Scream Blue Murder: an action-packed thriller

by Tony J. Forder

  There was a moment’s pause before a response came. “I won’t pretend. It’s likely that once we’ve secured Miss Andrews, the next target will be you. On the other hand, by the time that happens, you could be long gone. Over the hill and far away. I’m sure you can live off the grid, one step ahead. I may even be able to persuade the higher powers that it serves no useful purpose hunting you down when you have no intention of telling your story.”

  “No way they will take that chance.” I knew I was right. Someone wanted Melissa dead because of what she might know. Whatever happened, my name would remain on a kill list for as long as I lived.

  “I suspect that’s so. Whatever. As you figured out, Lynch, it is Miss Andrews that they want. Let’s get that bit of business squared away first.”

  I ran it through my head one last time. “So, I hand her in to you, you hand Charlie to me. You get what you want. I get time to make sure Charlie is safe.”

  “And a head start for you, too. Don’t forget that bit.”

  “I’m not forgetting anything.”

  “Then that’s a deal I can make. And this conversation never happened, Mr Lynch.”

  “Give me ten minutes,” I said.

  Back at the Toyota, as I climbed into the cab and took my seat behind the wheel, I felt all of Melissa’s scrutiny bearing down on me. “Well?” she demanded, arms crossed.

  “There’s been a change of plan,” I told her.

  44

  High up on the moors stood a line of three FV4201 Chieftain tanks, each built around the mid-seventies. They were placed as if in convoy, though none of them had moved an inch in over a decade. Primarily now used for fake bombing runs and range target practice on live round days, the once-renowned military weapons still managed to look mighty despite their garlands of rust and veils of moss.

  Having trained several times on these very moors, I was familiar with the monuments to what was once the most formidable battle tank in the world, with by far the most effective armour and largest main gun of any tank ever designed up until that point. Older statesmen around the base invariably mentioned hero worship when drink-fuelled discussions inevitably turned to these incredible machines. They spoke of times, not so long ago, when the British led the way with innovative design and military might.

  Now they were simply a focal point for a clandestine meeting.

  Breaking into the Otterburn Ranges had presented no problem at all for me. There were the official methods of entry, and then there were those I had come to know well when returning from nights out at local pubs. A padlocked gate into an open field was the sum of the barrier we had to overcome. Melissa and I sat in the Toyota truck, silent, contemplative. Shortly into the incline I had found it necessary to engage the 4x4 drive, and after that the truck managed the climb easily. I was grateful for the hard ground. In the depths of winter or even a wet spring, our passage would have proven impossible.

  Fifty yards away from the trio of abandoned tanks, I switched from sidelights to headlights. I glanced across at Melissa.

  “How are you doing?” I asked.

  She nodded, but said nothing. Her eyes scoured the hillsides, and the metal giants standing waiting for us. I understood: this was the point we had been leading up to, the final stage where it could all go wrong. With renewed guilt, I wondered how Mel would feel if she knew the whole truth.

  At the furthest reach of the truck’s headlights, a man dressed all in dark camouflage stepped out from behind the tank taking up the centre position of the three. He held up a hand, palm outwards. I stood on the brake and brought the Toyota to a standstill.

  “Wait here,” I told Melissa, then climbed down from the vehicle.

  I walked forwards until the man and I were just five yards apart. Despite the warmth of the day seeping into the night hours, the wind blew hard up here on these exposed hillsides, and the fierce gusts caused me to draw in a sharp intake of breath. Both of us were buffeted by the squalls.

  “Do we still have our deal?” I called out.

  “It’s why I’m here.”

  “I want to know who I’m dealing with. What’s your name?”

  “Why does that matter?”

  “Exactly.”

  The man smiled and spread his hands. “Faulkener. Now can we please move this on.”

  “Let me see Charlie.”

  “She’s fine where she is.”

  “I don’t doubt it. A health update is not what I asked for, though.”

  “Don’t push your luck, Lynch. The girl is in my vehicle on the other side of the rise.”

  “Then I suggest you go and fetch her. I’m not allowing Melissa to get out of that truck unless Charlie is right by your side. You know the deal.” I lowered my voice. “You let Charlie start walking over to my truck. I’ll make sure Mel comes the other way.”

  Faulkener’s face changed in an instant. Gone was the false bonhomie. In its place, an implacable stare. And a SIG Sauer appeared as if from nowhere in his hand.

  “You really are a bloody fool, Lynch,” he said. “Did you actually believe that if I had the girl here, and Miss Andrews here, that I wasn’t also going to take advantage of having you here at the same time?”

  “No,” I replied. “I didn’t.”

  As I said the words, two sets of headlights, one on each side of the hillside, sprang to life. Two large engines, also. Gears whined as two vehicles encroached at speed. Before leaving the Toyota’s cab I had dialled Dawson’s number on my phone, then pocketed the device as I climbed out. Dawson and his men had listened in on every word. At the pre-arranged phrase, they had entered their part of the plan.

  The man looked from side to side, then back at me. “Company, Lynch? You’re just one surprise after another.”

  He ought to have been more wary, but his tone was mocking. I caught it immediately. The two silver SUVs drew closer. When they were fifty yards away, Faulkener said: “Take them!”

  From the other side of the tanks, fierce, powerful engines could now be heard. Four quad-bikes slipped swiftly into view, two encircling each Jeep. Eight dark-clothed men appeared, also from behind the line of tanks. Their weapons were evident, but they held their fire as they took up their positions. The quad riders also held semi-automatic rifles. I took it all in with one sweep of my gaze. Outnumbered and outgunned. In an ordinary battle, the disparity in numbers might not matter. But there was a world of difference between well-trained and experienced mercenaries and a bunch of hoodlums.

  Unless, that is, you turned things to your advantage.

  “We’re good to go,” I said. This time into a two-way radio device.

  The earth around us erupted. Or at least, that’s what it looked like to me. From deep within the dunes of grass and heather where they had been concealed for hours, further armed men appeared. Dozens of them, forming a tight circle. And two of the men were the real deal.

  “Lay down your weapons!” cried Rufus, his voice now amplified by electronic equipment. “You men are surrounded. If you fire upon us, you will be fired upon. If you attempt to leave, you will be fired upon. If you do anything other than follow my instructions, you will be fired upon. This is the Special Air Services.”

  Even I felt intimidated by that, and they were on our side. They were security colleagues of Terry Cochran’s these days, but they had once served in the regiment with him. Their drone had helped us form a mental grid, its on-board instruments locating deep ridges ideal for creating camouflaged areas beneath which more of Dawson’s men could shelter until the time was right. My initial plan had been honed by Terry’s brothers in arms, and it had made all the difference. Seeing Rhino there towering over the others, a huge shotgun in his meaty hands, also made me feel hugely confident of the outcome here. I’d been told that the smaller, bearded man by his side was every bit as brutal, vicious and determined. I felt euphoric at the thought of what we were about to achieve.

  By now the SUVs had stopped. As had the bikes. Then one of the riders a
cted irrationally. Turned the quad and started speeding further up and to the left of the hillside they were on. As it sped past one of the SUVs, someone inside the vehicle tossed a few rounds in its direction. As if part of a devastating automatic chain reaction, gunfire echoed and flashed around the moorlands. I dashed back down to the truck, around to the passenger side and threw myself inside, spreading myself across Melissa. I hit her hard, and she cried out in pain. My only thought was that even if I had cracked one of her ribs, my bulk and the pain it had caused was better to endure than a bullet. It was getting to be a regular event.

  To my relief the exchange of fire lasted only seconds.

  I raised myself up and turned to look over my shoulder and out of the windscreen. Terry’s colleagues, Rufus and Gary, were busy securing their targets. But then I heard another engine, and from behind the middle tank a Humvee burst out into the open, flashing by the two circles of men, and narrowly avoiding a heavy collision with the Toyota. I watched it rattle by, and as I caught site of its interior I saw Charlie’s hands and face pressed up against the side window, mouth wide open in a scream I could not hear.

  “Get out!” I immediately yelled at Melissa, climbing over her now and sliding into the driver’s seat. “Go and find help!”

  She stared at me. Mute. I leaned across, threw open the passenger door and told her to go. With my other hand, I pushed at her side, causing flares of pain in her eyes.

  “He wants you!” I cried. “You were the target, Mel. It’s you they wanted all along.”

  “What are you talking about?” she screamed at me.

  The Hummer was getting away, Charlie inside it.

  “I don’t have time to explain. Mel, they have Charlie. I have to go and you can’t be with me.”

  Whether it was the urgency in my voice, the words themselves, or the fear in my eyes, I had no clue. All I knew was that it worked. Melissa jumped out of the cab.

  Dismissing the memory of when, just a few days ago, I had acted with similar recklessness, I started the engine, spun the vehicle around and hammered the bouncing, jolting truck in chase just as fast as I could push it. The Toyota bucked and jerked, metal groaned as if at any moment it might all give way. The massive 3.0 litre V6 petrol engine screamed. My world was a blur of excruciating sound and jarring movement, but I had eyes only for the Humvee fast approaching the foot of the hillside some 200 yards ahead of me.

  Seemingly only moments later it disappeared from view as it rounded a copse of trees away to my left. I wondered whether Faulkener knew these moors as well as I did. Chances were he did, having probably trained here as well at some point. If the Hummer kept on going the way it was headed, it would emerge at the bottom of the gully with just a wire fence to smash through on its way to firm tarmac.

  I realised I had no chance of catching the all-terrain vehicle before that happened, but once on the road if I could keep it in sight I would have the advantage. Just stay alive that long, I silently implored the truck. I can’t let Charlie down now.

  45

  Three minutes later as I pushed the Toyota around a curve behind the trees, its headlights picked out a gap in the mangled fence, whose posts splayed and splintered, its wire twisted outward. There was no sign of the Humvee.

  I reached the road and brought the truck to a halt. My window was down. I listened hard. Behind me from back up the hillside I heard raised voices, men shouting at one another. Somewhere there was also the low growl of a heavy-duty vehicle. But I couldn’t tell from which direction. Thinking quickly, I backed up a few yards and stared through the beam of bright headlights on the dark road.

  There.

  Trails of dirt and residues of tyre rubber.

  Headed east.

  I put my foot to the floor and pounded the truck in that direction.

  The road was now ideal for my vision, running straight and true, the terrain flat and unobstructed. I flew by a turning to my left which I saw was a T-junction. For a moment, I wondered if the Hummer had turned off there, but took a chance that the mercenary would not have wanted to decrease his options.

  I looked for lights, but reasoned that they might well have been extinguished. It was a hard call, because with the night now set in, moving swiftly without even sidelights on these roads could prove fatal. There again, when all around were dark moorlands, any sort of illumination made life a hell of a lot harder to lose a tail.

  As if to prove a point, I hit a right-hand bend too fast and the truck failed to hold its line. The Toyota slewed off the road onto the wide verge, and it was only then that I noticed the single lane track running off to my left, almost parallel to the way I had just come. As I corrected the steering, the truck narrowly avoided ploughing into another sign. A T-junction yet again. I took a gamble and chose to ignore it for precisely the same reason as the previous one.

  A minute or so later two circles of stone wall, one either side of the road, swam into view from the murk beyond my headlights. I recalled having seen them before. I had driven this route many years ago, and now started thinking ahead, searching my memory. I remembered just a split second before I saw it: a turn to my left. I looked ahead. Saw nothing. Looked across to the left. Nothing. Had to make a choice as the road was coming up quick.

  Then it was there.

  I slowed, having trouble deciding.

  I figured Faulkener would want to deviate eventually. And if he hadn’t already done so, onto one of the roads behind me, then this was perhaps the ideal moment.

  Hitting the brake hard, I threw the truck left. Ignored a dirt track that almost immediately branched off further to my left. It looked as if it led nowhere that might offer the chance for evasion. I could tell we were headed deeper into the moorlands again, the Toyota’s main beam picking out distant gorges and crests nestling side by side on an undulating landscape. Coming up ahead were three more choices. A left turn first, but I was also aware of another on the right-hand side shortly afterwards. Or I could press straight on.

  I tried to imagine what Faulkener might do. Opted for another left. Slowed, tapped the brake and started the turn. My mind was still courting the idea of the other turning, when, on the far-right periphery of my vision I caught a flash of two red orbs twinkling in the distance.

  Tail lights.

  I slowed, but did not stop as I manoeuvred away from the turn, back onto the road and headed for the next turning now coming up fast on my right. Grateful for grassy verges, I briefly wondered if I might now be following a different vehicle altogether. I felt I had to take the chance.

  Still pushing the Toyota as much as it would take, I reasoned that if I could now see the Humvee then I could also be seen. If it were me being chased down, I would stop somewhere and seek to put an end to this chase. One way or another. Had I considered the same scenario a couple of days ago, the decision would have been very different. I wondered if I had ever changed so much as a person in such a short space of time.

  I decided it didn’t matter.

  I had one goal, and one goal only: rescue Charlie.

  What I was certain of was that if the Hummer driver wanted to stage an end game, then I was now prepared for it.

  Edging closer, I exhaled a huge sigh of relief as the distinct desert camouflage colours of the Hummer were now clearly visible. I followed as the fleeing vehicle took a left. Up ahead, away on the offside of our vehicles, I saw a dark mass. As we drew closer I could make out two lines of long huts, separated by about fifty yards, and a two-storey building at the far end that linked to the huts to form an elongated U-shape. Something sparked in my memory. I thought back to my training in this area, and realised we had come upon a temporary barracks which had long since been allowed to become every bit as derelict as the tanks back on the plains.

  “Now,” I said, as if able to control the thoughts of the man ahead. “Do it now.”

  With a shimmy from its rear end, the Humvee left the tarmac without braking, hit a dirt road to its right. There was a two-man
security hut about eighty yards in. Between it and a narrow wooden post on the other side of the track was a chain stretched out as a barrier, the steel glinting in the pale moonlight. It had no chance as the Humvee smashed through it and carried on towards the crop of buildings.

  I followed it without pause. My guess was that my adversary would bolt into one of the buildings with Charlie, and then set himself up in a prime position to attack. I hoped Faulkener would choose one of the long accommodation huts. The two-storey had been an administration building, but since falling into disrepair it had been stripped out and used solely for training purposes. It was set up as a defence post, and the higher ground was crucial.

  For a moment, I considered holding back, calling for reinforcements. Tactically it was the right call. On the other hand, it could promote a siege mentality. And whilst I doubted Faulkener would harm Charlie deliberately, any firefight from multiple weapons could prove fatal. As could a unit breach. No, I was convinced that the only way to resolve this was for me to face this man one-on-one. You had to live and sometimes die by such decisions. Right now, I felt like a man capable of making those sort of decisions again. A man adept enough to achieve a successful outcome. The only outcome that mattered.

  Getting Charlie back.

  As I had feared, my quarry headed straight for the larger building at the far end of the small complex. I looked on as the man exited the Humvee with a wriggling and screaming Charlie tucked under one arm, an M4 clipped to the webbing of his black combat jacket. He sped towards the twin doors to the centre of the building, aimed a kick at the narrow divide between them, a third of the way up. They exploded inward and the two figures were swiftly consumed by the building’s dark core.

  Cursing, I drew up alongside the long hut to my right. My opponent now held the physical upper hand having entered the administration building. There was one advantage I hoped to maintain, however: I had trained here.