On the Money

by Kerry J Donovan

  After dropping in to take their leave of Darwin, who’d finally managed to rid himself of the cloying Primula Johnston, they’d left him and Brian Able to discuss the upcoming works and collected their hire car.

  From the hotel, they’d driven straight to Ryan’s place in Enfield. Traffic held them up so badly, the ten-mile drive had taken nearly ninety minutes, but the journey had been worth it. She caught a rare peek at Ryan’s life before it had collapsed around his ears. Although being minimalist to the point of Spartan, the small apartment must have been worth a fortune, given the location. When he’d inherited it in 2005, he wouldn’t have received much change from three quarters of a million pounds, yet it barely allowed space for a bed. The kitchen had clearly never been used for making anything more involved than a cup of coffee. Neat and tidy, and devoid of warmth or a woman’s touch, it did boast a hidden room-sized compartment, stockpiled with military equipment.

  The flat was pure Ryan Kaine.

  During the four hours they spent in Enfield, Ryan outlined his plan for the evening’s meeting with Rhino, allowing her little time for questions or debate. He took her through the plan as though it were a military operation which, of course, it was.

  Ryan was in charge and, for the moment, she was his subordinate. Even though she grumbled about it from time to time in a lacklustre attempt to make him pause, Lara loved it.

  Shortly after they’d reached Enfield, he’d handed her a set of clothing big enough for a man two sizes larger than her taut fifty-six kilo frame, together with a ballistic vest that weighed nearly as much as she did. He also instructed her in the correct way to wear it.

  Lord above, it was heavy. Stifling, too.

  “I’m boiling,” she said after stepping out of the empty bedroom and giving him a twirl. “Can hardly move in this stuff.”

  Ignoring her ungrateful complaints, he stepped close, ran his hands all over her, checking for fit, nothing intimate—unfortunately. He adjusted the location of the ceramic breastplate in the ballistic vest and stepped away, head tilted in appraisal.

  “Well?” she demanded, offering another encumbered twirl.

  “A half-decent fit.”

  “That’s all you have to say?”

  His serious expression softened slightly. “If this were the villa, I’d have said you made the most beautiful soldier the world has ever seen. And, with your permission”—he raised an eyebrow—“I’d have torn the kit off, but—”

  “So, what’s stopping you?” she interrupted, reaching for the clasp of the belt that was cinched tight to hold up her trousers.

  “This is neither the time nor the place.” He pointed her back to the bedroom. “You can change into civvies for now, but remember how to fit that vest properly. It might just save your life.”

  A few hours later, when they parked the hire car out of sight in a dark lane and marched half a mile in the freezing cold February night, she learned to appreciate the thermal protection the battledress afforded her.

  She appreciated it even more when they climbed the fence surrounding the reservoir and he made her lie on a thin strip of plastic he claimed was a bedding roll specifically brought along for her comfort. He threw a thin sheet of night-camouflaged material over her, instructed her to lie still, and then disappeared for fifteen minutes, leaving her alone in the pitch black. The only sound came from the wind whistling through the tall grasses and the incessant hum of nearby traffic. No matter what the time, London’s arterial roads seemed never to be silent, and it was never, ever, totally dark. It didn’t take her long to grow accustomed to the smell of damp and mud, and rotting vegetation.

  Only about an hour.

  “Where’ve you been?” she asked in a shocked whisper after he returned and slid under the sheet alongside her, letting in a blast of air so icy it made her teeth chatter.

  Once safely hidden under the cover, Ryan threw a switch and a dull red glow bloomed on his chest. According to Ryan’s earlier briefing, the torch was similar in wavelength to the light used in a photographer’s darkroom and would enable them to see each other without being seen from a distance. It would also help maintain their natural night vision.

  “I’ve scouted the surrounding area—all clear—and set up a secure perimeter. Here, put these on.”

  He handed her a pair of earbuds attached to a device half the size of a smartphone.

  “What am I listening for?”

  “I’ve set up two PIR Em-decs—”

  “Ryan, I’m a civilian. Cut the jargon. What’s a PRI Em-dec?”

  With a pair of binoculars raised to his eyes, and scanning the main entrance to the reservoir, he smiled.

  “PIR Em-decs, passive infrared motion detectors. Military grade. If anything larger than a fox or a badger crosses the beams behind us, they’ll send an alarm through those earbuds and—”

  “And if that happens?”

  “You roll to the left and give me room to manoeuvre. Understood?”

  She gulped and nodded.

  “Say it out loud. What will you do if something triggers the alarm?”

  She sighed before answering. “Roll left to give you room.”

  “Good. Rehearse the action in your head. Drive it into your brain so you’ll react immediately.”

  “Ryan, is this really necessary? We’re meeting a potential ally. Aren’t you being a little paranoid? To be honest, you’re scaring me.”

  “Good,” he said, without lowering the binoculars. “If you’re scared, your reactions will be faster.” He held his breath for a moment before lowering the glasses and turning on his side to face her. “Although there’s nothing to suggest we’re in danger, and Rhino’s done right by us so far, we don’t know his real motivation. Heck, girl, he might be acting against Barcode so he can scramble up the Tribe’s hierarchy. At this stage, we simply don’t know. I didn’t survive a decade in the SBS by lowering my guard.”

  He rolled back into his original position and raised the binoculars again.

  “Besides,” he added, apparently as an afterthought, “this is your first operation in the field. We’ve trained hard and you have great instincts and aptitude, but—”

  “I get it,” she said, “this is a training opportunity and we’re in full operational mode.”

  “Yes, Lara. That’s it exactly. Now, please let me concentrate. Snuggle down lower into the nest and listen out for that alarm.”

  At that precise moment, the true seriousness of their ongoing situation hit home. This was a live operation. Ryan wasn’t going overboard. He knew training only went so far even if it was field-based and realistic. Ryan wanted to know how she handled herself during a real operation in case she really did find herself alone one day. He was preparing her for life without him, in case he didn’t come home from one of his missions.

  Oh, God.

  The breath caught in her throat and she stifled a gasp.

  No matter how well-trained and competent he was, Ryan constantly placed himself in danger. One day, he might come up against someone he couldn’t beat. Someone more skilful, better equipped, stronger, faster.

  The realisation nearly made her burst into tears, but she held herself together, for Ryan’s sake.

  But the thought knotted her stomach, made her sweat. As instructed, she squirmed deeper under the thermal sheet, lay on her front, and rested her head in her hands. The earbuds blocked out some of the ambient sound and, thankfully, remained resolutely silent.

  #

  Unbelievably, she had fallen asleep, despite her denials. The warmth under the thermal blanket, the reaction to the day’s events, the sound-deadening effects of the earbuds, together with Ryan’s slow and solid heartrate, had all combined to relax her. She’d actually fallen asleep on the inner edge of a man-made hillock overlooking a reservoir in the middle of a wintery London.

  Who’d have thought?

  There was something to be said for lying next to the man you loved, feeling his comforting and protective presen
ce. Even in the face of danger, humans were social animals and needed the touch of a loved one.

  The glowing tip of Rhino’s cigarette focused her attention on the present moment.

  After Ryan’s wakeup call, with minimal movement, she’d been running through her stay-warm routine. As Ryan had taught her, almost from the first day of their life together, she worked from feet to neck and down again, tensing and relaxing each major muscle group in turn. The routine warmed muscles and joints that had stiffened from the immobility of sleep and of lying still. After the exercises, if she needed to move quickly, her body would react instantly, and the risk of injuring cold tissue would reduce. It had become second nature to her.

  Preparation for action. Fight or flight, or both.

  Ryan thought of everything. He trained her well and, as a consequence, she worked diligently. If he needed her fit and prepared for instant action, that’s what he would get.

  “And you’re certain no one’s arrived since we’ve been here?” she asked, looking though her binoculars at the glowing red tip of Rhino’s cigarette.

  Ryan took a little while to answer, keeping his deep voice low, despite the driving, buffeting headwind which tugged at the camouflage sheet and chilled her face. “Unless they’re a damned sight better at night-time ops than Damian, which I doubt, he’s alone.”

  “Okay, what now? Are we going down there to him?”

  “Nope. He’ll be coming to us.”

  Ryan moved, letting another blast of cold air under the blanket.

  “I’ll give him a call in a couple of minutes. Let’s see what—”

  Humming!

  An alarm buzzed in her ears—the motion detectors.

  What? Lord, no!

  Lara jerked.

  “Ryan, oh my God. Look out!”

  Chapter 15

  Saturday 18th February – Lara Orchard

  Walthamstow, NE London

  00:12.

  Instinctively, Lara rolled to her left, downhill. The blanket wrapped tight around her, restrictive, clinging.

  Heart pounding, she expected rough hands to grab her, a blade to stab, slice. A bullet’s report. Tissue damage. Pain.

  Panic seized her. Blind, unthinking panic.

  The space blanket tightened around her legs and upper body, limiting movement, pinning her hands to her sides. Helpless. She was helpless. The weight of her body armour made things infinitely worse. She kicked, scrambled, dug her heels into soft earth.

  Ryan.

  Where’s Ryan?

  Was he safe? He’d be the first target.

  Stop struggling.

  Think.

  It wouldn’t help Ryan for her to panic, to draw his attention away from the danger. He needed to concentrate.

  Lara stopped fighting. Rolled further away, down the incline. The thin wrapping loosened, and the restrictive binding eased. She slipped her arms free of the blanket. Crawled out into the bitter air. Able to breathe, but still disorientated.

  Ryan?

  “Ryan,” she whispered, forcing herself not to scream his name.

  Lara threw aside the clinging lightweight material, rose to one knee, crouched low, minimising her target profile. Keeping below the top of the mound.

  She’d rolled into the heavy, frosty darkness of the downslope. Damp coldness sliced into the back of her neck—the damp of millions of litres of water. The spangled orange glow of London formed a halo above and around her. Up, on top of the mound, a black-grey blanket of night, and … movement.

  Two figures, dark, silhouettes. Backlit by the dim glow of the night-time city.

  They faced each other, crouching, side-stepping. Prepared to lock in a dance of death.

  On the left, Ryan stood, arms outstretched as though in defence.

  On the right, a man, the reverse image of Ryan, dressed in black, head covered. He circled to his left, turned his back to Lara, and moved closer to Ryan.

  Seconds. She had mere seconds.

  She scrambled forwards, leapt on the man’s back, pummelling, gouging, kicking.

  “What the f—?”

  “Lara!”

  A strong hand grabbed her wrist and tugged. The man she straddled dipped a shoulder. She flew through the air, head over feet, legs and arms flailing. She landed with a thump on the soft earth, winded but unhurt.

  Again, she rolled, this time away from her attacker, away from Ryan, giving him room to act. Breathing hard, Lara scrambled to her feet, fingers gripping the long grass, using it for leverage. Up and on balance, she formed fists, ready to advance.

  No one was going to hurt Ryan. No one.

  “Lara, no! He’s a friend.”

  The stranger backed two paces away, hands up. Movement at her side. Ryan’s familiar shape and aura surrounded her.

  “Ryan? What the—”

  “Take it easy, Lara. This is Sergeant Blake. A former colleague of mine.”

  Holding her firmly by the upper arm, Ryan turned her to face the newcomer, who grinned, his white teeth glowing from a jet black, smile-dimpled face.

  “Evening, Doc,” he said, pushing out a hand for her to shake. “The Captain said as how you weren’t no one to mess with. Seems he was right. Nice to meet you at last.”

  His voice was deep, his accent local and strong. A Londoner.

  Taller than Ryan by at least five centimetres, but of a similar build, she finally recognised him from his dossier on file.

  “Oh my Lord, Connor Blake,” she said, her voice hushed. “I’m so sorry. I thought you were … Are you okay?”

  The smile didn’t falter, but he rubbed the back of his head through his dark-green woollen cap. “Nothing a week in a nice warm infirmary on full pay wouldn’t cure, Doc. Assuming you’ll sign my medical chit.”

  “Maybe the Captain can sign it. He’s the one who didn’t warn me you’d be sneaking up on us,” Lara growled—couldn’t help herself.

  The wide grin faded a little and the dimples shallowed as Connor shot a glance at his Captain.

  Ryan coughed before saying, “I take it there’s no one else around to concern us, Sergeant?”

  “That’s right, Captain. I’ve recced the whole area. No one hereabouts but the target, sir.”

  “Excellent. Thanks, Sergeant. Good work. Would you mind giving young Damian a bell and inviting him up here for a chat? He must be feeling a little parky. And do it now, please. It appears the team’s medic and I have some operational issues to discuss.”

  Ryan spoke, calm as anything, clearly trying not to match Connor’s smile.

  Connor threw him a smart salute and nodded to her before turning his back on them and facing the main gatehouse. He dropped to one knee, pulled out a mobile phone, and started dialling.

  Fists clamped against her hips, jaw clenched tight, Lara confronted him. “Ryan Kaine, what on earth—”

  He pressed a finger to his lips, pointed away from Connor and led her part-way down the hill towards the water, but she’d had more than enough. He’d been playing games at her expense. Embarrassing her in front of Connor. Why? Why would he do such a thing? Warmth flooded to her cheeks, her eyes moistened. As far as she knew, he’d never played pranks on a mission before. Whatever the reasons, his actions hurt and she wasn’t going to let him brush her off this time.

  Before they stopped walking, she opened up again.

  “Ryan, this is far enough. Why didn’t you tell me about Connor? That was so embarrassing.”

  Ryan stopped and faced her. He dropped to one knee, making sure he was well below the top of the ridge, and indicated for her to follow suit. She knelt with him, her anger ebbing away when she read the seriousness of his expression, lit by the nightlight on his chest.

  “Lara, this isn’t a joke, love. You were brilliant. Your reactions were superb.”

  “A test? It was another bloody test?”

  He shook his head. “Only in part. Despite all your training, I needed to know how you’d fare in the field. When Sergeant Blake arrived,
your reactions … they were perfect.”

  “Perfect! Are you mad?” Lara hissed, struggling to keep control of her confused and raging emotions. “I was terrified!”

  “I know, love, but you didn’t freeze. You did exactly as I instructed. You rolled away in the right direction, kept your voice down, and even attacked the poor sergeant—didn’t expect you to do that, mind. Brave but foolhardy. You could have been seriously hurt.”

  She wanted to punch his arm, but such loss of control would not have helped her state of mind.

  “He could have been seriously hurt, you mean. I panicked, Ryan. I wasn’t in any form of control. I was bloody well terrified out of my skin. That was a horrible thing to do,” she said, the trembling in her voice evident, despite the enforced whisper.

  Tears blurred her vision, but she wiped them away with her knuckles.

  “My beautiful girl,” he said, lowering his voice to a breathless whisper and pulling her close—close enough for her to soak in his warmth, “you are the most precious thing in my life. When I saw you tangle with Barcode this afternoon, it turned my stomach. It brought home how much danger I’d dragged you into, and it scared the crap out of me. And when you were in such a hurry to chase them into the dark alley … Love, I can’t tell you often enough. This is not a game. This is deadly serious.

  “If someone ever hurt you I’m not sure what I’d do to them”—he pushed her away and held her at arm’s length, his expression cold and deadly—“but, it would be extremely violent, excruciatingly painful … and permanent.”

  Ryan’s confession and the tears glistening in his eyes forced the remaining anger from her system as quickly as it had arrived. She cupped his cheek and leaned in for a kiss, but he straightened and backed away.

  “Not here, love,” he said softly, shaking his head. “Not in front of the men.”

  “The men?”

  He nodded towards the top of the ridge. Connor had been joined by another man, this one squat and dressed in a loose hoodie … Damian Baines. Both men looked down towards them, but as she and Ryan were in deep shadow, they probably couldn’t make out much. No matter the situation, Ryan always seemed to be fully aware of his surroundings. His razor sharp senses kept him alive in his horrific world of death and destruction.