Scream Blue Murder: an action-packed thriller

by Tony J. Forder

  “He’s coming?” Melissa asked. “Your friend.”

  “He is. It’ll take him a few hours, but he’s on his way.”

  “He must be a very close friend. That was a strange phone call.”

  I smiled. “More an old friend who owes me.”

  “It must be one hell of a debt.”

  Making a snap decision, I sat down by her side and told her about Terry Cochran. Partly to let her know something of the man I had requested help from, but mostly to try and erase the haunting images of Susan. If only for a few minutes.

  “We did a tour of duty together,” I said. “Our separate units were shipped out to the arsehole end of the universe. We worked together several times. We hit it off right away.”

  “You were in the army?”

  “Yes. Royal Marines. Commando unit. That surprises you.” It was not a question.

  “A little. No, a lot if I’m being honest. You don’t seem the type.” Melissa tilted her head and stared at me as if a different person now sat before her.

  “I know. It surprises most people these days. Not back then, though. For me it was join up or find more and more trouble to get into. I signed up on the dotted line the day after my eighteenth birthday.”

  “How long were you in the… Marines, was it?”

  I nodded. “Only three years, unfortunately. I was wounded in Iraq, invalided out. A stray bullet caught me in the back, did some nerve damage. Nothing life threatening, nothing anyone would even notice by looking at me. It was life changing, though. I couldn’t go into the field anymore, and I didn’t sign up to sit behind a desk.”

  “I’m sorry, Mike. That must have been awful for you.” I saw genuine sympathy in her eyes.

  I remembered the day well. The battle of Umm Qasr was fought in order to secure the port. My squad, plus another Marines unit and the US Delta team were pinned down by sniper fire. My team and I were given the task of providing cover so that our own sniper could take out their opposition. During a particularly gruelling exchange, I took out two activists, covered the wounded until help arrived, and then felt the jolt in my back just as a snatch Land Rover came to sweep us up and return us to the safety of numbers. I recalled too the interminable months of physiotherapy, the pain, sweat, blood and tears that followed. The words of the doctor who informed me that the nerve damage was too severe to repair adequately.

  It was all still so fresh in my mind because that was pretty much when the real drinking began.

  “It was hard graft,” I admitted to Melissa. “But those three years with the unit taught me discipline, at the very least. How to avoid trouble if I could. I suppose that’s why I have acted instinctively at times over the past day. Old habits, I guess. Anyhow, I quit the Marines and Terry Cochran remained. He later went on to join the SAS.”

  “I bet that hurt even more,” Melissa said.

  “Not really,” I told her. And it was true enough. “I wasn’t cut out to be that ruthless. Nor that hard, or savage, or brutal, if I’m honest. So, I put my savings and pay-off to good use on a journalism course, and from there went right on into the job.”

  “But you don’t do that any longer. Why not?”

  “No. That ended… badly. I fucked up, and was lost for a while. Too long. These days I’m just a self-employed graphic designer.”

  “So how did this debt to your old colleague arise?”

  “That’s not important.” I swiped the air as if physically brushing aside the question. “The thing is, every year on its anniversary he contacts me in some way, and asks what he can do to repay the debt. And every year I have told him not to be stupid and to just get on with his life, that there never was a debt. That he owed me nothing.”

  I broke off from speaking, remembering those days fighting alongside Terry Cochran, the bond between us that was strong and fierce whilst going about our work, yet merely casual away from it. I had not told Melissa every detail. She had no need to know.

  “But now you’ve had to call in that debt, right?” Melissa prompted.

  “Yes. Mine was an act of friendship, and he owed me nothing. Still, when I now need it to be more than that or perhaps less than that I made the call. I’m not sure what that says about me.”

  “That you needed help,” she said. “That you asked your friend for help, just as he asked for yours.”

  “I wish I could see it that way.”

  “You should. I’m sure he does. So what was his reaction, anyway? I only heard your side of the conversation. If you can call it that.”

  I gave a narrow smile. “Immediate. Automatic. Asked me what he needed to know, told me what I needed to hear. You heard my side and it must have come across as stilted. But that’s how it is. He’s retired from the regiment, was working with some dark security types last time we spoke, but this would have been just another op for him. Something to pull him away from whatever haunts him these days.”

  Melissa glanced across at the kid, checking that she was still sleeping. Returned her gaze to me. “So, what’s the plan?”

  “As usual in circumstances like these the first stage is to remove us from harm’s way and get us to a safe location. That’s the only plan necessary right now. After that, the three of us sit down and discuss our options.”

  “And your friend has one of these safe locations?”

  I gave a single nod. “Knowing Terry as I do, I fully expect him to have a list to choose from. No one will tie me to him, so it’s safe for us.”

  She was silent for a moment, then asked, “What do you mean by something haunting him?”

  “I don’t mean ghosts, if that’s what you think. Thing is, when you do the things we did, you can’t afford to think about those you kill in the line of duty. I’m really talking about retribution. Relatives and friends of those you have killed. Sometimes more than that the nations of those you take out will occasionally want to exact revenge. I know Terry worked in Afghanistan, South America and several countries in Africa. If his identity were revealed, his life would certainly be in danger from someone.”

  “What a way to live,” she muttered.

  “Yeah,” I said, nodding slowly. “And now we’re getting a taste of it.”

  We were packed up and ready to leave by the time I gave the nod. It was still light out and Charlie was obviously tired and a little ratty at being dragged away from her cartoons, which she had been watching on TV since she woke up. Melissa did her best to soothe the kid by insisting that it would be for a short while only, that we could all settle down just as soon as our ride came to an end and that the next day would be better all round. As usual, Charlie asked about her father. Once again, Melissa told the girl a lie.

  “I leave first,” I had earlier explained to Mel. “When you follow, five minutes later, you turn right when you come out of the hotel entrance, first right again, then second left. I will be leaning with my back against the vehicle. If I’m not there, if I’m facing it instead, if I’m doing anything other than leaning back against it, you keep on walking.”

  “And then what?” she had asked.

  “Hope that we can somehow figure things out and locate you.”

  “And if you can’t?”

  “Then if I were you, I would throw myself at the mercy of the police. It’s your best hope, to be honest.”

  “And you? What will it mean for you?”

  “I have no idea. It depends on who or what has prevented me from meeting Terry. But what you don’t do is stop, not even to consider. You keep on going and you don’t look back. You understand me? You do absolutely nothing to draw attention to yourselves at that point.”

  I had cleaned myself up before Charlie woke up. My face and hands and hair, at least. Blood and tissue was easy enough to wash off. As for the taint…? That was a different matter entirely. A couple of times, Charlie had asked me what was wrong. I brushed her off. She then reminded me that I had told her I would try not to be grumpy. At any other time that would have made me laugh. On t
his occasion, I simply lowered my gaze and turned away from her.

  Now on my way out of the hotel, I was nowhere near as clear-headed as I had sounded an hour or so ago when Mel and I were talking. Out there somewhere were the murdering NCA officer, Dawson’s men, and perhaps even another group of people who had already murdered Susan.

  Jesus, Sue!

  I felt tears welling up once more. Seeing my friend so brutally and instantly murdered was the worst thing I had ever witnessed. I had once been scrambled to the scene of a bomb attack on one of the UDR vehicles, and the aftermath of that explosion had been horrific. So too the various battles on numerous foreign fields. But this had been personal.

  And I had asked her to walk right into the trap that killed her.

  Nothing would ever make me forget that. And yet at the same time, her murder had changed me in another way. Now this was not only about emerging from our predicament unscathed, wasn’t merely about getting away and clearing my name. Now I wanted the responsible person or persons to pay for what they had done. Now my impulse was to fight rather than run. So, whilst I was still wary of what awaited me, this time it was because I didn’t want anything to get in the way of what I had to do.

  The night air was warm, the air clean and dry. There were a few bars and restaurants close by, so the area was teeming with people. I spent only a few seconds scanning the pavements for anyone paying particular attention to me. Other than the cop I had no idea who to look out for, and if others were involved and they were professionals, I almost certainly wouldn’t know they were there until it was too late.

  It was only a short distance to the first street. Still close enough to the main road, and if anything was going to happen it wouldn’t be until I took the street on the left. I listened hard, but did not look behind me. There were more people around than I had anticipated at this late hour, which came as some relief. My gut feeling was that those hunting me had no idea where I was, and that the most dangerous moment would come when I reached the vehicle. Terry Cochran was their only way in now. If they were around, that’s where they would be.

  On turning left, I immediately noticed how empty the street was. A group of teenage males about a hundred yards ahead, walking my way but on the opposite side of the road; on my side, a young couple heading away from me, arm in arm, their laughter carrying to me on the warm breeze.

  I spotted the black Range Rover. As agreed it was parked facing towards me, a signal that Terry was confident he had not been followed. I pushed out a deep breath and continued walking. Ten yards on I saw a figure sitting behind the wheel. Ten yards further and I could make out the figure’s features.

  It was Terry Cochran.

  Impassive. Calm.

  As I drew level with the vehicle’s windscreen, Terry gave a single nod. I stopped walking, and spent a few seconds dropping my gaze on every vehicle, every house, every front garden, plus both pavements. The youths had disappeared around a corner, the couple into a house at the far end of the street. I guessed I had less than thirty seconds before Melissa and Charlie appeared at the top of the street. Either I leaned back against the Range Rover or I carried on walking.

  I gave it all the time I could spare. It was possible, though highly unlikely, that someone had made the link between myself and Terry Cochran. It was therefore equally possible and equally unlikely that someone had managed to track Terry down and follow him. More improbable, however, was that Terry had allowed himself to be tracked all the way here. A GPS device of some sort was not out of the question, but I had to assume that a man as paranoid about security and safety as Terry would have swept for one before leaving home.

  A lot of possibilities.

  But what I considered inconceivable was the idea that my old friend had allowed me to walk into a trap.

  The Range Rover was facing the right way.

  Terry had given me the nod.

  I leaned back against the vehicle and waited.

  23

  Other than cursory introductions, little was said until the town of Chippenham was a distant dull light behind us and the kid was once more engrossed with her iPod, her head on Melissa’s lap. Melissa herself seemed jaded and still in mild shock. I was astonished at how well she had held up, given everything we had been through in the past twenty-four hours. But everyone had their limits. Me included.

  Shortly after hitting a stretch of unlit dual-carriageway that headed north-east, Terry turned to me and said, “So tell me why I’m here.”

  I glanced back to check on the kid before responding. “There’s a lot to tell, Terry. None of it fit for certain ears.”

  “The child? She’s lost in another world.”

  “Even so.” I didn’t want Charlie to overhear a single word, in case something unsettled her and set her off.

  Terry took the hint. A turn-off was coming up and he went with it. The long decline took us down to a roundabout. He took the first left, drove for a mile or so along a minor road, before pulling over into a car park attached to a row of shops. Most of them were boarded up and unused, the parking area deserted apart from a few youths clustered together on bikes. Terry killed the engine, opened his door and climbed out. He jerked his head at me and said, “So now let’s talk.”

  We spent the next ten minutes doing just that, having walked a dozen yards away from the vehicle, keeping our voices low. Using broad strokes, I took my friend through every significant aspect of the past day. Terry listened, commenting only when prompting for further details. His face remained impassive throughout. When I was done, he took a breath and scratched behind his ear.

  He said, “In your old job, did you and this Dawson cross paths?”

  “No. His name came up a lot across our desks, and I did a bit of research for Susan at one point, but I never met him or filed a story on him. Why?”

  “I’m wondering if your involvement is entirely coincidental. Anyone who is looking to lay blame at your door will look at your past employment as a potential motive.”

  I took a few moments to process that. “I never thought of that angle, Terry. But I don’t see any way that it could have been set up around me, judging by the manner in which the accident and the re-routing panned out. It was just rank bad luck. I was on that road by chance, I pulled over by chance. I don’t know Dawson, and I certainly don’t know Hendricks, the NCA officer.”

  “Still…”

  “Yeah. I’ll give it some more thought. I don’t see why or how, though.”

  “Okay. Mike, I’m sorry about what happened to your friend, but I have to ask: do you think you may have been the target?”

  I shook my head. Firmly this time. I’d had a long time to consider this one question. “No. If you’re going to use a rifle then you’re going to be good enough with it to hit your target. Believe me, I’ve thought about very little else since it happened. I think there were two reasons why Susan was the intended victim. First, she knew everything and she needed to be silenced. But secondly, I think the intention was to spook me into blindly running back to Mel and Charlie. The way I see it playing out, they tapped Susan’s phone, they followed her to get to me.”

  Terry said, “I agree. They probably didn’t have enough time to arrange a larger, better team to cover every possible escape route from that car park. That’s why you encountered only one man when you exited. You did well to keep your wits about you, Mike.”

  “Maybe. But where does that leave us?”

  “I’m not sure.” Terry shook his head. “Let’s just get you all secured away. Then we can do this again in more detail, see what pops next time around.”

  I had watched Terry take in our surroundings throughout. He must have been as aware as I was that the youths on bikes had taken to circling us, those circles decreasing with each pass. Something about us had emboldened them. I suspected they would regret their growing confidence. Terry and I went to move back to the vehicle. As we did, Terry stepped to one side and took himself closer to one of the bikes.
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  “Whatever you’re thinking, think again,” he said. He stood in the path of one cyclist. “My friend and I are going on our way. You try something on, and I’ll snap your neck like dry kindling. I am not in the mood, so back the fuck off.”

  The young men with sour faces did not look the type to appreciate being ordered around by someone not of their crew. On the other hand, Terry did not look as if he gave a damn what they thought. The clash of wills lasted only seconds. That was all it took for the youths to turn away and ride off into the distance.

  I smiled to myself, grateful he was on our side.

  Less than fifteen minutes later we were heading east on the M4 motorway. Terry appeared completely untroubled, as if he were on a Sunday outing. I admired my old friend’s ability to immerse himself in something so completely that it became all-consuming. I studied Terry’s eyes as they flitted from the road ahead to the rear-view mirror to each door mirror in turn. He would not only be looking for a tail, but also retaining licence plate information. Just the first three or last three digits, perhaps, but enough to prick his memory if spotted later on in the same journey. A journey I knew would be circuitous.

  “So how are things in the farming community?” I asked the moment I saw Terry start to relax a little. I thought we could do with a momentary break from our troubles.

  “Busy enough,” he replied without breaking his observational routine. “Not so much for me, of course, I just rent the land out to proper farmers. They are the ones who do all the hard graft.”

  “And your other business?”

  “Demanding when it’s offered. Nothing in the pipeline just now, though.”

  “You’re a man of leisure, then?”

  “Most of the time. What are you up to these days?”

  “I’m a freelance graphic designer.” I nodded and managed a thin smile. “Glamorous, huh? I could spend the next thirty minutes explaining what it is I do, but it would hardly make sense even to me. Plus, I need you alert, not comatose.”