Hunting the Wrecking Crew: An Eric Stone Novel

by Nick Albert

Although it was late, he decided to risk sending Linda a text message.

  “Loooong day! Just heading home. Would you like to meet tomorrow? I could come to you. Eric.”

  To his surprise and delight, she answered almost immediately.

  “Hi, you. I’m still up, couldn’t sleep. Could be at your house in an hour. Can I come over now? Linda x x.”

  Stone smiled at the prospect and responded enthusiastically.

  “Yes, please. Can’t think of anything better right now!”

  She answered straightaway.

  “On my way X X X.”

  Stone replied that he couldn’t wait to see her and added some kisses of his own. He set off for home with a huge goofy smile plastered across his face.

  ***

  The team were waiting for their target. They had been in position for a little over three hours. For this assignment, there was a team of just three people. There were two spotters, and one shooter. For the time being, three people would be sufficient. If the assignment dragged on for more than another day, then perhaps the numbers would have to increase; but for now, three would do.

  The target lived in a mid-terraced Victorian house. It was one of eighty almost identical houses, on a one-way street with just one entrance and exit. The target’s street formed an upside down ‘U’ on the north side of a busy road, lined with mostly commercial buildings. The target’s house was easy to spot. It had a newly painted blue front door, and was almost dead centre in a row of houses at the top of the ‘U’, facing north.

  The two spotters were sitting in separate cars near each end of the road. They had their mobile phones ready to warn the shooter of the target’s approach.

  At one time in England, mortgages were so plentiful and easy to access, that many people seemed to move house as frequently as they changed their cars. Since the banking crisis, the tendency has been for houses to be extended and renovated, adding space, and value. The property directly opposite the target’s house had been extended recently, with the addition of a large room to the west side of the building. The extension was probably used as a sitting room, but if it wasn’t for the large front window, it could easily have been mistaken for a garage. Irrespective of what it was originally designed for, today it made a perfect snipers nest.

  An hour previously, the shooter had crept through the back garden, carefully stepping around several toys and discarded bicycles. As planned, he had hidden in the bushes until one of the spotters knocked at the door and engaged the owner in a conversation about a lost cat. As soon as the shooter heard their voices, he silently shinned up the drainpipe, and slid onto the extension’s flat roof. Now the shooter was wrapped in a waterproof sleeping bag for warmth, and covered in a black waterproof shroud, making his profile almost invisible to even the most searching eyes.

  From his prone position on the flat roof, the shooter was less than fifty yards from the target’s blue front door. Although the shooter was hidden in complete shadow, the street and front door of the target’s house were brightly illuminated by streetlights. From his prone position, with a downwards angle of about thirty degrees, the shooter had an unobstructed view.

  He closed his left eye and looked through the viewfinder, centring the crosshairs on the doorbell while he adjusted the focus until the image was sharp and clear. The readout from the built-in laser rangefinder told him that the distance to the door was fifty-two yards. A second number reported that the temperature was a steady six degrees centigrade. These were perfect shooting conditions. Still air and good lighting — an easy shot, he couldn’t miss.

  Ten minutes later a red sports car drove slowly past the target’s house, parking in a vacant space two houses down. The shooter swivelled his sights to focus on the occupant. It was a young and very attractive blonde woman. He watched her with mild sexual interest for a moment, but soon switched his attention back to the target house. He waited patiently.

  He was good at waiting. Ten years as an Army sniper had taught him how to wait — quiet and still. Perhaps six hundred times he had waited like this; lying still for hours, or even for days. Sometimes he had waited in the pouring rain. He hated the rain. Regardless of what you were wearing, eventually it got through. Then the water would suck away your body heat, chilling the muscles until you began to shiver uncontrollably. Sometimes he had waited in the snow. He didn’t mind the snow. With decent clothing, you can stay hidden and warm in the snow for hours. A good snow hole, lined with dead leaves and straw, will retain heat like a sleeping bag and provide excellent cover. For most of his career, he had waited in the unrelenting heat of the desert. He liked the desert. As long as you stayed hydrated, avoided sunstroke, and ignored the flies, waiting in the desert was ok.

  Being a sniper was sometimes like going fishing. You could spend hours sitting by the riverbank without ever getting a bite. Although he had waited like this on hundreds of occasions, and fired over a quarter of a million practice rounds, he had fired his weapon at a person just seventeen times.

  Seventeen times, he had correctly calculated the distance to the target, allowing for bullet drop, and the effect of wind and humidity. Once the distance was as little as two-hundred yards, usually it was over a thousand. Seventeen times, he had placed the cross-hairs on the target’s head, breathed out slowly, and then gently squeezed the trigger. Seventeen times, he had heard the soft cough of his silenced rifle, and felt the firm kick of the recoil in his shoulder. Seventeen times, he had counted off the seconds as the bullet sped towards its target. Seventeen times, he had seen the distinctive pink puff of blood and brain matter, as the bullet found its target. Seventeen times, he had fired at a person. Seventeen times, and he had never missed.

  In ten years as an Army sniper, he had fired hundreds of thousands of practice rounds. He had practiced until shooting became as easy as tying your shoelaces. Hundreds of thousands of times, through such repetition he had learned to sight, relax, breathe out, and then softly squeeze the trigger. Eventually he became so good that he could hit something the size of a fist, from almost a mile away. Today his distance to target would be just fifty yards. He couldn’t miss.

  Thirteen minutes passed by quietly before the shooter felt a silent vibration from his mobile phone. He pressed the return key and a soft voice spoke into his earpiece.

  “He’s here. The car registration’s correct. It’s Stone.”

  The shooter did not respond. To slow his heart ready for the shot, he took a deep breath and exhaled gradually through his nose. Then he sighted onto the doorbell again and gently caressed the trigger with his index finger.

  Seconds later a blue Ford slowly came around the corner and parked directly behind the red sports car. The off-side doors of both cars opened almost simultaneously. Eric Stone and the blonde girl climbed out and immediately fell into a passionate embrace. The shooter swivelled his aim to the left, but his view of the target was slightly obscured by the trees in the neighbouring garden. He didn’t panic, he knew that when the target reached the front door of his house, he would have ample opportunity to take his shot.

  This close, the shooter could clearly hear their voices, even though they were whispering because of the late hour. The target called the girl ‘Linda’ and said how pleased he was that she had come. The girl responded with a kiss saying how tired the man looked. She called him ‘Eric’. Hand in hand, they walked slowly towards the house with the blue door, just as the shooter had expected. Once they cleared the cover of the trees, the shooter brought his sights up and levelled the cross hairs on Stone’s head. As Eric and Linda reached the gate, they suddenly paused, and then they turned together to face the house where the shooter was hiding. It was almost as if they could sense his watching eyes. With a cold smile, the shooter centred the cross hairs on a point directly between Stone’s eyes. Then he slowly breathed out and gently squeezed the trigger.

  The numbers in the corner of the viewfinder quickly changed, as his camera soundlessly took pictures. Satisfied that he
had successfully completed his mission by capturing an image of Eric Stone, the Shooter quickly switched to the woman’s face, and took another dozen silent pictures. Then he switched back to Stone again, centred the cross hairs on his forehead, and squeezed the trigger one more time. As the night vision camera captured one final image, the shooter whispered softly.

  “Gotcha!”

  ***

  Stone closed and locked the blue front door, pausing for a moment to process the strange sensation that had washed over him as he approached the house. For a moment he had felt a tingle on the back of his neck, it was so real that it was almost like an itch — but one that he knew he could not scratch. He thought that it was the same sensation that a gazelle experienced when it was being stalked by an unseen predator.

  In other circumstances, Stone would have just ignored the feeling, putting it down to natural paranoia. Urbanites were always being watched by someone, particularly in Britain, where there were more CCTV cameras per head of population, than anywhere on the planet. However, with his knowledge of the Wrecking Crew, and what they had done to Charles, Eric’s senses were running in hyper-mode — and there was another thing. Just as he had become aware of the feeling of being watched, Linda had stopped and involuntarily squeezed his hand. She had felt something as well, he was sure of it. Stone attached the door security chain, before he turned to face Linda.

  “I just had the strangest feeling out there, like we were being watched. Did you feel it as well?”

  “Yes,” she nodded, “I felt something — it was very strange. I guess there are too many windows out there. Anyway, it was probably just some nosey neighbour wondering who your hot girlfriend was!”

  She smiled cheekily, then leaned forward and gave him a slow kiss on the lips. He responded eagerly, holding her head in his hands, enjoying the warmth of her lips and her sweet taste. Linda’s arms snaked around his back, pulling him closer and driving her crotch wantonly against his hardness. When they came up for air, she put on a serious face.

  “Can I stay?”

  “I hope you will,” Stone said, his voice thick with lust, “it was a long drive for just a kiss.”

  “No silly!” she gave him a playful thump, “I mean tomorrow. Can I stay tomorrow?”

  “Of course you can. I want you here. I want to be with you.”

  “I brought a bag, it’s in the car.” She looked up sheepishly. “Is that alright?”

  Stone pulled her close again, kissing her fully on the lips.

  “It’s better than alright — it’s wonderful.” He dropped his arms. “I’ll get your bag. You’ll need your things.”

  Stone started to turn towards the door, but Linda stopped him by gently taking his hand.

  “Right now I have everything I need,” she said, leading him towards the bedroom.

  TEN

  Stone woke before Linda. For a while, he lay propped up on one elbow, content to watch her sleeping. She was lying on her belly with her face turned towards Stone. The room was warm and during the night, the sheets had slipped down towards her slim hips, exposing the soft curve of her naked back. Eric reached over and gently brushed some of Linda’s blonde hair away from her face. Even though it was slightly squashed by the pillow, and puffy with sleep, he thought she had the most beautiful face he had ever seen.

  She had a small face, with classic high cheekbones, almond shaped eyes, and delicate eyebrows. There was a little vertical scar just below her right eye. Her nose was, by conventional thinking, perhaps a little short and slightly upturned at the end, but Stone felt that it perfectly complimented the gentle wave of her soft lips, which even in sleep, seemed to be in a permanent half-smile. She had small, delicate ears, with three piercings, two on the lobe and one more, higher up. He thought that the shape of her ear fitted perfectly into the way her jawline swept down to her strong chin, which carried another small scar — perhaps a reminder of some childhood fall.

  Reluctantly he tore himself away from the striking beauty of her face. In compensation, he allowed his eyes to wonder to her delicate hand, along her arm and across her naked shoulders. Stone’s mind drifted happily back to their earlier lovemaking. He remembered how surprisingly strong Linda was — particularly for such a slim woman. At one point, at the peak of their heat and passion, they had again play-wrestled for dominance. Linda had won easily, although to some degree Stone had deliberately thrown the game — conscious that the prize for second place was to lie back and watch a beautiful woman lost in the throes of ecstasy. Even so, he had wondered how someone so petite had developed such unexpected strength — perhaps he should join her yoga class.

  His eyes wondered freely along her shoulder to her neck, and then down the gentle curve of her spine. In his mind he retraced the delightful journey he had taken just a few hours earlier, when encouraged by her soft moans of pleasure, he had passionately anointed her naked back with his gentle licks and kisses. He continued his visual journey until he reached the edge of the sheets, where the soft swell of her buttocks was punctuated by two perfect dimples. Stone reached down and gently lifted the sheet.

  “Are you checking out my ass, you perv?” Linda mumbled sleepily, without looking up.

  “I was just thinking how fat you’ve got since we met,” Stone answered factually, dropping the sheet.

  “Yeah, I’ve really let myself go,” she patted his arm gently, “but at least I’m not old like you!”

  Stone leaned down and blew a raspberry into the small of her back. Linda giggled and kicked in a delighted response. Then he planted a quick row of kisses up her back and onto her face, stopping when he reached her lips.

  “Breakfast?” he asked. “Are you hungry?”

  “Mmm…starving,” she growled huskily.

  Stone leaned forward and kissed her forehead lightly.

  “Stay there. Today we can have breakfast in bed. What is your desire?”

  Linda rolled over and sat up, casually revealing her nakedness. Even though they had made passionate love just a few hours earlier, Stone gave an involuntary gasp of lust. Linda noticed his reaction and smiled a little coyly, before reaching for the sheet.

  “Come on, Stone — get your head in the game! Tea and toast will do fine. Chop, chop!”

  “Yes ma’am.” Stone gave a mock salute and headed for the kitchen.

  It was an hour later, when they were sitting at the breakfast bar and drinking a second cup of coffee, that Linda eventually asked the question.

  “So what happened yesterday?”

  Stone stared silently at his coffee cup, his eyes distant and unfocused, while he thought about what to say. How could he safely encapsulate the terrible events of the previous day? Although Linda had indicated that she understood some of what was involved in Stone’s hunt for the Wrecking Crew, and what that entailed, he was genuinely worried about sharing too much information. What if she thought less of him? What if she screamed and ran out of his life forever? On the other hand, what if he lied? How would that feel?

  The silence stretched for two minutes, three, and then five. It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence, it was respectful — like an old married couple quietly waiting for a bus, or sitting together reading the Sunday papers. It was as if they were just two people lost in independent thought. Two people who didn’t feel the need to fill every gap in the conversation. The comfortable silence stretched on as Stone considered what to say. Finally, he came to a decision.

  If their relationship was to be built on a foundation of truth and trust, Stone felt that he had to tell Linda something about what had happened. At the same time, if she was going to help in the search for the Wrecking Crew, then Linda needed to understand exactly what she was getting into. That was her right. He had to take the risk, even if there was a danger of losing her. Stone took a deep breath and turned towards Linda, but as he did she put her hand on his arm. Clearly, she had something to say, but had been waiting for the correct moment.

  “Before you speak Eric, the
re’s something that I want to say first.”

  “Go on,” he said guardedly.

  “This…” she flicked her index finger back and forth, pointing at both of them, “this relationship is important to me.”

  “It’s important to me as well.”

  Linda nodded, slightly impatiently, and held up a reassuring hand.

  “That’s not really what I meant — although it’s good to know.” She gave a little smile. “Let me put it another way.”

  Linda subtly changed her posture, like a seasoned politician preparing to deliver a keynote message.

  “This is important to me, because it’s something that I have always wanted, but never found. In the past, I’ve had boyfriends, not many, but a few, and I’ve had some relationships — but I’ve never had this. I feel that we have something here, something that could be special — something almost unique. People talk about ‘love at first sight’ and ‘soul mates’; well I don’t know what that means, or what it would feel like, but I know I have never felt anything like this.”

  She took his hand and looked into his eyes, Stone felt like she was looking directly into his soul. Through his hand he could feel her pulse racing, it was in perfect time with the way his heart was thumping within his chest. She gave his hand a reassuring squeeze.

  “The thing is — I’m taking a huge risk here, baring my soul like this. Many men would just run away in panic, but I wanted to be honest with you. I feel that it’s important. I’ve told you what’s in my heart, and risked losing you, because I want to be with you. So…I just wanted to say, if you decide to tell me about what happened, whatever it is — it will be OK.”

  Stone said nothing. He just leaned forward and kissed Linda. He kissed her as if he was kissing her for the first time. He kissed her as if he was kissing her for the last time. They kissed each other as if they never wanted to stop. When they eventually stopped kissing, Stone spoke first.