“This is not a mission of force,” Palu said. “We just need to speak with the family before we make any snap decisions. If you have a grudge, you should let Howard take this one alone. The family are going to feel threatened enough as it is, without having a mob turning up on their doorstep in the early hours.”
Sarah sighed. “You’re right, it’s not the right call to go in heavy. But sending me in with Howard is the right call. Not only am I a woman, which has its own benefits, but I’m also a trained interrogator. In the Army I was a liaison for local tribes and villagers. I’m trained to get answers from people who don’t want to give them.”
“Are you saying you tortured people?” asked Bradley, his eyes widening.
Sarah shook her head. “No torture, just a bit of savvy and knowing how to read people. I have a built-in bullshit detector. If a person is hiding something, I can tell.”
Howard glanced at Palu and shrugged. “It’s true. Part of the reason I brought her in was because of her interrogation training. None of us have that.”
“And her ‘bullshit-detector’ is exactly what she used earlier with the staged videotape,” Bradley said. “None of us picked up any of those clues.”
Sarah thought about how her skills weren’t as great as her MOD file probably made out. After all, it had only taken a woman and some watermelons to fool her. She decided to compensate for her doubt with a joke. “It was those same skills that led me to figuring out that Howard is gay. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, of course.”
Howard rolled his eyes and chuckled. He was starting to get her humour.
Palu waved a hand. “Okay fine, go; but I want no violence. The parents are innocent civilians until we know differently. It’s their daughter we’re after in the middle of the night, so show a little diplomacy.”
“Hey, diplomatic is my middle name,” Sarah said.
“Follow me,” Howard told her. “We need to make a few stops before we set off.”
Sarah frowned. “We should make a move.”
Howard nodded but kept walking. “If you want my advice, I think you should get back in bed, but if you’re really determined to come with me, I would rather you have a weapon this time. We might run into Ashley Foster again. Sound good?”
Sarah grinned from ear to ear. “Show me the money.”
And Howard did show her the money. The MCU’s armoury was a freakin’ bank vault of money. It was nestled inside the Earthworm’s head section, hidden within a mundane steel door that read: ARMOURY.
“You have enough hardware here to kit out an entire army,” Sarah said, gawping at the numerous equipment benches. The room was a veritable museum of assault rifles, handguns, and tactical weapons. There were rows upon rows of Glock 9mms and Colt 45s, and an all manner of other side-arms. What surprised her the most, though, was a nest of military assault rifles against the far wall. “Is that a FAMAS?” she asked, jaw agape.
“Yes.”
“British forces don’t use French assault rifles. How did you get it?”
Howard tapped a finger against his nose. “Special consignment. The MCU is allowed to use whatever hardware it feels is right for the situation. Originally, we were going to operate internationally — a little like the CIA and MI6 — but things never progressed that far. We still have a mandate that allows us to use heavy force if necessary.”
Sarah took one last look at the weaponry and let out a whistle. She even managed to spot an F2000, which looked like something out of a sci-fi movie.
“Small arms only, on this ride,” Howard told her. “Grab yourself something comfortable.”
Sarah went to the handgun rack and perused her choices. She saw Brownings and American Smith and Wessons, Walther PPKs, and various Glocks, as well as the ever popular Colt .45 and the M1911 (the ‘Yankee Fist’); but her eyes were eventually drawn to a SIG-Sauer P229. It was smaller and lighter than most of the other handguns. It was also similar to the side-arm she used on her tours of Afghanistan. Seeing one now made her skin prickle, and for a moment the heat of the Middle-Eastern sun was on the back of her neck all over again. The nostalgia went away as soon as she placed her finger around the trigger. She’d convinced herself that the battle had been lost in Afghanistan, that the bad guys had beaten her; but the last twenty-four hours had shown her that the war was still going on, and that it was being fought at home as well as abroad. She was still a soldier, and she had a duty to do.
“The SIG?” Howard said. “Not bad, but I prefer something a little more robust.”
Sarah blew a raspberry with her cheeks. “If you pick up a Desert Eagle or a Magnum, I’m going to assume you have a tiny penis.”
Howard smirked. He picked up a two-tone, silver handgun that was not a great deal bigger than her SIG, but unlike the stainless steel of her weapon, Howard’s gun was a mix of what looked like Aluminium and polymer. “Ruger P95 Double Action,” he explained. “Just feels good.”
“I was the same way picking my vibrator,” said Sarah. “I liked the cocking action of the Bushmaster 3000.”
Howard blushed. Sarah betrayed her deadpan exterior and let a chuckle slip out. Howard had such a stick up his arse, that it was too much fun rattling his cage. Somewhere deep inside, this guy with the jutting chin and perfectly shaved sideburns was just dying to let loose and enjoy himself.
Howard put on his grey woollen jacket and immediately it began to ring. He pulled out his mob-sat and looked at Sarah. “Palu just sent us the Foster’s address. You ready to head out?”
Sarah grabbed a waist holster and nodded. “Are we meeting Mandy up top?”
“Yeah. You’ll rarely find him anyplace else.”
Sarah thought about how Mandy had carried her through the Earthworm, and how concerned he had looked. It was a strange turn of events, considering how the giant had barely even grunted at her until then. “You know,” she said, “you’re going to have to tell me how he made that helicopter disappear yesterday. I don’t imagine he left it in the middle of the field.”
“And you’d be right,” said Howard. “I’m sure Mandy will let you in on the secret if you ask him about it.”
“He does talk, then?”
“Sometimes.”
“What’s his story? How is he such a good pilot? I don’t think he’s ex RAF.”
“He’s not,” said Howard. “He’s never been in any of the forces. He’s a civilian. Paid for flight lessons himself. He was married once, but you’ll have to ask him about that.”
Sarah said no more as they headed up the same staircase they’d used before, the on that exited into the derelict farm.
Night had long fallen and the abandoned sheds and agricultural equipment seemed even more haunting now. Gaps in the crumbling brickwork whistled as a ghostly breeze passed through them and owls hooted in the rotten eaves of the old buildings. Sarah hugged herself and shivered, despite it not feeling that cold.
They hurried to the warehouse where, sure enough, Mandy was waiting for them. The Range Rovers were parked near the back of the shed now. One of them was pockmarked with bullet holes. “Best take one of the saloons,” Howard said. “If Ashley Foster warned her parents about us, they might be on the lookout for Range Rovers.”
Mandy grunted at them and fumbled in the pockets of his cargo pants, pulling out the correct set of keys. They unlocked a 2010 Jaguar XFR. Nothing too flashy, but far more luxurious than what Sarah was used to riding in. Before the MCU started falling into disrepair, it’d obviously been given money to burn.
Mandy held open the Jaguar’s rear door for Sarah. She considered asking to drive, but knew she couldn’t shove Mandy aside like she had Bradley.
Howard sat up front. Sarah didn’t like being dumped in the back, but for once she didn’t complain. Her shoulder was throbbing and her head had been fuzzy ever since waking. While she still had her wits about her, it took a concerted effort not to keel over and start panting. She hoped she could have a short rest on the drive to their des
tination.
The address Palu had given them was back in Oxford. Mandy started the engine and headed into the fields. Every jolt from the saloon’s suspension caused the pain in Sarah’s shoulder to flair. She hid it best she could.
“Do the parents know we’re coming?” she asked.
“No,” Howard said. “Unless Ashley warned them. We’ll take things cautiously. Mattock will be in the area, ready to provide backup if needed.”
Sarah swallowed. “The SAS guy?”
Howard nodded. “Bradley must have told you about him. He’s a good guy to have in a pinch, no nonsense. You should like him.”
I doubt it. “So, what type of background do the parents have? Any extreme political views?”
“Both are conservatives, but we’ll try not to hold that against them.”
Mandy snorted in the driver’s seat.
Sarah frowned. “Don’t you take orders from our conservative Prime Minister?”
“Yes,” Howard said, “until the next one comes to power. Tell you the truth, I don’t see much difference between any of the parties anymore. They used to stand for something, but it’s all just a muddle now.”
“There’s something we can agree on,” Sarah said.
It took them ten minutes to enter the main roads. The Jaguar wasn’t built for off-roading as well as the Range Rovers. Sarah clenched her jaw and thought about what she was going to do when she got hold of the people responsible for the attacks. The SIG attached to her belt was digging into her hip and worried about how much she liked the feel of it. She wanted to kill them all. She looked like a monster, so she saw little reason not to act like one. She wasn’t going to be the only one with scars when this was all over.
JACKED IN
When they reached the Foster’s home, it was 4.30AM. The sky had turned a light shade of blue as the sun prepared to make its return. There was a chill to the air that made Sarah wonder if it was the weather or the fact that she was a few pints short of blood.
Howard and Mandy had been silent the whole journey, and both seemed tired. She wondered how she looked herself.
The houses leading up to the Foster’s address were a mixture of detached and semi-detached properties, with short lawns and well-kept bushes. Mandy pulled up outside of a double-fronted family home and blocked the property’s driveway. A sleek black Audi sat in front of the house next to a Mini Cooper. Both cars looked new.
Sarah pressed her forehead against the rear window and squinted. “Doesn’t exactly look like Ashley had a troubled upbringing.”
Howard shrugged. “Nobody knows what goes on behind closed doors. You ready?”
“What’s the plan? Do we have fake Police badges or something?”
“You’ve been watching too many movies. We don’t have specific identification, but most people don’t tend to ask. Just speak with authority and people will do what you say. If we need to, we can have Palu arrange for the local police to support us, but that’s not how we want to do this.”
“Okay, I’ll follow your lead.” Sarah pulled open her door and stepped onto the driveway.
“I’ll take point,” Howard said.
Sarah didn’t argue. In the state she was in, she wasn’t sure she could take charge even if she wanted to. They strolled up the driveway and approached the front door. A wall lantern switched on as they neared. Howard rang the bell. He rang it twice more before the hallway light finally came on.
The front door opened and they were met by a bleary-eyed man in his fifties. He was fully-dressed, despite the hour. “Have you found her?” he asked them
Howard frowned. “I’m sorry?”
The man looked at them like they were idiots. “My daughter, Ashley. Have you found her? You’re the police, I take it?”
“No, we’re not the police. We’re special investigators for the Home Office.”
Mr Foster nodded. “Oh, well, the police came by earlier. They said our daughter was involved in a kidnapping.”
“That’s right,” Howard said. “A Dr Cartwright was involved. Do you know him?”
Mr Foster shook his head.
“We’d like to come in for a chat, if that’s okay,” said Howard. “We’d very much like to locate your daughter, as I’m sure you would.”
“Yes, please, of course.” Mr Foster stood aside and allowed them into the hallway. His wife was coming down the stairs as they entered. She was wearing a dressing gown and rubbing at her eyes. Sarah noted the woman’s eye make-up.
Howard nodded to the woman. “Ma’am.”
“They’ve come about Ashley,” Mr Foster told his wife.
Her eyes lit up. “Oh, yes, of course. Come into the kitchen, I’ll put some tea on.”
They all headed down the hallway and entered into a kitchen at the back of the house. The floor was a deep brown wood and the units were solid oak. Granite work surfaces and an expansive centre island completed the extravagant look, making it clear that the Foster family were doing alright for themselves.
“You have a lovely home,” said Sarah.
“Thank you,” Mrs Foster said. She glanced at Sarah and struggled to look away.
“You’re looking at my scars?”
“Sorry.”
“It’s alright. I served in Afghanistan. I left part of me still over there.”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t be. I’m here to talk about your daughter, not my troubles.”
“I hope you don’t mind us waking you so early, Mr and Mrs Foster,” Howard said.
Mrs Foster smiled. “Please, call us Leanne and Paul. We just want to know our daughter is safe.”
“Okay,” Howard said, taking a seat. “Leanne, Paul, what do you know about what’s happened? Are you certain you don’t know Dr Cartwright?”
Leanne set two mugs of steaming tea on the counter and sat opposite Howard. “I don’t know anything,” she said. “Ashley went to work this morning as normal. Next thing we know, the police are contacting us, claiming our daughter is wanted in connection with a kidnapping and possible shooting. They wouldn’t tell us anything else. It’s insane.”
Paul hugged his wife. “I’m sure everything will work out, sweetheart. None of this makes any sense. There has to be an explanation.”
Howard smiled, then waited a while until the couple composed themselves. “Can you tell us about your daughter? Has she had any sort of problems lately that you know about?”
“No. Ashley wouldn’t hurt a fly.”
Sarah folded her arms and felt her shoulder throb. Yeah right.
“She hasn’t been in therapy?” Howard enquired. “Or in any kind of trouble with the courts? Sorry for having to ask such questions.”
Paul frowned. “No, she’s had no problems at all. She’s just a normal teenage girl? What do you think my daughter has done exactly? What the police are saying about her must be a mistake. She would never kidnap anyone, she’s just a girl.”
“You’re right,” Sarah said. “She didn’t kidnap anybody. She helped a man escape; a man connected to the recent bombings.”
The faces of each parent dropped. Eventually, it was Leanne who spoke. “There’s no way our daughter could be involved in that. No way. Who are you people? If you’re not the police…”
Howard sipped his tea and allowed a silence to settle over the room, before he finally decided to speak. “We work for an agency committed to stopping terrorist threats against this nation. Your daughter is involved with a man linked to the recent bombings.”
Paul rubbed at his eyes. “Our daughter is innocent. I don’t know what she’s mixed up in, but she’s a sweet girl.”
“I believe you,” Howard said. “She’s too young to have done anything so wrong. I believe she’s gotten mixed up in something she doesn’t understand. All I want is to find her and help her. To do that I need to know all I can about her. Has she been acting strange lately? Acting out of character?”
Paul shook his head, but Leanne nodded. “She’s been out
a lot lately. I assumed she was seeing somebody.” Her eyes suddenly went wide as if something had occurred to her. “Maybe that’s it? Maybe this psychiatrist, Dr Cartwright, has seduced our daughter and gotten her involved in something. Headshrinks know all kinds of ways to manipulate a person, don’t they? It makes perfect sense.”
Howard exchange a knowing glance with Sarah. “Perhaps you’re right,” he said. “Do you have any idea where Ashley could be? The slightest guess.”
“No idea,” Leanne said.
Howard looked at Paul. “Me either,” the man said. “I don’t know where Ashley likes to go, other than work.”
“Do you know who her boss is?” Howard asked.
Paul shook his head. “I’ve met the woman once or twice, when I’ve stopped by the newsagent. Asian lady, has an accent. Whenever I see her she’s all covered up, in those dresses they wear. You know?”
Howard nodded. “We’re trying to track her down. Does Aziza Hamidi sound familiar?”
“All I know is that my daughter refers to her as ‘Zee.’”
“Thank you,” Howard said. “Is there anything else you can think of that might help us locate your daughter? Any friends she likes to visit, some place she might go if she were in trouble?”
“She’d come here,” Leanne spluttered. “This is her home.”
Howard looked at Sarah. “Anything you’d like to add, Sarah?”
“Just two things, really. The first question I have for Leanne and Paul is: why have you not asked what we know about your daughter? The normal reaction to have when we arrived would be to ask if we knew anything at all about Ashley; whether or not she’s safe, if there’ve been any sightings of her. A parent should want to know everything they can about the situation, but the two of you have hardly asked anything. Your only concern has been telling us that your daughter is innocent. Neither of you have made eye-contact with one another either, which suggests you both have a story and are sticking to it. Usually people glance at one another for visual cues, but you both seem to be on the same page about this.
“And your mascara, Leanne: it’s obviously been on for a while, but none of it has smudged. Have you not been crying about what’s happened today? Isn’t Ashley your baby?”
Soft Target (Major Crimes Unit Book 2) Page 10
