Sterling

by Robert Cameron

  Title page

  Sterling

  by Robert Cameron

  Copyright page

  FireStep Publishing

  Gemini House

  136-140 Old Shoreham Road

  Brighton

  BN3 7BD

  www.firesteppublishing.com

  First published by FireStep Press, an imprint

  of FireStep Publishing in 2013

  © Robert Cameron, 2013

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic mechanical photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  Designed by FireStep Publishing

  Cover by Ryan Gearing

  Print edition typeset by Graham Hales, Derby

  2013 digital edition by Andrews UK Limited

  www.andrewsuk.com

  Dedication

  For Aga

  Because without her

  Robert Cameron would not be here

  Acknowledgements

  I have had the pleasure of working alongside some of the world’s best, most of whom would not appreciate their names being made public. They don’t do it for praise but to them my thanks, they know who they are.

  I’d also like to acknowledge the hard work of the front line ambulance staff; keep up the good work.

  A big thank you to Ryan Gearing for having the courage to take this on and the people at FireStep for putting it together.

  Also to Christine Howe for her way with words.

  Most of all Mum, Dad, Cath, Alan and Luke. The best family I could ask for.

  Note

  Loosely based on real events.

  Chapter 1

  It had felt like a long day in the English Lake District. Even though at that time of year the days were short, it seemed to have dragged. Cam had been unable to sleep; perhaps it was the sunlight keeping him awake – or maybe he knew his past was about to catch up with him. Whatever the reason, as he lay there that night in the darkness of the rest-room, he was tired. Outside the wind had started to pick up, rustling the trees and almost drowning out the sound of the river. The air-pressure had changed and Cam could feel the black clouds rolling in over the hills, bringing rain.

  He kept a wary eye on Nick, his crew-mate for the night. Cam was still unsure if it was the done thing to sleep whilst on shift, but if Nick was sleeping he could too. As it happened they had not been out that night. Cam always thought that that if nobody called for an ambulance, all was good in the world. Making one last check he peeked over at Nick – ‘still asleep,’ Cam thought. It was safe to close his eyes once again and grab another ten minutes’ sleep.

  The dull hum of the radio beside him woke him from his light sleep. He rolled off the cold fake-leather sofa that had been his makeshift bed on and off for the last year. Now denied the sleep he needed, he grabbed the vibrating handset and squeezed the ‘acknowledge’ key, accepting the call and silencing the radio.

  He stumbled sleepily toward the vehicle bay. By the time he had reached the large door of the garage his balance was restored. Still functioning like an automaton, he pressed the green ‘open’ button. The motor whirred into action, raising the door and letting in a blast of winter air. The icy current rolled under the opening door and wrapped itself around Cam’s legs. ‘Christ that’s cold,’ he thought.

  Cam shook himself awake and climbed into the driving seat, noticing the time on the dashboard. It was 03:35.

  ‘My turn to drive again,’ he mumbled to himself, pulling forward out of the garage. In the rear-view mirror he could see movement. His colleague closed the garage door behind the ambulance and the light in the garage slowly disappeared. The warm safety of the station already seemed a long way off when the passenger door opened and Nick climbed in.

  ‘Where we going, then?’ said Nick.

  ‘Ambleside,’ Cam croaked. He looked down at the screen where the details of the call were displayed. ‘Fifty-two-year-old male, difficulty breathing.’ The moment he finished speaking, the night around the ambulance was lit up with random blue lights. Cam checked left and right, pulled out on to the road and they were off.

  ‘Thought I’d hold back on the sirens and let the public sleep,’ Cam said, accelerating out of the village.

  ‘Nice of you,’ Nick replied, without looking away from the paper work. ‘Thank God the roads are empty,’ Cam thought, pushing the ambulance faster and faster towards the address on the screen. He had been lucky so far. He hadn’t been to any calls that had been too distressing. That’s why he chose to work for the ambulance service in a sleepy part of the Lake District. He’d seen enough.

  Normally chatty on route, the crew sat quietly contemplating what might be waiting for them at the end of their journey. Cam’s mind wandered as the ambulance rattled down the road. He relished the prospect of his approaching days off, nearly five days in a row – almost unheard of. He would need every one of them for what he had planned.

  Suddenly, back to reality, they arrived in Ambleside. A series of sharp left and right turns led them towards the address, and as they drew closer they tried to figure out which side of the street the house would be on.

  ‘Odd numbers on the left,’ Nick said, and with that, on came the left spotlight illuminating Nick’s side of the street.

  ‘Here, the one with the light on.’ Cam pulled over and killed the lights. The crew jumped out of the vehicle. Nick grabbed the response bag and strode swiftly up to the door. Cam was always glad he had been partnered up with Nick; he was one of the area’s paramedics that still had some urgency about all calls, a professional approach with which he could identify.

  Cam grabbed the oxygen and drugs-bag from the side compartment of the ambulance. Even Cam’s limited experience with the service had prepared him to expect anything. The house was warm, a welcome relief from the chill of the early Cumbrian morning. Following the muffled voices from a distant bedroom, Cam made his way down the corridor, looking around and taking in his surroundings. He had learned you could tell so much about the patient from the state of their house. ‘Not too bad,’ he thought. It was much better than some of the crap-holes he had been in.

  Halfway through his questioning, Nick knew exactly what was wrong with the patient, and as Cam appeared in the doorway it was clear to him too. The scene was a common one. A male, looking much older than he was, sat up in bed struggling to catch his breath, red-faced and wheezing on inhalation. Looking down at the SP02 monitor that Nick had already put in place, Cam could see that the man’s pulse was slightly fast but nothing to worry about, and he had 100% oxygen circulating in his bloodstream. Nick was trying to calm the man using all the usual lines while coaching him to relax his breathing.

  Kneeling next to the bed, Cam took the red-faced man’s wrist and felt for a pulse, for no other reason than to make the patient feel better. He knew that people were reassured by a medical professional doing something they could recognise.

  ‘Do you have any pins and needles in your fingers at all?’ Cam said, with his well-rehearsed caring voice.

  ‘Yes, yes,’ gasped the man. Both Nick and Cam knew that this was nothing more than an anxiety attack, more commonly known as a panic attack. ‘What the hell could he have to panic about?’ wondered Cam. Nothing terrifying ever happened in Ambleside. ‘How could he know how it was to be truly terrified?’

  While Nick explained to the man in his genuine, caring way that he was g
oing to be OK, Cam glanced around the room, spotting some medication on the cluttered bedside table. He took a closer look. Two types of antidepressant – not a surprise. Doctors seemed to hand those things out like Smarties. Putting the medication boxes next to Nick so he could see them, he began to tidy up the equipment. ‘Another life saved,’ Cam joked to himself.

  Chapter 2

  Arriving back at the station always felt good, especially on cold nights like that one. The station was small and tucked away out of view, and had only one crew on at any one time – this suited Cam perfectly. With less than an hour to go before the day-crew would arrive for handover, there was no point in trying to go back to sleep. A few minutes grabbed here and there usually made Cam feel worse. A cup of coffee was a much better idea.

  Both members of the weary night-crew sat in the rest-room, the television on in the background. ‘Daytime TV – nothing worse,’ thought Cam. He waited patiently for the moment that Nick would leave the room so he could flick over to the news. It would not be long; Nick always had something to do in the office.

  Once alone, Cam picked up the remote and changed channels. ‘Expense scandals! Typical. Put something interesting on – something I can use,’ thought Cam. ‘This is the only chance I get to watch the news, to gather intelligence.’ Scrolling along the bottom of the screen was some breaking news. ‘BOMB FOUND IN PRINTER CARTRIDGE ON CARGO AIRCRAFT TIMED TO EXPLODE OVER THE EASTERN STATES OF THE USA.’ ‘Interesting, but nothing to do with me any more.’ Cam’s mind drifted back to his troubled past, but before he could start to recollect, the main story moved on to a radical Muslim cleric, sentenced to prison in Lebanon. Cam sat forward, all of his focus was now on the TV. He almost didn’t notice the day-crew turn up.

  ‘Morning everybody.’ Diane said, in her usual cheery way. Following closely behind, Dave followed through the rest-room door.

  ‘Hey Cam, how was your night?’

  ‘Normal for me, couple of simple jobs, nothing too taxing.’ He liked Dave; he had started a few months after Cam, so he was still relatively new and still a bit nervous about the job – probably the only thing they didn’t have in common, as Cam never seemed to feel his nerves. Social situations and crowds made Cam uneasy, however, he had an ability to remain calm in almost all situations, and he had had his fair share of dangerous moments. He remembered back to Dave’s first shift. He had had to respond to a lightning strike – Dave seemed to attract the tough jobs. When Cam turned up for work, everything calmed down. This was a running joke around the station. When he was on they could expect a quiet shift. Probably why people didn’t mind working with him.

  Pleasantries were exchanged and there was a quick handover of the ambulance, made easy as they hadn’t used anything except some diesel, as they travelled between their ‘non-jobs’ as Cam called them. Soon it was time for home. The night-crew took their belongings out of the ambulance and grabbed their bags.

  ‘Right then, have a good few days off and I’ll see you next week,’ Nick said. ‘Anything planned?’

  ‘Nah, just resting.’ More lies. It was becoming a habit. Walking towards his car, Cam looked over at the hills in the distance. Picturesque, with the swaying trees in the foreground and the sound of babbling from the river behind them. ‘Nice town,’ he thought. Sometimes he found himself standing outside the station during night shifts, just taking it all in, enjoying the silence and listening to the river. He still felt lucky to be working in one of the most beautiful areas in the UK.

  He drove home, through the national park. Snow had already begun to appear on the tops of the hills, just as it had when he arrived at the station for the first time. It had only been a year, yet somehow it felt like a long time ago.

  Cam’s home was a small annexe attached to Mr and Mrs Crossley’s cottage, not at all big, but enough for him. Mrs Crossley was a pleasant-looking old lady who could always find something to talk about, but gave him the space he needed. His modest home was well kept and cosy, and with no electricity he always had a fire going. Mr and Mrs Crossley’s old furniture filled the small living space. Well-worn wooden floors, warped and cracked from the heat of the fire, were marked by dripping candle wax. This simple life was one of the reasons why he had chosen this part of the country.

  Cam pulled up outside the cottage. He felt mentally and physically exhausted. The newspapers of the day, lying on the passenger seat, had been bought at one of the newsagents that he passed on his way home. The newspapers had priority in his schedule – sleep came second on the task list.

  ‘Morning Mrs Crossley,’ Cam called, as she waved at him through the kitchen window. Finding the right key he opened his front door and quickly made his way in then slammed it shut behind him, so as not to let too much cold air inside. He threw the papers down on to the table and lit the fire; same old routine after every night shift. Cam was prepared, having cut the wood the day before; saving time was almost a hobby of Cam’s. With the small room warming up, Cam poured himself a whisky. If anyone saw him they would think he was an alcoholic, but this was effectively his evening before bed.

  ‘Right, let’s get this done.’ He started fanning through the papers until something leapt out at him. He nosed through the pages, finely tuned to what he was seeking. That morning he found it. ‘Radical Muslim cleric sentenced to prison in Lebanon for raising funds for Al Qa’eda. He is in hiding in the UK to avoid his punishment.’ Cam sipped his whisky as the flames flickered in the hearth. Whyte & Mackay – blended, but one of his favourites.

  Carefully cutting round the article and setting it to one side, Cam thought to himself, ‘Maybe they don’t know where you are but I do!’ Some of the other papers carried similar stories – and a very useful photo of the man. He kept this too.

  Cam sat back in his chair and took another swig of his drink. He could feel the warmth of the whisky in his body now. He trusted the power of the amber liquid to help him sleep. Piled on the bookcase in the corner of the room were some board games: Cluedo, Monopoly, Risk and Trivial Pursuit. In the middle of the pile sat Scrabble. Not the best hiding place for his files, but sometimes the best hiding place was in plain sight.

  Sliding back on his chair he made his way over to the bookshelf and pulled out the box. Inside there were a number of files, one with the name Abu-Al-Khayr Barakat written on it. Cam took out the cardboard folder and opened it, revealing a collage of newspaper cuttings. With the new articles and photos now glued alongside the others, Cam looked over the whole document. Plans made over the past few months were about to be carried out. Cam studied the face of the man on his latest photo.

  ‘So, you’re the first.’

  Chapter 3

  The train journey to Birmingham would take nearly four hours. Plenty of time to run through everything in his mind, just one more time. Attention to detail was paramount. Nothing could go wrong – so much of his life was at stake.

  Covering his tracks had proved to be far harder than he had anticipated. Using public transport, paid for with cash, seemed to be the only way to get around undetected by electronic monitoring systems and CCTV cameras. With over four million CCTV cameras in the UK, the average person was caught on camera about three hundred times a day. You couldn’t drive anywhere without your movements being monitored. He would stay out of high-crime areas and high-density population areas, where more surveillance devices were used by the authorities.

  Cam had to be careful never to use his bank cards in places that could incriminate him. That was the simplest method of tracking anyone’s movement around the country. He remembered his advanced vetting interview all those years ago, when he was asked about his most personal details. Had he ever used drugs? Did he have any strange sexual desires? Why had he withdrawn a large amount of money in a town far away from where he lived – and what had he spent it on? He had nothing to hide back then, but still the interviewer had found a way of making him feel guilt
y. Good at his job, he’d been.

  For the past few months Cam had been asking for small amounts of cash back every time he went shopping. He had been putting it aside and would use it as payment for anything he might need while away.

  After reviewing his notes, for what felt like the hundredth time, he finally slipped the document back into the folder and then his bag. He wondered if he was really going to do it. Once started down that dark road, turning back would not be an option. With the image of the man’s face burned into his mind, Cam began to think about the first time he had taken a man’s life. Still recovering from last night’s shift, he closed his eyes, hoping to take a nap. Then he was back in the jungle.

  * * * * * * *

  That night it was so dark that it was impossible to see if there was anyone there. When the sun goes down in the jungle it is pitch black – nearly no ambient light, nothing for your eyes to adjust to. Ritchie had been a few metres to his right – far too close. The night made everyone move closer together. That was human instinct.

  Cam knelt down to take a rest; he needed water. Reaching round, he pulled out one of his water bottles and took a few mouthfuls. The lukewarm water re-hydrated but didn’t refresh. The heat in that place was unbearable. There was nowhere to go to get away from it, constantly wet from non-stop sweating; it was hard to take on more water than your body got rid of. Cam could taste the salt on his lips and the sweat burned in his eyes.

  ‘How can anyone fight in a place like this?’ was all Cam could think. Between the heat, the darkness and above all the leeches, Sierra Leone was not a place he wanted to be. Totally exposed, he looked over at Ritchie, who motioned forward. They had no choice but to move on. It was going to be one of those nights. Parts of Freetown had once again been plunged into darkness as the so-called government cut the power to parts of the town. Some said it was to save electricity, but more probably it was to allow the rebels in.