Terror's Reach

by Tom Bale

  He repeated both lines out loud and realised what was troubling

  him.

  Not my island but crawling.

  The choice of such a specific word had jarred at the time, but he

  hadn’t been able to consider its significance until now. Crawling over

  my island had hit a nerve, because Joe had been crawling, literally,

  to get in and out of the training camp.

  And Felton had seen him.

  Joe turned in the driver’s seat and looked over his right shoulder. The

  entrance to the base was less than a hundred feet behind him, mostly

  hidden by the vegetation that grew alongside the perimeter fence.

  He swung the BMW round in a brutal three-point turn and rolled

  it up to the entrance, dimming his lights as he came to a halt. As he

  got out he noticed a slight gap where the two gates met, a couple of

  padlocks hanging loose from the central bar. His heart did a crazy

  little skip.

  Joe eased the gates apart and hurried back to the car. He couldn’t

  afford to be caught here when the emergency services came past:

  otherwise he’d be spending the rest of the night in a cell.

  Leaving the headlights off, he drove forward as fast as he dared

  while navigating by starlight. The main cluster of buildings was about

  a quarter of a mile away, over a low ridge. Joe recalled the feeling

  he’d had that someone was spying on him from an upper window of

  the terrace, and he shivered. He pictured Felton and his men waiting

  patiently for Valentin’s operation to unravel. Selecting their moment

  to strike . . .

  As Joe pulled in close to the top of the ridge, the first fire appliances

  hurtled past the camp, sirens blasting through the still night air.

  Joe got out of the BMW, made sure the gun he’d taken from Liam

  felt comfortable, and warily approached the crest of the hill. Shielding

  his eyes from the glare of the fire to his right, he made out two dabs

  of light in front of the terrace.

  Another few yards and he saw the lights belonged to a Range Rover.

  Its engine was still running, and the driver’s door was open. Joe felt

  a surge of hope.

  As he ran down the gentle incline towards the row of houses, he

  noticed a weak, roving light in a window at the end of the terrace: a

  flashlight.

  He was less than ten feet from the house when the front door

  opened and Cassie appeared, her hands tied behind her back, tape

  over her mouth. Jaden was stumbling alongside her, also bound and

  gagged. The sight of black tape across the six-year-old’s mouth filled

  Joe with revulsion.

  Cassie looked frantic with worry. She glanced behind her, then

  made a screeching noise in her throat: a single long note, directed at

  her son. It sounded like she was urging him to run, but either he

  didn’t understand or he was too traumatised to respond.

  From the doorway came an angry growl: 'Get in the car. Back seat.’

  Felton emerged, Sofia propped under his left arm like an unwanted

  parcel. She wriggled and let out a tiny, anxious mewling. Joe felt a

  cold rage building.

  Felton was covered in dust and blood, his once immaculate suit in

  shreds. He had a nasty gash on his forehead and another on his upper

  arm. He was holding a Maglite in his right hand. When Cassie faltered

  at the end of the path, he swatted it across her shoulders. She lurched

  forward and fell to her knees, her scream muffled by the tape.

  'Stand up!’ Felton shouted, raising the flashlight to strike again.

  Joe moved along the side of the Range Rover and stepped into

  view, bringing the gun up and sighting on Felton’s chest. 'Leave her

  alone.’

  Felton saw him and reacted at once, hurling the Maglite at Joe

  while simultaneously twisting, lifting the baby up in front of his chest.

  Using Sofia as a shield.

  Joe registered what Felton was doing even as he ducked away from

  the flashlight, which landed harmlessly in the road behind him. He

  regained his balance and made quick eye contact with Cassie,

  signalling her to move clear. But she stayed on her knees, Jaden

  standing helplessly next to her, his shoulders heaving as he sobbed.

  Joe looked back at Felton, whose right hand was now free. He

  reached into his pocket and produced a gun of his own. Placed the

  muzzle against Sofia’s writhing body and said: 'We’re leaving here,

  Joe, and you’re not stopping us.’

  Sixty-Four

  Joe felt sure that someone was going to die here. With so many elements

  beyond his control, and three innocent people caught between the

  two guns, he could only pray it would be Felton rather than Cassie

  or the children.

  He hoped it wouldn’t be himself, either. But if it was, he probably

  deserved it.

  'Put your gun down,’ he told Felton.

  'Uh-uh. It’s still my agenda, Joe.’

  You won’t make it out of here. Can’t you hear those sirens?’

  'They’ve got fires to put out. No one’s going to notice me.’

  And where will you go? What can you hope to do now?’

  'Recover. Regroup. Make a deal.’

  'Who with? Valentin’s-’ He stopped, but Felton gave a thin smile.

  'Don’t worry: she knows. And believe me, there’s always a deal to

  be made.’

  'Not this time.’

  You’re forgetting, I was never here. I can be back in France in time

  for breakfast.’

  And what about your hostages?’

  'They’re coming with me. With some time to reflect, I’m sure Cassie

  will recognise the wisdom of my proposal.’ Growing bolder, Felton

  took the gun away from Sofia’s body and waved it to emphasise his

  command. 'Drop your gun and move away from the car.’

  And let you shoot all four of us?’ Joe shook his head. He was still

  aiming at Felton’s chest. His double-handed grip remained steady, but

  he remembered the test shot he’d fired in the gymnasium: a couple

  of inches out. Even that margin of error would put Sofia in mortal

  danger.

  'I have no reason to kill them,’ Felton said, turning his gun on Joe.

  'I’ll have to kill you, of course, but that’s the risk you accepted when

  you took the job. A good bodyguard should be willing to take a bullet

  for his clients.’

  Joe said nothing. The critical moment was approaching. He’d either

  have to shoot or else accept Felton’s terms and surrender his gun.

  Felton saw Joe wavering and, as with Priya, assumed that he’d won

  the argument. Sofia was still wriggling and moaning under his arm.

  Irritated, he hoisted her up to stop her from slipping free.

  But he lifted her too high. As Sofia’s head drew level with his chin,

  her left hand swatted against his face and snagged on Felton’s mouth,

  her fingers dragging his lower lip down. She’d done the same thing

  to Joe many times, and he knew it could be surprisingly painful, especially

  if you weren’t expecting it.

  Felton grunted, twisting his head away from her, but Sofia clung

  on. He couldn’t lower his left arm without the risk of dropping her which

  would clear the way for Joe to shoot him �
�� and his right hand

  was pointing his gun at Joe.

  For half a second Felton was lost to indecision, his face contorted

  as he tried to break the baby’s grip. His gun hand fell to his side, and

  as Sofia finally released him Cassie saw her chance and sprung up,

  propelling herself towards Felton.

  She had difficulty balancing because her arms were tied behind

  her back. As a result, it wasn’t the most cleanly delivered head butt

  that Joe had ever seen. But it was undoubtedly one of the most

  effective. The top of Cassie’s forehead struck Felton on the chin with enough force to snap his jaws together. Joe heard the crack of bones

  breaking.

  Felton reeled back and fell, blood streaming from his nose and

  mouth, Cassie toppling after him, helpless as Sofia tumbled from his

  grasp. Joe dived forward, throwing his left arm under the baby as she

  landed, just managing to cup the back of her head before it hit the

  ground.

  Cassie collapsed onto Felton and rolled over, howling a warning

  as Felton wrenched his hand from beneath her. He was still holding

  the gun.

  Joe saw the glint of madness in his eyes and knew that all thoughts

  of deals had been forgotten: nothing mattered more to Felton now

  than simple, savage retaliation. And Joe couldn’t get a clean shot at

  him. Cassie and Jaden were in his line of fire.

  'Robert!’ he shouted.

  It was enough to distract Felton’s attention for a split second. The

  mist of fury cleared as Felton forgot about Cassie and looked at Joe,

  and as he turned his head Joe lunged and hit him with his gun hand,

  clubbed him full in the face, and although Felton saw it coming there

  was nothing he could do to stop it. The impact drove his head back

  against the ground and knocked him out cold.

  Joe leaned across Felton’s body to grab his gun but Cassie beat him

  to it, stamping on Felton’s hand with her heel, then using her foot to

  kick the gun out of his reach, all the time making raw, animal cries

  of desperation. Her face was bright red, her eyes crazed with fear,

  trapped in a place where no one could be trusted or believed, where

  her children might still be stolen from her.

  Joe had to take her gently by the shoulders before she would look

  in his eyes.

  'It’s okay, it’s okay,’ he told her. You’re safe now.’

  Sixty-Five

  She didn’t fully believe it until Joe had picked Sofia up and soothed

  her as best he could while at the same time removing the tape from

  Cassie’s mouth.

  Anyone else in the house?’ he asked.

  'No. We were brought here by the two men who attacked us in

  Brighton. They dumped us in one of the bedrooms. I heard them

  driving away.’

  'Okay.’ He realised that he no longer had his knife, but he found

  a little penknife in Felton’s jacket and cut Cassie and Jaden free. Then

  he stood back as Cassie gathered both children into her arms and

  wept tears of joy and relief.

  Joe knelt down by Felton’s body and made sure there was a pulse.

  It was weak, but steady.

  'Is he dead?’ Cassie asked.

  'Not quite. But I think he’s got a fractured skull’

  'Good.’ There was no malice in her voice; barely any emotion at

  all. Just a matter-of-fact statement.

  'We’d better not move him. Is there any more of that tape in the

  house?’

  He retrieved Felton’s gun and offered it to Cassie, half expecting

  her to shrink away from it. But she took it calmly, instructing Jaden

  to stand behind her while she trained the gun on the unmoving body.

  Joe found a roll of tape in an upstairs room and used it to bind

  Felton’s ankles and wrists. It felt inhumane to treat an unconscious

  man in such a way, but if they were going to leave him here while

  they sought help Joe didn’t want to take any chances.

  While he worked, he sensed Cassie drawing up the courage to

  speak.

  'It was my fault, wasn’t it?’

  'What?’

  You warned me not to make any phone calls. But I got so worried.

  I couldn’t bear not knowing what was going on.’

  Joe nodded that he understood. 'No one could have foreseen something

  like this.’

  'How did you find us? Did you follow him here?’

  'Not exactly. I managed to work it out from what he’d said to us.’

  'So it was a guess?’

  'Let’s call it a professional deduction.’

  Cassie smiled with him, but he could read the fear in her eyes: What if you hadn’t guessed it right?

  'I can see this place made the perfect staging ground for them,’ Joe

  said.

  She nodded. 'Felton was boasting that he’d bought the whole camp

  months ago and kept it quiet. He said he had planning permission in

  the bag, too.’

  My island, Joe thought. For a man with as many political connections

  as Felton, acquiring the camp in a secret deal wouldn’t have

  posed too much difficulty.

  In a sombre voice, Cassie added: 'He also claimed that Valentin

  had arranged a robbery, but tried to make it look like he was one of

  the victims. Is that true?’

  'I’m afraid so.’ Joe gave her a brief account of what he knew,

  including Valentin’s culpability and his subsequent ambush by Felton’s

  men. Cassie was disgusted but not greatly surprised to learn of Yuri’s

  betrayal.

  'He’s dead now, though?’

  A lot of people are dead. Some of them deserved it. Some didn’t.’

  Joe sighed, thinking of Angela Weaver. Cassie had a lot more questions

  but he gently deflected them. This wasn’t the right time to go

  into detail, especially with Jaden soaking up every word.

  'Let’s go,’ he said.

  He opened the back door of the Range Rover and helped the three

  of them climb inside. Jaden was last in and Joe stopped him for a

  second, crouching down to look him in the eye. Keeping his voice

  low, he said, You’ve been a brave man today. I’m proud of you.’

  Jaden coyly shook his head.

  'No, you have,’ Joe told him. 'The thing is, you might need to be

  just as brave over the next few weeks.’

  Are more people going to hurt us?’

  'No. Nothing like that. But your mum’s going to need a lot of help,

  and a lot of love. Okay?’

  Jaden was old enough to squirm at the mention of the L-word. 'Will

  you help her, too?’ he asked. The earnest, affectionate look in his eyes

  was tough to bear. Joe knew it would stay with him for a long time.

  'I’m sorry, Jaden. I can’t.’

  While they’d been talking, at least two more convoys of emergency

  vehicles had raced past on the other side of the perimeter fence. Joe

  climbed into the Range Rover and drove slowly along the access road

  until he reached the BMW.

  Cassie said nothing as he got out and fetched the strongbox. It was

  only when he climbed in and put the box in the front footwell that

  she understood what it was, and what it signified.

  She started to speak, choked up, turned it into a cough. When Joe

  glanced in the mirror he could see he
r eyes shining.

  He drove out through the main gates and turned left, ignoring the

  instinct that urged him to leave the island right away.

  Within a couple of hundred yards they found the Reach more

  choked with traffic than it had ever been. There were even a few

  civilian cars parked at the roadside. Insomniacs, presumably, drawn

  by the sight of a fire.

  'Rubberneckers,’ Joe murmured, shaking his head.

  From the back seat, Cassie regarded the chaos of fire and destruction

  and said, with bitter sadness: 'All this for a room full of gold.’

  Joe parked at a safe distance, several cars back from a hurriedly erected

  police cordon. The Nasenko house was a couple of hundred yards

  beyond that, still looking remarkably unscathed. Flames were blazing

  in the woods opposite, but hadn’t yet crossed the road. There were

  about twenty firefighters on the road itself, doing their utmost to hold

  the fire at bay.

  Joe got out of the car, then helped Cassie with the children. The

  air was hot and sharp with the smell of the fire, the night sky obscured

  by the spreading pall of grey smoke. Fragments of ash drifted around

  them like blossom.

  A familiar vehicle caught his eye, parked just inside the cordon.

  Terry Fox’s Hummer. It was facing the island’s homes, which suggested

  that someone had driven towards the fire rather than away from it.

  Odd, he thought.

  Then he spotted the small group clustered at the back of an ambulance.

  Maria and the American’s driver were sitting inside, receiving

  treatment from a paramedic.

  Cassie moved alongside Joe, followed his line of sight and said: 'Is

  that Angela Weaver?’

  It was one of those occasions where Joe almost had to pinch himself.

  They were alive. Perhaps Oliver had done the right thing after all.

  Angela and Terry were in animated conversation with two police

  officers. Even from this distance Joe could tell that the police looked

  taken aback by what they were hearing.

  Cassie patted him on the back. 'She’ll be really pleased to see you.’

  Joe turned to her, his elation fading as rapidly as it had appeared.

  He could see she’d mentally braced herself for what he was about to

  say, but that didn’t make it any easier for either of them.

  'I can’t. I have to go.’

  'Because of what you told me earlier?’

  He nodded. 'My false ID’s pretty good but it won’t stand up to

  detailed scrutiny. And after something like this . . .’ He waved a hand