“Sure thing, Mandy. I’ll always need you behind the wheel. Hey…” She chuckled. “Remember when Howard got taken hostage by Dr Cartwright? I thought he was going to piss his pants.”
“We really dropped the ball that day, didn’t we? It was your first mission.”
Sarah remembered it well, the surreal nightmare that had changed her life. “We got the bad guys in the end, though, didn’t we? We always do.”
“But sometimes they get us. Bradley, Palu, and now Howard. I’m tired of losing people, Sarah.” He straightened up and peered down at her. “You keep yourself safe, do you hear me?”
Faced with his unrelenting stare, Sarah blushed. “Yeah, I hear you. Look, um, I want to tell you something, okay? Just promise me that you’ll—”
“Thought I’d find you here,” said Thomas, weaving between the cars towards them. “You picked out a ride yet?”
Sarah shook her head. “No.”
Mandy tapped the Alfa Romeo’s roof. “Take the Giulia. Just gave her a clean.” He tossed the key fob into the air and Thomas caught it.
“Italian beauty,” he said with a grin. “Can’t beat it.” He strolled over to the car and the door locks disengaged automatically. Opening the front passenger door, he motioned for Sarah to get in. “Although there’s plenty to be said for a fine English rose.”
Sarah rolled her eyes. “There’s nothing fine about me, unless you like disfigured, bad-tempered old women.” She dumped herself into the passenger seat and pulled up her legs. Her feet throbbed inside her scruffy black combat boots.
“Just so happens that’s exactly what I’m into.” Thomas shut her door and trotted around to the driver’s side, sliding behind the wheel and switching on the engine. The V6’s demonic roar aroused Sarah in ways no man ever had, and she closed her eyes to enjoy it. Life as a senior agent in the MCU certainly had its perks.
Thomas turned to Sarah and allowed his stare to linger a second longer than was comfortable. “So, where to? You said you wanted to choose the place we ate.”
She shrugged. “Burger King?”
Thomas rolled his eyes and gripped the undersized steering wheel. “You’re all class, lady. How ’bout we go grab a pizza at Vee’s?”
Sarah slumped back into the seat’s red-stitched nappa leather. “Whatever. Let’s just eat fast so we can get to bed.”
Thomas winked at her. “Now you’re talking my language. Your place or mine?”
“Don’t push your luck. You’re lucky I’m even willing to eat with you.”
Thomas thickened his accent to stereotypical levels and said, “Bussin food and a fine gal for conversation. I’m gone take that to the bank.”
“Like I was saying, don’t push your luck, pardner.”
“Again, you know I’m from Florida, right?”
“I surely do.”
Thomas shook his head and tittered, then put the Giulia in gear. He crept the saloon’s sleek bonnet forwards, navigating between the row upon row of other vehicles. “Hey,” he said, “I’m glad we can finally be friends.”
“Me too, because I have more than enough enemies.” She looked out of the window at the grey February sky.
Enough to keep me awake at night.
Oliver Simpson stumbled out of his bedroom, unable to decide whether to go downstairs or into the bathroom to vomit. His stomach was a clenched fist. The glands in his throat bulged like a pufferfish. It was a battle just to stay standing. In the bedroom behind him, his computer chirped as it completed its shutdown routine. He wondered if he would ever dare switch it on again.
What have I done?
Calm down. Everything is going to be okay.
Oliver braved the stairs and tried to behave normally. Already dressed for work, he went into the kitchen and readied himself to go catch the bus, pouring himself a glass of water and leaning over the counter with it. He took small sips until he felt less nauseated.
“Are you okay, honey?” His mum entered the kitchen behind him, obviously recognising he was unwell. He could never hide even the smallest of sniffles from her. She put her hand on his back and rubbed. “What’s the matter, buttercup?”
He turned to face her, forcing himself to smile. The last thing he wanted was to tell her what had just happened, so he didn’t. How could he even explain it? She wouldn’t understand, even if he tried to make her. “I-I’m fine. Just feeling a bit sick, that’s all.”
It was 11 a.m., but his mum was in her old pink dressing gown and silk pyjamas. Some days, she didn’t bother getting dressed at all. She placed the back of her hand against his forehead and tutted. “You’re as pale as a ghost. Have you been spending too much time on that computer? You need to stop and get some fresh air every couple of hours, honey. I read that the other day in the—” She stopped and eyed him suspiciously. “You haven’t been watching something you shouldn’t have, have you?” She was referring to the time Oliver had downloaded a beheading video. It had affected him badly for over a week. Sometimes he still thought about it.
He swatted her hand away from his forehead. “I was just playing a game.”
“Flying your planes?”
He shook his head. “No. Something else.”
To make matters worse, his dad walked into the kitchen and joined them. He was bleary-eyed and yawning, wearing mismatched socks and Homer Simpson boxer shorts. The thick black hair on his belly tumbled over the fraying waistband. “You want to get out and play some footie, son. I went semi-professional at your age. Messing around on flight simulators and watching porn all day isn’t healthy. You turn eighteen in a month; time to get out and enjoy the world, because life’s too short.”
Oliver rolled his eyes. He didn’t see how playing football would improve his life. The entire world ran on computers, so spending time on a keyboard seemed a better use of time than kicking a bag of wind. Although, right now, he never wanted to look at a computer again. “I’m fine, okay? I feel sick, but it’s easing off.”
His mum shook her head. “I’ll call the doctor. Better to be sure.”
“I’m fine.”
“You never know. What if you have—”
“No, Mum. Don’t get carried away. I’m not… I’m just…” He let out a breath, trying to ease the pounding in his chest. “I’m okay. All right?”
She looked away. “Fine. I just worry.”
“I know you do, but don’t.” He sighed, then gulped the last of his water before placing the glass upside down in the sink. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he tried to resist the urge to retch. “I need to go to work now. I’ll see you when I get back.”
His dad shook his head. “You won’t. I’m working the late shift tonight. Matthew called in sick again. Probably won’t be back until the early hours. That place will be the death of me.”
Oliver didn’t disagree. His dad seemed to spend every waking hour at the chippie lately, and most people didn’t even want fish and chips any more. People at school were always winding Oliver up about his dad’s business. They said he stank of pickled eggs. “I’ll catch you in the morning then.”
“Maybe we can go out for breakfast? How’s a full English at Trotter’s sound?”
Oliver’s mum smacked her lips. “Sounds good to me.”
Eating was the last thing on Oliver’s mind, but he forced himself to smile – like his parents constantly did to him. “Yeah, okay, breakfast.”
“Great.” His dad patted him on the shoulder and cupped the back of his neck. “Have a good day at work, son. I can’t believe how grown-up you are. It seems like only yesterday that… Well, you know.”
Oliver nodded. “I have to go.”
“Come home if you don’t feel better,” his mum added.
“I will. See you both later.”
His mum reached in for a hug, and for once he allowed it. In fact, a cuddle from her was something he wanted very much.
Maybe I should tell her. Tell her what I did.
I was only messing arou
nd. I didn’t mean it.
She would never understand. Dad will kill me.
“I, um, love you both.”
That was an odd thing for him to say, and it clearly startled his parents.
“We love you too, buttercup.”
“And we always will.” His dad shifted awkwardly as he said it. “You best get going. Don’t want to be late.”
“Yeah, okay. Bye.” Oliver turned to exit the kitchen, but his mum suddenly grabbed him by the shoulders. “Honey, you’re trembling. Are you sure you’re okay?”
He pulled away and turned towards the kitchen door. “I already told you, I’m fine. Get off my back about it, okay?”
“All right, no need to get stroppy. See you for a late dinner?”
“I’ll be back around six.” In the hallway he grabbed his house keys from the dish on top of the radiator cover and headed for the front door. For a moment, he envisioned flashing lights at the end of the driveway, but he forced himself to push the fear aside.
He turned and glanced into the mirror set above the radiator. His flesh was pale, eyes red.
I’m so fucked.
He headed to work, wondering how long he had before they came for him.
Maxim pulled his Maserati to a skidding halt at the side of the highway and stepped out onto the verge. It was a dangerous place to park, but he needed to deal with this situation at once. He pulled out the mobile phone he was using that day and dialled the number of his contact, a man who owed his life to Maxim.
“Thomas? I demand answers. One of my shipments has been seized at Dover, and I understand the MCU is responsible. Do you have no control over your people?” He squeezed the phone so hard that the plastic creaked in his ear. “This investigation into my business needs to stop immediately, do you hear me? I will tolerate no more interference.” He listened as Thomas gave excuses and explanations, but after ten seconds Maxim could take no more. He bellowed into the mouthpiece. “Quiet! I did not pull you out of desert and give you back life just to have you abandon your obligations to me. We have deal. A lot of my money is in your pockets, so do what I pay you for, or I will bury you so deep in ground that no one will ever find you.”
Maxim wasn’t interested in hearing a response, so he ended the call and put the phone back in his pocket.
He had been en route to Dover to pay off various officials and check on his latest shipment of imported superbikes when he had received a warning from one of his people. MCU agents and port security had seized the shipment and arrested the couriers. None of the thirty expensive motorcycles had come into the country legally – import duties were unpaid – and now that they had been seized, it was only a matter of time before law enforcement found the bags of heroin stuffed inside the mufflers. Maxim had lost half a million pounds in high-spec Japanese motorcycles and three times as much in drugs. A bad day.
But such is the cost of doing business.
A spider that loses leg still hunts fly.
As expensive a setback as it might have been, today’s bust also presented an opportunity. It was a chance to discover who in his organisation was unreliable or incompetent. The American, Thomas Gellar, had so far been a useful asset, concealing Maxim’s association with the deceased terrorist Al Al-Sharir and erasing evidence of several misdeeds that might otherwise have come back to haunt him, but today’s failure was unacceptable. That the MCU was executing a campaign targeted directly at Maxim was crime enough, but the MCU’s director being in his back pocket made it even less forgivable.
Thomas needs to get a handle on this at once.
Perhaps I should take care of problem myself. All I need is name of whoever is pushing so hard to investigate me. A simple bullet to back of the brain solves many problems.
Maxim slid his mobile phone back out of his pocket and made another call. This time he called his people in Calais, ordering them to hold tight on any further shipments. Things needed to pause while Thomas Gellar did his job.
Or until I take care of him.
And whoever else stands in my way.
A minivan rolled to a stop behind Maxim’s Maserati. A man in a turban popped his head out of the window and smiled. “Need some help, chief? I’m a mechanic.”
Maxim pulled out his walnut-gripped Colt Python, taken ten years ago from a dead soldier in Chechnya, and pointed it at the Good Samaritan. “I do not need mechanic, or a Sikh. So fuck off or die.”
The minivan sped back onto the highway, tyres screeching.
Maxim put his weapon away and swore in Russian. “Stupid Maxim. Let your enemies lose their heads, but you must keep yours.”
The Sikh would call the police, so it was time to go. No sense in making a bad day worse. Better to concentrate on punishing those responsible.
Maxim climbed back behind the wheel of his Maserati and thought about who to kill.
Chapter Three
Before they had even ordered drinks, Thomas slipped away to take a phone call. He came back a few minutes later, looking distracted and worried. He placed his phone on the table and nudged it away, as if it smelled bad.
“Everything okay?” Sarah asked him. She was holding a menu but hadn’t looked at it yet. Her stomach rumbled at the thought of eating.
He picked up the other menu with his hands trembling. “I’m starving. What are you having?”
“Not sure yet. I don’t want a full stomach before I sleep.” She studied the menu and found the sandwich list. “Think I’ll just go for the three-cheese pitta. Maybe get some fries to share?”
Thomas still appeared distracted. He glanced at the menu but didn’t seem to take it in. Eventually, he placed it flat on the table. “I’ll have the same as you. I’ll flag a waiter.” He turned around. Sarah reached forward and grabbed his phone. Three seconds later, he turned back and caught her with it. “What are you doing?”
Sarah fiddled with the phone and then placed it back down on the table. “Being nosey. Who were you on the phone to? Why are you so distracted?”
He grabbed his phone and put it in his pocket. Rather than annoyed, he seemed worried by her impropriety. “It was just the Pentagon wanting to know how we’re spending their money. Shall I order or not?”
“Sure.” Sarah leant back in her chair while Thomas clicked his fingers to get the attention of a nearby waitress. It was a rude gesture, and Sarah saw the disdain flash across the young girl’s face. Hopefully, she would only spit in Thomas’s pitta.
“Are you ready to order, sir?”
Thomas gave the waitress their order and she went away to fetch them drinks. Thomas turned back to Sarah, slightly more at ease. Perhaps he was just tired. She felt pretty jittery herself.
“Just like old times, huh?” he said. “Having dinner together.”
“It’s lunch, but I suppose it is like old times – except we’re not in the desert and nobody’s shooting at us. Also, this place is cleaner than Camp Bastion’s NAAFI, and while I haven’t checked the toilets, I assume there’s less piss on the floor.”
Thomas chuckled. He picked up his knife and fork and started tapping them gently against the table. He’d always been a fidgeter, and Sarah remembered how it used to annoy her back when they’d shared a bed. “You seem anxious, Tom. Is everything all right?”
He exhaled until his lungs were empty then refilled them. “I could use a break, to be honest. It’s been a few years since I’ve been home. I’ve been avoiding it.”
Sarah frowned. Florida wasn’t a place to avoid, in her mind. In fact, it was a sun-drenched paradise – a paradise she’d once nearly made her home. “What do you mean?”
Thomas shrugged. “Whenever I go home, it reminds me of all the hopes and dreams I used to have but never made true. It’s home, but at the same time it’s not. Life doesn’t end up the way you plan it, does it?”
“Seven years ago, I imagined I’d end my life on the living room floor surrounded by pills and vodka. Never dreamt I’d end up here. The MCU has changed me in ways I can’
t undo. The past is like something I dreamed. If you’re struggling with the decisions you’ve made, just remind yourself that you made them for what you thought were the right reasons.”
He smiled but couldn’t look her in the eye. “I thought you hated me for the decisions I’ve made.”
“Maybe we’re both different people than we used to be.”
“Does that mean we can start again? Put the past behind us?”
Sarah swallowed. Thomas made no secret of his desire of restarting a relationship with her, but it didn’t change how much he had hurt her. The concept of forgiving him had never crossed her mind. He was guilty of too much. “Thomas, I…”
The waitress placed their drinks down on the table with a fake smile. “Your sandwiches will be right with you,” she said.
Thomas nodded and waved her away. Another rude gesture that would surely cement the young girl’s intention of spitting in his pitta. Once again, Sarah hoped she wasn’t found guilty by association. She took a sip from her orange juice tentatively.
Thomas leant forward, eyes wide and focused only on her. “What were you about to say?”
“I’m too tired to have a complicated conversation right now. Can we just talk about something else?”
He slumped back in his chair. “Okay, fine. Any leads on the hit-and-run driver? I have Howard’s mother on the line every day asking for updates. She’s going to make me insane.”
“Jesus, Thomas, I said I didn’t want a complicated conversation. You reckon, maybe, that Howard’s death might be a little too heavy for a light lunch?”
“Sorry, you’re right. Hard to talk about anything other than work though. You think we should get lives beyond the MCU?”
“Now there’s a thought. I could finally take up ballet and make my father happy. God rest his rotten soul.”
“Such a shame I never got to meet the esteemed Major Stone. He raised a pretty exceptional daughter.”
Terminal (Major Crimes Unit Book 4) Page 2
