Soft Target (Major Crimes Unit Book 2)

by Wright, Iain Rob

  Sarah shook her head. She hated hellfire missiles; they were too indiscriminate. “There are too many boats down there. They’ll be casualties.”

  “What’s the plan, then? How do we stop Hesbani if he’s airborne?”

  Sarah shrugged. “When the time comes, we’ll do whatever we have to do, but we have to find him now, before it’s too late.”

  The HMS Britannia floated ahead, not as large as its name would imply. The Queen’s barge sailed nearby, easy to identify from its lavish red and gold accoutrements.

  “There’s a dozen choppers up ahead,” Mandy said. “How do we know which one we’re looking for?”

  “Can we hail them?” Sarah asked.

  Mandy nodded and fiddled with the dashboard knobs. “Be advised, all aircraft in the vicinity of HMS Britannia, please identify. Possible terrorist threat, please be advised.”

  The radio squawked back immediately with pilots from other helicopters. Some obliged and broke away, while others were newshounds unwilling to lose sight of the Queen. By the time Mandy got off the radio, only three helicopters remained.

  “Who do we have left?” Mattock said.

  Sarah peered out the side hatch and tried to make out the decals on the other helicopters. “Never Stop News, BBC World, and…the third is too far away.”

  “Get us up close, Mandy,” Mattock ordered.

  The Griffin tilted forward and picked up speed. They passed the Never Stop News chopper first and Sarah tried to see who was inside. She just about made out the shape of a man in the pilot’s seat. He waved to her as she passed. Seeing inside the BBC chopper was much easier: a crew of three inside, but none of them Hesbani.

  “It has to be the last chopper.”

  “If they have a high-powered rifle,” Mattock said with a hint of panic, “they can take a shot at the Queen any time.”

  Sarah looked down at the slow-moving barge with the royal regalia and nodded grimly. Any sniper worth his salt would be setting up their shot right now.

  Unidentified civilian aircraft, this is HMS Britannia. You are not cleared for this airspace. Please leave the area immediately.

  Sarah jumped into the co-pilot’s seat and grabbed the intercom. “HMS Britannia, this is… Agent Stone of the MCU. We are in pursuit of a suspected terrorist. Please be advised: imminent threat to Her Majesty. Repeat: imminent threat to Her Majesty.”

  Stand down, civilian aircraft. You are in restricted airspace. Leave the area or face hostile response.

  “Do what you gotta do, dickhead. I’m not leaving until the threat has been dealt with.” Sarah turned the intercom off and turned to Mattock. “Call Palu, see if he can buy us some time.”

  Mattock was already on his mob-sat. “On it.”

  When they got closer to the final helicopter, Sarah saw that it belonged to one of Rupert Murdoch’s rags. Mandy edged up alongside it, as Sarah prepared to fire her SIG. But there were only dumbfounded expressions to be found inside: three middle-aged men in turtle-necks. Sarah recognised one of them from the evening news.

  “Shit, it’s not them! It’s not the right chopper.”

  As if to prove her point, there was an ear-piercing ping as something hit the Griffin’s hull.

  Ping!

  “Some cheeky bugger’s shooting at us,” Mattock growled. “Mandy, take us up. It must be the Britannia.”

  “No,” Mandy said, “we’re being fired at from the rear.” He pulled back on the yoke and Sarah and Mattock were thrown to the back of the cabin. The wind howled through the open side hatch as the helicopter spun around.

  “They must be in the first chopper,” Sarah shouted over the bellow of the engines. “Never Stop News. Get us close, Mandy.”

  Mandy didn’t reply, but the helicopter zipped back and forth, making the Griffin a hard target for sniper fire.

  Mattock grabbed hold of a seat and looked at her unhappily. “I’m gonna chuck my bloody guts up in a minute.”

  “Grow some balls,” Sarah told him. “There’s worse than this at Disney World.”

  “I never pegged you for a Mouseketeer,” Mattock said, trying not to gag.

  The cabin tilted and Sarah swung from the nylon hand holds above her like a rag doll, her feet flailing in thin air.

  Ping!

  “Shit, we’re in the line of fire again,” Mattock said. “Mandy, get us out of their sights.”

  The chopper zipped sideways at almost 90-degrees. Sarah’s legs swung around in a circle as she held on for dear life.

  Snap!

  Sarah hit the floor of the cabin and moaned in agony. The nylon hand hook was still wrapped around her wrist, but the rigging had come loose from its ceiling rivets.

  Mandy righted the chopper and Mattock yanked Sarah to her feet. “You went a bit of a pisser there, luv.”

  Sarah shrugged free of him and strapped herself in beside Mandy up front. She turned to him and saw the glint in his eyes. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

  Mandy stared back at her with his typical poker face, but this time she was sure there was a grin at the corners of his mouth

  They hurtled forwards through the air, heading directly for the Never Stop News chopper. It was a game of chicken now, but they were playing against a suicide bomber. In a game of chicken, a suicide bomber would always win.

  Sarah was relieved when Mandy dove underneath the other chopper, just as they were about to collide. The Griffin swooped through the air in a long arc and came up behind its target. They gained on the other chopper, which also had its side door open.

  Sarah knew they’d finally found their sniper.

  Hanging out of the door with a long, scoped rifle was the woman in the burkha. Sarah narrowed her eyes and concentrated. Something about the woman was familiar. She was covered from head to toe, with only her hands and eyes showing, but Sarah couldn’t help but think she knew her.

  Then she realised.

  The woman in the burkha had the sniper rifle propped over her left wrist. She was using her wrist because her hand was missing.

  Sarah’s mouth dropped. “It can’t be.”

  “What?” Mattock still looked like he might vomit.

  “I know the shooter,” Sarah said. “She was responsible for the death of my squad in Afghanistan.”

  “You mean the woman with the watermelons?”

  “You know about that?”

  “We all know about that. It’s in your file.” He placed a hand on her shoulder. “Think you owe that mad tart some payback, don’t you?”

  Sarah nodded. Mattock’s hand on her shoulder felt nice. For the first time in a long time, somebody had her back. Instead of blaming her for her past mistakes, Mattock wanted to help her make them right again.

  Sarah unclipped herself from the co-pilot seat and held her SIG up in front of her. One well-placed shot would put an end to a whole lot of emotional baggage.

  The Never Stop News chopper was just slightly ahead of the Griffin. Sarah leaned out of the side hatch and brought up her aim.

  PING!

  She flinched back inside. The bullet had hit the hull only an inch from her skull. She leaned back out and tried to get a shot off again.

  PING!

  “Damn it,” she said. “I won’t be able to get a shot while she’s zeroed in on us. She’s too good.”

  Mattock went up to the side door and blind fired his AR-15. It was more a show of support than anything else.

  PING!

  “Shit!” Mattock dropped the assault rifle out of the hatch and fell backwards into the cabin, clutching his bleeding hand. “Bugger it,” he said. “That was my Monopoly-playing hand.”

  Sarah helped Mattock into a seat just as the cockpit window shattered, turning the interior of the helicopter into a wind tunnel. Mandy cursed from the pilot’s seat and quickly gained altitude.

  PING!

  The shot came from beneath them, hitting the underside of the hull. Mandy tilted the chopper sideways and headed away.

&nb
sp; “We can’t get near them,” Mattock said glumly. “We’re going to end up in the Thames if we keep taking fire like this.”

  “As soon as she gets some distance from us, she’s going to line up a shot on the Queen,” Sarah said.

  Mattock growled. “The old bird must be under cover by now. How is the shooter planning on getting a line on her?”

  “I don’t know,” admitted Sarah, “but if I know Hesbani, he won’t accept failure. The threat isn’t over until he’s stopped.”

  “Then what the hell do we do, luv?”

  Sarah stood up and looked around the cabin before scrambling back into the cockpit. “Mandy, is it safe to get above the other chopper?”

  Mandy nodded. “It’ll keep us out of the line of sight, but they’ll also be out of ours. We won’t be able to do anything.”

  Sarah knew that. “I have an idea,” she said. “Take us right above them. Then, when I give the word, bring us out ten feet on their right, tight as possible to their top. You understand?”

  Mandy didn’t question her, he just nodded.

  Sarah headed back into the cabin and knelt.

  “What you doing?” Mattock asked her.

  “Ever see Tarzan?”

  Sarah picked up the nylon rigging and straightened it out. There was about twelve feet of it. She went to Mattock’s seat and reached underneath him.

  “Aye up, love. I’m married.”

  Sarah rolled her eyes. “So am I.” She looped the nylon rope around the fitting beneath Mattock’s seat, yanking it tight. It’d only have to be strong enough to hold her for a second.

  Mattock gave her the strangest look then. “You’re not about to do what I think you are, are you?”

  Sarah grinned. “I’d never try to understand the mind of a man, so who knows what you’re thinking.”

  She wrapped the other end of the nylon rope around her waist and made sure it was secure. Then she stood in the open hatch and stared down at the whirling propeller blades of the other chopper. “Mandy,” she shouted, “take us to the right, just like I said.”

  The chopper started moving. Slowly, the whirling blades beneath Sarah shifted away until there was an opening gap between the two helicopters. The one-handed woman was unaware that Sarah was hovering above her, which was why she was getting set up to take her shot at the Queen. She was no longer holding the high-powered rifle she had been firing at the Griffin, but a Javelin Missile launcher. She was going to take out the entire barge.

  Sarah took a deep breath. “Here goes nothing,” she said, then jumped out the side of the helicopter. She immediately regretted it. She kicked at thin air, the wind rushing to meet her and lethal propellers whirling beneath. She fell within mere inches of the deadly blades and carried on falling.

  The nylon rope caught and went taut. Sarah’s body jolted and she was thrown forwards. The rope hit the propellers and snapped in two. Suddenly she was flying, held in place by nothing but gravity and momentum. Her swing threw her forward, right into the side hatch of the other chopper. She landed on top of the woman in the burkha, and the Javelin launcher clattered against the floor. Sarah kicked out a leg and booted it out of the cabin and into the Thames.

  A fist hit Sarah’s jaw and sent her rolling across the floor.

  The woman in the burkha was like a wild animal, clawing and hissing, punching at Sarah’s face with both her right fist and left stump. Sarah saw stars as she tried to find an opening into the fight.

  Sarah grabbed the woman’s headdress, using it as leverage. Eventually, the burkha came free and Sarah was face-to-face with the woman who had blown her friend, Sergeant Miller, to pieces.

  The woman glared at Sarah, teeth bared like a monster. Her eyes were a deep brown and small scars criss-crossed the weathered skin of her nose and cheeks.

  “Fucking ‘ell,” Sarah said. “You’re uglier than I am.” She whipped her SIG out of its holster and smashed the butt against the woman’s nose, breaking it with ease. The woman sprawled away from Sarah, hitting the bench against the far side of the cabin. Sarah prepared to fire her SIG, but was halted by the sound of a gun cocking behind her.

  Sarah turned to find Hesbani in the cockpit, aiming a gun at her face. “I believe you and my sister have met before. What a reunion this is. Aziza, are you okay?”

  The woman clutched her broken nose but grunted in affirmation. Sarah kept her SIG aimed directly at the woman’s head. “You have a lovely family, Hesbani. I didn’t know inbreeding was so prevalent in Afghanistan.”

  “I have very little family,” Hesbani replied. “Thanks to the immoral West.”

  Sarah rolled her eyes. “God, you terrorists are boring. Always the same serious, doom and gloom, end-of-the-world bullshit. Don’t you people ever crack a joke?”

  Hesbani started to squeeze the trigger. Sarah adjusted her aim at Aziza. “Don’t do something you’ll regret, Hesbani. You pull your trigger, I pull mine.”

  Hesbani released the pressure on his trigger, but seemed no less angry. His upper lip curled. “Allah’s influence has turned your people against you. Jeffrey Blanchfield, Caroline Pugh. Your own citizens are beginning to realise their own wickedness and repent. Things are changing. What I have done will matter always.”

  “I remember when Madonna mattered. Things change, don’t get over-excited.”

  “Your empire will crumble. Your monarch will bleed.”

  “Hate to tell you, but sis dropped her rocket launcher. Your mission is FUBAR.”

  “The mission has only just begun. I am just one man. Allah’s will is infinite.”

  “Your dagger tattoo is backwards.” Sarah noted the henna on his exposed wrist. The truth was she was stalling for time while she thought about her next move. If she lost her aim on Aziza, Hesbani would gun her down.

  Hesbani smiled. “Al-Sharir wished to die for Allah. I wish to kill for him. Only death —”

  “Can ensure life. Yeah, yeah, I’ve heard it before. God, no wonder Al-Sharir kicked you loose.”

  Hesbani glanced ahead for a moment and adjusted the chopper’s trajectory. Mandy was swooping in and out of view, trying to unnerve him, but when Hesbani turned back to Sarah his expression was cold and inhuman. “Al-Sharir is a short-sighted man. He treats war like a tea party.”

  “So why use his name?”

  “Because his name means more than mine. The Muslim nations will rally behind Al-Sharir. He has become a false idol, but one that can be used to achieve Allah’s goals.”

  “Perhaps,” Sarah said, “but we have one advantage you don’t.”

  “What is that?”

  “We have the ability to change. You might hurt us, but we’ll always get back on our feet and do whatever we have to do to beat you. If we can’t win now, we’ll learn how to win later. You’re not fighting infidels. You’re fighting the future; you’re fighting progress. Change frightens small men like you and Bin Laden. I’m sorry Hesbani, but you’re going to lose. No one can stop the human race from evolving.”

  Aziza started for Sarah. Sarah took one look at her and shook her head. “If you want to keep the hand you have left, sit.”

  Aziza looked to her brother, who nodded almost imperceptibly. She sat back against the wall.

  “So…” Sarah said. “Where do we go from here? You shoot me, I shoot your sister. I shoot your sister, you shoot me.”

  Hesbani smiled. “We’ve been in a similar position once before, I remember. Who lives and who dies? I believe you chose yourself last time.”

  Sarah nodded. “I did, but that didn’t work out so well for me. Maybe this time I’ll try something different. And it’s Captain, to you, dickhead.”

  Sarah pulled the trigger and executed Hesbani’s sister.

  PENALTIES

  “Nooooo!” Hesbani screamed and let off a shot, but Sarah had already leapt out of the way. Aziza clutched her chest in shock, bleeding out.

  Hesbani repeatedly fired, filling the cabin with ricochets. Ping, ping, ping! Sarah dove
behind the seat and prayed for Hesbani’s firearm to empty. She soon heard a familiar and reassuring sound.

  Kik Kik!

  Hesbani’s gun ran empty and he threw it to the ground. Sarah rose over the back of the chair and was just about to shoot when she realised she’d dropped her own weapon while diving for cover.

  Hesbani glared at Sarah, but softened when he glanced at his sister. Aziza was not yet dead, and with her final breaths she spoke to her brother. “Brother, finish… our mission. I will see you… at Allah’s side.”

  Hesbani was breathing heavily, but slowed as his sister slumped into death. He whispered something: “Allahu Akbar.”

  Aziza didn’t respond.

  Hesbani shoved forward on the yoke. The helicopter’s nose dipped down and they picked up speed. Sarah was thrown, hitting the floor behind the cockpit. She cried out in pain as she realised that one of Hesbani’s ricochets had lodged in her thigh, right above her old shrapnel wound. She dragged herself towards the cockpit. “Hesbani, it’s… it’s over. Just give up.”

  “Nothing is over. I wanted to kill you in Afghanistan — Al-Sharir should have let me — but this will serve a greater purpose.”

  Sarah realised what Hesbani was doing and her whole body shook, despair spreading like wildfire. He was going to dive bomb the royal barge. This was the final suicide bomb, and Sarah was going to be part of it.

  “Don’t do this,” Sarah pleaded. “Your mission is a lie. No god wishes for innocent blood to be spilt. Allah doesn’t want this!”

  Hesbani cackled. “You know nothing of Allah’s will. You are a woman, a whore.”

  Sarah clenched her fists. The pain in her thigh was forgotten for an instant as she lunged into the cockpit and rammed into Hesbani. The man was strapped into his seat, which held him in place as she straddled his lap. He was about to protest when she silenced him with a swift headbutt. He struggled to fight her off of him, but she had his arms pinned beneath her thighs.

  “Here’s your choice,” Sarah snarled. “Either I snap your neck, or I gouge out your eyes. Your choice.”

  Hesbani glared at her. “Fuck… you… whore.”

  “Alright, both.” Sarah drove her thumbnails into Hesbani’s eyes, ignoring the sickening feeling of yielding flesh and blood vessels rupturing.