Soft Target (Major Crimes Unit Book 2)

by Wright, Iain Rob

  The infirmary was nothing but a black smudge. The tiles were all cracked from the heat, and the furniture had smashed against the walls. In the middle of the floor was a wet, lumpy mess that had probably once been Ashley Foster.

  Movement caught Sarah’s eye and she spotted Dr Bennett on the floor, alive.

  “Jessica?” she said. “Jessica, it’s okay.”

  Bennett was on her knees in the corner, hunched over somebody and performing CPR. She was moaning and sobbing as she did so.

  Sarah walked slowly towards her.

  Bradley was dead. Even with Bennett performing CPR, it was obvious he wasn’t coming back. His face was an unrecognisable mess, but his bright blue eyes gave him away. One of his ribs jutted out of his torso at a right angle.

  Sarah moved up to the doctor and placed a hand on her shoulder. It made her flinch, but she continued performing CPR. “Hey, doc,” she said. “Let’s get you out of here. There’s nothing you can do.”

  Bennett stopped pumping and looked up at Sarah, tears in her eyes. She allowed herself to be helped to her feet, but after a couple of unsteady steps, she fell weeping into Sarah’s arms. Sarah held the woman tightly and patted her back.

  After a few minutes had passed, Sarah managed to carry Dr Bennett out of the infirmary. Mattock and Howard stayed behind with Bradley, both of them utterly gobsmacked. In the corridor, Dr Bennett managed to stop crying for a moment. She produced a handkerchief and wiped away some of the soot on her face. “I don’t understand it,” she said. “How did Ashley get a bomb in here?”

  “It was inside her,” Sarah explained. “Did she have any recently stitched wounds when you examined her?”

  Dr Bennett flapped her arms exasperatedly. “The girl was covered in wounds, head to toe. I had no reason to think…”

  Sarah patted her shoulder. “None of us knew. This whole thing has been impossible to predict from the start.”

  “No, it hasn’t,” Bennett spat, suddenly angry. “Bradley getting hurt was extremely easy to predict. He was going to leave MCU because he knew this was too much for him. You stopped him from leaving. His death is on your hands.”

  Sarah wanted to argue, but Bennett was right. Bradley was dead because she had made him stay. The kid had never been cut out for this.

  But that wasn’t true, was it? Sarah and Bradley had taken down Ashley Foster together. Bradley was a good soldier, and he had wanted to fight the good fight.

  “I’m sorry, Jessica,” Sarah said earnestly.

  Bennett shook her head, fought off another wave of tears, and then marched down the hallway on her own, disappearing.

  “You okay?” Palu asked her, coming back from the empty tail section.

  “No,” Sarah said. “Not at all.”

  She went back into the infirmary, where Mattock and Howard were on the floor beside Bradley. The smoke had finally cleared and the scene would have started to look a little less like a nightmare, if not for the blood and bodies.

  Sarah joined the Mattock and Howard on the floor. She thought about how Bradley had compared her to a Jack Russell Terrier. He’d been right about her from the very beginning, and had stuck up for her all the way. She’d felt like she almost made a friend, but nothing had changed. Sarah was still the same person she had been when all of this began. She should never have let herself give a damn. This was her reward for caring.

  Trusting people was never worth the risk. Every time Sarah let herself care for somebody, they died. Her mother, Thomas, Miller, Hamish, her baby, and now Bradley. If it wasn’t for Howard dragging her into all of this, she would be alone, safe, and unbothered. The world was too shitty a place to get involved in.

  She was done. As soon as she was on her feet she was walking out of this godforsaken place and never looking back. She just needed to rest first; just sit for a while and think.

  AFGHANISTAN, 2008

  Sarah sat, numbly staring out the window as the banged-up Corolla bounced across the sand flats. The doors rattled in their rusty fixtures and grains of sand made it in around the loose edges. Every time Sarah bit down she would be met with a jarring crunch of sand between her teeth.

  They told her they were taking her back to camp, as promised. Al-Sharir sat upfront with Hesbani, and two other men guarded Sarah in the back with AK47’s across their laps.

  After Hamish had been slaughtered, Sarah gave up any hope of getting home alive. Her hand stayed on her belly, and she tried not to weep as she thought about how she’d let down her unborn child. It was her job to protect it. It had been her job to protect Hamish and her other men, too, but she had failed at every turn. She would go to Hell, she was sure.

  They drove for almost two hours, the banged-up Corolla managing no more than 40mph. Sarah looked out the window and tried to spot landmarks, but there were none. Camp Bastion was isolated in the desert, impossible to sneak up on from any direction. That was why Sarah knew she wasn’t being taken there. If the Corolla came within five miles of the camp, Al-Sharir and his men would be seized. They were just looking for a good spot to bury her.

  The Corolla’s gears crunched as they began to slow down. Al-Sharir and Hesbani exchanged heated words up front, but Sarah couldn’t translate quick enough to get the gist. All she knew was that they were disagreeing.

  The car came to a stop, and the two men with AK47s pulled Sarah out. She fell onto her hands and knees before leaping back up on her feet. Hesbani was right there to shove her away from the car. The men with the AKs aimed at her, but Sarah didn’t put her hands up. If they were going to kill her, there was nothing she could do about it, so why beg?

  Hesbani was smirking unkindly at her.

  “You’re a bunch of monsters,” she shouted, spitting into the sand.

  Al-Sharir stood before her, calm as always. “I guarantee, Captain, if our countries were to count bodies, yours would win. You judge us by standards your own people fail to uphold.”

  Sarah didn’t respond. Al-Sharir was probably right, but that didn’t make what he was doing acceptable. He spoke about ending violence, yet he exercised it as freely as the Taliban did.

  “You gave me your word that you would let me go,” she said, looking him in the eye.

  “Words mean nothing to the West,” Hesbani snarled. “You English shake hands in friendship with your left while picking our pockets with your right, all the while hiding missile behind your back. I will not rest until I see your people in ruins, as you seek to see ours.”

  “We want to help you,” Sarah said for the final time. “Say what you want about my country, but you don’t speak for me, you son-of-a-bitch. I wanted to help you people, but now you can all just suck my dick.”

  Hesbani seemed utterly confused by the insult, but Al-Sharir smiled. “You are a warrior, Captain. True of heart and ignorant of fear. Allah protects those who are true to their beliefs. May he keep you safe now.”

  Sarah waited for the bullet.

  The AKs were still trained on her, but Al-Sharir didn’t give the order to kill her. Instead he smiled at her and said, “You may leave now, Captain. Your Camp Bastion is ten miles in that direction,” he pointed. “It is hot and you are tired and injured. It is more likely that you will die, but if you are with child, as you say, Allah will watch over you and you will make it. Do not take up arms against my people again or there will be great consequences. I could have killed you, but did not, so your pledge to no-violence is not optional. You owe your life to me and all that you do with it.”

  Sarah couldn’t believe it. She stared across the empty desert. It seemed to go on forever, an unreachable horizon. If she could manage to keep walking in a straight line, she might find Camp Bastion, but if she veered even slightly off course, she would miss it and die in the dirt.

  “Teach your child to respect Allah,” Hesbani shouted after her as she walked away. “Or I will cut his throat the same as I cut your Corporal’s throat.”

  Sarah almost ran to claw out Hesbani’s eyes. She hated
herself for walking away from the man who’d killed her squad and scarred her face, but she wanted to live too badly. She was a coward.

  Sarah managed a dozen steps before she looked back. Not only were the men not following her, but they were climbing back inside the Corolla. When they sped off in the opposite direction, Sarah let out a deep sigh of relief and cried. She cried for hours.

  Night fell by the time her legs finally gave out. It felt like she’d walked twenty miles, but in the desert it was impossible to tell. When she finally stopped for a rest, falling down onto her hands and knees, the scorching sand had gone icy cold. Soon, she would be shivering and succumbing to the chill, with no place to take shelter.

  She needed to get moving. Her entire body ached, but there was no longer any pain coming from her wounded thigh or her ruined face. She was numb from the head down, and dog-tired. She tried to get up, but couldn’t. She crawled forwards, trying to get her joints moving, but ended up falling down onto her belly as her elbows folded in on themselves. She just lay there, silent, already dead in spirit. She was everything her father said women were, weak and far too delicate. She didn’t have what it took to survive in a world run by men.

  I’m sorry, she told her unborn child. I’m sorry, she told her husband Thomas. I can’t do it.

  Sarah did not try to get up again. The pain of trying to live was too great. She had earned her chance to rest, even if it was going to be everlasting.

  When a routine patrol passed by, she heard the rumbling engine of their Snatch-2, but couldn’t manage to lift her head and look for them.

  Luckily, they spotted her. If not for the thermal imaging goggles the squad’s Signalman was wearing, they probably would have driven right by her. Instead, only twenty minutes later, Sarah found herself inside Camp Bastion, with a doctor working away busily on her. Sarah held her tummy and thanked God.

  DIABLO

  Palu re-entered the ruined infirmary several hours later to get them. The room was an unsafe mess and it wasn’t doing anyone any good hanging around there.

  Sarah’s eyes had been focused on Bradley’s body for so long that they felt crusty when she turned them upwards to see Palu.

  “What is it, Boss?” Mattock asked.

  Palu’s face sagged. Despite having cleaned himself up, he looked to have aged ten years. “There’s been another video,” he said despairingly.

  Howard climbed awkwardly to his feet, trying not to lean on his cast. “Shab Bekhier?”

  “Yes, the same three men as before, with Hesbani as the mouthpiece as usual. I have it ready to view in the conference room. Fortunately, our systems are all still operational and the main power is back on. The damage is confined to the infirmary, so we need to move out of here.”

  Mattock hopped to his feet. “Let’s go watch this video then. We need to find Hesbani and put an end to this fucking circus.”

  Howard offered Sarah his hand. “You coming?”

  She shook her head. “You guys go. I’m out.”

  He looked at her and frowned. “What do you mean, you’re out?”

  “I’m not cut out for this. All I’ve done is screw up, and now Bradley is dead.”

  “That isn’t your fault, Captain,” Mattock told her.

  “Isn’t it? Seems all I’ve ever done is guide people to their deaths. I can’t take it anymore.”

  “I don’t have time for this,” Palu said. “I’ll be waiting in the conference room. I want everyone ready to go in five minutes.”

  Howard and Mattock rounded on Sarah. “You’re wasting time,” she told them both. “Just go.”

  Howard shook his head angrily. “Whether you like it or not, you’re a part of this, Sarah. You’ve bled with the rest of us and you need to see this through to the end.”

  “Bradley died because of me.”

  “Bradley respected you. He died because you made him believe in himself; nobody here could manage that. We need you on this team.”

  “What team? There’s not enough of you to play five-a-side football.”

  “Exactly,” Mattock said. “The last thing we need is you scarpering. If you think people have died because of you, the only way you’ll ever get that blood off your hands is by stopping people like Hesbani. Bradley died for this team. Don’t slap his memory in the face by quitting. He had the balls to stay. Do you?”

  Sarah stared down at Bradley. The kid had brought out a paternal instinct in Sarah that she’d lost long ago. That instinct was lost because of Hesbani. He had ruined her life three years ago, and he was still ruining it today.

  Sarah remembered lying face down in the desert. She remembered how Hesbani had crushed her spirits in the heat of Afghanistan. It was time to find her way out of that desert and finally stop being afraid.

  Sarah took Howard’s hand. “Okay,” she said. “I’ll stay in this thing until Hesbani is finished. Then I’m gone.”

  Howard nodded. “You help us find Hesbani, and I’ll personally drive you to your doorstep and never bother you again.”

  “Sounds perfect. Come on, we’ve got a video to watch.”

  “I’ll bring the popcorn,” Mattock said.

  They set off to the conference room, where they found Dr Bennet and Palu already waiting. Bennett looked upset when she saw Sarah, and for a second it looked like she was going to kick up a fuss. Instead, she simply nodded and said, “Glad we’re all here. Bradley would want us to stick together.”

  Sarah nodded at Bennett and sat down at the table.

  Palu wasted no time. “This was posted on ClipShare ten minutes ago. Hesbani must have known about Ashley Foster’s plan to blow herself up.”

  “How?” Howard asked. “Nobody knows MCU exists.”

  “I don’t think we were specifically the target,” Palu told them. “The plan was to hit whoever took Ashley into custody. We weren’t the only target: the whole of law enforcement was.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Sarah. “Who else was hit?”

  Palu pressed play without another word.

  Hesbani and two other men appeared onscreen again. Sarah was becoming surer that one of the three men was white. Like everything else, it made little sense. Hesbani would never work with a non-Muslim, Sarah was sure. The third person stayed near the back. They were of slight-build, and had only their dark eyes on display. Their shorter height suggested they weren’t yet fully grown… or female.

  It was impossible to tell whether the video had been at night or during the day, but the ceiling’s light source was rocking gently to-and-fro like it had in both the previous videos.

  “United Kingdom, you have been warned,” Hesbani said, “yet you continue on your path of arrogance and hatred. Two freedom fighters in Islamic Syria were killed this morning by British soldiers. Shab Bakhier pledged to you that blood would be met with blood. In response to your wanton murder of these innocent Syrians, we have struck at your own freedom fighters. More deaths will occur if Prime Minister Breslow does not recall your nation’s troops from foreign soil.

  “Today saw the death of more of Allah’s martyrs. Paul, Leanne, and Ashley Foster died today, trying to save you from yourselves. They are by Allah’s side now, reaping their eternal rewards. These are your final moments, Britain. Have your Prime Minister seek forgiveness now, or watch your crooked empire burn to the ground.”

  There was silence for a moment as the video ended.

  “Four police officers were killed outside Scotland Yard this morning,” explained Palu. “They were hit by a sniper. Early reports suggest that a van pulled up down the end of the road and the shooter fired through an open window. The attack took less than five-seconds.”

  “Only a pro could hit four targets on a horizontal plane in five-seconds,” said Mattock. “Does Hesbani have any military connections?”

  Palu shook his head. “Only with the Taliban, and they aren’t known for their marksmanship.”

  “With Ashley Foster dead,” Howard said, “where do we have to go from
here?”

  “I’m not sure,” Palu admitted. “Thames Valley Police are going through the Foster’s home and business right now. Police Commissioner Howe will keep me updated. Home Office have briefed him fully on our operation.”

  “And until then?” Sarah asked. “We just wait, after what they did to Bradley and Mandy?”

  “Did you see anything in the video that could help?” Dr Bennett asked her calmly, staying on task.

  Sarah thought about it. “It was the same location as before. No window, no landmarks. Just a table, a lamp, and a swinging light bulb above them.”

  “What about the men in the video?” Howard asked.

  “I’m convinced one of them is white.”

  “Perhaps he’s the sniper,” Mattock suggested. “Maybe they have a British soldier in their ranks. Wouldn’t be the first time somebody has flipped.”

  Sarah wondered what could possibly make a person terrorise their own country, but couldn’t understand it.

  Bennett leaned against the table and sighed. “What about Bradley?”

  “What about him?” said Howard.

  “Before he went to pick up Sarah, he was working on a lead. Did he get anything?”

  Palu nodded at Bradley’s laptop, still sitting open on the table. “I’m not sure. He was tracking down the owner of the newsagent, the Pakistani immigrant. I don’t know if he found anything.”

  Dr Bennett moved in front of Bradley’s laptop and began typing. “Looks like he was researching land registry and property records for a Mr Hamil Hamidi.”

  Palu nodded. “That’s the owner of the newsagent.”

  “Maybe it’s Hesbani’s alias,” suggested Howard.

  “What about the niece?” Sarah asked. “Didn’t we find out that the newsagent was being run by a niece?”

  Bennett nodded. “Aziza Hamidi. There’s nothing on her here except her employment records at the newsagent. It doesn’t look like Bradley managed to… no, wait.”

  Palu leaned forward. “What is it?”

  “One second.” Bennett zipped a file onto the large television screen.