Scar Tissue

by Ollie Ollerton

  Stone turned, sensing something amiss, resisting the urge to let out a huge sigh, knowing what was coming. He lifted his sunglasses up to perch them on his head, squinting in the sun to give Marsh his full attention. ‘Yes?’

  ‘It’s the lads,’ started Marsh, and Stone, not for the first time, rued the fact that he wasn’t able to carry out his plans unaided. He had only the very best men from the old Executive Alliance Group operation, as well as recruiting a few key personnel. But the trouble with good men was that while they may have been excellent warriors, they had the annoying habit of thinking for themselves.

  ‘Yes.’ Stone smiled. ‘What about them? Correct me if I’m wrong, didn’t I just give the green light for a pay rise? What is it now? Television and a record player in the common room?’

  ‘Yeah, you did, mate, but even so …’

  Stone didn’t especially like his second-in-command referring to him as ‘mate’. But it was his bed and he’d made it. None of these guys would be following him if they thought they were back in the army, no matter how much he paid them. For the time being, at least until this phase of his operation was complete, until his honour was satisfied, he was going to have to put up with it, and since he was also self-aware enough to realise that he was not a leader who had what you might call the common touch, he knew that he needed his consigliere, in this case Marsh, to act as a go-between.

  Marsh looked uncomfortable. His dust-streaked face was mainly hidden by shades, and he fiddled with the toggle of the boonie hat he wore. ‘The thing is, things are getting a bit irregular. Like, a couple of the lads were saying that it was obvious Mahlouthi wasn’t a high-value target. And these new guys you’ve brought in. How come they have the run of the place? Seem to enjoy special privileges, like. Are you sure you did all the checks for that lot?’ Marsh asked. ‘Because they seem a bit dodgy to me.’

  Stone had, of course, done the checks. And those checks had told him exactly what he wanted, no needed to know: which was that all three men – five to begin with, two of them had been killed during the attack on Mahlouthi’s villa – were of what you might call low character. Drummed out of the army for a variety of reasons, mostly involving the gratuitous use of force. Men who could be easily paid to not ask questions. As a result, they did indeed form an unofficial inner circle.

  ‘Things are getting a bit irregular,’ repeated Marsh. He lowered his voice. ‘We go after Mahlouthi. Next thing you know, we’re having to up sticks and leave the Green Zone, just like that. Then we’re being fired upon by two guys who look like friendlies.’

  The whole time, Stone worked to keep his face neutral. He held up a hand. ‘OK, listen, Marsh, mate, you’ve got to ask the guys to trust me, OK? I needed to bring in some muscle. The new blokes,’ he pointed, ‘you’re right, they’re not quite up to our standard and that’s why it’s fine with me if they keep themselves to themselves and don’t mingle; who gives a fuck about that? Do you? Do I? No. I just needed some extra muscle.’

  Marsh lent even closer. ‘But, mate, if they’re not quite up to snuff, why did you ask them to do the Mahlouthi job? Our lads would have loved that job.’

  ‘Come again? Because a moment ago you said they were getting a bit antsy about being fired upon in the desert. And that Mahlouthi wasn’t a high-value target. Make up your mind, eh?’ He heard the irritation come through in his voice and tried to damp down on it.

  ‘I didn’t mean—’ returned Marsh, awkwardly. ‘This is not about the contact. We absolutely love a bit of that, every man here. It’s about who we’re fighting and why.’

  ‘Well, on that score, you’ll just have to trust that there are certain cards I have to keep close to my chest. All will be revealed, you have my word, but for the time being, all that trust that I have built up with you and with the guys, some of whom I kept on, some of whom I employed – and all of whom I pay very fucking well indeed – I need that trust now. I think I’ve done enough to earn it. OK?’

  He tilted his chin, challenging his number two, and when Marsh nodded, saying, ‘Yes, mate’, he reached to clap him on the shoulders. ‘OK?’ He said, needing that extra confirmation.

  ‘OK,’ agreed Marsh.

  Stone turned and walked away, and Marsh watched him go, unconvinced. Something about the boss’s expansive gestures didn’t sit right by him. And yes, even though they had just come out the other side of a firefight, there was also the fact that Stone’s hands had been trembling.

  Something wasn’t right, Marsh knew. Not right at all.

  CHAPTER 55

  Abbott had briefly recovered consciousness on the drive. He remembered seeing a burned-out coalition troop carrier with the words ‘Dave Angel Eco Warrior’ spray-painted on the front and having no idea what the words meant. And then he drifted off again, the mists reclaiming him, taking him back into their world.

  And then he was released once again. More time had passed. He was no longer in transit, for one thing. Slowly, events returned to him. The chase across the desert. An Apache and its mounted guns. Burton’s face making terrible, crunching contact with the steering wheel. The burned-out troop carrier. After that, nothing.

  Where was he now? The answer was in some kind of … Well, it appeared to be a small wooden cell. He pulled himself into a seated position, boots scraping on the stone floor, noting the straw underfoot.

  He was in a stable block, locked in one of the stables. A small enclosed space with wooden partitions either side. As his eyes continued upwards, what he saw was the fact that the door to the bay had been secured with cable ties, while metal container sides had been slung over the top of the bay, again secured with cable ties in order to stop whoever was inside from climbing over the top.

  ‘Whoever was inside’ being him.

  It was a pretty makeshift-looking prison, but effective – at least in the short term. He wasn’t handcuffed or secured, nor had he been injured. He felt bruising at his ribs but otherwise seemed OK. Gingerly, he touched fingertips to his face, feeling grazes there. Another one on his forehead. His eye, too, was tender when he touched it. Still, nothing permanent.

  Using the partition wall for support, he pulled himself to his feet in order to get an idea if he had sustained any other injuries, testing his weight first on one leg and then the other, ensuring he had feeling in his fingertips and arms, moving his head gently at first and then a little more vigorously left, right, up, down.

  Looking through the secure door of the bay, he could see the rest of the stables. At the far end was a door, ajar, that seemed to lead out into a courtyard, and from there he could hear voices and movement.

  Now he moved to the other side of the cell, two paces away. There on tiptoes, he was able to look through a barred section and into what turned out to be the bay next door.

  Nathan.

  The boy was sitting against the far wall of his own stable, which had been secured similarly to Abbott’s. He sat with his legs pulled up, his arms over his knees and his head hanging low. Nathan was in his mid-twenties and yet Abbott had never seen him looking more like a frightened child.

  ‘Nathan,’ Abbott called, keeping his voice low. He looked to his left from where he could see out into the stable, but there was no sign of anyone. Could it be that Stone and co. had underestimated how quickly Abbott might regain consciousness? Maybe he had won himself some precious minutes. His hand went to one of the cable ties. Given time, he could probably gnaw through that. Maybe. Those things were tough.

  ‘Nathan,’ he repeated. ‘Nathan, can you hear me? It’s …’ He found himself struggling over the word as though just by saying it he was claiming to be something he wasn’t but he said it anyway. ‘Dad.’

  Again, a glance out into the stable. Still no sign of anyone.

  Very slowly, Nathan raised his head. His eyes took a while to focus on Abbott although Abbott was not sure if they did indeed focus at all. It was a look he’d seen before on squaddies in Iraq and Northern Ireland. Nothing behind the eyes. P
TSD they called it nowadays. Back in the old days they called it the thousand-yard stare. Or shell shock.

  Abbott’s heart sunk to see that same look in his son’s eyes now: just vacant space where once there had been humour and love and defiance and every other semblance of humanity awarded to a boy with spirit.

  There was, however, just a tiny flick of recognition. That alone was enough to give Abbott hope.

  ‘Nathan,’ he repeated, pressing his face to the bars of the opening and wincing, ‘can you hear me?’

  ‘Dad,’ Nathan said distantly, talking to his knees, as though talking about Abbott rather than addressing him. ‘He told me you were in trouble. I came for you.’

  The words seared Abbott’s heart. Of course he had always known that Stone had used false pretences in order to trap Nathan. And, of course, it was likely they would have involved him. To hear it spoken, though – to know for sure – was different still. And he thought of Nathan, swallowing all of Stone’s lies, believing that Stone and his father had been great comrades, when, in fact, nothing could have been further from the truth. ‘I came for you,’ he repeated, and again his voice had a spaced-out dreamy tone.

  Still on tiptoe, Abbott reached his arms through the bars. ‘Nathan,’ he said, ‘come here, son.’ Trying to be a dad now. Tragically too late, but still. ‘Let me hold you.’

  Nathan stood and though he moved on autopilot, he did at least go to Abbott, allowing himself to be held in his arms, Abbott knowing that this was the first time since Nathan was little that he had held him. And all those years in between had been the booze and his demons and death, his fights with Fi – all of which had come together to stop him being the father that he found in himself now.

  ‘I’m sorry, son,’ he said, tasting the wetness in his mouth. ‘I’m so, so, sorry. Things will change. I’ve changed. I promise you that things will be different from now on.’

  On the other side of the partition, Nathan began to sag but Abbott held him upright, the muscles in his arms bulging. Now that he had hold of his boy, he didn’t want to let him go.

  ‘They told me you were in trouble,’ repeated Nathan, the wooziness still in his voice.

  Again, Nathan’s body seemed to relax and for a moment Abbott thought he was about to fall away, and it occurred to Abbott that Nathan might go into shock. ‘OK, OK, Nathan,’ he said gently, ‘I want you to listen very carefully. I need you to sit down, OK? Just sit down, take deep breaths, listen to my voice and do what I say. Is that clear?’

  As he spoke, Abbott’s eyes went again to the stable outside. Something caught his eye. Something he hadn’t seen before, that made the words of comfort die in his throat and instead his fingers went to the tightly wound cable ties holding the doors in place.

  What he’d seen was a petrol canister.

  CHAPTER 56

  ‘Hello again, mate. How are you doing?’

  Stone had entered the stable block and now stood before Abbott’s stable. He wore a faded black polo shirt open at the neck, his circular dog tags visible. Funny. He’d always worn them. Abbott had torn his off the day he left the army.

  The two men regarded one another in silence. They had trained together. They had served and fought together. And now one was a prisoner, the other his captor, and yet there was no triumph or vindication present, and as Stone stood looking impassively through the bars of the makeshift cell at Abbott, his eyes betrayed nothing. There was no sense of a man who felt his plan had finally come together. He looked tired but beyond that was almost as vacant as Nathan.

  What was the expression? Before you set out for revenge, first dig two graves.

  ‘They’ll be coming for you,’ said Abbott. ‘It’s over. The whole jig is up. They’re bringing in an SF team for you.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Stone said, ‘but it ain’t in place yet, is it? I’ve got time.’

  ‘You’re wanted for murder.’

  Stone shrugged, almost sadly. ‘Yeah, among other things.’

  ‘Well, in that case, you don’t have time for games. You need to put as much distance between them and you as possible. I mean, what were you hoping for after this? You’d just kill me and then go back to normal? You won’t. You might have me here, but the plan hasn’t worked. You’ve been exposed. You can’t just move three hours down the road and expect it all to go away.’

  ‘All I need is the time it takes for you to watch your son die. That’s all I want. Beyond that—’ he shrugged again. ‘I don’t care. This is about doing to you what you did to me. An eye for an eye.’

  Abbott nodded. Perhaps he would have been the same himself. Perhaps. ‘You know, what you’ve done, it’s – I admire it. You thought like a soldier, a military man. You’ve done way more than I ever could have done and that’s because you’re a better soldier than me.’

  ‘A better father, too, I guess,’ said Stone, and for the first time he showed emotion. A smile that crept slowly across him. And it was as though he was looking deep into Abbott’s soul, somehow able to study the shit-thoughts inside.

  ‘Yeah, a better father.’ Stone turned suddenly, walking slowly off to the side, at the same time saying over his shoulder, ‘I needed you here, Abbott. I needed you and Mahlouthi both to know what you’d done. I wanted both of you to die with regret and pain and sorrow in your hearts. Because you’re right, ain’t you, Monk. You couldn’t have done what I done. Like how would you have reacted, Abbott, if I’d killed Nathan on Mahlouthi’s orders? We both know, don’t we? You’d have disappeared into a bottle. And in your cups you’d have dreamed of doing what I done, but you wouldn’t have done it, would you? You wouldn’t have done it because you wouldn’t have been able to find your way out of the bottle. Makes me fucking laugh, this does. The icing on the cake, you might say. You’re standing there hating me, but really deep down you admire me, you fucking envy me, because you know that my way is the military way. And you know that makes me a better soldier than you.’ He paused. ‘And yeah – a better father.’

  Abbott looked at him, wondering whether to say what was on the tip of his tongue but deciding against. ‘OK, fair enough, maybe I am a little bit in awe. I mean, fair play, mate, you got me where you wanted me: behind bars. Mahlouthi’s insides all over Baghdad. But at what cost? You’re finished.’

  ‘Yeah, finished here in Baghdad. That’s right. Looks like I’ll just have to go home, dry my tears on all my money. You may not have heard, but I’ve been bought out, mate.’

  ‘Oh yeah? Who?’

  ‘You’ll know the firm. Hexagon Security.’

  Abbott felt his jaw tighten. His shoulders rose and fell.

  ‘Yeah, I’ve heard of them,’ he said, the irony not lost on him. ‘OK, so you’ve got a bit of money in the bank. They’ll get you. They’ll catch up with you.’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘If not the murder of Mowles, then corruption charges.’

  ‘Badger? Good luck with proving I was even in Mexico at the time. As for the corruption? When SF stage their raid on Executive Alliance Group, they’ll find all the paperwork burned, I’m afraid. And good luck making anything stick without a paper trail. Oh, and their star witness for the prosecution – well, there are two problems there: first, he was my son. Second, you killed him.’

  There’s also the body-cam footage, thought Abbott.

  But now wasn’t the time to say, because Stone had returned holding something that he set down.

  It was the petrol can.

  Abbott swallowed. He glanced through the bars at Nathan, who sat motionless. ‘OK, fair enough. I can get with all of that. I understand. But why kill Badger?’

  ‘Badger didn’t like the idea of taking Nathan. He was fine with the idea of killing Mahlouthi, of course, not so keen on involving you. Even when I told him the reason why. So he had to go, made to look like an accident. After that, why not kill myself off – put myself out of the frame before the intelligence agencies got to me, so I could deal with you and Mahlouthi? The thought of you
running around like Nancy Drew was just the icing on the cake, really.’ He paused. His eyes were on the petrol can. His hands were in his pockets and he was fiddling with something. ‘And now it’s over. Or soon it will be. And I’m going to get out of this fucking country for good. I’m going to go back home. Settle down, crack open a beer and lie back knowing that I did my bit for my country, I satisfied personal honour, and I made a packet into the bargain.’

  ‘All the while being dead?’

  ‘Nah, I’m going to reappear, aren’t I, after taking time out to find myself on a solo hiking tour. What? You all thought I was dead? God, I’m so sorry for all the trouble I’ve caused.’

  Abbott was trying to control his breathing, trying not to think about that petrol can. ‘So how come you’re not happy, then?’ he asked Stone.

  All of a sudden, Abbott regretted the question, knew that he should have been cleverer than to push Stone’s buttons this way because when Stone looked up, his eyes glistened and his next words were growled.

  ‘Because the only thing wrong with that picture is that Jeremy isn’t here to share it with me. He can’t share in the fortune that he helped create.’

  From his pocket he pulled a Zippo. In the next instant he had torn the cap off the petrol can, advanced on Nathan’s stable and had begun spraying the fuel inside.

  CHAPTER 57

  ‘No,’ cried Abbott and he thought he remembered from somewhere that simply saying the word ‘no’ was supposed to have a profound effect on a human, any human, so conditioned are we to it. But that was clearly bullshit because Stone kept on slinging the petrol can back and forth, liquid death spraying inside Nathan’s stable, splattering to the floor. ‘Stone, no,’ repeated Abbott, ‘This isn’t you. This isn’t the way we do things.’

  Stone ignored him. Kept slinging. He had taken out his phone, as though wanting to film what was about to happen. Abbott changed tack. ‘Come on,’ he said, hearing the desperation in his own voice, ‘be a man about it. Come on. You’re not going to burn a kid to death, are you? Put a bullet in me.’