by Chris Ryan
'There wasn't any time to think. I couldn't get a clear shot at Azim. The moment had passed. I picked myself up, gripped the MP-5 tight in one hand, put a stun grenade in the other. And then I started my charge. There was only one thought in my mind. I had to save you and Ben. I'd given you my word, and I was bloody well going to live up to it no matter what the cost. You don't leave a mate in danger. That's the first rule of my Regiment. And I was ready to live or die by that rule.
'It was bloody chaos down there. For a few seconds there were bullets flying everywhere. It was bloody murderous. I fired once, then twice. I think I wounded one of Azim's men. Maybe two. I don't really know. There were so many people waving guns around, it was impossible to get a grip on anything. The whole mission was a complete fuck-up.
'I saw you, Luke. And I saw Ben. Flatner was about to fire at you. I just shouted, "Run Luke, run. Run for your fucking life." And then I saw you starting to head out across the open scrubland. You looked ba^k at me, and said, "I'll be in touch, I'll be in touch."
'Then I could see the gun pointed at Ben. I could see Flatner's finger on the trigger, and he was starting to squeeze it. I hurled myself towards him, trying to knock him off balance and ruin his aim. And that was it. That must have been when the bullets hit me. One in the neck and one in the leg.
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'Because that's the last thing I remember.'
'I trusted you,' said Luke. 'But I shouldn't have. And Ben died because of that.'
Josh shook his head. 'My Regiment let me down,' he answered. 'Azim is one of our most wanted terrorists. I could have taken him, then rescued you, but they changed the orders on me at the last moment.' He smashed his fists together, trying to deal with the anger that was building up inside him. 'The bastards. They turned on me. And now they want to arrest and court martial me for disobeying an order.'
'So you can't help me?'
'That's not what I meant,' said Josh. 'I said I'd help you and I will.'
'Like, how, man?' said Luke. 'You fucked up big last time.'
The words stung Josh. At school, he'd flunked a couple of his GCSEs. That was one reason why he'd joined the Army, to make something of himself. During his training for the Regiment, he'd failed a couple of courses and had had to retake them. His marriage to Paula, the way he'd remembered it, had failed, and had left Emily without two parents to raise her: talking to Luke had unlocked the floodgates, and all his memories had come back to him now. And earlier this year, he'd failed to take out Azim when he'd had the man in his sights. Every time you failed, it diminished you as a man, until there was nothing left but a walking collection of disappointments, defeats and regrets.
/ won't fail this time. I" can't.
'In the Regiment, we have a saying and it's a good one,' said Josh. 'We bring our enemies out into the open, then we can take them. That's what we're going to do. We get Flatner and his boys, and Azim and his boys, out here. And we take them down. When all our enemies are dead, we've won.'
Luke smiled: some of the youthful vigour had started to return to his eyes. 'Where?'
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Josh looked out through the door of the smelter, onto the dusty abandoned street. 'This looks like a good spot. We fight them right here.'
The meat was skewered on a piece of old wood. Kate was bathing the dead crane in its own fat, turning it gently over the campfire, making sure that it was evenly cooked on all sides.The smell was drifting across to where Josh was sitting: a beguiling mixture of poultry and steak that would tempt the most demanding gourmet.
'You ready to do this?' said Josh glancing across at Luke.
He nodded. They were sitting cross-legged on the dusty ground inside the old smelter. Outside, Josh could see that it was a clear night. The stars were beaming down on the mountains, and a half-moon was illuminating Swansea in a pale, silvery light. Looks better than the Welsh one, reflected Josh, smiling to himself. It's quieter, and the food is better, too.
The laptop computer was open on the ground between them: a Dell Inspiron with a blue cover, similar to the machine that had been analysed by Kessler. The solar panelling was generating enough power to recharge its batteries during the day, and so long as they didn't overuse it, it would be enough for their needs. A portable satellite link was hooking into the Internet, allowing them to send and receive e-mails: usually these services were very expensive, but Luke knew how to hack into the system of one of the operators, allowing him to access the web for free. If I'd had that kind of kit when I was a teenager, I wouldn't have had to join the Army, decided Josh ruefully. I'd be fighting electronic wars. A lot safer than the other kind.
'I'm ready,' answered Luke.
His fingers started tapping on the keyboard. Josh and Luke had discussed the plan, and had agreed exactly what they were going do. Luke would send through a message to Porter-Bell, using the same dummy e-mail address that
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he had been using earlier with Ben. He'd tell them that he was still willing to trade his software for five million dollars. All they had to do was agree, and he'd set up a time and place for the meeting.
'They've taken the bait,' said Luke, looking up towards Josh.
Josh was surprised by the speed of the response. It was less than five minutes since Luke had sent his message, and they had already got back to him. He keeps turning the juice off, realised Josh. It's making them as nervous as a raghead in a Texas bar.
'What's it say?'
'They agree to our terms, unconditionally,' said Luke. 'Five million. Whenever, wherever we want it.'
Josh looked across at the message.
'What shall I say?'
'Not tomorrow,' said Josh. 'We need a day to prepare. Thursday'
'What time? Noon?'
'You've been watching too much TCM. Midday will be too hot. Make it dawn. And tell them we'll give them the place tomorrow.'
Luke started tapping on the laptop's keyboard.
'Why dawn?'
Because all the best soldiers die at dawn. With their boots on.
Josh laughed and smiled at Luke.'Because there's no point wasting a whole day shooting these bastards.'
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TWENTYFIVE
Wednesday, June 17th. Dawn.
The sun was breaking across the horizon, its first bright beams flashing across Josh's skin. He could feel Kate sleeping in his arms. Her red hair was lying across his cheek, and her arm was stretched out over his chest. The warmth of her body felt reassuring next to his skin, and he could measure the beating of her heart as she breathed.
Perhaps we will have a shot together when this is over, he reflected. Maybe, just maybe, I could make a relationship workihis time.
Her perfume was still lingering on her neck, but it was mixed with the sweat of the night so that only fragments of the smell still remained on her skin. Clandestine by Guy Laroche, realised Josh. The name had been somewhere inside his head for weeks. A nurse he'd spent the night with once had worn it, and when his wife had smelled it on his clothes she'd promptly chucked him out. That's one memory I'd have been better off without.
My memories, he realised. They're all back. My family, my school, my mum and dad, my ex-wife, my daughter. They're all there. All back in the right box.
I know who I am, and what I have to live for. / know what I'm prepared to die for as well.
Josh lifted himself from the ground. It was just after seven in the morning. Kate had curled up next to him, both of them resting on a pile of old leaves that had been swept
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up from the streets. Luke was a dozen yards away, his body covered by what looked like some ragged overalls he had found in one of the abandoned locker rooms. Let them sleep, thought Josh. I need to scout this place by myself.
He stretched, and walked out of the smelter, down into the main street. Swansea felt fresher in the morning: it was as if the ghosts had abandoned the place, and the buildings looked almost as if they could
be occupied again one day. A flock of cranes were drifting overhead in close formation, and one of the grey birds had settled onto a slab of crumbling rock. It cast a wary glance at Josh, then decided to ignore him.
A mining town, Josh mused. The place must have been packed with explosives once.
He started rooting through the empty buildings.The hotel still had the remains of a check-in desk, but the staircase had collapsed, and all the furniture had long since been removed. The kitchen still had an old rusting stove in it, but no sign of any fuel. Next, he tried what looked as if it had once been a hardware store. The counter was still there, although the polish of the surface had long since faded. The shelves had collapsed leaving a dusty pile of debris. Josh picked up the first of a series of tin containers. The can crumbled in his hand, the brown metal flaking like a piece of pastry.
A bunch of heavy steel nails dropped to the floor. Josh gathered them up carefully. Put together into a homemade bomb, they might make useful shrapnel. He walked through to what must have been the stockroom. Looking at some piles of tea chests, he started levering them open one by one. Most were empty. Eventually he stumbled across one filled with hunting knives. He took them out one by one. They hadn't been used since they'd been left here eighty or more years ago, and their blades were still as sharp as razors.
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Now we're getting somewhere, thought Josh. Our own armoury.
For the next hour,Josh kept searching. The sheriff's office, the houses, the blacksmith's -- he inspected each building from top to bottom to see what he could scavenge. By the time he had finished, he was covered in a thin fikn of dust. His hands felt as if they had been dipped in history. But he had gathered a useful haul: several litres of heating oil from one of the old houses; a dozen cases of shotgun shells from the sheriff's office; some glass bottles from the saloon; and a collection of vicious-looking heavy steel hammers from what had once been the blacksmith's.
Enough kit to do a lot of damage. If you have time to prepare and you know how to use it.
Walking back towards the smelter, he kicked up the embers of the fire that they had built last night, tossing another broken floorboard onto the flames to rekindle it. Boiling some water, he brewed up some rough-tasting coffee, pouring it into a pair of the plastic cups that he and Kate had stashed in their kitbag.
'Okay, campers,' said Josh offering both Luke and Kate one cup each. 'No time to kip. We've got work to do. I want this place ready to blow up like it's the bloody fourth of July.'
Josh pointed to the entrance to the town. 'Here,' he said to Luke. 'We should plant them right here.'
A road snaked up the side of the mountain: when Swansea had been a working town, it had been a two-lane paved road, but in the years since then it had collapsed into a single dirt track.
'How deep?' asked Luke.
'An inch, no more,' said Josh. 'Cover them with a layer of dirt, and pat it down so it's not too obvious that the ground has been freshly dug.'
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" For the past hour, they had taken the shotgun shells and
I carefully opened up their caps. Using some old string, they
had bound the shells together in clusters of four. Bury them beneath the surface, and anyone who trod on them was going to get their foot blown off. It was a simple, rough landmine. But I've seen them used by men I've fought in Bosnia, and I know how lethal they can be.
They worked for an hour, digging the pits and laying down the charges in neat formations at different spots around the town. As soon as anyone attacks, we'll draw them onto the landmines.
'Okay,' said Josh, as he inspected the last of the charges. 'On to the bottles.'
For the next hour, they filled several old glass bottles with nails, then poured heating oil into them and capped out each one with six inches of twisted rag. Josh crept carefully on top of the crumbling hotel, careful not to break any of the rotting beams that were still barely supporting what remained of its roof. Using some cord, he tied the bottles to the roof, spacing them a dozen feet apart.
A combined nail and petrol bomb, he reflected grimly. Anyone near one of these babies when they blow is going to be feeling very sorry for themselves in the morning. If they ever wake up.
'Just memorise where they are,' said Josh to Luke as he climbed back down into the dusty street. 'Look at each one a hundred times, and keep on telling yourself where it is until you can remember it backwards.'
'Shall I tell them where?' asked Luke, glancing across at Josh.
Josh had studied Kate's map of the area, and discussed it with her. He didn't want to let anyone at Porter-Bell know they were hiding up in Swansea. It would be too easy for their hired killers to infiltrate the area during the night,
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take them by surprise, and murder them all while they slept. Instead, they would give them a meeting place an hour's walk across the mountains and tell them to be there at eight a.m. tomorrow. When they arrived, they would find a note redirecting them towards Swansea. That way, they should arrive in the town around nine. And we'll have dusted off the welcome mat.
'Give them these GPS coordinates,' said Josh. 'And tell them not to even think about getting here early. Any tricks and the deal's dead. And so are they'
Luke tapped the message into the keyboard, then pressed send.
'You really think Azim is going to get these emails?' asked Josh.
Luke nodded. 'I'm just using my regular old e-mail box. Anyone who knows anything can hack into that.'
Josh nodded. 'Then he'll know where we are, and he'll come and get us as well. He wants that software more than he wants anything on the planet.' He tried to smile, but it died on his lips. 'Get as much sleep as you can,' he said softly. 'Tomorrow is going to be a hell of a day.'
Josh cradled the pistol in his hand. It was a Wilder Survivor: a slim hunting handgun with an extended eight-inch barrel and a wood-sided grip. The Wilder was the one gun they had between them. Luke had brought it with him. He'd been carrying it ever since he'd left his house. Must be his mum's, Josh figured, and she'd probably picked it up from one of her old boyfriends.
But one gun is all you need.'So long as it has the right finger on its trigger.
He toyed with the pistol, lining it up to his eye and making sure that its aim was true. He had twenty rounds of ammunition, and he didn't want to waste any of them on practice shots. The Wildey was a gun he knew almost
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nothing about: he'd seen Charles Bronson use one in Death Wish 3 but that was the only time he'd encountered it. Still, if it was good enough for Charlie, then it's good enough for me.
Experience had taught Josh that every gun was like a woman: unique, temperamental, and to be handled with care. They fired a fraction to the left or to the right, they had to be held up or down, and their triggers liked to be
, squeezed hard or gently. If you didn't know their winsome
I* little ways you didn't stand a chance.
) I've got a few hours to get to know your character,
I thought Josh as he examined the Wildey. And my life may
J depend on it.
5 So for the next twenty minutes, Josh stripped the Wildey
down, checking that every part of the gun was working just as it should be.
A quarter-moon was hanging in the sky. Josh was sitting just outside the smelter, on what might once have been a kerb but was now just a broken piece of rock. He glanced along the empty street, and for a moment he could see it as it must once have been, filled with people, horses, noise, dirt and life. To watch it all winding down, he reflected to himself. That must have been hard. To have seen the families quit one by one, and then to be the last person left, alone.
Time to go home, thought Josh. Time to see my girl again.Time to hold her in my arms, take her to McDonald's, pick her up from school, take her to the cinema, build her a swing in the garden. Do all the things that a dad is meant to do. But it's a long and nasty twenty-f
our hours from here to there.
Even if I survive tomorrow, the bloody system will still want to arrest me. No, Josh told himself firmly. I'll bloody fight them, the only way I know how. So long as I get Azim, they can't court-martial me. They can throw the bloody book at me. They almost certainly will. But the man
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who brings in the head of one of the most wanted alQaeda terrorists in the world -- well, they can't throw him out of the Regiment. They might want to, but they haven't got the guts.
Josh kicked up a piece of dirt from the ground in front of him. He was struggling to control the anger inside him: it was surging through his chest, making his pulse race and his blood boil. Bruton had stopped him from taking down Azim twice already. He's not going to stop me a third time.
Josh squeezed the soil between his fists. Tomorrow his blood will be soaking this ground.
'What are you thinking about?' asked Kate.
She was holding a bottle of water in her hand. Sitting down next to him, she slipped an arm around his back and nestled her cheek into the side of his face. Her skin nuzzled against his, and he could feel the passion running beneath the surface.
'I'm thinking that you should get the hell out of here,' he laid. His tone was flat and blunt.
Kate drew her face away and looked at him. Anger flashed in her eyes. 'I'm staying right here.'
'No,' said Josh sharply. 'It's too dangerous.'
Kate laughed: a hollow, shallow laugh that seemed to mock Josh. 'Like digging you out of a ditch wasn't too t dangerous? Like taking you into my house wasn't too dangerous? Like hiding you from the cops? Like rescuing your butt when you were about to crack under torture?' She paused, the words choking ^her as her face reddened with anger. 'Like watching my father die as he tried to save you?'
A pang of guilt stabbed at Josh. Marshall took a bullet for me, he realised. But that's soldiering. You put yourself on the line, and you take a bullet for your unit. That was the way it worked. Marshall was an old soldier. The rules of the trade were familiar to him.
