She Will Rescue You

by Chris Clement-Green

  ‘Fortunately these trained killers,’ Alex waved his own gun in a sweeping motion, ‘are not as barbaric as you people. In my humble opinion every one of you fuckers deserves to die — in the same way you slaughter those whales!’

  The translation brought forth more cries and tears but this time he shouted over them.

  ‘But my boss does not agree! So, instead of taking your lives, we are going to take your homes and your sick way of life. Take a last look at this killing field you call home. You won’t be coming back here unless you want to die here.’

  The people did as they were told, a quieter panic replacing the sobbing as they looked around their small wooden village with its gaily painted shutters and seedham roofs.

  ‘While you’re taken inland, all your homes, all your possessions, all your communal buildings and streets are going to be sprayed with the deadly toxin, ricin. Ricin has no known cure and will kill you within half an hour. It lasts forever — or until someone is willing to pay the vast amount of money decontamination will cost. If that happens, we will simply return.’

  Alex watched a ripple of comprehension spread as the translator finished, and he felt a deep sense of satisfaction in what he saw in the villagers’ eyes. Ellie would have loved it. Ellie, unlike Mia, would have been here to see it.

  ‘So, let’s be very clear about this,’ he continued, ‘while you take a last look at your homes, check that everyone in your family is with you. Is there anyone missing? Because if they are not here and do not leave the village with you now, they will die — either by ricin or a bullet.’ He watched the group turn and mentally tick off who was there.

  ‘Jacob! Jacob’s not here!’ A voice speaking good but heavily-accented English shouted from the middle of the group.

  ‘Who’s Jacob?’

  ‘He lives in a room behind the bar. He might be out walking.’

  Alex signalled the voice to come forward and looked down at a middle-aged man with a pock-marked face, surrounded by the white fur of a red parker jacket.

  ‘What do you mean he might be out walking?’ Alex leant forward as he spoke and a bullet whistled through the space that his chest had occupied a fraction of a second earlier.

  His men immediately raised their weapons and pointed them into the crowd, while Alex jumped down off the steps and grabbed the pock-marked man by the throat, turning him in the direction of the bullet and pointing his pistol at the man’s head.

  ‘Try that again, you bastard, and my men will open fire on the rest of the village!’

  His man shouted a translation and silence echoed back from the darkness.

  His prisoner yelled in Danish, ‘Jacob! Don’t be stupid!’

  Alex was aware that two of his men had already detached themselves from the cordon. They were making their way towards the gunman in a pincer movement, pulling their night-vision goggles back down as they ran.

  Alex’s nerves began to stretch as the minutes dragged. But this is what he did; this is what he got paid to do and, if he was honest, what he was doing right now was something he didn’t need payment for.

  Crack! The sound of a single shot shattered the expectant stillness and several of the villagers groaned.

  His men ran back to the square and with a nod confirmed that Jacob was no longer a threat. Letting go of his human shield, Alex jumped back onto the steps, conscious the camera was still recording.

  ‘Right, you fuckers! Make no mistake. My men will kill anyone else who does not do what they’re fucking well told when they’re fucking told. Anyone who tries to make a run for it will be shot, as will one of the remaining adults.’ He waited for the shouted translation to penetrate the hardening faces in front of him. ‘But if you do as you’re told no one else need get hurt! Do you fuckers understand?’ He glared at the villagers as his man finished translating.

  The adults with children nodded while those without continued to glare back. He waved his gun at the men who were on escort duty and they started to herd the villagers along the only road that led to and from their isolated community. It was a narrow, compact stone track and the full moon lit their way, encouraging the villagers to follow its light to safety.

  As the rear guard of the escort left the square, the helicopter with the ricin was radioed in and the remaining men started to unload their rucksacks. Each contained a plastic pump action forty-litre container of ricin, complete with a spray nozzle. They were all dressed in two sets of black overalls and gloves with heavy duty protective coverings on their boots. Fixing two cotton face masks over their double layer of balaclavas, they headed towards their allocated buildings.

  Back in Wales there had been some voiced scepticism during the planning, when Alex had tried to reassure the men that these masks would provide ample protection. Anything heavier would hamper their breathing, reduce visibility and slow the whole operation down. But they had been convinced when Alex put on a balaclava and the mask and walked through a small head height vapour-cloud of the poison, sprayed at him like some department store beautician trying to sell expensive perfume to a passing shopper.

  Starting with the furthest buildings, each of the men systematically worked their way through their individual targets. Climbing to the first floors, they checked cupboards and under beds for any stragglers, before spraying their way downstairs. Once the internal contamination was complete, they sprayed the exterior of the building to just above head height. A red plague-cross was then painted on the door of each completed building. It took just over an hour before the men were ready to leave. Piling the empty containers in the middle of the square, they stripped off their outer layers, dumping the top set of balaclavas, boiler suits, masks, gloves and boot protectors on top of the containers to form a toxic beacon — a memorial to the death of a community.

  A third of the men then clambered aboard the ricin helicopter, and as soon as it took off a second landed, followed by the third and final one. Meanwhile the escort was being airlifted away from the villagers, who had been left a satellite phone to arrange their own rescue.

  Before boarding the last helicopter, Alex addressed the camera. Standing directly in front of it he drew a large black turkey feather from his uncontaminated boiler suit.

  ‘This is a message for the world. Those of you who abuse animals in any way will be abused. No longer will man be allowed to inflict pain and suffering on the rest of the animal kingdom without fear of retribution. Those that kill for killings sake, torture living creatures in your laboratories for beauty or science, kill and trap animals for their ivory or fur, or hunt them to the point of extinction for cultural delicacies, need to feel fear. For you will be made to suffer eye for an eye retribution. If you hunt you will be hunted, if you torture you will be tortured and if you kill — for pleasure or non-food profit — you will be killed. You have been warned.’ He switched off the camera.

  As the helicopters made their way back to Wales, Alex uploaded the recording onto YouTube from a one-time address, before dumping the laptop into the sea below.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  The quiet panic of unlived love.

  The glow of candle light emphasized the soft roundness of Mia’s breasts. She had at last kept her promise of dinner, enticed by a Michelin-starred restaurant. Mark desperately wanted to kiss the lips that smiled at him over the single perfumed rose — part of the understated chic of the exclusive hotel. The atmosphere had altered slightly when Mark was handed the menu — a piece of pretentiousness that irritated his northern sensibilities. While it listed every spot of sauce that would appear on their otherwise half-filled plates, it failed to state the price of each dish — the clear implication that if you had to consider the cost you should not be eating there. But he was hopeful it would be money well spent, and that the reservation of a room might also prove a good investment.

  They were talking shop but he didn’t mind, it meant he could hold up his side of the conversation. It had been three years since the double humiliation of Joyce
leaving him for a traffic cop, and he was out of dating practice — not that he’d ever been much good at it.

  ‘What is it,’ he asked, ‘that makes someone think animal welfare is more important than human welfare?’

  Mia’s smile was intoxicating.

  ‘Are you saying those who run dog-fighting rings should be allowed to do so?’

  He watched, mesmerized, as she popped a small fork containing various, unidentifiable salad leaves into her sensual mouth.

  ‘No, of course not — animal cruelty is wrong on every level — but is a dog’s life ever worth more than a human’s?’

  ‘The numerous owners who’ve been injured or killed trying to rescue their dogs from danger would suggest the answer, for many, is yes. That man in Bournemouth last week, who drowned after his dog was caught by a freak wave and he jumped in to save it.’

  ‘Yes, but those pets are substitute children …’

  ‘And it’s those children being stolen from gardens and parks to be used as warm-up bait.’

  ‘Okay, let’s leave dogs aside — let’s say they’re a special case—’

  ‘Tell that to a cat person.’

  The way her lips turned up at the corner when she smiled made his groin tingle.

  ‘Turkeys then! Who the hell thinks a turkey’s life is more important than a human’s?’

  ‘As important.’ Mia put down her fork. ‘What you need to realise, Mark, is that whoever is behind these acts, feels the pain these animals suffer — personally and deeply.’

  ‘I thought you said they weren’t a nutter.’

  ‘Just because you feel something deeply doesn’t make you a nutter.’ Her tone held real disapproval.

  He took a sip of wine and wondered how to rescue the sense of intimacy his size tens had just trampled all over. Seconds of silence seemed to stretch into minutes, and giving up on the rescue, he returned to job talk.

  ‘Back in uniform, when I was policing hunts, the sabs wouldn’t hesitate in chucking tacks down for the dogs to tread on, or lead said dogs onto main roads or railway lines with a false trail—’

  ‘They’re called hounds, not dogs, and animal welfare, like most areas of life, is rarely black and white.’ Mark’s look made Mia realise she needed to lighten the mood. ‘I’ve just ordered a lovely and probably very expensive steak,’ her glance teased Mark, ‘but as an ex-rider I’d never dream of eating a horse.’

  ‘But it’s okay to eat a cow?’

  ‘What can I say . . . I’m a hypocrite.’

  The smile was now self-effacing but just as sexy.

  ‘I kid myself that the cow has had a good life and a good death –especially in a posh place like this, where everything is locally sourced and the actual butchering is done in a way to minimize stress — which apparently affects the flavour.’ She popped a hand-caught scallop into her mouth. ‘The raising of animals for food can be done without cruelty, but that takes effort and money. When people can make money without too much effort, or a lot of money with a little effort, animal welfare becomes a sliding scale of convenience versus productivity.’

  ‘I still say a human life will always be worth more than an animal’s.’

  ‘I say it depends on the human.’ Mia took a large mouthful of wine.

  At the end of the meal Mark placed Mia’s new cashmere coat across her shoulders and let his hands linger there for a second. She turned and kissed him gently on the mouth, before nodding at the doorman for a taxi. The lingering promise of that kiss only heightened his sense of exasperation as he cancelled the hotel room. Thank God the receptionist was experienced enough to show neither smugness nor sympathy.

  In the early hours of the following morning, Mark was already awake when his phone rang and he was informed of the world of shit that had just hit his fan. Rushing back to the office, he’d quickly been made to feel personally responsible by his various new bosses for ‘his woman’s’ attack on a Danish whaling village. Within hours the incident room had practically doubled in size, with a counter-terrorist officer now partnering each of his major-crime DCs. He suddenly found himself the master of a three ring circus that had nothing to do with fun, little to do with the actual investigation, and everything to do with the politics of international terrorism.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  If a man does not discover something he is prepared to die for, he does not deserve to live.

  The resulting media storm and political outcry was all Alex and Mia could have wished for.

  The Danish Government called them terrorists and demanded immediate action from the UK Government. But much of social media, including many animal welfare organisations, was declaring it a triumph. Those with corporate sponsorship denounced the wounding of Jacob, but behind closed doors they too revelled in the headline profile their work was suddenly being given.

  Like 9/11 the Ricin attack was plastered across every type of media in every country, but unlike 9/11 the response was generally favourable, as Alex’s YouTube video was linked to the one showing the villagers at work, slaughtering the whales.

  Mia became frustrated when this generally positive vibe was marred by a handful of copy-cat vigilantes who wanted their fifteen minutes of fame, but in other respects the global groundswell took the fight for animal rights to places she, Alex and probably Ellie had never dreamt of.

  The one place where the assault wasn’t being discussed was Mountain View. As Mick, Craig, Gill and Jo sat around their kitchen table watching the news, there was a deepening silence. No one wanted to openly acknowledge their connection to the event, but Mick decided it was time to address the elephant, squatting belligerently in the middle of the cluttered table.

  ‘None of you are stupid. You all know that Ellie, Mia and Alex were behind this attack, right?’ The other three turned from the TV, their faces closed.

  Jo was the first to speak. ‘We guessed some time ago that Alex’s role was more than one of rescue.’

  ‘What else have you guessed?’

  Jo’s tone matched his. ‘Black feathers.’

  ‘And?’

  Nothing, the silence grew stronger.

  ‘So — what are your thoughts about it all?’

  Mick was relieved when they all eventually raised their eyes and met his gaze.

  ‘We decided on a don’t ask don’t tell policy.’ Craig took a sip of cold coffee.

  ‘But do you approve?’

  Mick needed to know. Not only from a damage-limitation point of view, but on a personal level — he needed to know if his first ever set of friends actually shared his view of things.

  ‘Does it matter if we approve?’ Jo’s expression remained inscrutable.

  ‘It might do now, if the police ever track Alex and Mia down.’

  Craig decided to hit the elephant head on. ‘Ellie killed and maimed people, Mick.’

  ‘Yes, she did.’ He dropped his gaze.

  ‘And you’re alright with that?’

  He looked up, ‘I am —are you?’

  ‘The point is Ellie’s dead.’ Jo got up and walked over to the coffee machine for a refill. ‘Gill and I love living and working here,’ she glanced at her partner, who nodded confirmation, ‘and we’d like to stay living and working here, but on a don’t need to know basis . . . Is that going to be possible?’

  ‘Absolutely!’ Mick grinned. ‘Apart from this location being Ellie’s home, there is nothing that will tie any of you to our dark-ops —’

  ‘Dark-ops, seriously? A bit cloak and dagger that, Mick.’

  ‘Well of course it’s cloak and dagger, you numpty! We’re hardly going to advertise that side of things are we?’

  ‘So what happens if . . . when, the police come calling?’ Jo asked.

  ‘You tell them everything you know. There’s nothing you can say that will hurt Ellie,’ Mick’s voice cracked, but he continued, brushing his still raw grief to one side. ‘And Alex, Mia and me can look after ourselves. We’ve deliberately kept what E called a firew
all between revenge and rescue operations, so the police won’t be able to touch you. And Mia also wants you to know that if you want to up-sticks and leave she’ll give you a good severance package and excellent references.’

  ‘Hush money?’

  Craig’s observation forced Gill into speech.

  ‘That’s hardly fair!’

  ‘I’m merely playing devil’s advocate.’ Craig sat back down. ‘How much money will it take to buy your loyalty, your silence?’ He looked from Gill to Jo. ‘I’m only asking you two because Mick’s loyalty is obvious, guaranteed. It’s been bought with love and is therefore priceless.’ He turned his attention to the older man, ‘Tell me, is the obvious upgrading of police activity the reason Adam is now on an ape reserve in Africa?’

  ‘Yes, but he’s actually really enjoying it —’

  We know. He’s sending us regular emails!’

  ‘What about you, Craig; is your loyalty for sale?’

  Craig took another sip of coffee, enjoying his temporary position of power. ‘My loyalty is solid — and will cost nothing.’ He looked all three in the eye. ‘Gandhi, Mandela and King were all accused of terrorism and I think that when the law is wrong it needs to be broken. I’m also really rather proud of what Mia and Alex achieved in Denmark — and the rest of the world. If I’d known about it I would have offered to go myself!’ He was gratified by the look of surprise on their faces. ‘Look, Ellie did some really bad things but she did them to really bad people, and now she’s dead, so that’s that. From what I can see about Mia and how she ran that Danish job — that bloke getting wounded instead of killed — it’s certainly going to get a see no evil, hear no evil response from me when the police come calling.’

  ‘If they come calling.’ Mick relaxed, secure once more in the three’s friendship.