by L J Morris
Vance emptied his mug. ‘You sound like you’ve been through the wringer a little.’
‘You could say that. We’ve had a few close calls.’
Porter nodded. ‘I can confirm that.’
‘Callum has helped us more than he knows. If it wasn’t for him, I wouldn’t have got Frank off that roof.’
Vance patted Porter’s forearm. ‘I’m grateful for that, son. Anything you need, just ask.’ He turned back to Sinclair. ‘So, this guy, Vadim, wants you dead because you can identify him?’
‘Mainly, and because we’ve wrecked his plans more than once. I think it’s starting to become personal, he just doesn’t like us very much.’
‘But you have no idea who he actually is?’
‘No. Only that he must be high up and he has access to intelligence. Whatever we do, his men seem to turn up. They found us in Paris by tracking my phone. He must have security service resources.’
‘What about the team in London?’
‘If they were on Vadim’s side, he would have found us already. The info Vadim has is general. He knows what area we are in, but not our exact location.’
Vance picked up the empty mugs and took them to the sink. ‘What’s your plan from here?’
‘We need to keep Callum safe, and see what’s on the USB stick we found. It’s too risky to use any mobile phones or the Internet so we’ll all have to go old school, keep our heads down.’
‘Well, I’m about as old school as they come. I only have a landline: no mobile, no Internet. No one is going to track you here. You’ll be safe until Frank’s recovered. I can arrange access to a computer, so you can see what’s on the USB stick, but we’ll do that tomorrow. You need some rest.’
Porter yawned and stretched. ‘That’s the best idea I’ve heard in days. I could sleep for a month.’
‘Pick any of the rooms upstairs, son. I sleep down here, in the back room.’
‘Thank you, Mr Vance. See you both in a few hours.’ He left the Kitchen and plodded up the stairs.’
‘You should sleep, too, Ali.’
‘I’m okay for now. I have trouble sleeping anyway, still can’t relax after the prison.’
‘I know the feeling. It usually takes me a good measure of whiskey or a bottle of wine before I drop off. You want another tea?’
‘I’d love one, thanks’
Vance picked up the kettle and refilled it. Sinclair watched the way he moved. He’d obviously been injured at some point and still walked with a limp. She didn’t really want to pry, but she had to be sure she could trust him. ‘Frank said you know each other from Baghdad?’
‘That’s right. I was working in a hospital there. Well, not a real hospital, just somewhere we set up as one. We were mostly treating civilians who’d been caught by bomb blasts. One day we were hit by a bomb ourselves. Went from treating people to needing treatment in less than a second.’
‘Where does Frank come into it?’
‘He appeared from nowhere, ran into the building and started dragging people out. He got me clear just before the whole place collapsed. I owe him my life.’
Sinclair pointed at Vance’s leg. ‘Is that where your injuries are from?’
Vance tapped his leg. ‘That’s right. The ones you can see, and the ones you can’t.’
‘PTSD?’
‘I couldn’t work afterwards. That’s when I left the army. Came to live here a few years later. I cope better here, it’s quiet – no loud noises, no real drama.’
‘Until we turned up.’
Vance smiled. ‘Don’t worry about that, anything for a friend.’
‘Are we safe here? I don’t want to put you in harm’s way. If it’s a problem, we’ll move on as soon as Frank wakes up.’
‘It’s pretty tight-knit around here. It took me a while to be accepted into the community, but I help out the locals with some unofficial medical help. They’d rather come to me than travel all the way to the hospital. That makes me one of them. Any trouble and they would close ranks. Protect their own.’
‘That’s good to know, Gabriel. At least it explains why you have a fully stocked sick bay.’
‘It’s amazing what you can get on the black market, Ali, and please, call me Gabe, all my friends do. Tell me, where did you meet Frank? You seem close, he obviously means a lot to you.’
‘It feels like a lifetime ago since we met, so much has happened since then. We were serving in Afghanistan. Frank and my brother, Connor, were best mates, they’d served together for years. When I arrived, we were like the three musketeers. We thought we were indestructible.’
Chapter 17
Afghanistan: ten years earlier.
Colour Sergeant Frank McGill and Sergeant Connor Sinclair exited the briefing and checked their kit. This was the last op before Four-Two Commando, Royal Marines, left Afghanistan and returned home, but they couldn’t afford to be complacent. The operation was every bit as dangerous as anything they’d done in the last six months. This tour had been a nightmare. They had lost too many friends and colleagues, including their own troop commander, for it to be remembered as anything other than that.
Lieutenant Ali Sinclair let her eyes adjust to the darker conditions outside before she walked to where the marines were preparing to be picked up by a Chinook. This was the part she hated most: seeing them off, not knowing if they would make it back in one piece.
McGill gave a quick salute. ‘Morning, ma’am.’
Sinclair returned the salute. ‘Morning, Colours. Carry on.’
McGill continued securing his kit. ‘How’s the world of intel this morning, ma’am? I hope you guys are right on this one.’
‘We’ve been up all night looking at it. The info’s come from a reliable source. Taking this guy out could put the Taliban on the back foot in this region for years. Would be a bit of payback, too.’
‘I’m all in favour of a bit of payback. What d’you reckon, Con?’
Connor Sinclair looked up. ‘Be nice to get the bastard before we leave, Mac.’
Ali Sinclair stepped closer to her older brother. ‘You take care out there, you hear me?’ She stepped back. ‘You look after him, Colours.’
McGill slapped Conner Sinclair on the back. ‘I always do, ma’am. He can’t do fuck all without me lookin’ after him.’
‘I mean it, Frank.’
McGill lowered his voice. Although Ali Sinclair outranked him, she was still his best mate’s little sister. ‘Don’t worry, we’ll be fine. We get this op out of the way and head home. You finish your tour and follow us in a month. The three of us’ll be on the piss, down Union Street, before you know it.’
‘I’m looking forward to it already, Frank.’ She grabbed Connor’s arm. ‘Both of you be careful. I’ll see you soon.’
Connor Sinclair nodded. ‘Don’t worry, sis. Put the kettle on, we’ll be back in no time.’ He gave her a wink then followed McGill up the ramp and into the Chinook that would carry them to their target.
The Chinook’s twin rotors bit into the air as it lifted off the ground. Ali Sinclair watched as it disappeared into the Afghan sky and left her in a swirling dust cloud. She was uneasy about this operation. She wasn’t sure if it was because they were all so close to going home, or if, deep down, she was worried about the quality of the intel they had received. She stood for a few minutes, her head tilted to one side, listening to the fading sound of the Chinook. When she could no longer hear it, she turned and walked away.
The Chinook pilot kept the aircraft at a good altitude until the last minute, and then dropped fast into the drop-off point, a mile from the intended target’s compound. The pilot didn’t slow the rotors as the marines poured out of the back; the Chinook was a big target and needed to be on the deck for as short a time as possible. Once the men had dismounted, the pilot lifted off and got high, fast, out of the reach of any small arms fire from anyone who fancied a pot shot.
The marines confirmed their location and target then set off. Intelli
gence had briefed them that a high-ranking Taliban Commander, who the Americans had been after for two years, was holed up in the compound they were heading for, and would be for the next two nights. Originally, the US wanted to obliterate the place, but the British Head Shed had decided that confirming the commander was there, and trying to take him alive, was more valuable to them. Besides, if it all went pear-shaped, they could still call in an air strike. They obviously weren’t concerned about the possible cost in lives if it went wrong.
The troop took the difficult cross country route, staying away from roads and bridges where improvised explosive devices were more likely to be placed. That made it slow going. Crossing uneven ground in the dark, even with night-vision goggles, was difficult enough, without having to watch out for command wires and booby traps. The troop was led by marines with metal detectors to search for IEDs, but even they didn’t pick up everything. Every inch of progress was torture.
As they approached the compound, McGill split them into three sections. His section took up a position in an irrigation ditch to the front, while the other two sections took a side each and worked their way around to the rear.
McGill checked the compound through his binoculars. There was no movement: no lights, no sentries; the whole area was in darkness. ‘This place looks deserted, Con. If there was some high-rankin’ Terry in there, there’d at least be sentries.’ He pushed the button on his radio. ‘Anyone else see movement?’
The other sections responded, ‘Nothing here, Mac.’
‘Okay, Con. Take a scaling ladder and three lads. Check it out.’
Connor Sinclair and three other marines kept low as they approached the nine-foot walls of the compound. They would use the scaling ladder, rather than the obvious door, to prevent them from being channelled into a booby trap.
McGill watched the eerie, green scene through his night vision. The four marines reached the base of the wall and raised the ladder. Connor started to climb, checking left, right and above with every step, while the other marines kept defensive positions around the ladder’s base. One rung … two … three; the progress was slow but steady. Sinclair was two feet from the top of the wall when McGill saw movement.
The whole troop felt the blast wave as the front wall of the compound erupted in flame. The noise and the heat hit them, followed by a rainstorm of rubble and dust. They all knew instantly what had happened: they’d been set up. There was no high-ranking commander, the compound was full of Taliban, ready to die for the cause.
McGill watched in horror as multiple gunmen appeared on top of the other walls and opened up. Bullets were pinging around their position. The marines returned fire but were taking casualties. McGill screamed to his radio operator, ‘We need CASEVAC and air support, NOW.’
McGill climbed out of the irrigation ditch and crawled over to Sinclair. ‘Con, CON?’ He checked for a pulse but knew he wouldn’t find one. Sinclair’s wounds were massive. He had to check the others.
Two of the marines were in the same condition as Sinclair but the other one was breathing. His left leg was missing below the knee and blood poured from the ragged stump where his right arm should have been, but he was still alive. ‘Stay with me, mate, we need to get the fuck out of here.’ McGill applied tourniquets to the younger man’s arm and leg and gave him a shot of morphine. He dragged him out from under the rubble and picked him up.
The rest of McGill’s section lay down covering fire while McGill ran back across the open ground carrying the injured marine. He reached the edge of the ditch and dived for cover just as the first missiles from the Apache helicopters struck the compound and lit up the early morning sky.
* * *
Ali Sinclair watched as medics carried the wounded from the Chinook and into the field hospital; she watched as the body bags were brought out and the survivors of the operation trudged down the ramp.
McGill was the last person to leave the helicopter. He was covered in blood, none of it his. His face was pale and streaked with dirt, his eyes vacant. The guilt he felt weighed heavily on him. Did he do anything wrong? Could he have foreseen the ambush? Could he have saved Connor? He looked at Ali Sinclair and slowly shook his head.
Sinclair held her hand to her mouth. She looked at the body bags, her brother was in one of those. She started to tremble, tears running down her cheeks, she had to see him. She ran to where the casualties lay and looked for the one marked Sinclair.
McGill caught up to her. ‘Don’t, Ali.’
‘I have to see him.’
‘No, you don’t. You don’t want to remember him like that.’
Sinclair ignored him, searching the names.
McGill grabbed her arm. ‘Ali. Don’t.’
Sinclair pulled her arm away but McGill picked her up and carried her away from the Chinook. She kicked and struggled until McGill put her down. She spun around and hit McGill in the chest, pounding her fist against his body armour. ‘You said you’d look after him. You said it would be okay.’
McGill wrapped his arms around her and pulled her towards him. She buried her face in his chest and began to scream. Her knees started to give way as the unbearable grief hit her. McGill held on to her, supporting her, as he watched the body bags being loaded into an ambulance. He gritted his teeth and blinked, holding Sinclair even tighter, as his own tears made tracks through the grime on his face and dripped onto her shoulder.
* * *
Sinclair had checked everywhere for McGill, but no one had seen him for a couple of hours. She’d checked his bunk space, the galley, and all around the perimeter. Now, she was worried. She felt guilty about shouting at him, he was suffering as much as she was. The only place left to look was a disused US Army B-Hut on the far side of the compound.
The American barracks hut had been damaged during an attack a couple of months earlier and hadn’t yet been repaired. The Americans had reduced their numbers and didn’t need the extra space, so it didn’t get used for anything.
She pushed open the door and stepped in. ‘Frank, you in here?’ There was no reply. She let the door swing closed behind her. ‘Frank?’
McGill was sitting on a desk at one end of the hut, his head bowed; in his right hand was a nine-millimetre Sig Saur.
Sinclair took a few steps towards him and spoke calmly, ‘What are you doing, Frank?’
McGill didn’t respond.
Sinclair took another step. This time she spoke like a drill instructor. ‘COLOUR SERGEANT.’
McGill’s head snapped up. His eyes were red and bloodshot and his face was still streaked with grime. He was wearing the same blood-stained combats he’d worn during the op. ‘I should have gone. I should have gone to check the compound.’
Sinclair continued edging towards him, her eye on the gun. ‘It wasn’t your fault, Frank. Connor was doing his job, you both were.’
‘I told you I’d look after him. I didn’t.’
‘I didn’t mean what I said, I was in shock. I don’t blame you.’
McGill raised the Sig Saur and rested the barrel under his chin.
Sinclair held out her hand. ‘NO.’ She had to think fast. ‘Give me the weapon. THAT’S AN ORDER, COLOUR SERGEANT.’
McGill slumped and lowered his sidearm. Sinclair reached out and took it from him. She made it safe and tucked it into her waistband. ‘What were you thinking, Frank?’
McGill rubbed his face and wiped his eyes. ‘I can’t do this any more, Ali. Con was like my brother. I can’t live like this. I can’t watch as the people I care about die in front of me.’
Sinclair grabbed the front of his jacket. ‘Snap out of it, you selfish bastard. What about me? I’m one of the people who sent you both in there. How do you think I feel? Connor was my brother. After our dad died, he was the only family I had left. If you go, how do I get through this alone?’
McGill looked into her eyes. He had always promised Connor that, if anything happened, he would look after Ali. ‘I’m sorry, my head’s not right. I don’
t want to leave you on your own. That’s not what Con would’ve wanted me to do. With him gone, you’re all I have.’
‘We’re family now, Frank. We have to look after each other.’
McGill put his hands on Sinclair’s shoulders. ‘I promise you, no matter what, whenever you need me, I’ll be there.’
Sinclair wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek. ‘The same goes for me, Frank. No matter what.’
Chapter 18
It was just after dawn when McGill woke up and he felt like shit. The net curtains were blowing in the light breeze and the morning sun glinted off the fluid in his IV bag. He could only remember sketchy details of the last couple of days. The last clear memory he had, was Ali and Callum getting him off the roof and into the van. After that, it was a blur of flashing lights as they’d driven through the night, his old friend talking to him as his wounds were cleaned, and Callum sitting next to the bed, opening up to him about everything. He made a mental note to have a long talk with the young man, to thank him. Most of all, McGill remembered Ali sitting on the edge of the bed, holding his hand, willing him to be okay.
Sinclair was asleep in the chair on the other side of the room. She hadn’t made it to her own bed, preferring to stay in McGill’s room. Even asleep she looked worn out. The last few weeks had taken their toll on them all. They needed to rest, and formulate a plan to figure out how deep in the shit they were. First of all, he needed to get to a toilet – his bladder was bursting. ‘Ali?’
Sinclair shifted in her seat, not wanting to wake up.
‘Ali?’
Sinclair’s eyes flickered open. Her neck and back were stiff and her head ached, but she was happy to see McGill fully awake. She sat up and stretched out the kinks. ‘Morning, Frank. How do you feel?’
‘A lot better than I did. Really need a piss, though.’
‘Stay where you are, I’ll be back in a minute.’
Sinclair left the room as McGill forced himself into a sitting position. He slid his legs off the edge of the bed, screwing his eyes shut at the sharp pain in his back and thigh. His calf muscle ached and it hurt to move his foot, walking wasn’t going to be an option.
