Scar Tissue

by Ollie Ollerton

  ‘Yes, we have decided to temporarily move our operations.’

  ‘Nathan not with you, by any chance, is he?’

  ‘Wouldn’t you like to know.’

  ‘Don’t you touch him, Stone,’ he said. ‘Don’t you dare harm a hair on his head, or I swear to God I’ll find you. I’ll find you and kill you.’

  ‘Find me? You’re threatening to “find” me,’ replied Stone. ‘That’s your big threat, is it? I’m banking on you finding me, you fucking moron. That’s what this is all about. Right now, you’re mine. You’re doing exactly what I say. Here, why don’t you say goodbye to your old mate Potter?’

  Next came the gunshot.

  CHAPTER 52

  ‘What now?’ Burton had pulled the Land Cruiser to the side of the road. Etched on his face was shock, the sense of a situation that was moving fast and getting out of control. ‘What do we do?’

  ‘Go there,’ said Abbott in reply. His jaw was set. ‘Just get to the Green Zone.’

  ‘What the fuck is the matter with you, mate?’ said Burton, his forehead creased. ‘Don’t you give a fuck about Potter? He’s a mate.’

  ‘He was a mate. He’s gone now.’

  ‘You cared more about Moof, as I remember.’

  ‘Just get to the fucking Green Zone.’

  Shaking his head in confusion and disgust, Burton pulled away once more. ‘They’ll stop us at the checkpoint,’ he warned. ‘What about your agreement with Military Intelligence?’

  ‘We’ll have to risk it.’

  ‘Mate, you heard the shot. For crying out loud, I heard the shot, and I wasn’t the one with the phone to my ear. You think Fingers will have left him alive, do you? No way, mate. The only prisoner he’s interested in taking is Nathan, and …’

  You.

  The word went unsaid.

  Abbott’s shoulders rose and fell as he thought, trying to make his decision. Wanting to make the right one. Burton was right. Chances were they wouldn’t even make it past the checkpoint.

  ‘OK,’ he said. But still he clung to one last hope, and he lifted the phone. ‘Potter,’ he said. He heard the note of anguish and desperation and hopelessness in his own voice and hated it. ‘Potter, are you there?’

  Nothing came back. Nothing but the sound of dead air. A line that had been cut.

  ‘Go,’ he said at last.

  Abbott and Burton stayed in the Land Cruiser. In his head, Abbott replayed the sound of the shot. Another one to add to the list, he thought. Another mark in the minus column.

  You didn’t do enough.

  ‘Where to, then?’ asked Burton.

  ‘Kirkuk. Executive Alliance Group have an outpost there. That’s where they’ll be going. We’ll catch them en route.’

  Again Burton fought with the wheel and floored it. For some moments they rode in silence, Abbott bracing himself in the Toyota.

  ‘It’s on me,’ he murmured as they drove, almost to himself, although Burton heard.

  ‘No, mate, it’s not on you. It’s just shit happening, is what it is. It’s just the way it works with fighting men, Monk. And you know what really gets me? You fucking know this. You know this now and you knew it then. Pouring booze down your throat in an attempt to block out something you should be dealing with. You don’t drown your problems, mate, you confront them. What do you do with an enemy in the field? What are we doing now? You don’t hide from your problems, you confront them. That’s how you beat them.’

  Shell-shocked as he was, Abbott knew Burton was making sense. Briefly, he wondered why he and Burton had never bonded before, but then remembered that he hadn’t bonded with any of the crew. That was just him. The way he was. But although Abbott had always known that Burton was a good guy and a good man to have at your side, he was now beginning to wonder if he might also be a good mate.

  ‘You know that Stone wanted us to chase after him, don’t you?’ said Burton as they drove, cutting a furrow into the road, kicking up sand and dust and dirt.

  ‘Yeah, of course I know,’ replied Abbott. ‘And Stone knows I know. Everything that’s happened since I came to Baghdad, maybe even before, all of it was set up. All of it staged to bring us to this moment.’

  ‘And that fact doesn’t bother you? That you’re playing right into his hands, you’re playing the enemy’s game for him? And as for right now,’ he pointed out, ‘they’re going to see us coming up on them, Abbott.’

  ‘Yeah,’ replied Abbott. He had been thinking the same thing. He grinned. ‘Not exactly the kind of clandestine incursion we’re used to, eh?’

  ‘This isn’t the way we like to do things, Abbott,’ said Burton, ‘not in SF.’

  ‘It’s my only option,’ replied Abbott. ‘It’s the only thing I know how to do. The best time to recover Nathan is out in the open.’

  ‘Well, you’re in luck, because there they are,’ said Burton. He pointed through the windscreen, which was covered in a layer of dirt, to where, in the distance, there were two pinpricks: the two Executive Alliance Group lorries, just as described by Potter: a pair of shonky old army trucks.

  In one of those was Nathan.

  The thought came to him. I’m coming for you, son.

  It was followed by another one that he pushed away: Maybe Guy Stone deserves his revenge.

  Ahead of them the old crocks were motoring, rocking on old springs across uneven ground but going fast, drivers pushing them to the limit.

  Would they have spotted the Land Cruiser in their rear-view? Would they be concerned about it if they had? After all, they’d be armed to the teeth. Abbott didn’t know any of the guys in either of those trucks, but he knew the type. He only had to look in the mirror for that. Give them a gun and an objective and there was nothing on earth that would stop them achieving it. They said that special forces don’t scare easy, but that was false. They didn’t scare at all.

  * * *

  ‘Hold it steady,’ Abbott instructed Burton as they closed the gap. He reached for Burton’s AK-47, meeting the other man’s eyes and receiving a nod of consent in return. Now was the time. Now or never. Time for contact.

  He thumbed the window down and leaned out. Grateful for the sunglasses protecting his eyes, he steadied himself on the sill of the door, getting his visuals sorted. As ever, he felt that familiar surge of adrenalin, a sense of stepping into his comfort zone. Peace at war.

  He put his cheek to the stock, looked along the sites. Better to put a bullet in the engine block, but he was at the wrong end for that. It would have to be the tyres.

  Steady now.

  Steady.

  The Land Cruiser rattled over the uneven road surface, ahead, the trucks were doing the same. Abbott was whipped by stones and dirt, his face being blasted by it. Trying to find his moment of calm within the maelstrom. Trying to go beyond it. He squeezed the trigger, firing a short burst just as the truck jinked. Rounds tore into the bodywork but none found their mark.

  At the same time, Abbott saw barrels of AKs appear from within the tarp of the truck. Leaning out were Executive Alliance Group guys wearing combat vests familiar from the invasion at Mahlouthi’s villa, their eyes protected by goggles.

  ‘Contact,’ said Abbott unnecessarily. ‘Contact, contact, contact.’

  ‘Roger that,’ replied Burton, and he wrenched the wheel to the right, leaving Abbott’s side clear for him to return fire. Conscious of Nathan but needing not to sustain hits, Abbott fired three short bursts along the skirt of the truck, hoping to send the shooters diving for cover. Instead, they returned fire.

  ‘Christ,’ spat Burton as rounds spanged into the Land Cruiser. Abbott steeled himself for a critical hit but, like him, they were finding the aim tricky. Still, Burton was in no mood to give them a second chance. He slammed on the brakes, yanked the wheel to the left and fell in beside the truck.

  And now Abbott saw a face in the rear of the truck. Nathan. In almost the same instant he had disappeared from view once more, gone in a blur of hostile faces and ta
ngled limbs. The whole moment had lasted just a fraction of a second but their eyes had met and Abbott prayed that Nathan had recognised him, that he knew salvation was close at hand.

  I’m coming for you. Just hang on, Nathan.

  Now Abbott saw another guy. This bloke didn’t wear a combat vest, but he had a goatee beard, and at once Abbott knew that he was looking at Marsh, the famous second-in-command; the man who was probably responsible for meeting Nathan on the night of his disappearance. Marsh saw him, too. Their stares locked, but instead of defiance, Abbott saw something else. A shadow that crossed Marsh’s face. His eyes dropped and he withdrew.

  Once more, the combat vests opened fire. Abbott responded. At the same time, the driver swerved, as fully aware as Abbott that if they took a critical hit then they were stuffed. Mission over. Stranded in the desert.

  ‘Bring it over to the other side,’ Abbott called to Burton, let me get a clear shot.’

  ‘And what the fuck are you expecting to shoot at?’ shouted Burton, over the noise of the open window.

  ‘Get up ahead. I’ll take out the engine block.’

  ‘Yeah, and that’s if the blokes upfront don’t take you out first.’

  ‘What else do you suggest?’ asked Abbott. The two men exchanged a look.

  ‘All right, mate, it’s your show,’ said Burton. He dropped a gear, banged on the throttle, and the Land Cruiser shot forward. The guys in the truck opened fire. Burton held his nerve as Abbott returned fire. The butt of the AK thumped against his shoulder, a reassuringly familiar sensation as he pumped more rounds into the truck. Muzzles flashed in response, the truck swerving as the driver panicked.

  And then they saw it. Up ahead, on the horizon at about ten o’clock, were three choppers: two Apaches and a Chinook.

  ‘Jesus,’ yelled Burton, grinning despite himself. ‘Looks like Condoleezza Rice is arriving.’

  CHAPTER 53

  ‘Oh, that’s bad,’ said Abbott. He had pulled back into the cab, dipped his head to look beneath the glare of the sun. ‘That’s really bad.’

  Neither of them needed to explain why. After all, they were two blokes in Mahlouthi’s Land Cruiser. They’d just been exchanging fire with an army truck upfront. From a newcomer’s point of view there could be little doubt who was the friendly and who was the hostile in this situation. What’s more, they both knew that the security personnel upfront could make contact with the coalition forces in the choppers. Great to see you guys. We’re under attack. Any chance of an assist?

  And maybe that’s exactly what they’d done. Or perhaps the airborne convoy had simply seen what looked like an attempted act of banditry in progress and decided to lend a hand anyway. As they watched, one of the Apaches tilted and peeled away from the others, adjusting its direction of travel. Heading for the road.

  ‘Oh, fuck,’ said Burton. ‘Maybe I should pull up. Let them know we’re not a threat.’

  ‘No. Fuck that. We’re already a threat. Keep us a moving target.’ At the same time, he was reaching for the radio mic, but knowing the situation was hopeless. There was no time.

  Suddenly, there was the Apache, its nose tilted. The guns started up, strafing the ground around the Land Cruiser.

  Grunting, Burton fought with the wheel, both of them looking up and into the rear-view, squinting and trying to find the position of the Apache. There – there it was. Its tail swung round in a wide, lazy arc as the pilot lined them up once more.

  Burton had realised that the better strategy was to stay near the trucks ahead but it was too late to rectify that. Now they were out in the open, sitting ducks, target practice. In a last-ditch attempt to try and prove that they weren’t bandits, Abbott shoved himself through the passenger window, waving, trying to show the occupants of the Apache his Western face. But if they saw, then it was too late.

  ‘Abort,’ he was shrieking, waving his arms. ‘Abort, abort.’ He saw figures behind the cockpit shield. Anonymous outlines. Did they see him?

  No.

  The Apache pilot opened up again. The chopper’s guns chattered, rounds churning up the ground in front of the speeding Toyota, kicking up giant divots like pillars of sand through which they had to pass. And Abbott watched, time coming to rest, as though played out in slow motion, as the twin lines of rounds burned a line in the sand, making their way towards them.

  His mouth dropped open. He watched death approach. Beyond the chopper he saw the truck containing Nathan obscured by a cloud of dust.

  And then it was as though they had been attacked by a giant can opener and their world tilted. The tyres blew, the front of the vehicle dipped, the bonnet was churned by firepower and the Land Cruiser flipped, rolling end over end.

  The last thing that Abbott saw before blackness claimed him was Burton, his head whipping back and forth, smashing against the steering wheel at a terrible, unnatural angle.

  * * *

  The two lorries drew to a halt a couple of hundred yards away from the crumpled Land Cruiser. In the second lorry, Stone thanked the chopper team for helping them out. ‘We thought we were dead meat there,’ he told them.

  ‘Happy to lend a hand,’ replied the Apache pilot.

  Stone looked over to where the Chinook was just passing by, bound for Baghdad. ‘VIP visitor?’ he asked.

  ‘You might say that,’ replied the Apache pilot evasively. ‘You have a good day, sir.’

  ‘You too, mate,’ said Stone. ‘You too.’

  Next he looked around to check that Nathan was unharmed. Their truck was a bit torn up but otherwise OK. At the same time he nodded a thank you to the three EAG personnel guarding him for having acquitted themselves well in the firefight.

  ‘Is everybody OK? Nobody hit? You did good,’ he told them.

  Two of them were new guys, and they both nodded back with smiles, pleased to have earned the boss’s compliments. The third was an older hand who merely stared back, his eyes hidden by his sunglasses, his features betraying nothing and therefore everything.

  ‘Not every hostile is a towel-head,’ Stone reminded him.

  The guy cleared his throat, spat out the back of the truck, shrugged. Stone awarded him a look that he held an extra beat or so. A muscle in his neck jumped. Then he turned back and thumbed the radio to speak to his second-in-command, Marsh, in the leading truck.

  ‘Just hold fire until the coast is clear,’ he said.

  ‘Roger that,’ came the reply.

  They waited until the Apaches and the Chinook were out of sight. ‘OK, go for it,’ ordered Stone, and then both lorries turned, leaving plumes of dust in their wake as they returned to the site of the wrecked Land Cruiser.

  It sat there, beached, a door hanging open and no sign of movement from within.

  Stone jumped down from the truck. He drew his sidearm, held it aimed as he approached the Land Cruiser cautiously.

  He stopped, glancing back at the trucks where Nathan had been allowed to come to the tailgate, to see flanked by two of his men, the two new guys.

  Good. He wanted the kid to see this.

  He ushered Marsh forward. As Stone provided cover, Marsh went to his knees and checked for signs of life. Stone turned his head to see Nathan watching from the rear of the truck, concern imprinted onto his features.

  ‘This one’s dead,’ said Marsh, his voice carrying, made flat by the expanse of sand in which they stood.

  Stone watched Nathan for a reaction. Saw the distress there and let it ferment. After all, wasn’t this what had been done to him? To him and Jeremy? He let the moment hang before saying to Marsh, ‘And Abbott?’

  The second-in-command had straightened from having examined Burton, wiping blood on his field trousers as he moved around the Land Cruiser and bent to check through the passenger door.

  Stone, with a smile on his face, his eyes hidden by the shades, watched Nathan, enjoying the moment.

  ‘He’s alive,’ said Marsh.

  ‘Good,’ said Stone. ‘Put him in the back of the truc
k. Not with his kid.’ He looked at Nathan. Grinned. ‘Put him in the other truck.’

  CHAPTER 54

  The Executive Alliance Group compound just outside Kirkuk was formed from the bones of an old, disused farmstead, complete with a low, flat-roofed main building and a series of other outbuildings and stable blocks. It commanded a large area to itself, and with acres of empty desert surrounding it on all sides it was nothing if not private, while, thanks to a sandstone wall that ran around the perimeter, typical of the area, it was secure. The site had not been part of the old Hercules set-up when Stone had performed his takeover; instead he had overseen the acquisition himself, thinking of it as a new addition to what he liked to refer to as ‘the group’ and sometimes as ‘the brand’, depending on how fancy he was feeling. He considered the Kirkuk compound something of a bolthole, an outer outpost, and although when he had first arranged for its purchase the plan to take his revenge on Abbott and Mahlouthi had been but a glint in his eye, he had always assumed that it would one day come in handy.

  Today was that day.

  As the two trucks approached, Marsh and another man jumped from the leading lorry to unlock the compound gates. The trucks drew up inside, men spilled out of the rear and the air was filled with a sense of industry as they set about establishing their base.

  There was another feeling among them. Something more difficult to pinpoint. An uncertainty – a feeling that this train was only just on the track. Sure enough, the men were looking to Marsh. He was the only one among them who could be said to have Stone’s ear, and they needed him to guide them, to put their minds at rest and reassure them that their leader was still firing on all cylinders, because on that score, they had their doubts: this, after all, was a guy who had faked his own death for reasons that had not been adequately explained.

  Marsh did right by his men, and as they were engaged in establishing their new base, he requested an audience with the boss. The two men moved away from the group, Marsh waiting until they were out of earshot before he spoke. ‘Boss?’