On the Edge

by Kerry J Donovan

  She waited.

  Chapter 3

  Wednesday 13th April – Lara Orchard

  Aarhus, Denmark

  Lara held her breath while the pulse pounded in her ears.

  The air seemed to absorb all sound.

  How would Krüger react?

  The bulky Afrikaner rocked back and forward on the balls of his feet, hands clenched into fists, knuckles cracking.

  “You ugly black bastard,” Krüger said, aiming the insult at Jensen, spittle flying. “Fucking kaffir. You blacks are all the same. See someone with blond hair and blue eyes and you just can’t take it, can you? Fucking jealousy. That’s what it is. One taste of power goes right to your tiny little brains. This isn’t right. It’s not fucking right!”

  The Afrikaner tugged out the creases in his camouflage jacket and expanded his chest, trying to regain some of his lost dignity. He tore off his medic’s helmet and threw it at Jensen, who caught it easily and tucked it under his arm.

  Krüger snarled, gave Kaine and Lara the finger, and stomped away. After no more than five paces, he stumbled over a mound of dirt, kicked at it, and earned a covering of wind-blown brick dust for his pains. He chuntered away to anyone who’d listen.

  “I know people who know people, yeah? Serious people. Watch your backs, that all I’ll say. Watch your fucking backs.”

  As he pushed through the door to the facilities block, he lamented the end of apartheid and kept impugning Jensen’s African heritage.

  The foul language turned the air above him blue.

  “That man,” Jensen said, watching the departing figure stomp through the debris and head towards the sports hall and its changing rooms, “is the worst kind of racist. One who doesn’t know how wrong he is. His sort gives South Africans a bad name. Thank you for pointing out his failings, Dr Sloane, Mr O’Kelly.”

  Ryan grinned. “Think nothin’ of it, Sergeant Jensen. It’s part of our due diligence.”

  “Due diligence?”

  Ryan dipped his head in a curt not. “My firm’s security department is hardly going to allow our best medic to attend a training course and leave us unprotected are they, now? At least not without running a full background analysis on the course, its leaders, and all the attendees. Dr Sloane is far too valuable to the company to allow her to get into any difficulties, so she is.”

  “Your company that makes cheese and butter?”

  “Ah now,” Ryan said, tapping the side of his nose with the tip of an index finger, “the butter and cheese business can be really cutthroat. And don’t let me get started on the yogurt sector or we’ll be here all morning.”

  Jensen shook his head. “I can’t think of many dairy businesses that would need a fully trained and certified combat medic on their staff.”

  “Sorry, Sergeant,” Ryan said, maintaining the false accent but making it a little more educated and a great deal more conspiratorial. “I’m afraid I can’t go into any specifics. Data breaches and all that. Important stuff. You understand, now?”

  “I do, sir. I need to know nothing more. Now, if you will please excuse me, Charlie Team is reaching the difficult part of their assessment. Dr Sloane,” he said, turning to Lara, “I’ll see you at the post-assessment debrief. And congratulations. You did well here. I’m particularly impressed with your pain management strategy.”

  Lara waited until Jensen had moved far enough away not to overhear before rounding on Ryan. “Paddy O’Kelly? Oh, for goodness—”

  Ryan shook his head and shot a look towards the observation deck.

  “We’ll talk later, my dear. First, though”—he sat on a nearby block of concrete and pointed to his blood-soaked thigh—“help me remove this damn cuff, will you? It’s cuttin’ off the circulation to my leg.”

  “You big baby,” she said, releasing the ratchet lock to loosen the webbing strap. “It’s better than actually being shot though, I imagine?”

  “You think?”

  He grinned and flexed his knee, forcing more of the fake blood from the wound. The cuff’s rubberised reservoir hadn’t fully emptied.

  Lara searched through her medical pack and found a pair of blunt-nosed surgical scissors. Around her, the sounds of battle resumed. She flinched as the bullets flew overhead.

  “These things are so realistic,” she said, referring to the cuff, “if I hadn’t known what to expect, I’d have sworn you’d really been shot in the backside.”

  “Not the arse, dear girl,” he said, “the leg. A little decorum if you please.”

  Lara cut through the bandage holding the pressurised rubber cuff to his upper thigh. The remaining blood, a tacky mixture of corn oil and red food colouring, flowed from the reservoir as though he’d severed his femoral vein. The new blood added to the stain already soaking into Ryan’s trouser leg and pooled on the gravel at his feet. The cuff’s pumps and internal tubes were reusable, so she set the device aside. As well as claiming to be the world leaders in training trauma medics for operating in combat zones, PPA Medical College also liked to boast of its environmental credentials. Apparently, if something wasn’t recyclable or reusable, it rarely made their inventory. Their facilities were powered by a privately-owned-and-operated wind turbine, with backup generation provided by the photo-voltaic cells that covered their roofs. Although how well solar panels would work in the depths of a Danish winter, Lara couldn’t imagine.

  “Why didn’t you tell me you’d volunteered to be a casualty today?” she asked, keeping her back to the command centre and her voice as close to a whisper as communication would allow given the resurgent background noise of mock-battle. She further masked their conversation by folding up her gear and stowing it in the backpack.

  “Wanted it to be a surprise.”

  “Shock, more like.”

  “Sorry, but I knew you could handle anything I’d be throwing at you.” He smiled. “Actually, I only made the decision this morning. As it turns out, PPA Medical are forever crying out for willing volunteers. They were only too happy to add me, a veteran soldier, to their team at short notice.”

  “I thought you preferred to keep your eye on me from a distance. They train a load of military personnel here—UK personnel included. Aren’t you worried about being recognised?”

  Ryan winked at her. “With all this camouflage greasepaint? Doubt my dear mother would recognise me if she were still with us. Reckon I’m safe enough, don’t you?”

  Lara shook her head and couldn’t prevent herself from frowning.

  “Darn it, Paddy O’Kelly,” she hissed, “I still think it’s too great a risk. You could have continued monitoring me from over there.”

  With a jerk of her head, she indicated a multi-storey carpark block within clear range of a pair of powerful field glasses. Ryan had been keeping his eye on her from the top floor since she joined the course. With the assistance of Corky, their friendly hacker, or as he preferred to call himself, “information acquisition specialist”, Ryan had been tapped into the college’s wide area network and its internal security system. As a result, he’d been able to monitor her progress during the class-based lectures as well as the outdoor practical assessments.

  “I thought we agreed I didn’t need close-body protection during this course?”

  Ryan slid a glance to his right, where Sergeant Jensen announced to Charlie Team that they’d completed their assessment and everyone could pack up their equipment for the day.

  “I meant what I told Sergeant Jensen about due diligence. You are far too valuable to—”

  “To your Irish dairy company?” she asked, unable to decide whether to be annoyed or relieved by his over-protective actions.

  “To me, you daft goose,” he answered, even more sotto voce. “Too valuable to me. I’d kiss you right now, but Dr Sloane’s reputation would take a hit. Wouldn’t like people to think she’s a money-grubbing harlot, sucking up to her millionaire boss.”

  Lara grinned.

  No, she was neither annoyed nor relieved
, but happy and secure.

  Ryan loved her as much as she loved him and he showed it in so many ways. Keeping her safe was only one of them.

  “That leaves one question,” she said, rolling up the cuff and stuffing it into a Ziplock bag she’d taken from her pack.

  “Only one?” He smiled and brushed something from her cheek, making sure to hide the action from the observation deck.

  “Okay, smart guy,” she breathed. “Only one to begin with. However, I reserve the right to ask follow-up questions later.”

  “Ask away, Dr Sloane. Ask away.”

  “Why?”

  The creases on Ryan’s forehead deepened. “Why what?”

  She refastened the flap of her backpack, left the Ziplock bag in plain sight for the clean-up and recovery crew, and stood. Ryan followed her to her feet and picked up the discarded stretcher.

  “Why did you volunteer today and not earlier in the course? After all, we did agree I had no need of protection. At least, not here.”

  “Sometimes, things change. Information arises …”

  She reached out a hand to grab his arm. “Ryan, what do you mean by that?”

  “Now’s not the time. Afraid I’ll have to defer my answer for later, Dr Sloane,” he said, keeping his voice down.

  “When we’re alone, Mr O’Kelly?”

  “Exactly, Dr Sloane. Lead on, please,” he said, casting his eyes around a scene that must have reminded him of the urban warfare he’d endured many times in his military life. “You’re more familiar with the layout than me, and we both need to clean up.”

  “You’re so right there. My hair’s a mess, covered in grit, and I’m dripping with sweat. I must smell rank.”

  “Ah, me darlin’ girl,” he said, reverting to his deepest leprechaun brogue, “you smell of nothing but wild flowers in a summer meadow warmed by the sunshine.”

  “Liar,” she said, managing not to roll her eyes, “but I thank you just the same.”

  She led him away from the burnt-out Humvee, and they skirted around the part-destroyed wall where she’d hidden during the scarily-realistic artillery shelling.

  When they reached the damaged fuselage of an airliner, which had been used during the simulated aftermath of an air disaster on day three, she hurried her steps, hoping he’d follow suit. She wanted to say something, but he beat her to it.

  “Don’t worry, lass. It’s … distressing, but I’ll cope.”

  She knew how much it must have hurt him to be so close to such a stark reminder of the single most defining moment in his life. The moment that turned him from a military hero into a terrorist hunted by both the police and any mercenary willing to risk his life to kill Ryan Kaine and collect the reward. According to their most recent intelligence, the black market price on Ryan’s head currently stood at half a million pounds.

  She and Ryan cleared the fabricated carnage of the test arena and reached the sports centre, with its state-of-the-art gym, its twenty-five metre, six-lane swimming pool and, delight of delights, its showers and steam rooms.

  Inside the centre they separated. Ryan ducked left, and Lara took a right into the women’s locker room. She dropped the backpack on the slatted bench separating two rows of lockers, stripped off her filthy jacket and sweat-stained T-shirt, and dug into her back pocket for the locker key.

  Behind her, a door slammed shut.

  “Hello, vrou! Miss me?”

  A man’s throaty voice. A voice with a South African accent.

  She spun.

  Heinrich “Hardy” Krüger, still grimy from the exercise but wearing a clean polo shirt and shorts, leaned against the changing room door, arms crossed, enormous biceps popping. His eyes roamed her body, and a wicked, expectant smile appeared on his grubby face. Thank goodness she still wore her sports bra. Lord knew how he’d have reacted if she’d been topless. Her insides squirmed under his lecherous scrutiny.

  “Think I’d fall for that bullshit story of you being a fucking bodyguard? No fucking way, lady. Look at you, you scrawny bitch!”

  He jerked away from the door and, without taking his eyes off her, reached behind to turn the lock. Its click echoed around the silent room with a threatening finality.

  Oh, hell.

  “Not so brave now you’re alone, are you, bitch?”

  Slowly, Krüger took another step towards her.

  Lara swallowed hard and raised her open hands, palms forward in apparent surrender.

  “Hardy,” she said, with more strength than she’d expected, “you really don’t want to do this.”

  Krüger’s smirk grew wider, and his swagger increased and he narrowed the distance between them.

  “Yes, I do, bitch. I really, really do.”

  His gaze dropped to her chest and fixed on the contents of her bra. He smacked his lips, adding to the image of an animal stalking on its prey. The only things missing were a pair of drooling fangs.

  “I’m really gonna enjoy this, vrou.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “You never know, you might even enjoy it, too.”

  Krüger barked out a cruel laugh and closed in.

  Chapter 4

  Wednesday 13th April – Midday

  Aarhus, Denmark

  Kaine pushed through the door and entered the men’s changing room.

  Behind him, the door shut, pushed tight by the automatic closer. Around him, silence. It rankled. His senses tingled. Where was everyone?

  A pile of dirty clothes in the corner—a medic’s camouflage jacket and trousers—showed where someone had stripped off in a hurry, but the lack of noise from the showers spooked him most of all. He barged through the door to the wet area, quartered it, checked all the cubicles.

  Krüger. Where the hell was Krüger?

  Lara!

  Kaine retraced his steps at the double. He burst out through the exit door and raced along the hall and down the corridor, dashing towards the women’s changing rooms.

  What the hell was wrong with him? He’d let his guard down. Shouldn’t have.

  Stupid. So damned stupid.

  He reached the door and tried the handle. Locked.

  “Lar— Grace? Dr Sloane!”

  He rattled the handle again.

  A sound emanated from inside. Muffled and short. Impossible to identify.

  All the doors in the college were solid, insulated against fire and the Danish winter, and against sound. If Lara was already in the shower, maybe she couldn’t hear him. He called again, this time louder.

  The muffled noise repeated.

  A cry for help?

  Without checking the corridors for onlookers, Kaine leaned back and put all his weight and timing into a heel strike, targeting the area immediately above the handle. The lock disintegrated under the shattering blow and the door flew open.

  The scene flashed before him in an instant.

  With his back to Kaine, arms outstretched, Krüger stalked a partially clothed Lara—trying to corral her into a narrow gap between two rows of lockers. She looked small and fragile beside the giant Krüger, but Kaine knew better.

  Kaine knew Lara. He’d trained her.

  As the door crashed into wall, Krüger flinched at the noise.

  Lara used the slight distraction, adjusted her footwork, right foot ahead of left.

  Krüger hesitated, tensed.

  Lara held up an open right hand, pacifying, drawing Krüger’s attention. She leaned to her right and shot out a straight left. The heel of her hand thudded into the arsehole’s cheek. Took him completely by surprise. He grunted, shook his head, stumbled back a half-step. Lara lunged again, following up with a second strike, same place, another heel strike—protecting the delicate bones in her hand.

  “Told you she’d kick your arse, boyo,” Kaine said, sneering.

  The South African turned towards him, taking in Kaine’s arrival as he rubbed at his cheek. After the initial shock, his upper lip peeled back into a snarl.

  “O’Kelly,” he spat, steppi
ng far enough aside to eyeball both Lara and Kaine without straining, “this is even better. Come on then, you fucking arsehole.” He opened his right fist and beckoned with his fingers. “Come get yours. After I’m done with you, I’ll take my time fucking up this bitch.”

  A cut to Krüger’s bottom lip showed where Lara had landed more than the two solid blows Kaine had just witnessed. She danced forwards again and backhanded him across the face.

  That’s my girl. Take any opening on offer.

  Lara glanced at Kaine, her determined expression melted into relief. Panting, chest heaving, she backed away from the heavily muscled Krüger until stopped by the row of lockers. A red, hand-shaped welt blossomed on the right side of her face. Her beautiful face. Krüger had slapped her hard.

  The bastard.

  Lara. His Lara.

  Anger. Rage.

  Deep, gut-wrenching fury.

  Kaine ground his teeth. Welcomed the rage, let it take him, consume him.

  He slammed the broken door shut with his heel and charged into the room, throwing himself between Lara and Krüger.

  Protect her, hurt him.

  Nothing else mattered. Nothing else.

  For the first time in his adult life, Kaine wanted to tear someone’s throat out. He wanted to kill. Needed to.

  He screamed again. Leaped forwards. Threw out a barely controlled straight left to Krüger’s throat. The big man flinched, knees buckled, backed off.

  Kaine overstretched, missed his target.

  Knuckles connected with the side of Krüger’s head, above the ear.

  Pain—sharp, electric—ratcheted up through hand, wrist, forearm. The weakened forearm. Throbbing, stinging shock.

  Kaine lost all feeling in his fingers.

  He grimaced, turned it into a snarl. A roar.

  Shock and awe.

  Basic rule in a fist fight. Show no weakness. Show nothing but ruthlessness, anger, and skill. Offer the opponent no option but defeat.