Kate staggered forward, unsure that her legs would keep her up. Mistake on the boarding card. So much for the efficient check-in woman—she must have been distracted by the visa problem.
The young man beside her on the plane had attempted other questions but soon got the message. She wasn’t in the mood to talk. Kate put headphones on and found a classical music channel. The gin kicked in and within thirty minutes she was asleep.
In Business Class, a Belgian she would have recognized as the Arab, sipped Harrogate Spring Water. He also listened to a music channel, but wouldn’t sleep; he rarely slept. Relaxation, switching off his mind, was just as effective. He was confident that there would be no problems at the other end. He would pass through immigration without suspicion and he would find the washroom in the arrivals lounge and locate the hidden package. An untraceable gun.
The steward didn’t disturb Mr Brassante. The man looked asleep, a hint of a smile on his lips.
In the evening, Kate’s phone would have rung if she had not removed the SIM. Instead, it went straight to voicemail.
“Hello, dear. It’s Ann from downstairs. My contact has found the information you wanted. You wanted to know which base Danny Guice was at. Well, he was a Master Sergeant at Fort Bragg. Special Forces Operational Detachment 391.” There was a pause. “I have some bad news I’m afraid. Mr Guice was in Iraq. He was killed in action two years ago. I’m sorry to tell you, dear, but your friend is dead.”
FORTY-EIGHT
Thirty-one months earlier
The command sergeant whispered, “Tinman, how’s my exit looking?”
Three men edged along a corridor, night-vision goggles on, assault rifles slung across their fronts, silenced pistols at the ready.
“Four guards. Looking good,” Tinman’s voice whispered back.
Another voice came on the comm. “Coming your way in five.” Dogtag.
The command sergeant raised a hand. They stopped and he looked around a corner. Beyond, a door was edged with light. The comms room. He waved the two other men ahead and signalled: “Take it out—minimum force.”
Boomer and Mirrorman removed their night vision and stepped either side of the door. Mirrorman crouched as Boomer slowly turned the handle then jerked the door open. Three men inside spun in alarm and all died instantly. Three clean shots.
While Mirrorman checked the surveillance equipment, Boomer signalled to Command Sergeant Topcat and stayed by the door watching the corridor.
Topcat stepped inside the room and pointed to a screen. It showed a lounge area in which two men sat on sofas. One looked asleep with what appeared to be an AK47 leaning against the sofa. The second sat opposite, his weapon propped by his side. Beyond was a double door.
Through the headset Dogtag said, “With you in one. Clear?”
Boomer responded, “All clear.”
Moments later the fourth man stepped into the comms room. He nodded to Topcat. “Problem eliminated.”
The command sergeant pointed to the door on the screen. The package is in there. Dogtag moved a body from the chair in front of the screen and sat down. Then to the others Topcat said, “Boomer, Mirrorman with me.”
The three men crept through the house until they came to the lounge area. They didn’t hesitate. The command sergeant walked in and shot the guard who was awake. Boomer took out the other man, who never woke up. The first man toppled sideways, his gun clattering to the ground.
The three soldiers moved to the double doors and waited, listening.
“Clear,” Dogtag said over the headset.
Topcat nodded and Boomer opened the door to a room otherwise in darkness—a bedroom. Mirrorman ran to the bed and clamped his hand over the mouth of the man who started to sit up. He pulled him out, twisted him around and pressed him, face down into the mattress. Boomer taped the man’s mouth and then took a black gown from Topcat.
“Put this on him,” Topcat said.
Boomer dressed the man and then fastened his wrists together. They moved back to the doors.
“How’s my exit?” Topcat whispered, but the response from Tinman in the compound was swallowed by alarm from Dogtag watching the CCTV. “Another hostile. Repeat, another hostile.”
A guard had been in the lavatory. He opened the door to the lounge, saw his dead comrades and an armed man in black just inside the bedroom. He let off a short burst of gunfire.
The soldiers ducked out of the way just in time, but the syncopated splatter rang in their ears for a moment. Topcat signalled to Mirrorman where the hostile was. “On my mark. One… two… three.”
Mirrorman rolled into the room and rapid-fired his Glock as Topcat stepped from behind the door and fired his assault rifle at the far sofa. They saw the guard hit the ground and, through the cloud of stuffing, Mirrorman stepped round the sofa and made sure the assailant was dead.
“Let’s go! Plan B,” Topcat said, no longer needing to whisper. “Dogtag, pull back from your position.”
“Roger that. They heard you. All hell breaking loose.”
Topcat: “Gopher, how you fixed?”
Over the sound of a diesel engine, Gopher responded, “On your mark.”
With their prisoner, the three men moved rapidly into the corridor. Clear.
A rapid burst of gunfire. Topcat held up his hand. “Dogtag, report.”
No response.
Topcat waved them forward. Boomer kept the rear, holding the prisoner and turning every few seconds to check behind. After a few paces they were at a junction.
They could hear running feet. Topcat held up two fingers and pointed. Two men.
Mirrorman and Topcat swung round the corner and each fired rapidly. One guard responded with a short burst from his own weapon but it was wild and he and his partner quickly died. Without hesitation, the soldiers moved swiftly along the corridor, past the dead guards, and worked their way back to the comms room.
The room was sprayed with bullets. Topcat entered, stepped over another body and went to Dogtag, who lay on the floor in a pool of blood. He checked for a pulse. “Man down,” he said with a shake of the head.
More gunfire, outside this time.
Topcat said, “Tinman?”
“Holding them,” a voice crackled back.
“We’re going now. Cover yourself. Get to the alternate exit.”
“Roger that,” Tinman said.
Topcat picked up the dead soldier. Mirrorman took the other side and they dragged the body into the hall.
Topcat said, “I need that diversion, Gopher. Fire at will.”
A few seconds later there was an explosion. From outside a mortar had been fired into the compound by the gate. A second mortar landed on the guard house.
The soldiers hurried to the rear. Topcat front-kicked an external door and they hurried into a yard. Gunfire drew attention to their left. Tinman crouched at a side wall and returned fire. “Help him,” Topcat said to Mirrorman. Then to Gopher he said, “I’ll have that exit now!”
Moments later, an explosion ripped a hole in the concrete outer wall. Through the dust, a truck reversed, crashing the remaining rubble out of the way. As the prisoner and dead soldier were put on the flatbed, Mirrorman and Tinman provided cover, moving backwards towards the truck.
They jumped in and Topcat banged the cab. “Go!”
Gopher pulled the truck forward thirty yards and stopped. While the others continued to fire through the hole in the wall, Gopher took out a small remote control. He looked for Topcat’s nod and pressed Send. Fifteen incendiary devices went off simultaneously, the one attached to the propane tanks sending a tower of flame high into the night sky. The complex became a huge roiling inferno.
The truck jolted into first and pulled away, bumping across the rough terrain. The men in the rear watched the town for signs of pursuit. None came.
Mirrorman put down his gun and slumped on the floor. He took a ragged breath and placed a hand inside his protective vest.
“I’m hit,” h
e said.
FORTY-NINE
Present day
Kate stepped forward at immigration.
“Place your right hand on the pad and look into the camera, ma’am,” the immigration man said. His tone was as if he’d said it twice. Maybe he had.
She responded and placed her hand on the black fingerprint reader. Her sweaty palm was immediately obvious.
“Are you all right, ma’am?”
She smiled wanly. “Think I’m coming down with something, that’s all.”
The man checked her immigration card and the passport on a computer. “Is this your final destination?”
“Yes.”
“Travelling alone?”
“Yes.”
“Business or pleasure today?”
“Pleasure.”
“Where are you staying?”
She reeled off the address of the Dulles Radisson hotel.
He gave her a look as if to say, “Really?” Instead, he said, “On your own?”
“I’m meeting someone.” That seemed to do it. Something akin to understanding crossed his face. She added, “My boyfriend.”
He smiled then checked that she wouldn’t be trying to find work and wouldn’t overstay. Satisfied, he handed back the passport. “Hope you feel better soon, Mrs Roberts,” he said, and raised a single eyebrow.
Oops! A married woman meeting a boyfriend. No wonder he had smiled. Embarrassed, she pulled the rucksack over one shoulder and headed for Customs, handing over the card that affirmed she didn’t have any dairy products or nuclear missiles. She walked to the frosted glass exit doors expecting a shout at any moment. Fifteen yards seemed like a hundred, but then she was through the doors and confronting a sea of expectant faces.
Kate had looked at Boomer’s photograph in the arrivals lounge. How old was it? Would she recognize him? She walked along the line, scanning male faces. Nothing registered. Then she saw the sign. A man was holding it like a taxi driver meeting someone from the flight. The sign said, “Darcy Roberts.”
He looked at her and she nodded, serious. He started to walk towards the end of the barrier to meet her.
She headed in the same direction. At the end of the barrier she turned to meet him. What the…? Where had he gone?
She walked back, this time on the other side of the barrier. What was he wearing—grey top and jeans? Light brown hair and over six foot tall.
Just as despair began to tweak the edge of her thoughts, she spotted him. He stood by the washrooms, his hand on his brow, looking straight at her. He made a small motion, beckoning her.
As she approached, he turned his back to her but pushed a carrier bag into her hand.
“Put these on,” he said.
She took the bag uncertainly and stepped into the washroom. In the bag was a black wig, baseball cap and a loose-fitting blue raincoat. She put them on and stepped outside once more.
He’d moved. Again she scanned for him and saw him by the exit door, again watching her.
As she approached, he walked away and she scurried to catch him. A pace behind, she said, “Where’s Danny?”
“Not here,” he said. “Just follow me. We’ll talk in the car. I need to get you somewhere safe.”
Reluctantly she let him guide her outside, across a road, towards a car park. At a silver-blue Volvo estate, he opened the rear door and helped her off with the bag. He threw it in then opened the passenger door for her.
She stood, hand on the door, and looked him in the eyes. “I’m not getting in until you tell me what’s going on.”
“Danny couldn’t make it so he asked me to pick you up. I’m Matt. Now, can we get going?”
Kate didn’t move. “How do I know I can trust you?”
“Who else are you going to trust?”
She shook her head, removed her hand from the door.
He put his hand on her back and pushed slightly. “Get in!”
She twisted away. “No!”
“Shit!” he said, “Look, Danny contacted you first via Facebook then through secure webmail. You both saved messages to the Drafts folder. I’d only know that if he had told me. Right?”
She shrugged, struggling.
He said, “Stop thinking and let’s go!”
She climbed in, but there was still an uncomfortable gnawing in her gut. “So you are taking me to Danny?”
“Sure.” Matt started up and reversed out of the parking space. “Let me get out of here and I’ll tell you more. OK?”
She sat impatiently, her legs crossed, her right foot tapping. Matt left the car park, but instead of following signs to Washington and the Toll Road, he took another route. He followed Sully Road, eventually coming out on the Interstate.
When he headed east on the I-66 she said, “So where are we going? You’re not taking me to Washington.”
“No. We’re going to a safe house near The Plains.”
“And Danny’ll be there?”
“Yes.”
She sat in silence, studying the route. The gnawing in her stomach was still there but she was committed, and, as he’d pointed out, who else could she turn to?”
At exit ramp 31, he turned off and drove to The Plains. But he didn’t stop there. He continued through a forest road, finally turning right and looping around until he reached a cabin by a green lake. A very remote spot, she decided. There was no sign of any other vehicle or anyone else around. The mouse in her stomach became a large rat. “When’s Danny coming?” she asked as he parked under a lean-to.
He didn’t respond but climbed out and pulled her bag from the back seat.
She followed him to the side door. It was unlocked and he walked inside. When she went in, Matt stood in a kitchen by a boiling kettle.
“Coffee?”
She struck what her sister would have called her petulant pose. “I’m not happy,” she said.
“I realize that,” he said. There was less abruptness in his voice now, less tension. “Let’s have a cup of coffee and we can talk.” He pointed to a room across the lounge. “There’s a clean towel in the bathroom. Why don’t you freshen up while I make the coffee? You must feel grubby after the flight.”
She accepted his invitation. The bathroom was basic but clean. The towel smelled fresh. She removed the baseball cap, wig and coat. Then she splashed her face and neck, dried and retied her hair. When she came back into the lounge Matt was sitting in a chair. A large cafetiere was on a coffee table with two mugs. He pressed the plunger and served.
“No milk I’m afraid, but there’s creamer. I have sweetener too if you need it.”
“As it comes is fine.” She dropped the disguise on the seat, sat down and blew on the steaming cup. She breathed in the aroma and took a careful sip. It helped. She began to feel a bit more calm. “So how long before Danny gets here?”
Matt picked up his own mug and took a gulp. He fixed Kate with a look that was somewhere between intrigue and sadness.
“Danny’s not coming,” he said.
She put her head in her hands. Somehow she had guessed. Her mouth finally started to articulate the thoughts running through her head. But Matt cut her off.
“I’m a friend,” he said.
“You’re still not telling me anything. What’s your connection with Danny?”
Matt reclined on the sofa, looking relaxed for the first time. “It’s complicated,” he said. “And I’m not sure how much I should tell you, for your own good. I think it best that you tell me everything you know, everything that has happened, and I’ll fill in the missing pieces.”
Kate shook her head. “Why should I—”
“Because I’m here to help.”
“All you’ve done so far is scare the life out of me with your cloak-and-dagger routine!”
Now it was Matt’s turn to shake his head. “You told me you were in danger,” he said. “Remember the email? You told me your friend and two others were dead. That you thought an Arab was the killer and I took that to mean you we
re afraid he was after you. And you mentioned the police. That all sounds pretty serious.”
“Wait a minute. That was you emailing me—not Danny?”
“Yes. You hadn’t heard of me, so I thought it wise to contact you using the name you knew.”
“You lied!”
He held up his hands—guilty as charged. “And you’re not really Darcy Roberts are you! Look, we do what we have to do. And you were in danger. I didn’t want to take any chances.”
“And I’m taking a huge chance on trusting you!”
“Look, I must be a friend. How else would I know the password numbers you found? Where were they by the way?”
“On my cat’s name tag,” she said uncertainly.
“Six… one… one… zero… eight… nine…” he began.
Kate had committed the number to memory in four groups of three. As Matt recited the code she played it back in her head. Yes, that’s it. But then she realized something. “But of course you know them. You were accessing the website.”
“True, but first of all it proves that it was me you were communicating with. And second of all I knew Joe had left you the numbers. I just didn’t know where is all.” He looked at her and she read honesty in his face.
“OK,” she said. “So what do they mean?”
He smiled. “Tell me your story, and that’s one of the pieces I can explain.”
FIFTY
Thirty-one months earlier
Boomer removed Mirrorman’s vest. Underneath was soaked. “I need a light here,” he said. A torch came on and he tore the material away from the wound. “Hang in there, Mirrorman. It’s just a flesh wound.”
The truck continued to bounce and jolt over the stone-littered ground. Then suddenly there was a thump and it became smoother. They were on the road. It ran from the town of Rafha towards, but not all the way, to the border. “Just twenty-five klicks to Iraq,” Boomer said to Mirrorman. “The other side is twenty-five klicks away.” He tore open a pack of QuikClot and poured the powder over the wound.
I Dare You: A gripping thriller that will keep you guessing (A Kate Blakemore Crime Thriller Book 1) Page 18
