Executed (Extracted Trilogy Book 2)

by RR Haywood

  It can never end. It should never end. It has to end. It’s been a long time. He comes, sudden and powerful. She gasps at the sensation and the heat, at his body driving into her. His mouth finds hers. She takes him in. Kissing passionate and long. Kissing as the waves of orgasm sweep through his body and mind. Kissing as the driving urge abates to ease and slow. She can feel his heart thundering. His muscles locked. The intensity of him, and all for her. Only for her. Still the kiss goes on. As he sinks to lower. As he softens. As his heart rate slows, still the kiss goes on.

  At some point, they stop and lie with each other. At some point, they drift to sleep. Neither could say when. Everything organic. Everything natural. It is okay. It’s more than okay.

  At the other end of the bunker, it is not okay. Not okay at all. Ria sobs in the darkness. She has never felt so alone.

  Thirty-Eight

  Pistols checked and made ready. Spare magazines pushed into the slots on their tactical vests. Bootlaces tied and double-knotted. Muscles thrumming from the warm-up of running light circuits outside. Sweat shines on brows. Faces grim and ready.

  They gather in the main room. Coffee brewed. Coffee drunk. They are not hungry, but the day will be long, so they eat. Harry prepares the Browning. Loading the first links of the live ammunition belt. Emily checks her assault rifle and the contents of her pouches. She fastens the strap of the pistol round her leg.

  Miri wears the same as them. Sinister in black. Her greying blonde hair scraped back into a ponytail. The lines on her face that could be scars show livid and deep. Her cold grey eyes are hard. She pushes the pistol into the holster and hefts the assault rifle to check and make ready.

  The doctor bustles back and forth. Caught up in the energy. One of the rooms in his section is ready with an operating table and side units full of equipment. He cleaned it last night. He cleaned it this morning. He’ll clean it again when they deploy. He wears a white lab coat. A stethoscope hangs round his neck. Surgical scrubs worn underneath.

  Bertie is on the island with strict instructions not to bloody move. Do not bloody move. Do not come to the bunker. Stay there. Do you understand? What did I just tell you? Say it back to me. The doctor made sure he understood. They did consider holding him in the bunker but didn’t trust him to not stroll out and wave at the nice soldiers.

  Ria hides the fear inside and watches them getting ready with that dread growing inside. She has hardly slept. She looks like shit. Bags under her eyes, her face drawn and tired.

  ‘Fucking thing,’ Ben mutters, hefting the Barrett to make it ready. Harry pulls two missile launchers on to his back. Emily takes one. Ben straps an assault rifle to his. Everyone loaded with kit, but this is how they have trained and drilled. What they do now is nothing different to what they have done many times.

  ‘Harry,’ Safa groans, glaring at his boots. ‘You had the new ones,’ she adds, shaking her head.

  Ben looks round to see him in his 1943 boots. Miri hates them. She told him not to wear them. He is Harry. He will wear what he bloody wants. Emily grins at him. Loving him for it.

  ‘I’m ready,’ Safa says, pushing the magazine in her assault rifle and yanking the bolt back. ‘Shithead?’

  ‘I take it that’s me,’ Emily says. ‘I’m ready.’

  ‘Beardy?’

  ‘When you’ve been in a war,’ he rumbles, earning a round of grins.

  ‘Ben?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘Good,’ she says, the woman in charge, the team leader. Ben thinks about last night and can’t help but smile. She smiles too. Sensing the thoughts before looking round. ‘We’ve drilled for this. We’ve gone at it from every side. No matter what happens, we have planned for it. They won’t have anywhere near the opposition Ria threw at us. If anything, the whole fucking thing might be an anti-climax. Harry, remember to shout if that thing jams up. Ben, be ready to cover Harry if it jams.’

  ‘Got it,’ Ben says.

  ‘That’s it then,’ Safa says. ‘Miri? Anything from you?’

  ‘Negative. Stick to the plan, but stay fluid.’

  ‘Fuck it then,’ Safa says. ‘We’re ready for this. We’re better than they are. We’re the good guys. We’re going in hot, but we’re going in ready. On me.’

  She takes the lead. She is Safa. She always takes the lead.

  ‘Good luck,’ the doctor booms.

  ‘Good luck,’ Ria calls out, her voice sounding flat and strained.

  Through the doors to the portal room. Miri takes the tablet as final kit checks are done.

  ‘Can we eat cheese and crackers tonight?’ Emily asks, trained and experienced, but still feeling that last-minute burst of tension.

  ‘Aye,’ Harry says softly, reassuringly as deep and calm as ever. ‘Watch a holo.’

  She nods. ‘Sounds good.’

  He holds the Browning one-handed and rests an enormous hand on her shoulder, bringing an instant calm to her mind. No words needed.

  ‘Ready?’ Miri asks, her thumb hovering over the pre-set destination on the screen.

  Ben stiffens. Gripping the heavy sniper rifle. Safa looks at Emily, at Harry, at Ben, then moves to stand in front of the gap between the two poles. She flicks the safety off and brings her rifle up ready and aimed. ‘On three,’ she says to Miri. ‘One . . . two . . .’ Miri presses the screen. The Blue comes on instant and live. ‘Three.’

  Safa goes first. Walking through to an instant change in air, in temperature, in light, in environment. Her assault rifle up and aimed. The grass and trees are so different to the clearing they drilled in, but the sound effects created by Ria match the noise of the rotor blades from choppers thudding overhead and the gunshots in the distance. She takes it all in with a sweep round before sticking her hand back through the Blue with a thumbs-up.

  Emily goes through. A look round. A scan of all sides. The choppers overhead. The heli she came in on with Alpha and the others. The two gunships. The time in the bunker melts away. It’s as if she was here yesterday.

  ‘Clear,’ Emily snaps. ‘Move out.’

  Safa paces a few strides. Trees blot the view ahead. The foliage is dense. She takes a knee, holding position.

  Harry comes through. The Browning gripped and ready.

  ‘Harry clear,’ Emily reports.

  Emily’s hand goes in. Ben comes out. His eyes showing the split second of adjustment to the new environment. A scan round to a terrain so different to the clearing they drilled in. A glimpse of the house in the distance. Trees all round them. A canopy overhead covering the Blue from the satellite they know is monitoring the area.

  ‘PEOPLE IN THE HOUSE . . . LIE DOWN WITH YOUR ARMS OUT . . . PEOPLE IN THE HOUSE . . . LIE DOWN WITH YOUR ARMS OUT . . .’

  The voice is huge and one they all remember. A surreal second. Emily was on the other side when they first heard it. The pilot in the helicopter repeats the commands. Safa visualises the soldiers running for the house. Emily visualises the agents and operatives inside and herself with the others on the landing.

  Miri steps out and takes it all in without a flicker showing on her face.

  ‘PEOPLE IN THE HOUSE . . . LIE DOWN WITH YOUR ARMS OUT . . .’

  ‘On me,’ Safa calls out, waving a hand forward. She takes point with Emily. Rifles up and aimed. Safa checks her watch. Through the undergrowth they go. Feet lifting to avoid snagging on tree roots and fallen branches. Miri waits by the Blue. Her face a mask as she watches her small team deploy towards Cavendish Manor.

  Remember. Mother deploys the soldiers as Bravo goes into the room. That’s the marker. You have to wait for the soldiers to go in.

  Inside the house, bodies lie dead and injured. The battle is underway. Alpha glares over the bannister. Tango Two and the others with him. Pistols firing from the drawing room. Agents killed. A flash-bang goes in. Gunshots. Screams. Red laser sights shining. The noise is immense. The booming voice of the amplified helicopter pilot. The rotor blades of the gunships. Chaos unfolding.

&nb
sp; ‘Agent down . . .’

  ‘Fall back, fall back . . .’

  ‘DO NOT FALL BACK . . . Bravo, get down and lead them through . . .’ Alpha orders.

  ‘Be happy to oblige,’ Bravo mutters. ‘Anyone with a flash-bang can throw it in that room now.’

  Emily worked them through it. Guiding them to what was happening on her side while they were taking cover on the servants’ stairs. They push on through the trees, working towards the house. Knowing they deployed further back from the soldiers forming the ring of steel.

  ‘They’re scared to return fire,’ Charlie says inside the house.

  With the trees and foliage masking their arrival, Safa and Emily run aiming and ready. Harry carrying the Browning. Ben with the Barrett. Heart rates building. Tension growing. This is it. This is the start of the show of force.

  ‘THIS IS ALPHA . . . SHOOT TO KILL . . . MAXIMUM AGGRESSION . . . MOTHER, IF YOU CAN HEAR ME, DEPLOY THE SOLDIERS TO THE GROUND FLOOR . . .’

  ‘Flash-bangs,’ Emily mutters. They hear the explosions. Tens of them thrown on the order of Bravo into the drawing room. The booms sound and roll. Percussive and full of bass. Glass smashing. The windows blowing out. ‘Bravo goes in,’ she says.

  ‘IN IN IN,’ Bravo roars in the house. His strong, cultured private-school tones so loud and deep. Seconds later, the sound of sustained gunfire comes through to the four still working their way towards the house. One submachine gun at first. Then more. More and more. Harry remembers the man reaching his hand in to fire into the stairwell.

  ‘Faster,’ Safa orders, increasing the speed. They see figures in camouflage pouring across the grounds towards the front door.

  They will not send every soldier in the house. The British Army is one of the finest fighting forces in the world. They are excellent at what they do. You have to work harder to be better, to be faster.

  ‘LEFT SIDE,’ Emily snaps, the figure seen. Her finger squeezes the trigger, the first shots from their side are taken. The first kill gained as the soldier spins in surprise, blown back off his feet. The sound of the M4 assault rifle masked by the cacophony of noise searing the air.

  ‘FASTER.’ Safa runs now. Leading her team. A camouflaged figure glimpsed ahead. She aims, waits for him to come into view behind the tree and fires, shooting the soldier dead. She snatches a glance at her watch. Four minutes.

  ‘AHEAD, AHEAD,’ Safa screams. ‘DOWN DOWN DOWN . . .’

  Figures running at them, drawn by the shots. She aims and fires. Rounds whip through the foliage. Fire is returned. Emily holds, aiming, waiting. She fires a burst, a figure drops. Safa kills another. Emily takes the third, pauses and tracks the fourth running away. She guns him down, shooting him in the back.

  Four minutes twenty.

  ‘FASTER,’ Safa orders.

  In the house, Harry runs with his arm covering his face to protect it from the debris flying past. Noise everywhere. He drops. Unable to move on. His arms and face bleeding.

  They sprint through the undergrowth. Safa checks her watch. Four minutes fifty. She sees the spot. The foliage between them and the house now much thinner. Soldiers still running in. Soldiers all around them. They take advantage of the chaos to run through and hope to hell they reach the mark.

  ‘WE’VE GOT THEM PINNED,’ Bravo shouts into his radio.

  Safa looks at her watch. Four minutes fifty-five. She fires while running at a soldier. Rounds slam into his chest. Emily fires to the side. Ben and Harry stay behind. Knowing the drill. Seeing the spot they have to reach.

  On the servants’ stairs, Miri glares at her stopwatch. ‘Five minutes six seconds, five minutes six seconds.’

  ‘GO NOW, GO NOW,’ Harry roars a few feet from her. He changes the magazine in his pistol as he prepares to go down and engage to buy time.

  ‘HOLD,’ Miri shouts.

  Bravo grins. He’s got them pinned in place.

  Outside the house, Harry reaches the spot. Emily and Safa go left and right. Harry goes in between them, dropping to brace the heavy machine gun on the bipod. Ben stops behind them. Lifting the sniper rifle to sweep round.

  In the drawing room, Bravo turns towards the door with his hand lifting to the radio mic to transmit the situation and suggest they look for the exit point from that corridor.

  Outside, Harry sees the soldiers and black-clad figures pouring fire into the wall. The room full of them. So many. More still running into the house. A growl. A lip curls. His finger pulls back and all other sound around them is blotted out by the enormous thud of the Browning roaring to life.

  He pours rounds through the window. Bravo’s heightened instincts and speed of reaction save his life while all around him men die screaming.

  Ben said this has to be done, so Harry fires to slaughter them from the rear. This is war. Bad things happen in war. His whole body judders from the recoil as he feeds the belt into the gun.

  The noise of the heavy machine gun draws the soldiers who are still outside the house. Emily and Safa fire hard and fast. Killing them as they run.

  The soldiers take cover and fire back. Ben breathes. Focussed and controlled. He sweeps round, staring down the sights. Waiting, doing what he practised. He fires without thinking. He fires suddenly and takes the recoil in his already sore shoulder with a glimpse of the pink mist left where the soldier’s head was before the fifty-calibre round took it away.

  ‘TIME TO GO . . . MOVE NOW . . .’ Safa shouts.

  Harry surges up, lifting the Browning as he rises. Emily and Safa covering his flanks. They run on, aiming for the patch of higher ground.

  Echo staggers from the door ramming into his back on the landing. The five agents turn to see the famous face of Safa Patel with that split second of hesitancy buying her the time to press the attack. Safa Patel against five of the best agents the British Secret Service has. She holds them off. She doesn’t win, but neither do they. A blur of arms. A blur of bodies moving, twisting, blocking and countering. Safa held five of you off on her own. You ever see anyone else do that?

  Ben sights the door of the house. That’s his marker. Behind him, Harry strafes the undergrowth, suppressing the forces. Safa and Emily flank Ben. Covering his sides. Calm now. Easy now. Ben breathes, steadying his nerve as he lifts the aim from the door and up to see through the windows. There she is. Safa fighting five people on her own. The sight is stunning. Mesmerising. An incredible display of her prowess. She moves like water. So graceful. So brutal. So fucking fast. He spots Emily, Tango Two. She looks so different there. Attacking Safa. Being beaten back by Safa. All of them being held off by Safa. Ben grins. He can’t help it.

  ‘I fucking love you, Safa.’

  ‘Focus, bellend.’

  Ben sees Harry run from the door on the landing to slam a vicious kidney punch into Charlie’s side. The whole thing is a blur. Figures seemingly dancing and weaving. He sees Alpha kick at Harry. He sees himself run from the door into the fray. He drops the sight to the stairs. Seeing the soldiers and agents starting to climb. A twitch of the sights back to the fight on the landing. Miri leading Bertie, Ria, Roland and Susan.

  ‘Fuck me,’ Ben mutters at seeing Harry rise with Alpha gripped by the throat. The strength in the man is staggering. The look on his face is crazed. Mad Harry Madden unleashed.

  He twitches back to see Miri on the landing staring at her watch, her lips muttering silently. She surges up, grabs Bertie and pins him to the wall as Ben gains the sight on Charlie running at them. He fires, removing Charlie’s head with an instant kill.

  ‘Got him,’ he mutters. The sound lost in the chaos around him. He spots Delta, and although he knows he misses, he takes the shot. Time is not fixed. Not fixed at all. He still misses, but takes pleasure in the look of surprise on Delta’s face that buys time for Safa to kick him in the bollocks.

  He tracks Harry running to the stairs. Covering the big man in the house while the big man covers him now.

  Calm inside. Icy cold. His heart rate slow. His breath
ing easy. A soldier rises to stab at Harry on the stairs. Ben fires, and the high-powered round lifts the man from his feet and slams him back into the wall. He sights another and fires.

  ‘Seen me yet, bitch?’ Emily mutters, glancing up at the sky. She risks a pause to flick a middle finger, hoping the satellite feed sees it.

  Mother glares at the screen. ‘WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?’ she rages. Aides flinch at the pure fury in her voice. All eyes on the screen watching the four black-clad figures slaughtering soldiers in the grounds. She spots the face looking up and a middle finger. No. It can’t be. No way. ‘TANGO TWO, WHERE ARE YOU?’

  ‘Landing, middle floor.’ Alpha’s voice booms with a background noise of carnage.

  Ben fires the Barrett. Sensing the power of the weapon and understanding why Miri insisted on using it. The noise is something else. The power of it. The message it sends. Miri said there are accounts of enemy soldiers running from US troops just from hearing a single shot from a Barrett.

  Miri waits at the Blue. Casually smoking a cigarette while holding the rifle one-handed, braced in her shoulder.

  Ben sees the sudden battle for the doorway on the landing as everyone runs for it. He fires again, but the single shots he can take are a pittance against the numbers they have in the house. It doesn’t matter. They are almost done. Weeks and weeks of solid drills and Safa was right, it’s almost an anti-climax. All they have to do is run to the back of the house, fire the missile launcher at the gunship, then this part of the mission is done.

  Thirty-Nine

  ‘The US President, Prime Minister,’ the aide says, holding the secure phone out. The PM takes the handset as the aide flaps his hands to tell the many people in the emergency planning room to be quiet. A tense silence falls. The PM clears her throat and presses the button to make the connection live. ‘Hello, Sarah,’ the PM says calmly.