by L J Morris
The guard glanced into the back but carried on talking to the driver. Sinclair shook her head. ‘Bitch.’ She lifted her T-shirt and wiped the sweat from her face. So much for cleaning up for her visit, she looked like she’d just run a marathon.
Suddenly, the van bounced as if it had hit something. Sinclair was thrown to the floor and the driver fought with the steering wheel as she brought the van to a halt in a cloud of dust.
Sinclair got up, a trickle of blood ran down her face from a small cut on her head. ‘What the hell was that?’
After a furious exchange of Spanish, too quick for Sinclair to pick up much of, the guard and the driver got out of the van and went round to the back. This was all Sinclair needed. If someone had to come out from the prison to fix it, she would spend all that time in the back of the van. The guards wouldn’t let her out. It would be like an oven within an hour.
As the dust cleared four men appeared, as if they had grown out of the ground in front of their eyes. All four wore desert fatigues and tactical vests. Goggles protected their eyes and they all carried M4 assault rifles and 9mm sidearms. They barked orders in Spanish at the two women outside the van, who decided not to fight and were soon face down on the road with their hands behind their heads.
Sinclair looked for anything she could use as a weapon, but there was nothing. She tested the security of her chains but there was no way of getting out of them either. If these four men were Vadim’s, she would be dead in minutes – unless they had something worse in mind for her. If they were Cartel, they might hold her hostage – probably to try and sell her to Vadim. If that was the case, she would have to let herself be taken, and fight her way out when the opportunity presented itself.
The back door of the van was pulled open and two of the men gestured for her to get out. Sinclair got out as quickly as her restraints would let her. The other two men bound and blindfolded the guard and the driver and threw them in the van, slamming the doors shut. Sinclair was manhandled away from the road and dragged into the desert. She tried to struggle but the men just picked her up and forced her down into the sand. Shit, they were just going to kill her, right there. She closed her eyes. She was tired of fighting. She was ready for it.
In the distance was the sound of an approaching engine. Not a car, or a van, something bigger. As it grew closer and louder, Sinclair realised what it was. She’d travelled in helicopters often enough to recognise the telltale sound of the rotor blades cutting through the air.
Dust was thrown up in a cloud as the chopper came in to land and settled on the desert floor. The engines didn’t ease off; the pilot wasn’t planning to stay. Sinclair was, once again, picked up by the two men and carried to the black, unmarked aircraft. She was lifted into the back and joined by all four men. The chopper’s engines revved and they lifted off.
Once they were in the air and clear, one of the men took off his goggles and helped Sinclair to sit up in her seat. He unlocked her cuffs and chains and offered her a bottle of water. ‘Are you okay?’
Sinclair rubbed her wrists where the cuffs had been fastened too tight. ‘Who the fuck are you guys?’
‘Better you don’t know, ma’am.’
Sinclair looked around at the four men. The soldier who had spoken to her had an American accent, but they wore no insignia and no flags. Their equipment was also American, but that could be bought – easily – on the open market. One thing was obvious, though, whoever these guys were, they were professionals. Special forces, private military contractors, they had had military training and were very good.
Sinclair shouted to be heard above the noise of the rotors. ‘Who sent you? Where are you taking me?’
‘You’ll be filled in when we land, ma’am, we’re just tasked with picking you up and dropping you on the US side of the border.’
Sinclair still didn’t know who these guys were, but they didn’t mean her harm. They weren’t cartel or Vadim’s men. For whatever reason, she was out of prison and would soon be out of Mexico. ‘Thank you.’
The soldier nodded and sat in the seat opposite. Sinclair looked out of the helicopter’s open door. They were flying low over the desert, towards the border, away from her nightmare.
Chapter 4
The unmarked helicopter touched down next to an anonymous hanger at the edge of Fort Stockton Airport, just off Interstate 10 in Texas. The pilot shut down the engine and two vehicles approached. One was a fuelling tanker and the other a white SUV.
The soldier opposite Sinclair leaned forward. ‘This is where we part company, ma’am. The SUV is for you. We’ll be taking on gas and moving on. Good luck.’
Sinclair looked at the four men. ‘Thank you. Thanks to all of you.’
‘Just a job, ma’am. Don’t thank us, thank whoever hired us.’
‘I don’t suppose you can fill me in on that?’
The soldier shook his head. ‘Sorry ma’am, above my pay grade.’
Sinclair smiled then climbed down out of the helicopter. The soldier closed the door behind her as she walked across the tarmac to the waiting SUV.
‘Miss Sinclair.’ The man who had got out of the SUV appeared to be in his early thirties. A short, stocky man with a receding hairline and pale skin. He was dressed in black trousers and a crisp white shirt, which had sweat patches under the arms. His sleeves were rolled up and he dabbed at his face and neck with a white handkerchief. He didn’t look like someone who was used to working out in the field. In fact, he didn’t look like he was used to being outside at all.
‘Yes, that’s me. And you are?’
‘I’ve been instructed not to identify myself or who I work for, but you can call me Bob.’
‘Okay, Bob. Can you tell me what’s going on?’
‘Sorry, miss. I was just told to pick you up here and take you to San Antonio. I’ve no idea where you’ve come from or what your destination is after that. It’s better that way.’
Whoever had arranged all this was doing their utmost to keep it hidden. Private military contractors, drivers who don’t know the full story, this had black ops written all over it. ‘So, Bob. Where to now?’
‘If you’d like to get in the back of the car, there’s some water and a little food for you. It’s three to four hours’ drive from here. I imagine you could use a little sleep.’
‘Thanks, Bob, and stop calling me miss; my name’s Ali.’
‘Okay, Ali. Let’s go.’
They walked towards the SUV as the helicopter’s engine fired up and prepared to leave. The fuel truck was driving back towards the hanger while the pilot completed his final pre-flight checks. Sinclair opened the rear door of the vehicle as the chopper lifted off the ground and hovered for a second. She stopped and waved at the men inside – the men who had got her away from hell. The soldier she had spoken to waved back as the helicopter tilted forwards and lifted into the air.
Sinclair got into the back of the car and closed the door. Bob started the engine and switched on the air conditioning. ‘There’s a cool box next to you, Ali. It’s got water, sandwiches, fruit. Help yourself to whatever you need.’
‘Thanks, Bob.’ Sinclair lifted the lid on the cool box and pulled out a litre bottle of water, drinking half of it in one go. By the time Bob was pulling onto Interstate 10 and heading east, Sinclair was tucking into chicken sandwiches and oranges. The best food she had had in months.
* * *
When Sinclair opened her eyes they were on the outskirts of San Antonio heading east. On the right-hand side was what looked like a small town, maybe an airfield of some sort. After a few minutes, Bob indicated right and they turned off the main road onto a smaller access road. On the right was a wall, which carried the US Air Force insignia and the name Randolph Air Force Base. On the left was a small guardhouse with cream coloured walls and a terracotta tiled roof. A large canopy extended high above the guardhouse and covered the road.
Bob pulled up beneath the canopy, which was to keep off either the sun or the rai
n – or both. A combat-fatigue clad air force sergeant walked out of the guardhouse and across to the car. Bob rolled down his window and handed the sergeant some papers. He scrutinised the documents and looked through the window at Sinclair before returning to the guardhouse. Sinclair watched as he picked up the phone and seemed to listen carefully, before nodding, as he confirmed instructions, and putting down the phone. Back at the car he handed Bob his documents and waved them through.
Sinclair was surprised at how easily they had been allowed in. One phone call and no need for them to show any ID. It took someone from the upper echelons to organise that kind of access; did Carter have that pull? Lancaster might, but how would he get the Americans involved? She was too tired to think about it, she was sure she would be told what she needed to know soon enough.
As they drove into the base it reminded Sinclair of Catterick Garrison, back in England. It was a military base but had everything a small town had: housing, shops, schools, sports facilities – everything to support the military families who called it home.
After a few minutes Bob stopped the car outside a small bungalow, which Sinclair assumed was officer’s accommodation, at least it would be in England. Outside was a young woman wearing the uniform of an air force lieutenant. Bob turned around in his seat. ‘This is as far as I go, Ali. Good luck, whatever it is you’re doing.’
Sinclair patted Bob’s shoulder. ‘Thanks for your help, Bob. I won’t forget it.’ She got out, closing the door behind her.
Bob pulled away and Sinclair watched as he did a three-point turn and headed back towards the gate. Waving to people as they left was becoming a habit.
Sinclair looked at the young lieutenant. She knew there would be no point asking her what was going on. She was just another small part of Sinclair’s journey and wouldn’t know the full story. Sinclair wasn’t going to find out what was happening until she got to her final stop, wherever that was. Right now, she just wanted to relax, have a shower and get some sleep. She walked up the pathway and the two women entered the bungalow.
The young lieutenant switched on the lights and showed Sinclair into the bungalow. ‘My name is Lieutenant Steele and I’ve been informed to address you as ma’am. There is plenty of food in the kitchen and there are clothes for you in the bedroom. Help yourself to the toiletries in the bathroom and there is a small suitcase for you to pack things for your journey.’ She passed Sinclair a plastic wallet. ‘This contains your identity and travel documents. I’ll be back tomorrow afternoon to pick you up. Please don’t leave the bungalow before then. Is there anything else I can get for you, ma’am?’
‘You could stop calling me ma’am, my names Ali. It’s been a long day and I’d like it if you used my name. It’ll make me feel more relaxed.’
Lieutenant Steel nodded. ‘Okay, ma’am, I mean, Ali. My names Chelsea, Chelsea Steel.’
‘It’s good to meet you, Chelsea. I don’t suppose you can fill me in on any details, can you?’
‘Sorry, Ali. I was just given orders to make sure you were comfortable and then come back and get you tomorrow. Don’t you know what’s going on?’
Sinclair smiled. ‘It’s a long story, Chelsea. One that you’d be better off not knowing.’
Steel looked at the bruise on Sinclair’s face. ‘I put some make-up in a bag in the bedroom. You should probably cover that up before you leave.’
Sinclair put her hand up to her face. She’d forgotten how bad she must look. ‘I’ll look much better after a shower and some sleep.’
‘Of course. I’ll go, and leave you to get cleaned up and relax.’
‘Okay, Chelsea, and thanks for all your help.’
‘It was a pleasure, ma’am, I mean, Ali. See you tomorrow.’
Lieutenant Steel left the bungalow and closed the door behind her.
Sinclair didn’t know what to do first, her head was spinning. Twenty-four hours ago, she was lying in a stinking cell in a Mexican prison, and now she was in a plush, officer’s bungalow on a US airbase. She fully expected to be woken up by one of the guards and find herself back there. If this was a dream, she was going to make the best of it. First, she was going to stand in the shower for at least half an hour.
Chapter 5
Sinclair looked out of the window of the Gulfstream C-37A as it came in to land. She still didn’t know who was organising all of this, but they had pulled some pretty big strings. She was being passed off as a military liaison and was using a false name. She had been provided with the uniform and ID of a captain in military intelligence – her old rank – before she boarded the T-1 Jayhawk from Randolph to Andrews Field in Washington. The Gulfstream she transferred to at Andrews was usually used by government and defence department top brass, and was definitely more comfortable than the Chinooks and Hercules transports she was used to bouncing around in the back of.
The Gulfstream taxied to a halt close to the passenger terminal and one of the air crew opened the door, extending the steps to the ground. Sinclair had been told to leave the plane last, so waited until the other passengers had grabbed their bags before she picked up her small suitcase and joined the back of the line. Everyone else had now filed out and were making their way to the terminal. Sinclair stood at the top of the steps and looked around to confirm what she had suspected when she looked out of the window. She recognised her surroundings, she’d been here many times before. This was Ramstein. She was back in Europe.
Ramstein air base in southwestern Germany is the headquarters of the US Air Force in Europe, but it also serves as a base for NATO Allied Air Command. That’s why they had flown her here, there would be other British personnel on the base and she wouldn’t stand out. It also explained why they had put her in uniform for the flight. She descended the remaining steps and followed the other passengers, who seemed to know where they should be going.
Ahead of her, and off to the left, between the plane and the passenger terminal, Sinclair could make out a driver in a British Army uniform, standing next to a Land Rover Defender. Sinclair checked the other passengers, there were no other Brits on the flight. The Land Rover must be waiting for her. She veered away from the other passengers and headed towards the vehicle, the plastic wheels on her suitcase clattering against the tarmac as she went. As she approached the vehicle, the driver, a corporal, came to attention and saluted her. Sinclair almost forgot to return the gesture, she hadn’t been in uniform for a long time and it all still felt a little surreal. She transferred her suitcase to her left hand and quickly saluted. ‘Carry on, Corporal.’
‘Ma’am.’
The corporal took her suitcase and put it in the back of the Land Rover before joining Sinclair in the front. ‘Welcome to Ramstein, ma’am.’
‘Thank you. Feels good to be back.’
The driver put the vehicle into gear and set off. Sinclair took off her cap, it wasn’t the right size and was digging into her head. ‘Where are we going, Corporal?’
‘I’m taking you to a hanger on the other side of the base, ma’am. I’ll leave you there and be on my way.’
‘I don’t suppose you know who I’m supposed to meet there?’
The driver shook her head. ‘That wasn’t included in my brief.’
‘Seems to have been a theme during the last couple of days.’
‘Ma’am?’
‘It’s okay, Corporal. I’m just trying to make sense of the things that have happened in the last couple of days. It’s all been a bit of a whirlwind.’
‘We were given the orders at short notice. I don’t think our sergeant knew any more than I do.’
Sinclair smiled. ‘I think a lot of the detail is above all of our pay grades.’
The driver turned onto a smaller road, on the other side of the base from the passenger terminal. Along the road was a row of hangers that seemed to be empty, all bar one. Sinclair could see lights and movement inside the hanger at the end of the row. The corporal stopped the Land Rover outside it and Sinclair got out. The corpora
l, like all the others had, drove off and left her standing alone, wondering what was coming next.
She looked inside and saw a figure walking towards the open hanger door. She could only see the person in silhouette but, as they approached, she thought she recognised them.
Simeon Carter stepped out of the hanger. He was, as always, well-dressed and wearing a look of calm and composure. Sinclair was never sure if that was genuine or part of the cover Carter used to reassure his agents.
‘Hello, Captain Sinclair. It’s good to see you again.’
Sinclair wasn’t sure if she was glad to see the old cold war spook or not. Forty-eight hours earlier she had been in a Mexican prison cell, concentrating on staying alive. Now she was in uniform again and on a US airbase in Germany. She was grateful for that much, at least, but what was expected of her in return? ‘I take it I have you to thank for my change in surroundings, Simeon.’
‘I did promise to bring you home after your last job for me. I’m just sorry it took so long.’
Sinclair looked passed Carter to the inside of the hanger. ‘Where’s Frank?’ She knew that if Frank McGill was here, he would have been the first person to greet her.
Carter gestured towards the open door. ‘Come inside, Ali. I can tell you all about it.’
The inside of the hanger had been set up as a staging post for deploying troops. At one end, a long cabin had been built as accommodation. In there would be beds, showers and a kitchen – all mod cons. It gave troops a little privacy and was easier to keep warm in the winter. Opposite the cabin there were rows of plastic chairs arranged around a whiteboard: a meeting area for briefings and planning. There was another, smaller cabin next to the chairs, beside a pile of storage crates that had stencilled lettering to indicate the various equipment that was contained within them. The hanger’s facilities were completed with comfortable chairs and a small television in one of the corners.
