The Duty Sergeant was standing in the rear office with a colleague, both with their backs to the door. Entering the reception area, the shouts from the cells echoed down to him as the detained competed to make the most noise, voicing questions of the officers’ parentage, among other things. Not wishing to face any awkward questions, Caslin trotted across to the exit door. Passing through whilst glancing behind him, he nearly collided with two officers returning to the station for their meal break. Apologising, they stepped aside and he walked on with the briefest of acknowledgments. If they were remotely suspicious, they didn’t offer any indication as they continued inside.
Once back to Karen’s car, he turned the key in the ignition. Placing the phone next to him on the central console, he activated the sat nav. The drive was scheduled to take an hour and three-quarters. Caslin was confident he could do it faster but the route was planned and his instructions were to follow it. Heading in a northerly direction, he would reach the edge of the North York Moors within an hour. From there he was to approach Helmsley, from the west, before cutting north once again, driving towards Helmsley Moor. His destination point was a small church, once servicing the rural farmland community but now, like many of these remote locations, only occupied on festive occasions. A quick mental calculation told him he would arrive shortly after dawn.
Throughout his journey, Caslin paid close attention to vehicles that appeared in his mirrors or those he passed that were stationary, hoping to catch sight of anyone he conceived might be keeping track of him. No suspects came into view. In all likelihood they were tracking the phone to ensure he didn’t deviate from the agreed course. Upon reaching the outskirts of Helmsley, Caslin took the left turn, signposted towards the moor. The phone pinged and glancing down, he saw he’d received a text message. Arriving at the church, he pulled up. There was no car park, so remote was the site and in the slate-grey light of the breaking day, he saw no-one around to greet him.
Getting out of the car, he closed the door whilst scanning the surrounding area. All was quiet. Bringing up the home screen on the phone, Caslin noted that he no longer had a signal, unsurprisingly, bearing in mind where he was. Opening the text message, it simply read, Walk north. With a fleeting glance behind, Caslin did as instructed. The path took him down the side of the church which opened up onto the moor itself.
The immediate landscape featured rolling heathland, purple heather almost as far as the eye could see. The Vale of Pickering lay to the right, cutting its own path northwards into the national park. Sitting at a higher elevation in front of him were the Cleveland Hills, beautiful in its own, rugged way. The ground underfoot was muddy, beneath the thick shroud of the heather. Walking upwards, Caslin kept his senses alert and he didn’t have long to wait. Approaching the next crest, the rotors of a helicopter came into view. Before he was able to fully process the scene, two figures rose from the ground within thirty feet of him, one to his left, another to the right. They didn’t speak, merely cradled assault rifles in their arms and looked on, watching him intently. Ignoring them, he stayed on course towards the helicopter. It was a private vehicle, black, with no identification markings that he could make out.
Ahead, the side door to the helicopter slid open and three figures jumped out onto the moor. Caslin picked out one more remaining inside, in the pilot’s seat. Of those alighting, two spaced themselves evenly apart, to either side of the other. Again, these men were heavily armed. Caslin pegged them as former military, judging by how they moved, alert and keenly aware of their surroundings. The central figure stood casually, hands clasped behind his back, eyeing the approaching Caslin. Walking to within twenty feet, he stopped.
“Inspector Caslin,” the man said. “Thank you for coming. Do you have what I asked you for?”
“Who are you? Are you Will?” Caslin asked.
“If you like. Does it matter?” the man said, with a shrug. Caslin assumed this was the “Will” he’d spoken to, on the phone.
“You work for Renton Sands?”
Will laughed in reply, “Still the detective, even now.”
“I want to see my son,” Caslin said forcefully.
“This is not a negotiation,” Will said, looking to his right and inclining his head slightly. “Tony, if you wouldn’t mind.”
“Sir,” the man closest to him said, slinging his rifle across his shoulder and walking back to the helicopter. Opening the door, he reached in and manhandled a dishevelled looking, Callum Foley out from the interior. Dragged across the short distance between them and unceremoniously dumped on the ground, Foley received a kick to the lower back for good measure. The aging priest let out a muted scream of pain. Reaching down and grasping a fistful of hair, Tony pulled him upright, onto his knees.
Caslin felt a surge of anger course through him. The old man groaned, his head lolling to one side. There was no indication of recognition from him, he appeared barely cognisant. Foley was pale and had taken some manner of a beating, for his face was bruised and swollen, with what looked like dried blood, mixed in amongst the matted hair.
“Did you bring it?” Caslin was asked again.
“Where is my son,” he replied, only this time, shouting. Will stepped forward, bringing forth his right hand from behind his back. Caslin registered the pistol just as the barrel was placed against the back of Foley’s head. A solitary shot passed through the priest’s skull, exiting just below the left eye, taking much of his nose and cheek with it. Caslin jumped in shock, not even registering the sound of the gunshot. Callum Foley’s lifeless body slumped forward into the heather.
“Did you bring it?” Will shouted back. Caslin, open mouthed, could only nod in response. “Show me,” he instructed. Caslin reached into his pocket but found his hands trembling. Trying to steady himself, he fumbled for the notebook and finally managed to free it from the lining of his jacket. Lifting it so as it was more visible, he held it aloft, his hand still shaking. Tony came over to him. Caslin offered up the notebook. It was snatched away from him, with a look of contempt. Taking a blow to the stomach, Caslin was winded, doubling over.
“Give me my son,” he asked, struggling to speak. He looked towards the helicopter as Sean was beckoned out. The relief at seeing him alive and well, passed in a fraction of a second, replaced by rising panic as he watched his son brought directly before the one calling the shots. Still bearing a pistol in his hand, Will placed an affectionate arm around Sean’s shoulder. The latter had clearly been crying, red-eyed with dry tears, lining his cheeks.
“A good-looking kid, you have here,” Will said, smiling and running the end of the barrel through Sean’s mop of brown hair. Caslin tensed. Applying some pressure, Sean was lowered to his knees. The boy couldn’t help but look at Foley’s corpse, lying next to where he knelt. The horrific sight was mirrored in his expression.
“It’ll be alright, Sean. Trust me,” Caslin called out but the words sounded hollow, even to him.
“Who knows about Coughlan’s investigation?” Will asked.
“I cracked the code and like you said, I haven’t had a chance to tell anyone else.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
Caslin held his hands up in supplication, palms wide, “I haven’t told a soul, I swear-”
“On your son’s life?” Will asked, pointing the pistol at Sean. Caslin gasped, heart pounding.
“I haven’t told anyone,” he said. “Please…don’t hurt my son.”
“Who else knows?” Will barked, lodging the barrel firmly against Sean’s head, forcing him to lean forward. Caslin watched his son screw his eyes shut, mouth contorted through fear with spittle running free. Sean began to sob, uncontrollably.
“Please!” Caslin implored him, involuntarily dropping to his knees. “Please…” he begged, tears now running freely down his face.
The gun was withdrawn but Sean remained where he was, his body racked in distress. Indicating for Tony to assume control over the boy, Will came to stand before
Caslin. He lowered himself onto his haunches, cupping the pistol casually, in both hands.
“Get up, Inspector,” he whispered, leaning in. Glancing towards Sean, he continued, “Seriously, your son’s watching. It’s embarrassing.” Caslin stood up but on unsteady legs, they felt numb. He was powerless. Any thoughts of a last-ditch attempt to seize a weapon were dismissed at the sight of a rifle being aimed at Sean’s back. His son was staring at the ground, openly weeping. “You know what?” Will said, patting Caslin’s cheek with a gloved hand, “I believe you. You haven’t told anyone else.”
“I haven’t,” Caslin said quietly.
“That was foolish. I had you down as smarter than that. Now, you have nothing to trade for your lives,” he said grinning. Caslin’s heart sank and he met Sean’s eye, seeing nothing but despair and abject terror.
“Who are you?” Caslin said, barely audible.
“The last person you will ever see,” Will replied with cold malice. Caslin glanced at him, steeling himself for what was coming.
“Sean knows nothing. He’s just a kid.”
“Don’t be too hard on yourself, Nathaniel. Once we took your boy, you were shit out of options. For what it’s worth, if I was you, I probably would’ve done the same.” He glanced towards Tony and inclined his head.
“No!” Caslin screamed.
A fountain of red spray exploded from the side of Tony’s head, at the same time, half of it disappeared. A fraction of a second later, the sound of a gunshot carried to them. Caslin launched himself at Will, knocking him off balance and managing to stop the pistol being brought to bear. A single round was discharged, high into the air. Wrestling for control of the weapon, Caslin threw his head forward, headbutting Will and knocking him backwards. Locked together in a battle for supremacy, they stumbled in the brush and fell to the ground.
Unbeknownst to Caslin, the Renton team, battle-hardened, flew into action and returned fire whilst searching for cover but there was little to be had. Another rifle shot carried forth. The round struck another man, knelt in a combat pose, high in the chest. Punched from his feet, he fell to the ground with the briefest of grunts, a significant portion of his upper torso missing.
Caslin was losing his personal battle. His opponent was too strong, too able. Unable to gain the upper hand, no matter what he tried, the angle of the barrel edged closer towards his face as the moments passed. The exertion of the struggle took its toll and Caslin’s energy ebbed away. Resolve turned to fear and the thought of submission filled his mind, only to do so meant death. Suddenly releasing the pressure on his opponent’s wrist, the gun lurched closer and Caslin clamped his teeth onto the base of his attacker’s thumb, biting down with all his might. A scream ensued and, losing his grip, Caslin saw the gun topple away into the brush.
Rolling his body in line with the slope of the terrain, Caslin flipped his opponent away and they untangled from one other. Coming to his knees, Caslin scanned the heather for the gun but he couldn’t see it. Looking up, he barely managed to brace himself as a booted foot was driven into his ribs. Howling with pain, he fell to the side, rolling and came back to his feet. They squared up to each other. Catching sight of Sean, in the corner of his eye, he yelled out.
“Run, Sean!” Not knowing if his instruction was heeded, Caslin was forced to defend himself against an attack. Another rifle shot echoed through the hills, this time answered by sporadic bursts of automatic weapons fire, nearby. The Renton team were returning fire. A fist connected with Caslin’s cheek, knocking him backwards. A combination of blows rained down upon him, leaving him flat on his back, unsure of how he got there. Then came his attacker, towering over him, armed with a serrated blade. Caslin kicked out but the move didn’t slow the attack, in the slightest. Another shot. Caslin could almost feel the change in pressure, along with the accompanying fizz as the round split the air between them.
Breaking off the assault, Will was off and running for the helicopter. The pre-flight start-up was underway, the rotors beginning to turn. A figure was crouched next to the left skid, sending two-second bursts of fire towards the south. A round came in reply, narrowly missing its target and glancing off the fuselage of the helicopter. The mercenary recoiled, before reacquiring his target and sending another volley in return.
Caslin searched for Sean but couldn’t see him anywhere. Panicking, he looked to the helicopter but still couldn’t recognise his son as one of the three figures in sight. Rooting through the undergrowth, he located the pistol.
More shots came from his left, one of the sentries that had secreted themselves before his arrival was targeting the sniper. With two concentrating their fire, Caslin felt the element of surprise was now lost. The distance the rounds were travelling before the sound wave caught up, indicated the shooter wasn’t far away, well within range of the Renton guns. There was a choice for him to make and a split-second to make it. The whine from the helicopter signalled its intent to lift off. Caslin levelled the pistol at the man on the crest of the hill. Dropping to one knee, he steadied himself. Forcibly controlling his breathing, Caslin took aim, loosing off a single round followed quickly by another. Both shots passed to the right of target but drew the gunman’s attention. He turned but not quickly enough. Caslin’s third shot took him in the chest, he fell without a sound.
A bullet whistled past him, from the direction of the helicopter. Caslin threw himself to the ground just as the downdraught from the rotors whipped up a storm of dust and debris. The roar of the engine increased as the helicopter took off, deafening him but he found himself calling for Sean, despite the futility of the gesture. Rounds struck the earth around him as Will, perched on one of the helicopter’s skids, opened fire on him. Caslin rolled onto his back, screaming incomprehensibly as he unleashed his remaining rounds towards the helicopter, climbing away, above him.
Momentarily, the helicopter appeared to jolt, first to the left and then the nose dipped, the ascent stalling. Black smoke began billowing from the engine housing and the machine lurched to the right. The slide locked back on Caslin’s weapon, signifying he’d spent his last round and was powerless to act further, watching the pilot wrestling with the controls. The helicopter spun ninety degrees, turning to face him, approximately a hundred feet off the deck. At that moment, part of the canopy shattered and the pilot’s body slumped to one side. Immediately, the helicopter began to fall into a tailspin, gaining momentum as the speed of the descent rapidly increased. A figure was flung into the air from within, arms and legs flailing right up until the point he impacted the ground.
Caslin covered his head with his arms and tried to become one with the earth. He didn’t see the helicopter crash but the ground shook and the rumble from the explosion and subsequent shockwave, were intense. The rotors shredded upon striking the moor and flew off in every direction, shards of razor sharp metal travelling at hundreds of miles per hour.
Silence descended. Caslin’s heart was racing as he took his hands away from cradling his head. Tentatively raising himself up onto his elbows, he scanned the scene. The wreckage was further down the hillside, a little over a hundred yards from his position. A plume of thick smoke swirled up into the sky. He could hear the crackling of the flames, consuming anything combustible. Two small explosions, in quick succession, resonated from the crash site. Wary of the presence of the sniper and their motivations, Caslin was reluctant to stand. Shifting onto his haunches, he dropped one knee and looked around for signs of movement. There were none.
“Sean!” he called, his voice wavering. The sound carried but no answer came back. “Sean, are you there?” he yelled again, fearing the worst. This time, he caught sight of movement a little way off. Watching intently, he waited, daring not to believe and then a figure stood. Caslin forgot about the threat from the sniper and was up and running. Covering the sixty yards through the heather, at breakneck speed and embracing his son, Caslin held him with an iron grip. Both of them wept openly. Stepping back and gently placing his ha
nds against Sean’s face, he looked him up and down, “Are you hurt? Any holes in you or-”
“I’m okay, Dad,” Sean replied. Caslin pulled him back in again and his son buried his head into his father’s chest, hugging him fiercely.
“We’re going home,” Caslin said, turning and looking over his shoulder. At the crest of the hill, some three-hundred yards distant, a lone figure stood observing them. Without the aid of the backdrop of the hills beyond, to skyline him, Caslin would never have spotted the gunman. Dressed all in black, including face paint and cap, he stood there, brandishing a high-calibre rifle. A handgun was strapped to his thigh although his stance was non-threatening. Hefting the rifle up, against his shoulder, he turned to walk away. Caslin released his grip on Sean, stepping forward and shouting, “Hey!”
The man stopped, looking back on the half-turn. Even as the sun rose to break above the horizon, bathing them in bright sunlight, Caslin could barely make out the man who’d saved their lives.
“Thank you!” he called out. The words sounded lame and woefully inadequate, under the circumstances. The figure stood and stared at them for a moment longer before he raised his free hand in a simple gesture of acknowledgement and with that, he was gone. Sean came to stand alongside his father.
“Who was that?” he asked.
“A friend,” Caslin replied, placing a reassuring arm around Sean’s shoulder.
“Are you going to stop him?”
“No. Not this time,” he said, pulling his son close. “For once, I don’t care.”
Chapter 27
There was a knock on the door and it opened. Kyle Broadfoot entered, stopping as he saw Karen, Sean and Lizzie at Caslin’s bedside.
“Forgive me,” he said. “I can come back another time.”
Karen stood, waving her hand to dismiss the suggestion, “No, please. It’s time I got the kids home for their dinner, anyway.”
The Dogs in the Street (Dark Yorkshire Book 3) Page 22
