Ray Sullivan publishes science based fiction adventures on Amazon, Smashwords, Apple iBookstore, Barnes & Noble, Sony, WH Smith and other good eBook retailers as e-books. Additionally all of his books are available in paperback on Amazon. He also muses on technology, posts comedic books in serial format and discusses the world of self publishing.
Books written by Ray Sullivan
Monday, 11 March 2013
Parallel Lives chapter 69
Jim sat forlorn in the holding cell at the Main Guardroom
at RAF Sealand, running his hands through his short, ginger hair.
He knew it had been stupid to pull the gun on that old man
but he had been authorised to carry it, he was seconded to a Secret Service
covert operation and it was clear that pulling the gun was the only way he
could get them through the barrier in time.
When the civvy police cars had surrounded them on the dual
carriageway Jim had shit himself, literally. He had considered throwing the
firearm out of the window, but apart from guessing that the pursuit would be on
video he would then have to explain to the airforce what he had done with it.
The rough methods of stopping the car had surprised him, he
had thought those were the province of the movies. By the time the car had been
pulled over it had been rammed down the driver's side, rippling the metal and
throwing Jim sidewards, arrested only by the seat belt.
Jim stroked the tender region by his right clavicle
absently as he recalled the aftermath, the noise, shouting, the armed police
surrounding the car half crouched, pistols aimed at all three. Sam had sat
clutching the steering wheel, his knuckles white and his body shaking. Martin
had leapt out, both hands clearly above his head, his ID wallet hanging limply
from his right hand.
'Secret Service,' he called to the lead officer, 'we're
pursuing enemies of the State. This is a covert operation covered by the
Prevention of Terrorism Act.' The lead officer approached carefully, looking at
Martin from top to toe, waving the officers shuffling behind him to reposition
to maintain a clear shot. Grabbing the ID he scuttled back, keeping his firearm
well out of grab reach.
'Don't let him move and get those two wankers out of the
car. At least one of them has a weapon, we know that much. I'll check this
out,' he shouted to his colleagues, waving the wallet. Jim decided he ought to
expedite the process, so he wound the window down.
'Airforce, I'm attached to the operation. I have the only
weapon, a Service issue 9mm Browning. I'll unload out of the window, drop it on
the ground and get out,' he shouted, finding a plethora of weapons pointed at
him. No one answered, they just looked expectantly so Jim reached out of the
window pointing the pistol barrel skywards. Pressing the magazine release
button, he let the magazine slip out of the handle grip and heard the thin
metal crunch onto the rough tarmac below his eye-line. A secondary ping emanated
as one or more of the rounds scattered out of the magazine, ejected by the
force of the fall. Lowering the handgun carefully, Jim leaned out of the window
as far as he could, his armpit resting on the lower sill. then he let the gun
drop. One of the armed police moved forward, his pistol pointing directly at
Jim, his other hand outstretched, palm facing forward. Jim sat still as the
officer approached and kicked the pistol clear away from the car and then
retraced his steps.
Within the next few minutes all three men were positioned
with their hands clasped behind their heads, knelt on the road alongside the
battered car. The lead officer spent much of this time on the radio to his HQ,
reading various pieces of information from Martin's ID.
Within ten minutes the police were reluctantly satisfied
with Martin's bona-fide, his department having convinced the appropriate
authorities that the operation had been authorised. This had clearly surprised
Martin, which in turn worried Jim as he had assumed it would all be a formality
but clearly Martin hadn't. The lead officer instructed a few officers to remain
until the military arrived to relieve them of the handgun and to ensure that
Jim was transferred with them, then left, muttering disgruntled good-byes.
Eventually the RAF had arrived and Jim was further
surprised to find himself being treated like a prisoner while the other two men
were allowed to drive off in a hire car that had been delivered.
And now he was sat in a holding cell, being treated like a
pariah, wondering what would happen to his career.