by Mark Mannock
I stared at where the boat used to be for what seemed like an eternity. One shot, one moment, one bullet. It was over.
I started to laugh. It seemed like forever since I had laughed. Was I losing it? Probably, but I didn’t care. Was I relieved? Yes, big-time. I rolled over and lay on my back, still laughing, maybe crying too. The tears of a madman. After a few minutes I began to calm down and my breathing slowed. As I lay there on the clifftop, staring up at the night sky, the wind and the waves became a soundtrack to some sort of distorted, introspective film playing over and over in my head. The trouble was, I couldn’t seem to follow the narrative.
I could have sworn the stars in the dark sky above were laughing at me.
EPILOGUE
The elaborate black wrought-iron gates stood in front of us, supported either side by stone pillars the size of monuments. Behind the gates was a long, winding, tree-lined drive. Lush green fields divided by gleaming white post-and-rail fences completed the fairy-tale picture.
From the gate, you couldn’t see the house.
I glanced over at Jack Greatrex. He was sitting next to me, sharing the rear seat of the limousine. Jack was looking well now; his shoulder had healed. He was a little stiff, but was doing okay. It was six weeks since the death of Giles Winter at the foot of those chalk cliffs on the Isle of Wight.
A few days earlier we had been sitting at Medina’s Bar having a quiet drink, reflecting on the events of the previous weeks, when both our phones had buzzed simultaneously. I had looked down at mine; there was a message that read, “See you next Monday, 2 p.m., my place, a car will pick you up at the airport.” It was signed Colin Devlin-Waters. The general. There was an attachment; it was an air ticket to Washington. Greatrex had received the same message.
A few days previously I had taken Leyla and Amira back to Portland and made sure they were safe and secure. I had tried to persuade Leyla to move them to LA to be closer to Greatrex and I, but she had insisted that she and Amira had built their new life in Portland; it was their home now.
After installing state-of-the-art surveillance cameras outside their home and employing a security firm to check on them regularly, I headed back to the City of Angels. Amira’s resilience was amazing. She was an impressive little girl, but it would still take the two of them a long time to get over their ordeal.
Greatrex and I had nothing booked for the following week, so we took the general up on his invitation—or was it a summons? Either way, here we were, in rural Maryland, waiting at these grand entrance gates. The driver spoke into an intercom, and the gates opened.
“I was thinking of an apartment in a good area of Washington,” said Greatrex, “not something like this.”
As he spoke, we rounded the last bend in the drive, revealing a magnificent two-story brick and wood residence, abundant with porches and painted in light gray.
“Wow,” I said. Nicholas Sharp, master of eloquent understatement.
The car stopped, we climbed out, and walked up onto the landing that surrounded the oversized wooden front doors. Before we could knock, the doors opened, and there she stood, Kaitlin, her blonde hair tumbling around her shoulders and her face glowing. She looked very different to that final night in England.
“My stepfather is expecting you,” she said as she gave me a lingering kiss on the lips. We had seen each other several times over the last few weeks and had grown closer. I was enjoying that.
Kaitlin must have noticed or even expected our wide-eyed glances around the huge entrance hall as we walked through the doorway.
“Impressive isn’t it,” she said, as if answering the question we hadn’t dared ask out loud. “It’s the ‘Devlin’ part of ‘Devlin-Waters,’” she said. “Old money, and a lot of it. My stepfather refused to just sit back and take something for nothing; that’s why he joined the Marines, to prove he was his own man.”
Kaitlin paused thoughtfully for a moment. “I think that’s what attracted my mother to him, that stubborn independence, the need to do things his own way.”
Both Greatrex and I nodded; that certainly summed up the general.
Kaitlin led us down a long, wide corridor and indicated a door to the right.
“Go on in.” She gave us a knowing grin as she opened the door. “I’ll join you later.”
The room we entered was a large traditional study. Chesterfield-style sofas, an enormous classic wooden desk, and bookshelves everywhere. It was dimly lit by expensive-looking lamps scattered around the space. Behind the desk was the familiar figure of the general. It was the first time we had seen him in person since our return.
He got up, stepped around the desk, and came forward to greet us.
“Nicholas, Jack, wonderful to see you,” he said as he shook our hands. H sounded like he meant it. “No loud sandstorms to have to yell over here,” he said, referring to our last meeting at the Al Taji Base. “Now, before we talk, I’d like to introduce you to a couple of old friends.”
I hadn’t noticed the two figures sitting in comfortable lounge chairs in one corner of the room. They got up and turned to face us.
“Speechless” is an overused word, but in this case both Jack Greatrex and I had nothing, no words at all. Before us we saw two very familiar faces, although they belonged to two men we had never met. I’d seen them on television, read about them, and heard them interviewed.
“I don’t believe you gentlemen have met,” said the general.
He introduced us. We all shook hands.
I looked over at Greatrex; if he was in shock, he was taking it in his stride.
“Please, everyone, have a seat,” offered the general.
We all sat on the two large sofas, with the general sitting to one side on a very comfortable-looking winged armchair.
“Well,” began the familiar Texan drawl of the man sitting opposite me. “We asked Colin to arrange an opportunity to speak to you two gentlemen in person, but privately. I hope that’s okay with you?”
“We would like to thank you, thank you for everything you have done,” interrupted his colleague. I always appreciated the inflections of a classic British accent.
Before either Greatrex or I could get a word out, the American continued. “We know that you have risked your own lives to save not only those of your friends, but of countless others. While there can be no official recognition, we wanted you to know how much your efforts have been appreciated.”
“Several years ago, in our previous roles, we were both involved in making some decisions that affected a lot of people,” said the Brit, nodding at his US counterpart. “They were decisions that have since been challenged and derided in the media and around the world, although given the information available to the public at the time, we both find that understandable.”
“The thing is,” the American took over, “our people on the ground always thought we were right. We knew that Saddam had those chemical weapons, but we just couldn’t prove it. Our teams searched thoroughly but found nothing. Of course, we had no concept of what Giles Winter and his organization had put in play. They had made sure our search would be fruitless. The result was our respective countries ended up looking like we had provoked a needless war.”
I looked over at the general. He said nothing but sat back with a small grin on his face, enjoying the show.
“We know this can never be made public knowledge,” continued the Brit, “but because of what you found and destroyed—those samples and formulas—we, and the people we worked with, can rest a little easier about the decisions that were made back then.”
“Quite simply, Mr. Sharp and Mr. Greatrex, we thank you,” said the American.
With that they both got up, shook our hands, and walked out of the room.
The general was still grinning.
An hour and a half later we had finished sharing an expansive lunch and a full debrief with the general and his stepdaughter. There were still some unanswered questions, including the strength and depth of Gil
es Winter’s links to the British. “We may never know,” had been the general’s perspective.
As we strolled around the estate’s manicured gardens, the general touched me on the arm. I stopped and turned to look at him. Greatrex and Kaitlin, a little ahead of us, stopped as well.
“I want to ask you something, Nicholas,” began the general. “I would like to know if something comes up again, a situation in which your skills could be helpful, can I call on you?”
If ever there was such a thing as a fully loaded question, this was it.
I looked out over the rolling green fields of rural Maryland; it was so peaceful. My thoughts went to the people who had recently met their deaths at my hands. They were clearly bad men, but Greatrex and I were still the ones who had been called on to end their lives. That was a heavy weight. I thought of Giles Winter and the evil he was going to unleash on so many innocent people. We had protected those people.
There were unanswered questions and unresolved issues that I had been persistently pushing away. It gradually dawned on me that I could hide no more. I still had one more battle to fight, but this skirmish was to be fought deep within my soul.
When this all began, I was sure I was reluctant to be drawn back into the dusky world of death and violence I had once abandoned. I had believed I had no choice but to walk this road one last time. Now I was not so sure; in fact, I was deeply unsure. In the end, I had separated my actions from my emotions all too easily. I had killed too easily.
I remembered laying on that clifftop staring at the stars, searching for clarity.
I wondered, was it too convenient to blame everything that had come to pass solely on Giles Winter? For certain, Winter was the most evil being I had ever encountered, and stopping him was the right thing to do, but perhaps there was more to this. What emotional layer had been lying deep within me? Was it badness, restlessness, goodness, recklessness? I didn’t really know, but it had been dormant, and now it wasn’t. Was there some small amount of evil in me that needed to be there, so I could effectively help and protect? Did I want to do this? Did I need to do this?
I turned toward the general. He was looking me straight in the eye, as if trying to read my thoughts. I looked over his shoulder; Kaitlin was doing the same thing.
I returned my gaze to the safety of the hills. I thought of my relatively new life as a creative. That was my world now. Again, my mind went back to that clifftop on the Isle of Wight—the manic laughter, the inexplicable tears, the conflict I’d felt. There had been no resolution. I had not yet found the clarity I sought.
Lastly, I looked at Jack Greatrex, my friend, the man who had always had my back. He looked at me and shrugged, no damn help at all.
“Well?” the general deserved an answer.
“I don’t know,” I said. “I simply do not know.”
About the Author
Mark Mannock was born in Melbourne, Australia. He has had an extensive career in the music industry including supporting, recording with or writing for Tina Turner, Joni Mitchell, The Eurythmics, Irene Cara and David Hudson. His recorded work with Lia Scallon has twice been long-listed for Grammy Awards. As a composer/songwriter Mark’s music has been used across the world in countless television and theatre contexts, including the ‘American Survivor’ TV series and ‘Sleuth’ playwright Anthony Shaffer’s later productions.
Mark lives on Victoria’s Mornington Peninsula with his wife, two teenage children, three dogs and two cats. His travels around the globe act as inspirations for his writing.
Mark enjoys hearing from his readers, so please feel free to contact him.
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Also by Mark Mannock
The Nicholas Sharp Thriller Series
The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing…for Nicholas Sharp, doing nothing is not an option.
' a witty, compelling and thoroughly enjoyable thriller’
‘ticks all the boxes, flicks all the psychological switches’
‘a first class thriller’…reader comments
‘Nicholas Sharp’ is a disillusioned former U.S. sniper whose past plagues him as he makes his way in the contemporary music industry. Sharp is a man whose insatiable curiosity and embedded moral compass lead him into situations fraught with danger.
Somewhere between Lee Child’s Jack Reacher and Robert Crais’ Elvis Cole, Nicholas Sharp may be a flawed human, but you certainly want him on your side!
BLOOD NOTE
A Short Story Prequel to the Thriller KILLSONG (should be read after KILLSONG)
Just turn around and walk away. That was all Nicholas Sharp had to do when the mysterious and intoxicating Elena approached him for help.
She knew far too much about him. The warning signs were all there.
Sharp didn’t listen to them.
What followed for the former Marine Sniper turned musician, was a harrowing night of violence, deceit and intrigue.
When the sunrise ushered in a new day, Sharp thought it was all over…but it was really just beginning.
LETHAL SCORE
Nicholas Sharp Thriller Number 2
Coming Late 2020
How could he not follow the girl as she broke into the nuclear power station? Is it even possible for Nicholas Sharp to turn his back when lives are in danger?
Sharp is on a tour through Europe, the concerts are sold out and the former Marine sniper turned musician is living in luxury thanks to promoter Antonio Ascardi.
Suddenly it all goes wrong. People are dying along the way and Sharp is blamed. Now a hunted man, accused of terrorist crimes across the continent, Nicholas Sharp must fight for his life and freedom.
HELL’S CHOIR
Nicholas Sharp Thriller Number 3
Coming late 2020
A goodwill visit to Sudan, what could possibly go wrong?
Nicholas Sharp is performing as part of a political and cultural group representing the U.S.. Suddenly caught up in the middle of a political coup, the leader of the American contingent who also happens to be Vice President of the United States, goes missing and his security staff murdered.
Communication with the outside world is cut off. It falls to Sharp and Greatrex to track their missing leader down.
But then things get really complicated…
PLAY OUT
A Nicholas Sharp Origin Novella
Set five years before KILLSONG
Available free to mailing list subscribers late 2020
A Terrorist attack on the London Underground. Nicholas Sharp doesn’t think so.
While on leave from Iraq, the U.S. Marine Sniper finds himself intervening when innocent lives are threatened. Afterwards he walks away, but for Sharp it’s never that easy. Something doesn’t feel right. Twenty-four hours later everything is wrong.
The brief solace he finds in his beloved piano is shattered when Sharp becomes the attacker’s next target. Step up or step away. Nicholas Sharp doesn’t like to kill, but he sure as hell knows how to.
Table of Contents
Acknowledgement
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EPILOGUE
About the Author
Also by Mark Mannock
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