by Vince Vogel
The flat roof was only six feet below this.
“I’m going to swing you over,” he said. “Try to land with a roll.”
“A wha…”
He pivoted his body and tossed her about three feet out. She landed on her behind, but the fall wasn’t hard enough to permanently hurt her. Hearing the sound of feet marching along the corridor below the loft hatch, Dorring climbed out through the gap and quickly jumped down to the flat roof.
“Let’s go,” he said, grabbing her hand and helping her up.
At the edge, Dorring hopped down and then held his arms out to catch her. She fell into them and for a moment her face flushed as he held her before dropping her daintily onto her feet.
With his shoulder, Dorring smashed through a locked gate and they emerged into a side alley. Running around a corner, they almost bumped straight into a man holding an assault rifle. He was busy listening to orders on a radio.
“They’re…” was as far as he got, his rifle still down at his side. Dorring had shot him in the throat, leaving him gasping as they stepped over.
“Shouldn’t you put him out of his misery?” Abigail asked as they ran off.
“Can’t waste the bullets,” Dorring said coolly.
On the street, they found a parked car. Dorring broke the window and in less than a minute had disabled the alarm and started the engine.
Without another shot being fired, they were out of there and driving into the country of McGuffin.
“Where to now?” Abigail asked. “They’ll be eyes everywhere.”
“I know a place,” Dorring said.
28
In the alleyway at the back of McGuffin Police Station, Conner found one of his men lying upon the wet ground. Blood dribbled from a large wound to his neck.
“He got Felix,” Conner said into his radio before crouching down beside the fallen man and checking his pulse.
He was dead. A bullet to the throat had done it. Dorring had killed his first man since arriving. Conner agreed with himself that there would be more before they finally caught him.
A terrible feeling tried to speak inside of Conner. One which had gripped him this whole time since he’d first spotted Dorring in the Mermaid and Anchor. Then when his former comrade had told him about Kevin and the message, he’d almost lost it. Couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
This is getting way out of hand, Conner had said to himself. He’d agreed to everything a long time ago, sealed his soul’s fate back in Helmand, but this was something else. He’d never agreed to have them left open like this. Have it all turned into a game.
Long ago, he’d made them promise not to harm Dorring. To leave him be in exchange for his loyalty. Tried to protect his former friend. But now that Dorring was here, all he could do was make it as quick and painless as possible. Not the torture that they envisaged.
“Shit!” a voice muttered behind him.
Conner turned from the body and saw one of his other men.
“He dead?” the guy asked.
“Yes, Charles. He’s dead,” Conner replied. “What’s happening in there?”
“They made a hole in the roof. Got out that way.”
“They must’ve come through there afterwards,” Conner said, pointing at the busted gate flapping on its hinges in the wind. “You found Fergus?” he then asked.
“Yeah. He’s coming around now.”
Conner lifted his radio to his mouth and said, “I need someone to remove a body from the alleyway running down the side of the station. Make it very quiet.” He let go of the receiver and turned to Charles, saying, “Wait here and don’t let anyone come near. Okay?”
“Yes, sir.”
Conner walked off down the alley towards the street. He found a crowd already gathered at a gap between a line of parked cars.
“What’s goin’ on?” an old woman asked as he reached them.
“We’ve a spot of bother on the island,” Conner told her.
“The stranger?” a man asked.
“Yes. Lord Appleby will shortly call for curfew. So I’d start getting inside your houses now.”
“But someone’s nicked ma car!” another man suddenly announced.
“When?” Conner asked.
“Just now.”
“Did you see what direction it went off in?”
“I didn’t, but Jean did.”
Conner turned to the old woman.
“They went off in that direction,” she said, pointing north along the street.
It led out into the open countryside.
Conner asked the man for the vehicle’s description and then told the crowd to go home. Each of them obeyed like lambs to the bark of the sheep dog.
When he reentered the alleyway, Conner radioed his men the description and told them to send it out to everyone on the island.
Back inside the police station, the men were licking their wounds along with their terribly injured pride. When Conner entered the staffroom they all sat in, Constable Hogg got up from his seat and stepped forward.
“I’m sorry…” he attempted to say.
Conner held a hand up. “Shut the fuck up,” he said sharply. “Another sound out of any of you and I’ll have you taken to the woods and hung from the trees. Okay?”
Hogg didn’t say anything in answer. He merely sat back down.
“Where’s Fergus?” he asked his man watching them at the door.
“Down there, sir,” he said.
Conner left the room and marched down a corridor. At the bottom was the open door to the cell. One of his men stood next to it. He nodded at Conner and stood to the side.
Stepping into the cell, Conner was presented with the sorry face of Fergus. He was sitting on the floor, the bench gone, nothing more than two bent and twisted metal supports hanging from the wall. The cop was holding a bag of frozen peas to his face and when Conner entered, he looked up with fear bristling in his eyes.
He’d fucked up and he knew it.
“What did I tell you?” Conner said to him.
“I couldn’t stop the others,” Fergus said. “They thought he’d killed Stevie. They wanted a piece o’ him. You needed me to keep them in check—it would’ve looked odd if I’d’ve told them nay.”
“I told you he was to be shut behind this door. That no one was to go anywhere near him. I told you that he was extremely dangerous. That he would escape given the slightest chance. AND YOU GO AND FUCKING GIVE HIM IT!”
His face was red, his eyes bulging from his skull and his lips reared up over his teeth.
“Ahm sorry,” Fergus said like a guilty child, eyes down.
“Sorry!? Do you know what you’ve just unleashed on this place? We’re twenty-four hours from making the biggest deal of our lives and you go and fucking let this happen. Now I’m going to have to watch my men die until we finally snare the bastard.”
“You got him once,” Fergus grumbled.
“When he wasn’t on full alert. When he wasn’t armed. And even then, he nearly escaped us. Put four men in hospital. Four armed men while he had nothing but his underwear for protection. Now he’s out there somewhere waiting. Waiting to kill us all and waiting to fuck everything up.”
“Ahm sorry,” Fergus said again.
Conner came right up to him. He took Fergus’ chin in one hand and lifted it so that their eyes met. Fergus recoiled from the fiery glint in Conner’s.
“Sorry just doesn’t cut it,” Conner said coolly. “Sorry just pisses me off.”
Fergus’ eyes widened suddenly. His hands moved rapidly and he tried to push Conner off. Looking down, he saw Conner’s hand at his abdomen. He saw the hilt of the knife right up against it. He saw the blood trail through the fingers and down the hand. Then the sudden violent twist and Fergus felt his guts spasm. Tasted the blood as it rose up the back of his throat and he gurgled on it. Then the sharp, terrible pain as Conner lifted the knife up until it hit the base of his sternum. Then the sudden relief. The pain fading t
o nothing and the world fading too. Then blackness.
Conner stood up from him and wiped the knife on the top of Fergus’ head, the blood staining his gray hair. Turning to the man at the door, Conner said, “Do the others know he came around?”
“No. When we released them from the gun cabinet, we herded them straight into the staffroom like you said. Fergus came around later.”
“Okay. Then tell them Dorring did this. It’ll make them more angry and willing when I send them out into the woods.”
“Okay, sir.”
The man left the doorway and Conner turned back to Fergus. A roar of anger threatened to explode inside of him. Every muscle tensed—no, every cell tensed. If a man was capable of going up in flames, he would have in that moment. Instead, he exploded in volatile rage.
“Stupid bastard!” he cried out, swinging a roundhouse kick into the side of Fergus’ head and smashing the corpse into the wall.
29
“So what?” Conner shouted in Dorring’s ear loud enough to be heard over the music and the rabble of the people. “You and Jane an item now?”
It was fourteen years ago. They were sitting on stools at the base bar in Helmand. It was packed to the rafters. In one corner, the SAS pool team played a team from the Royal Marines. It seemed everyone had turned out to give both sets of men their support and the place was brimming with coagulated bodies high on booze.
“I guess so,” Dorring replied, picking up his bottle and sipping the ice cold beer.
“You better be careful with that shit,” Conner said. “The commander might have something to say about it.”
“Then it’d be good if the commander didn’t find out.”
“He won’t from me,” Conner said with a wink, lifting his beer to his mouth and taking a swig.
They were silent after that and sat watching the pool game. George Bishop was playing well. He looked at ease and without a care in the world. Laughing and joking with the others and sipping his beer in between shots.
If he’s the killer, Dorring said to himself, he’s hiding it really well.
He was looking for an opportunity to go talk with Bishop. He and Conner had already come up with a plan for what they would say. A very simple plan. But one they couldn’t better in the hour they’d used coming up with it.
And it wasn’t only Bishop they watched for, either. No. They also watched for anyone who happened to be watching them. Anyone out of place. Anyone there with an ulterior motive. Just like them.
“What’s Bishop up to?” a voice said in Dorring’s ear.
It was Jane talking through his comms. She and Kevin were outside in the car, ready to pounce if they were needed and also keeping an eye on whoever went inside.
“Still playing pool,” Dorring said quietly with his face low down so no one could see the movement of his lips.
“Okay. Find an opportunity to speak with him and engage.”
Out of nowhere, a face crashed between the shoulders of Conner and Dorring and two large arms were wrapped around either one of them. Dorring turned to his left to see the half drunk face of Dave Peterson grinning at them.
“Good to see you boys cheering the regiment on for once,” Peterson said.
“Anything for the regiment,” Conner said, raising his bottle in salute. “We winning?”
“Not at the moment. The Marines are two games up. But we’re only halfway through, so anything can happen.”
“Ask about Bishop,” Jane said in Dorring’s ear.
“How’s George playing tonight?” Dorring asked Peterson.
“He’s good,” the latter said, turning from Conner to Dorring. “Won his first match and should win this one.”
“How’s he been lately?” Conner asked.
“How’d you mean?”
“Like how’s he handling everything?”
“He’s good. Why’d you ask? You got issues with George?”
“No,” Conner said, shrugging and making a face. “We’re cool. We just heard he lost his knife was all.”
“Lost his knife?” Peterson said, frowning.
Dorring gave Conner a look over the top of Peterson’s shoulder. It said: what the hell?
“Eh…” Conner stuttered. “Must’ve been someone else.”
“Yeah. Must’ve,” Peterson said. His beers arrived at the bar and he paid. “Well,” he added in farewell as he picked them up and went to leave, “I’ll be seeing you boys.”
Dorring waited for him to walk off and join the others.
“We heard he lost his knife?” Dorring said, turning back to Conner.
“Why not?”
“You could be a bit more tactful.”
“You wanna find out, don’t ya?”
“Yeah, but in future let me ask the questions.”
“That’s a good idea,” Jane said in Dorring’s ear.
Conner frowned, lifted up his beer and downed the remaining contents. Then he held the empty bottle up to the barman and waited for him to bring another.
“This is bullshit anyway,” he grumbled.
“What is?”
“All of this. It ain’t Bishop. It ain’t any of them.”
“We already established that scenario.”
“But it’s not just that. There’s something off with all of this. You think you can trust Jane?”
It was Dorring’s turn to frown.
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“It was a simple question,” Conner said. “You think you can trust her?”
“Yeah, I do.”
Conner shook his head. “I get the feeling we’re being played,” he said.
“Another fact already established.”
“Yeah, but by who?” Conner put to him. “Who the fuck’s pulling the strings?”
“I don’t know. Hopefully tonight we get a step closer to finding out.”
“But maybe we’re already as close as we need to be.”
“What does that mean?” Dorring said. “You think it could be Bishop after all?”
“No. I believe it when you tell me that it’s someone playing a game. But I get the impression that the person playing with us is real close. Take the other night for instance. When me and Kevin went after Bishop at Khan Market. We were searching about…”
A large man stumbling as he went to fetch drinks had landed on Conner and interrupted him. Some friends pulled the drunk off and Conner burst up out of his stool. He came face to face with the man, rage bending the features of his face.
“Sorry, man,” the drunk slurred.
Conner grabbed ahold of the guy by the throat, spun him around and slammed him against the bar so that he was bent over it backwards. Drinks were spilled. Bottles fell from the bar and smashed. Everyone around appeared to stop and watch. The talking and the balls clinking disappeared and only the din of the music remained. From everywhere, people were gathering around. Lured by the siren’s call of the fight. One of the guy’s friends went to grab Conner off. Dorring took him by the shoulder before he reached them.
“I wouldn’t,” Dorring said politely when the friend turned to him.
He didn’t listen. Shrugged the hand off and went to grab Conner. His approach had been spotted in the reflection of the mirror on the other side of the bar. An elbow shot back from Conner like the dagger on a flick knife and caught the guy just below the ribs. He keeled over and began spluttering on the floor. Meanwhile, Conner had the other guy by the throat, his body pressing the guy into the bar.
“Who’s your team?” Conner snarled into his face.
“Ugh!?”
“I asked who you’re with. I’m Special Air Services. What would you be?”
The moment the words Special Air Service were said, the guy groaned and rolled his eyes. He was a big guy. But his size wouldn’t save him from some special forces psycho.
“I’m with infantry,” he said. “Royal Fusileers.”
“Figures,” Conner said. “You’re used to people throwing
stones at you. Come across the odd insurgent. Nothing too real. Nothing that fights back with any skill.”
“I’m sorry, man,” the guy spluttered.
“Conner,” Dorring said into his friend’s ear, aware of the crowd gathered around them. “Conner, let him go. He said sorry.”
In his ear, Jane was going crazy. “What’s he doing?” she demanded. “Get him back onside.”
“Easy, fellas,” someone called out.
Dorring turned and saw the grinning face of George Bishop.
“Let’s not mess up this pretty pub,” Bishop went on, coming through the crowd. “How about we let the poor guy go, Conner?”
He said this last part close to Conner’s ear. It was specially for him. Conner appeared to snap out of it. Appeared to recall why they were there. He turned sideways and saw Bishop’s face staring at him.
In their ears, Jane said, “Cool it, Conner! Alex, stop him.”
“You gonna get him off our mate?” asked a man at the crowd’s edge.
George Bishop clapped a hand on Conner’s shoulder and he stepped away from the guy. The moment he was released, the Royal Fusileer peeled himself off the bar and stumbled away. His friend on the floor also limped off. Many of the men around the crowd weren’t happy with Conner’s behavior and they glared at him with spiteful faces.
“A round of drinks for the whole place,” Dorring announced.
This appeared to appease everyone.
“I mean, it,” he added. “Beer for everyone.”
No longer so angry, the crowd burst forward to the bar and inundated the staff with orders. The manager leaned across to Dorring.
“I hope you’re able to pay for that,” he said into his ear.
“I’m not. But my friend has enough on his credit card.”
Conner frowned. The manager turned to him and Conner rolled his eyes. Reaching into his pocket, he grabbed his wallet.
“I like your style, Dorring,” a voice said beside him.