On the Edge

by Kerry J Donovan

  A wincing, cringing Krüger allowed Kaine to lead him through the broken door and out into the hall. When the South African tried heading for the men’s changing room, Kaine yanked on his arm and received another squeal from his defeated opponent.

  “Not you, my bucko. Out you go,” he said and frogmarched him towards the main exit.

  “But my keys, my wallet,” Krüger whinged. “They’re in my locker and my hotel’s miles away.”

  “Should have thought of that before you attacked Dr Sloane and incurred the terrible wrath of Paddy O’Kelly. Now push off before I forget my promise to the good doctor and finish tearing out your throat.”

  “W-Who are you, really?”

  Kaine smiled and hiked up an eyebrow.

  “Ah now,” he said. “That would be telling, wouldn’t it?”

  He released his hold on Krüger and pushed him through the exit, adding a swift kick in his rear to encourage the creep along on his way. “Now, give my regards to dear old Uncle Eugene, won’t you? Tell him I’ll be in touch real soon.”

  Kaine watched the South African—still dressed in his T-shirt, shorts, and pool slippers—stumble along the path towards the main exit, favouring his damaged knee. He didn’t turn back into the building until Krüger had disappeared through the main gates.

  Back by the changing rooms, he found Lara standing in the broken doorway, wrapped in a bath towel.

  “You sure he’s gone?” she asked, her voice shaking as much as the hand holding the towel together. Kaine recognised the aftereffects of an adrenaline rush.

  “Certain. Jesus, girl,” he said, wrapping his arms around her, and hugging as tight as she’d let him. “I should have realised the bastard wouldn’t have taken being thrown off the course too well. I really should have known he’d try to take it out on you. I’m so sorry.”

  She rested her head on his shoulder and he breathed deeply, trying to settle his nerves.

  If she’d been hurt …

  After everything that happened in London, he should have guaranteed Lara’s safety in Denmark. Before enrolling her, Corky had researched the course and the attendees, but somehow, they’d missed the association between Krüger and the AWB until it was almost too late. And then, he’d made the mistake that morning, by not following Krüger from the assessment area. Kaine was growing complacent. On top of everything else, he’d totally lost the plot. The first punch had been messy, uncontrolled. His hand still throbbed. He hadn’t fully recovered from the injury.

  Kaine flexed his tingling fingers and rotated the wrist. Restricted range of motion and a definite twinge on the clockwise rotation. Sub-optimal performance.

  Such a bloody mess.

  It needed more time to heal.

  They both needed rest. They both needed time for recuperation. A proper break.

  Kaine came to a decision. He released his hold on Lara and gently pushed her away, holding her by her shoulders and at arm’s length. They locked eyes.

  “We’re leaving, right now. Heading for home. I doubt the AWB has the reach to threaten us this far from their territory, especially since the police and army will be keeping them busy, but—”

  “You really did send the South African authorities proof of the plot?”

  “Well, Corky did. This morning after he contacted me.”

  “Good old Corky. Don’t know what we’d do without him.”

  “Exactly. Anyway, I’m not prepared to take the risk of reprisals. On top of which, young Heinrich Krüger’s a hot-head. No telling what he’ll try when he’s recovered a little of his dignity.”

  “But—”

  “No buts,” he said, shaking his head. “Grab your things from your locker, don’t bother with a shower, we’ll head straight to the hotel and clean up there.”

  “But, Ryan”—she whispered his real name—“don’t you think you’re overreacting a little? We can’t leave looking like this. I mean, take a look at yourself.” She pointed over his shoulder to the mirror fixed to the wall near the water fountain and the vending machines.

  He studied the reflection with no little surprise.

  The wiry man staring back at him in military fatigues and masked by full camouflage makeup would hardly have been able to wander around Aarhus unnoticed. Not only would he and Lara be refused entry to their plush hotel, but they might also attract the attention of the local constabulary during the extended drive through the city.

  He slightly modified his earlier decision.

  “Ah, I see. You make a fair point, Dr Sloane,” he said, smiling and reverting to his Irish accent. “Get cleaned up and dressed as fast you can while your friend …”

  “Yvette Dupré,” Lara offered. “She’s a medical officer in the SSA, the French Defence Health Service. A good woman. Solid. I’ll be safe with her while you clean up.”

  “Oh no, my darlin’ girl,” Kaine said, shaking his head emphatically. “I’m stayin’ right here until you’re ready. When I’m in the shower, you’ll be with me outside the cubicle—after I cleared the men’s changing room first, of course. Now, please hurry. We need to hustle.”

  “You’re happy for me to leave without the proper accreditation?”

  “Of course I am. You’ve learned all you can here, and why would you need a certificate? Who are you going to show it to? Blooming thing won’t even be made out in your real name.”

  “Okay. Makes sense. Be with you in ten minutes.”

  “Fast as you can, love.”

  “Won’t be long.”

  Kaine paced the corridor for eight minutes, growing more fractious with each passing second. He turned away the male course attendees with promises of riches and threats of violence when the bribes didn’t work. He was about to crash through the broken door again, when Lara appeared, scrubbed clean, wet-haired, fully dressed, and looking a total picture.

  “Eight minutes,” he said, showing her his watch.

  “Sorry, Ryan. I rushed a fast as—”

  “Not complaining, but congratulating. Only eight minutes to shower and dress, and you still look that good?” He winked. “Don’t you ever keep me waiting on a date again!”

  “A date? When do we ever go on dates like a normal couple?”

  “Okay, point taken,” Kaine said, smiling and shaking his head. “I’ll put that right as soon as we reach the villa.”

  Her smile brightened both his day and the whole corridor.

  “You know what?”

  “What?”

  “I’m going to keep you to that, Paddy O’Kelly.”

  Chapter 5

  Wednesday 13th April – Early afternoon

  Aarhus, Denmark

  For the first time in their relationship, Kaine took longer to shower than Lara had, hampered as he was by his injured arm. On top of which, effective removal of camouflage makeup and fake blood took heavy soap, a stiff brush, and ages.

  Freshly scrubbed, he left the borrowed camouflage gear in the laundry basket as per the course instructions, and tugged on his standard civilian rig—dark sweater, polo shirt, chinos, and walking boots.

  He and Lara left the college without notifying the course leaders, without passing go, and without collecting two hundred pounds. They’d paid Lara’s fees upfront and in full. When they’d returned to the villa, Kaine planned to send the college five thousand euros to cover the cost of the damage he’d inflicted on the door to the ladies changing room. The money included enough to clean up Krüger’s blood and vomit.

  They took a taxi to the hotel, packed and paid their bill in a matter of minutes, and recovered their hired Beemer from its space in the underground car park. After that, Kaine settled behind the wheel for the three-hundred-kilometre overland trip to Copenhagen.

  Kaine deemed the alternative route, which included a two-hour ferry from Aarhus to Molslinjen, too risky. He’d rather take longer by road than be trapped on a ferry with no possibility of escape if the authorities spotted them. The prospect of another North Sea swim to freedom d
idn’t exactly fill him with joy—even if it was mid-April. On top of everything else, factoring in potential boarding delays and rough seas, there wasn’t much difference in journey times for each route.

  Lara hit the button to lower the back of her seat and stretched out, apparently ready to snooze while Kaine handled driving duties.

  “Don’t get too comfy, love. You need to book us on the next flight to Nice from Kastrup Airport. I imagine we’ll have to go via Heathrow.”

  Lara waggled her mobile at him. “Already on it.”

  By the time they reached the E45 motorway, Kaine had more or less recovered from his confrontation with Krüger. Most of the feeling had returned to his fingers, and he kept exercising the life back into his hand and wrist. It showed up a problem, though.

  For the first time since he could remember, Kaine had totally lost control, even if only for a few moments. He’d fought with hot anger rather than cold skill, and the loss of control had cost Kaine, in bruised knuckles, numb fingers, and discomfort beneath the scar. Nothing serious, not physically. The arm would heal quickly enough, but his loss of control showed a worrying weakness.

  Weakness led to danger. A danger Kaine could ill afford to ignore.

  He shot a quick glance at Lara.

  Dr Lara Belinda Orchard, former veterinarian, now fully trained if not certified combat medic, one of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen, and definitely the most beautiful he’d ever spent any time with. Dark hair with auburn highlights when caught by the sun, hazel eyes that could see right through his bluster, tall, slim, confident. A tiny little mole on the side of her neck, and a cute, upturned nose the only visible flaws in the perfection. Minor flaws that only added to her natural beauty.

  What would he do without her? How could he send her away?

  Damn it.

  He loved her. Couldn’t avoid it. Wasn’t even going to fight it anymore. She meant everything to him. Everything. She was staying. Somehow, he’d make it work. After all, he couldn’t protect her from afar, could he?

  Yes, he’d make it work. He’d keep her close.

  Kaine dragged his eyes back to the road. No benefit in running the car into the rumble strip. That would be so embarrassing, and he, an Navy-certified advanced driver. What would Rollo say?

  He smiled.

  “What’s up?” she asked. Even though she’d been working on the smartphone, she missed little.

  “Nothing.”

  “You were smiling.”

  “You think I shouldn’t smile?”

  “Don’t deflect, Ryan. I love your smile. It lights up your face and makes you even more handsome. But you don’t use it very often.”

  “Handsome? Moi? Don’t be ridiculous.”

  Few people would have called his scarred, bearded face handsome. But he loved that she said it, and prayed she wasn’t just being kind. A lover’s blindness, perhaps. The full beard pretty much covered the scar which, along with hiding his face, was the whole point of growing it. He wouldn’t exactly terrify the children into nightmares on Halloween, but calling him handsome was a stretch.

  “And now you’re fishing,” she said, gently.

  He wrinkled his nose. “Nah, not a chance. Don’t like fishing, me. Too sedentary for this old sailor. Put me near a stretch of water, any stretch of water, and I’ll dive in for a swim, but you won’t catch me fishing. Oh dearie me, no.”

  Maybe not the North Sea, not again.

  Not voluntarily.

  “Okay, okay. Enough with the self-deprecation. You’re not that old, but you are good-looking. So, are you going to tell me why you were smiling?”

  “Nothing much. Just happy to be alive.” He pointed through the windscreen to the landscape whizzing past around them. “It’s a lovely, sunny day in Denmark. I’m with my favourite fully-trained combat medic, and we’re heading for home for some well-earned rest. What’s not to smile about?”

  And the image of a giant South African limping away from the training centre, tail firmly tucked between his bandy legs, didn’t hurt either.

  “How many fully-trained combat medics do you know?”

  “Including you?”

  “Yes. Including me.”

  “Let me see.” Kaine raised his left hand and pretended to count his fingers. “One,” he answered, allowing his smile to return. “Although I did meet a rather attractive nurse in an army field hospital in Iraq. That was back in the late nineties. Tall, blonde, curvy, she was. Nothing at all like you.”

  Lara punched him playfully on the arm.

  “Idiot,” she mumbled, and returned her attention to the booking app on her mobile.

  “Guilty as charged,” he admitted. “Not even going for the diminished responsibility defence.”

  They fell silent and the seemingly interminable kilometres rolled beneath the tyres, the road surface smooth and well-maintained.

  Not far from the amusingly named town of Snoghøj, the E45 southbound morphed into the E20 eastbound, the Østjyske motorway. Traffic thinned a little, but Kaine was forced to decrease speed over the Den Nye Lillebæltsbo—the New Little Belt Bridge—when a blustery crosswind threatened to drive them into the outer barrier. He increased speed again once they left the bridge and made it onto the dry land of the even more amusingly entitled Middlefart Strip.

  Kaine managed to find plenty of names to amuse the child inside, and used it to pass what would otherwise have been an increasingly tedious journey, but he kept it to himself. Lara didn’t need him interrupting her research by pointing out apparently ludicrous place names. On the counter side of the argument, what would the Danes make of driving through a village called Nether Wallop? How would they wrap their educated Scandinavian tongues around the name Auchtermuchty?

  Oh dear. Too much.

  Although slouching lazily in his comfortable driving seat like the world’s worst couch potato, at lease his smile muscles were receiving a decent workout.

  “Excellent,” Lara said, adding a cute little fist pump.

  “What is?”

  Kaine completed his latest overtaking manoeuvre—passing a slow-moving petrol tanker—and slid back into the inside lane, making sure to keep within five kph of the speed limit. He didn’t want to draw police attention by driving either too slowly or too quickly and had set the cruise control accordingly.

  Lara held up her mobile. “I found a flight to Nice this evening with one change at Ataturk Airport, Turkey. It’s expensive though, first class. Over two thousand euros. Want me to book it?”

  “No worries, we’re worth it.”

  “Spendthrift.”

  “That’s me. Noted for it all over the world.”

  He’d just told a total lie, but she’d forgive him for it.

  For years, he’d lived a frugal life and had been salting money away in offshore accounts to bolster his military pension. People in his most recent line of work, that of a highly-paid military contractor, tended to opt for an early retirement, although many in his profession never lived long enough to spend it.

  Lara knew Kaine would never spend a penny of the money he’d liberated from Sir Malcolm Sampson on anyone else but The 83. However, during their missions to date, they’d found one or two decent opportunities to relieve some rather nasty people of their ill-gotten gains—Kaine’s version of a judicial fine. It also turned out to be a great way to compensate his team, cover their heavy ongoing expenses, and augment their individual retirement funds.

  The team had availed themselves of one such opportunity a few months earlier by dismantling the illegal operations of a particularly unpleasant individual based in Southampton. In the end, Kaine and his men had relieved Teddy Tedesco of over ninety million pounds. They’d kept a decent portion for themselves to cover income and expenses, and distributed the remainder—anonymously—to victims’ charities throughout the UK.

  Kaine’s men were happy with the ongoing arrangement, as was the UK charity sector.

  Everyone was a winner, except an
instantly impoverished Teddy, who only lived in penury long enough to say hello to a London-based syndicate from whom he’d been hiding for decades. Sometimes, Kaine liked to use his skills and his ability to operate outside the law for more than just protecting The 83.

  As a result, the “Enforcement Wing” of The 83 Trust could hardly be seen as poorly funded and equipped. Truth was, Kaine and his men could afford the best equipment on the market, which was only fitting since they could include themselves amongst the world’s most elite fighters.

  “And what happens when we land in Nice?” he asked.

  “Just a minute.”

  He had to wait five but, on such a lovely day, it didn’t test his patience one little bit.

  “Done,” she said, sliding her phone into the handbag he’d bought for their first Christmas together, ignoring their joint promise not to give each other presents.

  How Louis Vuitton could justify charging so much to stitch together a few pieces of material was beyond him, but the look Lara gave him after ripping open the wrapping paper made it worth every penny.

  For Lara’s part, her present to him that night cost nothing, but he’d been equally delighted.

  “What did you ‘done’?” he asked through a chuckle.

  Such a good mood.

  He’d spent enough time in his life being glum. Might as well take advantage of being upbeat while things were quiet.

  “Oh dear, Ryan. Can you go back to normal, please?”

  “Sorry, love.” Kaine coughed into his fist, straightened his face, and sat up in his seat. “What, pray tell, have you accomplished this fine afternoon?”

  “Not sure that’s much better, actually. Anyway, I hired a car. A Mercedes. If all goes well and the plane lands on time, we should reach the villa in plenty of time for lunch tomorrow.

  “Unless …”

  Lara twisted at the waist to face him fully. “Unless what?”

  “Unless you fancy a relaxing drive along the coast road. The south of France is really impressive this time of the year. Decent weather and not quite so many tourists. We could make a holiday of the drive home. What do you reckon?”