he stepped out of the car, his sidearm still in its holster on his hip, and waited while the other officers joined him.

“Ok guys, let’s do this nice and quietly. Sgt Beumers might be in there, and hopefully he’s made an arrest and will be the big hero, but until we know for sure what’s happening we show extreme caution. But let’s not ignite the situation if we can help it.” He looked at them each in turn. “Understood?”

When he was sure they were ready, Pieter led them down the gentle slope towards the main entrance.

Something caught his eye then, a sudden movement above. Glancing up he caught a quick glimpse of a figure up on the flat roof of the squat building, moving behind the crenelated wall, before suddenly dropping out of sight again. Pieter paused, calling for the others to halt, but as they turned to look in his direction the figure popped up again, holding something in both hands.

The air erupted with thunderous noise. There was a series of violent explosive sounds, the very sky seeming to shake with a horrible brrrrrrr! And then the roadway disintegrated in a cloud of sparks and dust, there was a horrendous scream and two of the police officers went down in a spray of blood.

Pieter knew instantly what the sound was. A hail of bullets had just ripped into the small knot of men, bringing chaos and furious pain, and Pieter dropped to the ground in an instant. There was a moments pause, and then another burst of gunfire, longer this time, hitting the prostrate men again. The shots halted, and then a third burst shattered the air, this time coming from a different spot up on the roof. Pieter risked a quick look, seeing a second figure up there, both gunmen popping up and down to fire again and again.

“Get back! Behind the cars!” he screeched, the order directed at himself as much as his colleagues, and he scrambled across the tarmac on his stomach. He reached his car and yanked open the driver’s door and crouched into the shelter it provided, drawing out his sidearm. Over to his left he saw two other officers doing likewise behind their own patrol car, one of whom had a red bloom of blood spreading across his blue shirt. Down the slope, the two who had been hit in that first violent burst lay in the roadway, perfectly still, and Pieter had little doubt that they were dead. Somewhere behind him, on the busy road and bridge that crossed the canal, there was total pandemonium, with pedestrians screaming and fleeing in terror, and cars and bicycles weaving this way and that.

Pieter turned to wave them back, shouting at them to get away, to get down, but even as he did so he watched in sheer terror as the gunmen opened fire once more, this time aiming deliberately towards the bridge. There was a tram crossing, trundling along and unable to alter course, and then the sides of the vehicle were ripped apart as the bullets struck, with sparks and glass and metal flying in all directions. There were more screams, and the tram came to a shuddering halt, with smoke and flames starting to curl from beneath its chassis.

                                     The Weeping Tower and bridge

“God no,” Pieter moaned, and then he reached into the car and grabbed the mike. Thumbing the switch he bellowed, “Code Red, Code Red, Zodiac! Prins Hendrikkade Bridge outside the cathedral, multiple-shots fired! Officers down, C’s down! Taking heavy fire!! Multiple gunmen, number unknown, firing from Schreierstoren tower! All units respond, Code Red!”

Another burst of gunfire cut him off, this time the rounds riddling the patrol car where the other two officers were sheltering. They hunkered down even more, their eyes bulging in sheer terror.

Once the firing paused Pieter sneaked another brief look, just long enough to see a third figure with a gun, this one aiming through one of the square windows just below the roofline.

Fuck! Pieter thought to himself crazily. They had fucking assault rifles, possibly Uzi’s or C10’s from what he could see, real military grade stuff. Where the hell, where the fucking hell did they get those from? And even as he watched, something much worse happened. One of the men up on the roof pulled his arm back and then threw something small and round through the air, like a cricket ball, but when it hit the ground and bounced along in a series of metallic clinks Pieter knew instantly what it was and flung himself down just as the grenade exploded near the second patrol car. The ground shook, bouncing him up off the surface, and gravel danced just above the tarmac, and with a tremendous rush of hot air the police car exploded. Pieces of red-hot metal billowed out, scything outwards, but his own car sheltered him from the worst thankfully. Shaking his head to clear it, he looked in amazement at the fiery