Death Games

by Chris Simms

  One hundred metres away, the dumper truck’s rear wheels mounted the pavement and it juddered to a halt. The cyclist was climbing to his feet, one hand rubbing at his head.

  Weir sounded like a munchkin on helium. ‘DC Khan, talk to me! Are you there?’

  ‘We have an incident, Sir!’

  ‘What kind of incident! Talk to me!’

  The stricken Jaguar was still on the road, but only just. Its front quarter, including the driver’s door, was completely crushed. Jon doubted the CPO could have survived.

  In the truck, the outline of a small head was rocking back and forth.

  ‘Can’t find the gear,’ Jon announced. ‘Maybe the impact – ’

  The heavy vehicle began to roll forward, but it had barely picked up any speed before connecting with the Jaguar again. This time, the truck’s front bumper sank into a point half-way up the side of the car before it stalled.

  The cyclist seemed to come out of his trance. Waving both arms above his head and yelling, he ran to the side of the truck and climbed up on the footplate.

  ‘Oh fuck,’ Jon muttered as their car surged closer. ‘Don’t do that.’

  ‘What is happening!’ Weir yelled again.

  As soon as the cyclist pulled the truck’s passenger door open, a blinding flash of white came from inside the cab. The man flew backwards, back of his head slamming against the concrete as a huge ball of light blossomed out from his chest.

  ‘Flare!’ Iona gasped. ‘One of those – ’

  The man’s top caught alight, flames quickly engulfing him as the ball of phosphorous blazed on. A veil of smoke started drifting towards the truck.

  Jon slammed on the brakes, throwing him and Iona forward. ‘Stay here!’ He leapt out of the car, and as he punched the combination into the weapons box, the truck engine was coughing as the driver tried to restart it. Leaving the weapons box open, he sprinted across the asphalt, the weight of the Glock skewing the swing of his right arm.

  Crackling and hissing, the flare continued to burn. The cyclist was now wreathed head to foot in blue flame and Jon knew nothing could be done for him. He circled the body and stepped through the curtain of smoke. The crazily-lit truck was directly in front. The passenger door had swung shut, but he could make out the person at the wheel.

  Elissa Yared.

  Shoulders hunched, she was almost hugging the steering wheel with one arm. The starter kept turning over, but the engine refused to catch.

  He moved closer to the Jaguar, trying to assess it. The corner of the truck’s front bumper was pinning the passenger door on his side firmly shut. His left palm slapped against the car’s rear window and he bent close to the glass. The back seat was in shadow, but he could make out a figure collapsed across it.

  To his side, the truck fired back into life. This time, the throb of the engine picked up slowly and steadily. Beneath his hand, he felt the Jaguar begin to judder. It started to slide sideways towards the drop.

  He bounded across to the truck and stepped up on the foot plate. The door handle lifted easily up and down: a useless flap of metal. She had locked herself in. ‘Armed police! Take your foot off the pedal now!’

  She didn’t react. Neither did the engine. The acrid stink of rubber was in his nostrils as he felt a bump. He looked to the side. The outermost wheels of the Jaguar were now off the road and on the verge. A little further and the bank fell steeply away to the water’s edge.

  Jon brought up the Glock. No window breaker attached to its tool rail. Fuck! He tried to smash the glass with the butt of the gun. It bounced back. Something was on the seat next to her. Framed photos? ‘Elissa, take your foot off or I fire!’

  Her head turned and their eyes met. Her lips were stretched back in a silent grimace, and he saw she was crying. Rage and fear. A stubborn child, a little girl, swept up in a tantrum. Knowing to stop but powerless to do so. The truck continued edging forward. Left hand gripping the cab’s roof, Jon leaned back. He pointed the gun at her face. One more try. ‘I will shoot you!’

  She turned away from him and he knew her decision was made. The Jaguar was now starting to teeter. Fixing her ear hole in the sights, he went to take the shot. His finger would not move. Metal started to grind as he willed his finger to squeeze the trigger. Nothing. ‘Jon,’ he said to himself. ‘For fuck’s sake.’

  The Jaguar’s rear wheel was now off the ground, the gap below the car getting wider and wider –

  A massive retort. Two more. Glass flying in as Elissa was flung violently forward, face connecting with the windscreen. More sharp cracks ringing out as her head bounced back, skull and neck coming apart, hands falling from the wheel as she slumped sideways against the far window. The lorry’s roar lost power and the engine cut as it rolled back.

  Gun-smoke churned slowly in the driver’s compartment. Jon turned his head so he could see behind the cab, to where the muzzle flash had come from. Iona was kneeling on the mound of fresh earth, the barrel of the MCX still directed at Elissa’s corpse.

  epilogue

  ‘Oh my God, Jon.’

  He glanced up from his recording of that week’s rugby highlights. Alice was standing in the doorway to the front room with the morning’s post. One letter had been lifted clear of the other items and she was rapidly wafting it beneath her chin.

  ‘It’s embossed. The Royal crest, I think. What if it’s an invite to the palace itself?’

  He attempted a smile as he turned back to the screen. ‘Doubt it, Ali. More likely to be a signed photo.’

  She flipped the envelope over, a couple of steps taking her to within reaching distance of the battered old armchair he refused to get rid of. ‘No, it’s a letter. Definitely a letter. From the offices of HRH The Duke of Cambridge, it says here. Who do we know that’s posh? I’ll need a hat and dress.’ She raised her chin, words now clipped and formal. ‘Oh Jon, the excitement is such that I may well piss my pants.’

  He tapped the threadbare armrest, attention still on the television. ‘Chuck it there. I’ll open it in a bit.’

  The letter stayed in her hand as her head tilted to the side. Her eyes moved to the screen then back to him and her voice returned to normal. ‘Jon?’

  ‘Mmm?’

  ‘What’s up?’

  ‘Nothing. I’m just trying to watch this.’

  She placed the rest of the post on the floor, swiping the remote from his hand as she straightened up. The footage froze. ‘What’s up?’

  He leaned back, clicking a finger and thumb. ‘Ali, I was watching that. Give.’

  She crossed her arms, remote tucked out of sight. ‘What’s up?’

  ‘What do you mean, what’s up? I’ve got a window of opportunity here.’ He jerked a thumb in the direction of the baby mat. Duggy was flat on his back, arms thrown out at his sides. ‘Mini-monster will come back to life soon, Holly’s at her dance class...’

  In the corner, he saw Wiper’s eyebrows lift. Even his Boxer dog wasn’t buying it.

  Alice crouched beside him and looked up into his face. ‘Jon, it’s from this country’s future king and you’re more interested in Newcastle against bloody Worcester. It’s not even live.’

  ‘It’s a good match.’

  ‘All the fuss from work? That’s only been making you cringe – I can see it on your face when you get home.’ She reached for his hand. ‘Is this...is this because of – because you took someone’s life?’

  He tipped his head back and screwed his eyes shut. ‘Ah, bollocks.’

  ‘Jon?’

  ‘Bollocks, bollocks, bollocks.’

  ‘There was no other choice, Jon. Everyone – from your colleagues to the Royal bloody Family – agree on that.’

  His chest swelled as he slowly filled his lungs. The words came out in a rush of air: ‘I didn’t take the shot.’

  Silence.

  ‘What was that?’

  He opened his eyes and looked at his wife. ‘Iona killed her, not me. I tried...I had my...’ He took aim at the
wall, suddenly in another place. ‘I had her. Had her right there.’ His right forefinger was crooked in. ‘It wouldn’t move. My finger would not move.’

  The letter and remote control were laid on the floor, both now forgotten. She wrapped her hands round his. ‘You didn’t fire?’

  He tipped his head back, eyes staying open this time. ‘Not a fucking shot. Not one. I had the Glock, but Iona opened up with the MCX – destroyed the brain stem, stopped her dead. Just like you’re taught. I was there like a spare part. I was a spare part. Couldn’t do it, Ali. Couldn’t fire.’

  ‘But...’ Her head shook slightly in confusion. ‘Then how come – ’

  ‘Iona’s not firearm trained. She shouldn’t even have been carrying a weapon. Opening up like she did? There would have been...it would have been a shit storm. Massive shit storm. So we swapped. I went in the back of the dumper truck, trod where she trod, knelt where she knelt, put a hand in the soil, got it on the MCX, left a palm-print on the roof of the lorry’s cab. We swapped.’

  ‘And no one said it was really – ’

  ‘No one could see. Him – the Duke of Cambridge – he was unconscious. He doesn’t remember a thing after the security check at the air base. The CPO,’ he shrugged regretfully, ‘history. Same as that cyclist. The nearest eye-witnesses were a way off. The marine flare had left a haze hanging in the air. Shadows, Ali, that’s all we were.’

  Alice stared at their entwined hands. She was quiet for a few seconds before rotating her wrist to glance at her watch. ‘Need to go in a minute,’ she said distractedly. ‘Collect Holly.’

  The comment almost made him smile. Life, he thought. Something happens and on it goes. Can’t be stopped.

  ‘So...so...’ Alice was frowning. ‘When were you going to tell me?’

  ‘I hadn’t made a schedule, babe. I knew it would come out when it came out.’

  ‘I thought it was odd, you know? You’d ended someone’s life and you didn’t seem...I mean, there wasn’t the effect I expected.’ She looked up suddenly. ‘How’s Iona? Did she get offered counselling, like you? Jesus, the poor thing, is she having to pretend – ’

  ‘She declined counselling.’

  ‘So she hasn’t discussed it?’

  He shook his head. ‘Only with me.’

  ‘Only with you? She hasn’t told anyone else the truth?’

  ‘Neither of us have. She wanted it that way, so that’s how I’ve played it. Until now.’

  ‘And is she OK? How is she in herself?’

  He lifted his eyebrows. ‘Iona? She’s calmer than me. There’s everyone at work treating me like this ice-cool pro. And I’m nodding along and I’m playing it down and I’m waving it off – and really I’m feeling sick. Then I look at her. And she’s at her desk just typing away.’

  ‘Jesus. What’s her nickname again?’

  ‘Exactly. If only they all knew. And now I feel like this huge fraud. They think I’m being modest: I’m not.’

  ‘Jon, you kept at it. You did what you always do: you didn’t give up. You never do. You were both there, but Iona happened to take the shot. Don’t be so harsh on yourself.’

  ‘Ali, we were both there, but only one of us fired.’ He hunched forward, fingers now tight on hers. ‘I couldn’t do it. I’m an SFO and I could not fire my weapon.’

  ‘Jon – first days in a new job. That’s all it was.’

  ‘And if you’re wrong? If there’s another time and I still can’t?’

  She raised herself up. ‘There might never be another time. Not one that requires you to fire.’

  ‘But if there is?’

  She opened her mouth then closed it. Her eyes went back to her watch. ‘I have to get Holly. We can talk later, OK?’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘Wiper? You coming?’

  The dog shot towards the doorway, thin tail swishing from side-to-side. The front door shut with a gentle thud. He peered at the floor beside the sofa. Duggy was still stretched out, little pot-belly poking up at the ceiling. Smiling fondly, Jon retrieved the remote and turned his troubled eyes to the screen. He pressed play and the game resumed.