Brute Force Read Online Free Page A

very large and ugly machine.
To my way of thinking, the less I knew the better. It meant I really was their last chance, they really needed me – and that therefore they weren't completely fucking me over.
Why did I have to make Big Ben's death look like an accident? And why bother saving the shipment? We were a big Firm; we had enough kit to go round; we didn't need this lot. Why not let the whole cargo go down and make sure it didn't fall into the wrong hands?
Too little air, too many questions and too much gun oil were giving me a headache. Fuck it, I just wanted to get the job done.
A shout – pure Belfast – came from the stairway. 'Ben! Come – now. We've got a big focking problem! A plane – flying low!'
I wriggled out of my hiding place and ran like Superman to the door. I jammed my ear against the cold steel.
'Where from?'
'The north; so low I could see the pilot.'
'Military?'
'Air force.'
'Must be from Gibraltar. The Brits, they've got us.' He was more pissed off than scared.
Another voice joined in, this time an Arab. 'No, no, no – it's the Spanish. I can hear them on the radio. Spanish customs. They're heading straight for us.'
'They may get us.' It was Big Ben again. 'But they're not laying a finger on this lot. Get ready to jump ship.'
There was a blast of noise from the engine room, then a lot of hollering.
As I clambered back up onto the GPMGs, the engines slowed to a hum.
Lights went on in the hold and I heard movement below me.

8
I watched Lesser hunch over the TPU, remove a penknife from his jeans and unscrew the lid. He turned the Parkway anticlockwise, lifted out the rubber pad and dropped it and the knife onto the deck. Then he made his way back the way he had come. He was walking, not running. Good drills: he didn't want to break a leg and be stuck down here when the device kicked off. He wanted to make sure he could get upstairs before the Parkway did its bit.
The moment he'd disappeared, I legged it towards the TPU. He'd set the Parkway to fifteen minutes. I grabbed the rubber, jammed it into place and turned the dial back down to zero.
I picked up the knife and cut the ring main about three metres from the detonator. Whatever happened now, only three metres of det cord would ignite. It had the power to rip through human flesh, but it wasn't going to do much damage to the ship.
I edged round beside the first dustbin lid and waited. Big Ben would be back. He was too professional and committed to just shrug his shoulders when it didn't detonate.
I kept reminding myself that his death had to look like an accident. I imagined the frantic activity up on deck as they tried to get the boats away before it detonated.
The fifteen minutes passed.
He'd give it maybe another two, three at the most. I felt a sneaking admiration for him. Me, I had no commitment to anything. Maybe that was because no one had any commitment to me.
I heard the beat of a helicopter's rotors above the ship, and then Ben's large and menacing frame filled the doorway. There could be no finesse in this. It had to be short and sharp. He mustn't get near the TPU.
Head down, teeth clenched, I jumped out and rammed him against the stack of crates.
My head was buried in his gut, my neck taking the strain. He bellowed like a wounded animal and his two clenched fists pile-drove down each side of my spine. I took the pain as best I could; my kidneys felt like they were exploding.
I struggled to force up my head, trying to get my hands round the back of his so I could make contact with the fucking thing. It would be OK to damage his face. It had to be. His face was going to get the worst of it anyway.
I could smell his stale sweat and the nicotine on his breath. His greasy hair fell over me like a clump of seaweed. Then he simply brushed me away as if I was an annoying kid.
His entire focus was on the TPU.
I grabbed his arm as he moved away from me and used his momentum to swing him around. He turned, and I let go. He banged his head against