Watcher’s Day Out

By Shantnu Tiwari

Who wants to be a Millionaire: Terrorism Style

 

Terrorists have a new tactic. They kidnap your loved ones and give you twenty four hours to carry out a terror attack. If you succeed, you get a million pounds and your loved one back.

 

If you fail, your loved one is killed.

 

Soon, the whole of London is burning with terror.

 

But then the terrorists make a mistake. They pick a fight with the wrong man: Gus Wheeler is crazier and more dangerous than any terrorist you know, and he just loves a dirty fight.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Shantnu Tiwari
• Release date: Oct 1, 2015
• ISBN: 9781533760357

Book preview

1

If Eileen hadn’t answered the phone, she would still be alive.

She had just come out of the bathroom, her skin still warm and wet from the hot shower, the smell of perfume still fresh on her.

She quickly pulled on her nurse uniform. It looked chilly outside, so she picked up a jacket. The zip made a screeching sound but finally closed up. She needed a new jacket, but even with the two of them working, they could barely make ends meet. If they did get money, there were more pressing needs, like a new uniform for her daughter, a new coat of paint on the walls, the current one crumbling apart.

No time for breakfast, she found a honey-flavoured breakfast bar and put it in her mouth. She was ready to leave and opened the main door.

That’s when the phone rang.

The one that would kill her.

Tripping over a pair of shoes, she picked up the phone.

Hello?

There was silence at the end of the phone, and Eileen wondered if this was one of those irritating marketing calls. But then someone spoke.

Listen carefully. Don’t interrupt. We have your daughter. If you don’t do exactly as we say, we will kill her. Here, listen to her voice.

And she heard the unmistakable sound of her daughter crying. But how was that possible? Janice must be in her room.

Eileen dropped the phone and ran to Janice’s room. It was empty. The bed hadn’t been slept in.

Eileen felt weak, like she was going to throw up. Her knees trembled, her vision went weak. All she could hear was her ears ringing. In a daze, she walked back to the phone.

Where the hell were you, bitch? the voice at the other end screamed. If you vanish again, we’ll kill your girl. Got that?

She nodded, then realised the man couldn’t see her. Yes, she said faintly, her voice raspy. I have no money. Neither does James. But we could scrape a bit up if we sell the car and borrow from relatives. Please don’t hurt her.

The voice at the other end laughed. You think we want your money? We will give you money. A million pounds to be sure. Go to your daughter’s room again, and check under the bed. Come back when you’re done. Don’t take too long though.

Her feet scraped along the aging brown carpet and she found herself in her daughter’s room again. She looked under the bed and found a black box. How had they gotten in without her knowing? Was she that bad a mother?

She opened the box to find two compartments. The first contained money. Loads and loads of it. More money than she had even seen, or would ever see in her life.

The second contained what looked like bombs and a machine gun. She had never seen a bomb in her life, but it looked like what she had seen in movies. Two black tubes attached to a timer. A red button in the front. She didn’t touch it, of course. She didn’t touch the bomb at all.

The machine gun looked tiny. Were they usually that small? She picked it up and found it was heavy. Her husband would know all about them, but to Eileen, it might as well have been a toy.

A police car passed outside, its sirens blaring, and Eileen felt her breath stop in fear. She dropped the gun and ran to the phone.

What do you want? she screamed into the phone.

Simple. We have given you a basic bomb. Just press the red button, and you’ll have two minutes to get away. There is no way to switch the timer off, so don’t press it by mistake. The machine gun is an AK-47. It can fire six hundred bullets a minute, though we want you to use it in short burst mode to conserve ammo. You have two hours from now to kill as many people as you can. If you fail to do so, we’ll kill your daughter. If you call the police, we kill your daughter. By the way, that’s a sexy red bra you just wore. I didn’t know nurses wore sexy underwear. Marks and Spencer, isn’t it?

Eileen looked around in panic. The window blinds were down. How could they see her? Had they seen her when she had run to her daughter’s room? Did they have a hidden camera?

Don’t worry about how we know. You must focus on your task. You have two hours to kill as many people as you can. If you succeed, we’ll let your daughter go. There is one million pounds in the box, as you must have seen. You can keep that. If you fail, we’ll retrieve the money and kill your daughter. Got that?

Eileen could feel hot tears flowing down her cheeks. I don’t know what to do.

We’ll tell you exactly what to do. Listen carefully.

An hour later, Eileen walked to the Buchanan Galleries mall in central Glasgow. It was a nice and sunny day, and she could hear children playing in the park. There was the fresh smell of summer in the air.

But Eileen was feeling dark. Her whole body was shaking.

She said sorry to everyone she met. People were surprised to see a woman dressed as a nurse crying, apologising to everyone as she went.

She made her way to the middle of the mall and put the bomb there. Pressing the red button, she made her way to the exit. After two minutes, the bomb went off and people started running around in fear. As instructed, Eileen raised her gun and started shooting them.

Bang!

Down went an old man.

Bang!

Two lovesick teenagers.

Bang!

An office worker, here to buy a coffee before starting his day.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

A cleaner, a security guard, a fast food worker.

She kept shooting. She kept apologising.

She was still apologising ten minutes later when the police came and shot her dead.

2

It was already getting dark, and the sharks were out. Loud music was playing in a cheap bar nearby, and I pushed past the early crowd of drunks.

Imagine the most rundown and violent part of your city. Now multiply it by ten.

You still aren't half as close as the shit I have to live in.

The place looked like a post-apocalyptic war zone. Buildings crumbling, graffiti everywhere, and in the middle of it all, the party crowd. Didn't these people have anything better to do than get piss drunk so early in the evening?

I saw a shark eyeing me up. I put my hand in my jacket and touched my knife. I then smiled at him. He got the message and went to look for some other, easier target.

A dozen smells hit me. Various street food stalls were selling their wares. The smoke filled the air, but I loved the smell of a dozen different cuisines.

The food was about the only tolerable thing about this place. Other than that, it was full of drug dealers and rich white trash here to party with the ghetto. Half of them would leave without their wallets, thanks to the sharks around.

More of the deafening music. Why did the kids listen to that crap? Mind you, I used to say the same thing when I was younger. Maybe I just don't like music.

I made my way to the only food stall I liked, run by an Egyptian named Abu. I could already taste his falafels in my mouth. Abu saw me and waved me over.

Mr Gus. I have your order ready.

But then I saw something I shouldn't have. Someone who shouldn't be here. A little kid.

He looked really out of place in this place. What was a kid doing here?

Abu saw my confusion. Mr Gus, I don't know who he is. He won't tell me his name.

The sharks had seen him too and were hovering around. I went to the kid. What's your name, kid?

No reply.

Who’s the kid? I asked Abu.

No idea, boss.

Kid, what’s your name?

But the child just stared at me. I walked closer to it. He was dressed like a boy: blue tracksuit, short hair, but when I looked carefully, it looked like a girl. Hard to say. He/she was only about ten and didn’t have any distinguishing gender marks.

She say nothing, boss.

Is she a girl?

Maybe, boss.

I took a falafel from Abu. It had just been made, and so made my mouth water. The smell was floating into my nose.

But I gave it to the kid. You hungry, kid?

She grabbed it eagerly and started biting into it. From the way she was wolfing it down, I guessed she hadn’t eaten for some time.

Abu, can we have two more please?

Sure, boss.

A shark was moving towards us. All grins, like he was a stupid bastard.

Cute kid, mister. Yours?

Yeah. You gotta problem with that? I growled at him and reached into my shirt. He backed off.

Hey mister, we’re all friends here.

I heard a car trying to go through the crowd, but stuck in first gear. Their own fault for trying to pass through this part of town at this time of the night.

Your falafels, boss, said Abu.

I took them and waved them to the kid. You can have one more if you come with me.

She mutely came and stood by me.

I’ll be off, Abu. See if I can find the kid’s parents.

I could have taken her to the police station. But they would ask me a million questions. Where did I find her? Why did I bring her with me? I couldn’t be bothered answering them.

I had a friend in social services. I’d call her and ask her to snoop around for me. Her problem then.

The kid had come and grabbed my hand.

Hold on tight, kid. And watch out for sharks. No matter what happens, don’t let go, ‘kay?

She nodded, and I prepared myself for the battle. No way was I passing through that crowd without a battle.

We were home in less than an hour, which impressed me. The kid held tight to me the whole journey.

Home was the first floor of a deserted factory. And no, I ain’t homeless. A friend’s letting me crash here.

We walked up. The place was dark, of course. I switched on the only light in the place.

Here we are, kid. I know it’s huge, but I usually sleep in the middle.

There was just one old mattress in the middle of the room. Don’t ask me how I got it. But I had cleaned it really well.

I found an old box and sat on it. The kid sat on the mattress.

So, do you really not speak, or you just plain shy?

She just stared at me with a blank face.

I threw a falafel to her. You get one, kid. I get one.

She ate it quietly, never saying a word. All I heard was the crunching sound as she chewed.

After we finished, I took the packaging away to a garbage can outside. Hey, I might live in an abandoned factory, but that didn’t mean I was a pig.

I was going to tell the girl that we were short of beds so she’d have to share, but when I got back, she was already asleep. So I too laid down and closed my eyes.

3

The snow crept along the road like the sand in a desert storm. You could almost see the individual particles of snow, marching like ants across a picnic table.

Nick imagined himself as an Arabian prince, out to rescue his princess, while the storm hit him from all sides.

Except he was stuck in a tin can.

His body shivered in the cold, his breath fogged up the windscreen. He turned the heating up to full, but all he got was a smell of burning toast. Had someone tried to cook toast in his car? He had no idea. The heating in the car was moody—you could set it to max, but it could choose to ignore you. You weren't the boss of it.

A bit like his teenage daughter.

Nick often called his wife stubborn, but today, he was the only stubborn ass around. They had warned him of the snow, and yet he had still left home. The wife was sure he was meeting his mistress, as no one would risk their life for a crappy job like the one he had. His boss agreed with her.

So why was he out here, driving on this deserted highway? Did he really need to escape from the house that bad?

The storm hit even harder, and suddenly Nick could see nothing.

The car started making wheezing noises. A bit like his intestines after a greasy meal. And based on hard experience, learnt from his wife's cooking, this wheezing never ended well.

It seemed like the heavens themselves were shitting on Nick.

He opened the window and stuck his hand out. Yes, the cold wind came in, but it wasn't like the car was heated anyway. He had to do what he had to do.

Raising his fist in the air, Nick gave a middle finger to the gods in the clouds. Fuck you! You wanna stop me, you gotta try harder, you sons of bitches.

It didn't slow the storm in the least, but boy, it felt good.

Nick drove fifty miles out of the city, till he found the deserted warehouse. It was just an empty warehouse, standing in the middle of an empty field, like a fifty-year-old whore standing alone on a dark night, hoping for a single customer to come to her. But you just knew both of them would get no customers. You wanted to feel sorry for them, but you also felt that maybe they deserved it.

He parked his car outside the warehouse as instructed and made a phone call. It was answered on the third ring.

Hi, can I get a cheeseburger and a portion of chips? Go easy on the salt. Thanks.

Very funny, said the voice at the other end. Come in. Keep any weapons in the car. Walk in with your hands by your side.

Yeah, yeah. The usual.

Nick walked in, hands by the side as instructed.

The men were waiting for him in the middle of the empty warehouse. It must have been a factory of some kind. Most of the machines had been removed, but Nick could still see blueprints of mechanical devices. He hated the place, reminded him of his first low-paying job. But then he hated his current low-paying job as well. Nick hated a lot of things.

I do hate a lot of things, he whispered to himself, causing the leader of the group to look at him in surprise.

What?

Nothin’, pal.

Nick had not been given his name, instead been asked to call him Mr Admin. What a stupid name.

Hey Mr Admin. How are the wife and kids? Taken them holidaying in St Ives yet?

He was kidding, of course. Mr Admin didn’t have a family. He looked like he had been created in a factory like this one. All suit, smart and polished. He was the exact opposite of Nick in that respect.

Mr Admin didn’t answer him. We have an assignment for you, Nick. It is one of a small matter of urgency. So we’d like to double your usual payment.

He put a bundle of notes on a table. Two hundred and fifty thousand pounds. But you have less than two hours to complete the job. If you fail, the money is forfeit.

Nick knew what would happen if he didn’t return the money. The Syndicate weren’t forgiving at all.

Mr Admin nodded, and the meeting was over.

Before you go, I’d like you to meet someone.

A woman walked towards him. Where had she been hiding till now? Boy, was she good looking. Skin-tight jeans, a fine ass. Pretty face, black hair tied in a pony tail. He would have preferred bigger boobs, though. Nick could barely see them through the black full-sleeve shirt she was wearing. Nick was disappointed.

Nick, this is Kitty Hawk.

Howdy, she said.

Kitty Hawk, eh? That must be your stage name.

Nick wouldn’t mind doing her. He knew her type, of course. For the right amount of money, she’d do anyone.

Kitty will be working in your area soon, and may need your help. We thought we’d introduce you.

Nick sucked his tummy in and pulled his chest out. He made a big show of picking the money. My money. All of it. Will need to be spending it soon.

He smiled at her, and she smiled back. Of course she was a slut.

Mr Admin pointed to the door. Thank you, Nick. Your instructions are in the envelope provided with the money. Good day.

He took the money and put it in a plastic bag. It was a cheap bag he had gotten from the fish and chip shop, and still smelled of stale fish. Nick reached into the packet and took out a piece of the fried fish that had survived him, and ate it. Yup, it was stale and out of date. Tasted like shit. But he had paid for it, and damned if he was going to let it go waste.

The snow was getting harder and Nick ran to his crap beat-up car, and threw his crap beat-up bag inside. You’d have thought that with that sort of money, he could have bought a better car. At least a better plastic bag to keep all the money. But you’d be wrong.

For one, his pig of a wife took all his money. She’d made him get this big house in the poshest part of northern London, and all his salary went into that. And she insisted on dining in the most expensive restaurants every weekend. Which Nick didn’t mind at all. Anything that saved him and his toilet from his wife’s horrible cooking.

And then there was his brat of a daughter. His wife insisted she go to a private school, even though the kid barely got good grades. She spent most of her time talking on