“Can I go out and play until it’s ready?” Sarah asked her mother.
“Of course, but don’t wander off into the road. Stay by the house.”
“Can I have a biscuit to take out with me?”
Her mother turned away from the bubbling pot on the stove and looked at her daughter. She rolled her eyes. “Go on, then. But only one.”
Sarah hopped up in the air and then ran over to the biscuit tin, taking out her favourite chocolate digestive. She took a bite immediately but took the rest out into the sunshine with her. She decided to play beside the house, in the pebbled driveway that was flat enough for her to kick her football around. Her father was always on at her about how little girls should not be interested in playing football, but she loved running around and kicking it far more than playing with her dolls or the plastic kitchen she had got for Christmas.
Her daddy was in the garage, where she was not to disturb him. She often heard him talking in there on the phone he had at the back, inside a little office, but she never understood what he was saying. He spoke lots about places with funny names and about men that sounded scary. She always stayed away from the garage.
Her daddy’s car was parked out on the drive, where it always was when he was home. When he was gone it would sit under a big blanket in the garage. It was really long and a shiny red and looked lots of fun to drive in, but she had never been allowed to go with her father when he drove it. Sometimes her mother was allowed to sit in the passenger seat, but never Sarah. Sometimes, when her father wasn’t looking, she would run her hands over it and enjoy the feel of the cold metal.
The lure of the car called to Sarah now and she crept towards it, marvelling at the shafts of light that bounced of its long, round nose. It was a Jagwa and worth lots of money. One day, when she was grown, Sarah was going to own a Jagwa, too. She took another bite of her biscuit and then placed her hands along the bonnet, slowly sliding her fingertips along the bodywork. The hood was made of fabric and could be pulled down in the sunshine, but right now it was up. She ran her fingers along the rough material and found it extremely soft and supple compared to the stiffness of the bodywork. She wondered what it would be like to ride along with the top down, visiting the seaside and seeing the seagulls overhead.
“Sarah!”
Sarah flinched so badly that she tripped and fell backwards. A shard of pebble bit into her palm and made her cry out. Her father appeared, towering over her, and dragged her back up to her feet. “Look what you’ve done,” he shouted while shoving her head in the direction of the car.
She was already in tears, but she was able to see what she had done. On the roof of her daddy’s Jagwa was a chocolaty handprint. Her whole body shook in fear, and she wet herself when she realised what was to come.
“Look at you, you stupid girl. You’ve pissed yourself.” Her daddy’s hand struck the back of her legs, making her scream. He hit her two more times before he let her go. By that time, her mother had exited the cottage and was standing on the drive.
“What’s happened?” she said meekly.
Sarah’s father growled. “The little brat covered my car in chocolate.”
“Don’t be so hard on her. She’s a child.”
“Get her out of my sight. If I see her again tonight I’m leaving. Do you know how little time I get to myself? Do you know what I do for this country and this family?”
Sarah’s mother said nothing, as she rarely did. She just shot her husband a hateful stare and pulled her sobbing daughter in close. A year later she divorced Sarah’s father and they went to live in a cramped flat in the city by themselves. Sarah never missed that old cottage even once. And she missed her father even less.
15
Mattock took the bullet without fuss, as was his manner. Howard had watched in horror when Sarah leapt up out of cover and fired off a spray of bullets, sending Mattock reeling to the ground, hit and bleeding.
“We have to get out there and help,” said Howard. He and Jessica were sitting inside the rearmost of the three black Range Rovers, doing nothing. Mattock had insisted that he and his team secure the perimeter before Howard and Jessica went in to retrieve Krenshaw and Sarah, but when they arrived in the area, the scout team observed Major Stone and his men gearing up to leave. Going in quiet was no longer an option. They had eyes on Krenshaw, out in the open, and he was attempting to flee. Palu gave Mattock the okay and Howard and Jessica were demoted to spectators. Now, Mattock was down, shot by a woman who less than six months ago had fought side-by-side with him.
Howard didn’t need to wait for Jessica to agree with him. She was already out of the car and firing off shots across the bonnet, sending a rodent-featured man into hiding. Howard slid across the seats and exited out on the same side, using the long vehicle as sufficient, though imperfect, cover. Major Stone and his men were well-armed, but with handguns and machine pistols. Mattock’s team carried recent-issue L85A2 British assault rifles. It was a one-sided affair until Sarah blindsided Mattock.
A leather-skinned, older man popped up from behind the door of one of the black vans and Howard aimed and shot. A spray of red mist erupted from the back of the man’s skull and he fell down in a lifeless heap. At the same time, Jessica emptied her magazine and managed to wing a stocky black man in the neck, sending him face first into the open where bullets whizzed over his head. The wounded man screamed for help, begged for it in fact, but was soon shut up. Major Stone leapt out of cover and fired a shot from his hefty pistol, reducing his own man’s skull to mush. He was back down in cover before anyone could take a shot at him.
“Give up, Major Stone,” shouted Howard. “Two of your men are down and we have you pinned. You’ll die here if you don’t give yourself up.”
The gunfire stopped. Although Mattock was down, his men still numbered seven and were more than happy to keep shooting at fish in barrels, yet they waited now to see if a ceasefire ensued. It didn’t appear that Major Stone was going to come out with his hands up, but Howard’s words had apparently made the man pause to think.
Howard decided to push the situation. “Do you want your daughter to die, Major Stone? Sarah, I know you can hear me. Mattock’s dead. I watched you shoot him when he wasn’t looking. Do you really want any more bloodshed? Do you want to shoot me next, or how about Jessica? We were on the same team not so long ago, Sarah. What happened to you?”
There was no answer, so Howard placed his gun down on the bonnet of the Range Rover and stood out from cover, his hands raised above his head.
Jessica grabbed at him but missed. “Howard, what the hell are you doing?”
“Major Stone, I am unarmed, and you are an honourable man. I know you won’t shoot me. Come out and talk. Or send your daughter. I’d like to ask her why she just murdered a man who thought very highly of her.”
There was more silence and for a moment Howard worried that Major Stone and his people had managed to scurry away someplace, but then he saw the shifting shadows of someone moving behind the torn-up Jaguar. Dr Krenshaw was also still cowering in the background, trying to hide behind a steel wheelie bin.
“Just stop this, Major Stone. It’s Dr Krenshaw we want. You needn’t have got involved in this.”
“Too late now,” someone barked in a deep voice that Howard assumed belonged to Major Stone. He hoped he could appeal to the man’s honour, or to his daughter’s loyalties, but it seemed neither were about to listen.
There was a flash of movement beneath the floodlights.
Something arced into the air, a small black shadow against the glare of the flood lamps. It was followed by three more shadows. Each of them began falling to the ground, right towards Howard and the MCU strike team.
Howard turned and ran, screaming, “Grenades.”
16
As the MCU strike team leapt for cover, and a series of hellish bangs rocked the air, Major Stone grabbed Dr Krenshaw roughly by the arm and re-opened the warehouse door. Rat and Spots were both uninjur
ed and quickly hurried into the warehouse behind Major Stone. Sarah stood, not knowing which way to go. Did she give herself up to MCU, and face what she had done? Or go after her father and get herself in deeper?
For a moment it seemed like the frightened part of her was going to win out and surrender, but then she thought about her time in the army, the death of her husband and unborn child, and of course the loss of her face. She thought about all the men sent to their deaths on missions they barely understood, and thought about all of the success the MCU had gained off the back of her efforts. She was tired of being used by others, only to be spat out. Her father would be no different, but at least he could get her out of the country. Choosing to follow her father offered the chance at a new life. Giving herself up to the MCU offered a return to her old one.
What made up her mind was Ollie. He’d stopped to wait for her by the door, looking afraid, yet determined. Sarah bolted inside the warehouse with him and caught up with the other men. Her father glanced at her and seemed like he was about to smile, but he quickly killed the expression before it had chance to take on life. Rat was less happy to see her and snarled and bared his teeth. “Shouldn’t you be back there with your boyfriend? He seemed to know you pretty good.”
“Yeah,” said Spots, speaking to her for the first time that day. “If you’ve set us up I’ll gut you.”
“Agent Hopkins doesn’t know me at all,” she spat back at them. “If he did then he would be running the other way, same as the both of you should do.”
Rat smirked and resumed his hurried march forward.
Spots, however, gave her a brief smirk and seemed to reconsider his position. “Just like your father.”
Ollie came up on her back, grabbed her elbow lightly. Their running had turned into a determined march. “What a mess. How the hell did the MCU know how to find us?”
Sarah looked at him in surprise. “You mean you don’t think I had anything to do with it?”
“If you sold us out to the MCU you would be with them now, wouldn’t you? Instead you took a shot at one of them and escaped.”
Sarah thought about how she had opened fire on Mattock and quickly shook the image from her mind. She liked the cockney hard man a lot and was ashamed at what she’d done. But done it she had and there was no chance to change it now. She needed to get the hell out of there.
Her father led them through to the opposite side of the warehouse, and once there he opened up what would once have been the public entrance to the street. A solitary vehicle sat in the small car park outside: a banged-up, 90s era BMW. He unlocked the vehicle and told them all to get in. Rat sat up front, while Ollie, Sarah, Spots, and Krenshaw wedged themselves uncomfortably into the back. The interior stunk of sweat and cigarettes and the roof cloth was ripped and hanging.
Spots had Krenshaw on his lap, still clutching his briefcase like a life preserver. Ollie sat on one side, while Sarah sat on the other. Major Stone started the engine and they took off, pretty powerfully for such an old car.
“Always good to have a few old bangers in reserve around the city,” her father said as though he were trying to teach a lesson. “Never know when you’re going to need an alternative escape plan.”
Rat was hooting with laughter in the front seat and checking the magazine on his cumbrous Desert Eagle. A gun as powerful as his cock was probably small, Sarah assumed. Spots sat almost sideways on the seat in order to keep hold of Krenshaw and it made it hard for Sarah to see Ollie on the opposite side of the car. Sarah managed to glance over at him through the tangle of limbs and heads. “You okay, Ollie?”
He smiled at her. “I’m fine, just not a natural when it comes to the nasty stuff. I’ll be okay.”
“You look like you’re about to shit yourself,” Spots muttered.
“It’s just adrenaline,” said Krenshaw, a little calmer now as time passed. “It will where off.”
Sarah sneered. “Wow, did you learn that at medical school? Or at nursery when the teacher told you not to get over-excited?”
Krenshaw looked at her like one of his diseases, something to be studied and handled carefully, yet that did not stop him from talking to her with a voice dripping with disdain. “I find that stating the obvious to a patient is more comforting than explaining the complex. I was merely trying to be help calm your colleague down. You’re rather rude.”
“Compassion, huh? That’s an odd emotion for a terrorist. Did you show compassion for the people you infected in Reading? Or South Africa?”
The doctor seemed confused. “I’m sorry, South Africa?”
“Heads down,” shouted Major Stone. “Plods up ahead.”
They all ducked down until they were told they had the all clear again. When Sarah looked out of the window, she saw that they were leaving Shepard’s Bush, most of the way, already, to Heathrow.
“How will we get through airport security?” she asked her father. “MCU will have posted an alert to every airport in the country.”
“Of course they will, but we’re not going to be travelling as ourselves. Our false passports will get us out of the country without issue.”
Sarah couldn’t see how it was possible for a group of fugitives to move through an airport unmolested, but she had no option but to follow her father’s lead. She glanced sideways at Krenshaw and felt revolted.
“How can you be so calm?” she asked the doctor. “You’re wanted for the death of dozens of people.”
He grinned. “Oh, I assure you that the number will exceed mere dozens when my virus takes its full course. Did you get to see my work in Reading? It was quite beautiful, don’t you think? The West is slow to appreciate the rest of the world’s suffering, but I did them the favour of speeding up the virus’s infection rate and lethality. Whiteknight Hospital will be littered with the dead before the week’s end. Maybe then, Westminster and the rest of Europe will actually start taking notice of what the 3rd World has had to endure for decades. Perhaps some of the money this country spends on mind-numbing television, to forget the World’s suffering, will go where it is actually needed. Do you know that the NHS spends three-million-pounds per year on unnecessary plastic surgery? This country would rather throw money at plastic tits than a Congolese orphanage full of dying children. It spends sixteen-million a year on obesity. Can you believe it? All that money going to gluttons while nearly eight-hundred-and-seventy million people starve worldwide. It is time they took notice. Unfortunately, they will not do that until their charmed lives are endangered.”
Sarah shook her head in disbelief. “You actually think you’re one of the good guys, don’t you?”
“History is full of martyrs. Even Jesus was hated in his time.”
Ollie chuckled. “Talk about a deity complex. I suppose you think you’ll live forever?”
“Alas, no. My AIDS is quite severe and I doubt I’ll make another year.”
Sarah flinched. “You have AIDS?”
“Get the fuck away from me,” said Spots, trying to shove the doctor off his lap.
Krenshaw’s demeanour changed and he spat his next words with venom. “You see? The way you all flinch proves my point about the stigma and disregard the West holds for Africa’s suffering. I am, in actual fact, not infected with AIDS but dying of throat cancer — something you can’t catch, so calm yourselves. My mission was decided upon, however, not for my own health concerns but for the poor people of Sub-Saharan Africa and beyond. When I watched a child of five die of untreated bronchitis, I decided that the human race was failing. No one mourned this five-year old girl, you see, for her parents had both already died of other untreated conditions. Her body lay in the dirt for hours, passers-by looking through her as though she did not even exist, until I took her in my arms and buried her in a field. I never knew her name and no one will ever know where she was buried. Her life was deemed no more important than that of a mayfly, and so I deemed the life of those who failed to help her no more significant than a mayfly. My revenge is a reven
ge you have wrought upon yourselves, and when I am no more, buried in some field the same way that nameless girl was, there will be hope and promise in the world again. Nothing unites humanity like fear. Let the whole world fear AIDS, Ebola, and every other 3rd World bogeyman. Perhaps then, we can find compassion that reaches beyond our own selfish borders.”
The sun was coming up and Sarah blinked her eyes. She had nothing else to say to Krenshaw, for as much as she found him abhorrent, she understood the power of violence and intimidation to attain one’s goals. What the doctor was suggesting might just have worked, too, if he’d been able to continue, but there was no part of what he was doing that was in any way right. As much as the world was off-kilter, there were people who cared about the plight of the 3rd World and Sarah was sure the number would grow of its own accord, without having to be beaten into compassion. Better to give willingly, she thought, than to have one’s charitable arm thrust out forcefully.
They pulled into Heathrow airport ten-minutes later and finally got out of the cramped BMW. They straightened their backs and moaned with relief. Her father went around to the boot and put on a smart woollen overcoat and pulled up the collar. The rest of them had to face the cold morning in what they were wearing. When they got going, her father didn’t bother locking the car, for they would not be going back to it, he told them.
“You did well,” her father said to her as they walked towards the terminal.
“You killed Rupert,” was all she said in reply, having wanted to bring it up the whole time in the car. “Your own man.”
Hot Zone (Major Crimes Unit Book 2) Page 9
