Scream Blue Murder: an action-packed thriller

by Tony J. Forder

  “Sorry. I simply don’t believe you.”

  The man at the other end of the line sighed. “Well, I tried. I could still let the girl go. So, yes, maybe I don’t intend letting any of you three adults walk away. It’ll be your lives in exchange for hers. She’s no threat.”

  “So, we hand ourselves over to you. Charlie goes free. We die.”

  “Quickly. You’ll never feel it. None of you. What do you say?”

  Shaking his head, Terry said, “I say call me back in sixty.”

  He killed the call.

  I let go a long, deep breath. “He was blunt, I’ll say that for him,” I said.

  “Once he knew I wasn’t buying his bullshit.”

  There was something I could not let go of, however. I asked Terry why he had left the phone in one piece, allowing them to use the GPS all over again. He explained that it had been sitting in his jacket with the battery removed until moments before we left our canopy of birch trees earlier.

  “After a night of stewing on it, I realised there was no chance of us finding these people as rapidly as we needed to,” he said. “Our only hope was to draw them to us once again.”

  “Yeah, because that went so well for us before,” I snapped. “And once again, Terry, you made a decision without consulting either of us.”

  Terry ran a hand through his beard. “Do you agree that the quickest way to re-establish contact was to have the phone live and available?”

  “Yes, but ”

  “Then why would we waste time debating it? I apologise to both of you for taking matters into my own hands yet again. I know I screwed up before, so you doubt me now. But this really was the only way to move us forward this time. We were all out of options.”

  “I agree,” Melissa said, providing Terry with an unexpected ally.

  I had to admit that, even had we discussed it at length, we would have ended up making the same decision. It pissed me off that Mel and I had been excluded from the process, yet it had been the most expedient course of action to take.

  I hiked my shoulder and said, “I suppose now at least we know what we’re up against.”

  Terry continued to run a hand over his chin. “Still it doesn’t feel right, Mike. Again. That appears to be a constant thread. Something about this whole business keeps nagging at me, and I can’t put my finger on why.”

  My friend did not operate on a physical level based on being reactive. He was reflective, intelligent, proactive. If something was still bothering him, then there was probably a good reason.

  “Go on,” I said. “We discussed this before your concerns. Things have moved on since, though. Let’s see if we can jar something loose.”

  Melissa took a step forward. The morning air was crisp, and she had both arms wrapped around herself in a hug. She had long since run out of cigarettes, and was probably feeling some withdrawal. “For what it’s worth, if you think they will release Charlie, I’ll give myself up to them.”

  “I know you would, Mel,” I said. A thin smile stretched a line across my face. “I’ve seen the way you are with Charlie. If I didn’t know otherwise I’d swear you were her mother. But Terry was right: they will never do that. So let’s not go there again, because we need to figure out a whole different approach.”

  She shrugged. “I’m in your hands. If I were on my own, I would take the deal. But you know these sort of men better than I do. So, if you say it’s a lie, then it’s a lie.”

  “I’m not happy about any of this,” Terry reminded us. “I get why they want you, Mike. You saw the cop shooting Dawson. In their minds, you have to go. But why Mel? That has never sat right with me. It made sense initially, but as soon as she told them in her texts that she had seen nothing they should have abandoned her as a target.”

  “Clearly they didn’t believe her.”

  “I thought they did at the time,” Melissa said. “They really tried to make me think Mike was dangerous. A danger to me and Charlie.”

  Terry nodded. “I think we can all agree that was a ploy. As for the rest of it, I’m not so sure. Okay, so they are paranoid. No chances. Take us all out. That’s where we are now. Where you were before you contacted me, though that’s where I’m a little hazy. They had you, Mike. Both of you if they’d wanted. A concocted story about how you and Melissa were in it together. Hendricks had the entire police force and NCA behind him. He could easily have buried you both, had the pair of you in the frame. It wouldn’t have mattered what you said in your defence. There was no need for the escalation.”

  “You mean killing Susan.”

  “Yes. It still makes no sense to me, Mike.”

  I shifted uneasily. Loose gravel crunched beneath the boots Terry had given me. “I don’t disagree. I’m just not sure what you’re trying to say. Or where turning this over and over takes us. Not any closer to Charlie, that’s for sure.”

  Terry fixed his gaze on the hexagonal towers of the gatehouse for a few moments. I imagined his sanctuary was now ruined every bit as much as the ancient building itself. When he turned back, I saw his brow creased into a deep V.

  “That may not be the case, actually. Not exactly. They still want you two. But I’m more intrigued by something that bastard said just now. He asked me what did one more victim of collateral damage matter.”

  “I assumed that was Charlie he was talking about,” I said.

  “No. No, I don’t think it was. The conversation had moved on to you two throwing yourselves to the wolves in exchange for her life. So, if only one of you would be collateral damage, what does that make the other?”

  Melissa threw both hands to her head, loosely wrapping around her ears as if words were somehow blows to ward off. “Will you stop saying ‘collateral damage’! You make it sound so cold and detached. It’s murder, plain and simple.”

  “Okay, Mel, take it easy.” I spoke to her softly. I stepped forward and placed my hands on her upper arms, peering directly into her eyes. “We want Charlie back every bit as much as you do. And we’ll get her back. I promise you.”

  “But it isn’t your fault she’s gone,” she replied, tears streaming down her face

  “It isn’t? We were both there with you. It was our plan that failed, exposing you. It was my job to protect you. Both of you. My baggage, remember. I failed, too. But you can’t carry that with you into the next fight, Mel. It’s a distraction, and that can get you killed.”

  Silence followed. And in that moment of silence, Terry suddenly jerked backwards, and a bloom of red spread across his pale blue shirt. Only then did I hear the report of the shot that had caused it.

  39

  It was almost a day since they had returned from Wiltshire. Rhino was now sitting with Chris Dawson inside one of the family-owned casinos. This one was in Romford, Essex, the first ever purchased by the Dawson empire. The two occupied a sleek and elegant office on the floor above the space devoted to gambling and drinking. Dawson was on his second scotch of the day, whilst Rhino stuck to coffee before noon.

  “I’m getting angry now,” Dawson confessed, spite evident in his eyes. “It might be time to hold feet to the fire, Rhino.”

  The big man sat back in his chair. “Whose feet?” he asked. “Which fire?”

  Dawson picked up the closest thing to hand his crystal tumbler and hurled it against the wall just behind Rhino’s head. The glass shattered, its broken shards and the golden alcohol it had contained spattered across the carpet below.

  “I don’t pay you to ask me dumb fucking questions, I pay you to resolve situations for me!”

  Rhino sat unmoved. “But it’s not a stupid question,” he argued reasonably. “This is way out of our league, Chris. If this was business I’d know who to see, I’d know who to squeeze. I’d also know why I was doing the squeezing and what I hoped to achieve. In this case, I have nothing to go on. Not a thing. Are you not getting anything from your insider?”

  Dawson pointed a stiff finger in his direction. “There you go. There’s one u
seless fucker whose feet can go into the fucking fire for all I care.”

  “If that’s what you really want. Will that get us any further, or is the real problem the fact that he’s no longer involved in the investigation and so can’t tell us anything no matter what I threaten to do to him?”

  “He says that’s the case. Perhaps losing a finger or a toe or a tooth will make him think again.”

  “Seems like a long shot to me, boss. What exactly has he said?”

  Dawson shook his head, clearly frustrated. “That the victim in the hotel was this Hendricks character from the NCA. He actually thought we might be responsible for that. He was surprised when I told him otherwise. Now he’s thinking there must be some sort of connection with that shooting and the one in the car park.”

  “And nothing since? That does gel with what we’re hearing from other areas. That the trail has gone cold. No sightings, no more bodies, nothing.”

  “Which can’t be fucking right.”

  “Unless Lynch has gone to ground. And if he has, he could have done so anywhere.”

  Rhino could tell his boss was still seething, but he had calmed sufficiently that he could at least be reasoned with. There were times when he would have liked nothing more than to crush Chris like a bug and just walk away from it all. But it was a passing phase, and he’d get over it. He thought about a potential next move, and something stirred.

  “Boss, did you hear on the radio this morning about some sort of commotion in East Anglia? Police were making no comment, and media had no confirmation of what actually went on, but there was some mention of gunfire and possible explosions.”

  Dawson was nodding. “Saw something about it on the news earlier. What’re you thinking, Rhino?”

  “I’m thinking that we go weeks, even months in this country without hearing about shootings. Now we have Ray, the woman in the car park and the NCA geezer. I’m wondering if it’s just pure coincidence that twenty-four hours later there’s potentially more shootings elsewhere. I said this Lynch bloke could have gone to ground anywhere. Why not East Anglia?”

  Chris leaned forward, his hands clasped together on the desk he sat behind. “So, if Hendricks shot Ray, and we didn’t shoot Hendricks, who did shoot him? Who shot Lynch’s friend, and who the hell is doing the shooting now?”

  “All good questions. Maybe I could drive up there and snout around.”

  “But explosions?”

  Rhino shrugged. “Who knows, boss? Something iffy is going on. Wouldn’t take me long to head up there.”

  “Not as if you’ve got any other fucking leads to follow up on. Go. Take Haystacks with you.”

  Rhino groaned. “Do I have to, boss?”

  “Did I just give you a direct order, Rhino?”

  “Yes.”

  Dawson nodded. “Then yes, you do.”

  40

  A second round came in before I had a chance to react. It struck Terry on the thigh and flipped him around, sending him sprawling to the ground. I grabbed hold of Melissa with both arms and dove to the floor, the young woman sandwiched beneath me and the hard gravel. Shuffling around to ensure I was side-on to the shooter, I put a hard edge into my voice and said, “You stay still until I tell you otherwise. When I say go, get up into a low crouch and scurry as fast as you can. I’ll be dragging you along so just go with me.”

  Terry was cursing, but as another bullet narrowly missed him and chipped off a chunk of five-hundred-year-old masonry, he managed to pull himself up and scramble over the waist-high wall. Myself and Melissa were only yards away, but I knew the sniper would have switched his focus by now. The Kevlar was in the truck so we were exposed to the full force of the munitions. I could only hope it would not tear through me and on into Mel.

  “I’m going to the truck,” Terry called out.

  I glanced back. “No. I’m bringing Mel to you. I’ll get the weapons and body armour from the truck.”

  After that, I didn’t hesitate. Heaving Melissa to her feet, I set off for the ancient stone wall. A round clipped my forearm, sending an electric jolt of pain right through to the wrist. I yelped, but continuing to crouch and run I towed Melissa behind me at speed. Another high-velocity bullet somehow missed me; I heard it scream by my right ear but it seemed to strike nothing. A yard from the wall I pitched Melissa forward beyond me and somehow hurled us both over the wall in a flurry of arms and legs.

  The landing was heavy, and it drove the air from my lungs. My arm was stinging like a bastard as well. Nausea took hold, and bile rose up into my throat. I managed to keep it down, but it was a close-run thing. Gasping for air I looked up at Melissa, saw pain etched upon her face.

  “You hit?” I asked. I heard the urgency in my own voice.

  She shook her head, eyes wide and tearful. “Just… just winded,” she said through clenched teeth.

  Nodding, I looked across at Terry, who was keeping low and tight to the base of the wall. “Tell me what we have?” I asked.

  “In the back, under the canvas. Three green bags: one small arms, one M4s, one ammo. Explosives and Kevlar in the maroon bag.”

  “Got it. You okay, Terry? How bad are you hit?”

  “Thigh is not terrible, but a bleeder. The one in my side might be worse.”

  “What about you?” Melissa asked me. “Your arm looks in a bad way.”

  I looked down. Thick red blood glutted from the groove that formed the wound. I shook my head and waggled my fingers. “Somehow it missed the bone. I can move it. It’s superficial and looks worse than it is. It needs attention, but that will have to wait.”

  I told her to edge in towards the stone base like Terry.

  “Back in five,” I said.

  Scrambling along behind the wall on my hands and knees, I realised five minutes was a pipe dream. I had to clear the wall at the far end, then navigate my way behind whatever structures were available, all the way back to the parking area where the Toyota sat. Then return, only this time laden with weapons. And all whilst being shot at. Behind the wall I had no way of looking out for the sniper’s position. I figured the gunman would relocate, shifting position as well as moving closer to us. By the time I reached the cache of arms, our unseen assailant could be a couple of hundred yards away from where he had taken his first series of shots.

  I reached the end of the wall and peered around the corner. The Priory was a tourist trap, but fortunately at this time of morning it was relatively empty. The gunfire had been suppressed, so there was less chance of anyone else being drawn into what was going on. A couple of people on the far side by what had once been the monks’ sleeping quarters seemed not to have noticed anything amiss. A few others stood and watched us, clearly bemused by our actions.

  Uncertainty froze me to the spot. The most natural thing would be to grab up some weapons, spare clips and scurry back to Terry and Melissa. On the other hand, perhaps the best way to protect them was to eradicate the enemy. This rattled through my head while I worked out the easiest route over to the truck. I would be out in the open, but if the sniper still had a fix on the wall behind which all three of us had taken shelter, his focus might not take in the wider surroundings.

  I looked back at the way I had come. The inelegantly constructed grey-stone wall had a curve which I now noticed only by looking down its length. Terry was still visible, and I waved my hand in a jerky motion in order to attract his attention. He lifted his head, raised a hand. I signalled back, using a special form of sign language: Show movement. Draw attention.

  Terry did so immediately. From his prone position, he slipped off his jacket and raised it so that it could be seen above the wall. He moved it slowly from left to right, making it appear as if someone were crawling around back there.

  Any sniper worth his salt would have been scouring the area with his scope, and would keep dropping back to the last visual contact. I hoped the movement had been seen, and that it would induce the rifleman to focus on that specific location. I did wonder whether the
y had a spotter, but dismissed the notion. It was unlikely that whoever was in charge would have risked two men, given the losses they had already suffered. However, if the sniper had reported back that he had us pinned down, support might well be on its way.

  I had to move. It was a risk, and I had to resist the urge to hurry. Sudden movements were easy to spot peripherally, and I had no intention of becoming an easy target for the man out there now hunting us down like animals.

  I moved.

  I made sure that I was not out in the open and in plain sight for longer than ten seconds at any one time. Did not pause behind a sheltered spot for longer than five. In this manner, I created a jagged pattern in a dog-leg scramble across to the car park, which was becoming increasingly more active with vehicles and visitors. I slid around to the back of the Toyota, pulled open the canopy and started rummaging through the bags. I was so lost in thought that I never heard the scuffling movement close by until it was almost upon me.

  I whirled, Glock in my right hand, finger paused but locked on the trigger. It was Terry, supported by an exhausted Melissa, who was bowed by both his weight and lack of mobility.

  “Couldn’t wait,” Terry explained, grimacing and favouring his left leg. “I’m losing too much blood.”

  Melissa helped lean him against the side of the truck. Her breathing was ragged, and she bent forward at the waist, hands on her knees. “Terry thought… the man who shot at us… would back… back off… too many people now.” She sucked in a lungful of air.

  I glanced at my friend’s wounds. Though by far the bloodier, the shot to the thigh would be the less troublesome. I had seen far more bullet wounds than I cared to remember, so I understood what I was looking at. And although the blood flow appeared to have decreased from Terry’s abdomen, I was certain that was the one he could die from.

  “You made the right choice,” I said. “We have to get you out of here. No time for a fight.”