Spring Showers Box-set

by Avell Kro

case home.

  ‘Instead of getting into me, why not ask the Yanks why they don’t have their dogs on a fucken

  leash? It’s all very well saying they’re not on the books, but they were in London for a reason and

  it crosses into this job. They wanted me out of the way, so if their Government wasn’t calling the

  shots then who was? It was somebody in the know.’

  ‘That’s a pretty short list,’ Jedi responded. Some of the sting had gone out of his voice and Archer

  knew he was hitting the mark.

  ‘So it shouldn’t be too hard to figure out then. Besides, the Agency or whoever already bailed those

  pricks out once, so why not again? They’re obviously important assets.’

  ‘I made those checks. I take it you realise you’ve met these guys before.’ It wasn’t a question but

  Archer nodded to himself anyway.

  ‘I do,’ he said curtly.

  ‘Carl Miller, Terence Wheeler, Thad Sychak. Miller and Wheeler are ex-Airborne, served with

  distinction but were busted for stealing weapons and selling them on the black market. Went

  private after that. Sychak did about a year as a grunt and was dishonourably discharged,

  apparently for general shit kicker behaviour. Assaulted a black officer and threatened to lynch

  him.’

  Archer snorted but wasn’t surprised. ‘And this is who the Yanks get to do their dirty work?’

  Jedi was silent again and Archer waited. He had nothing else to say and was ready to fight his

  corner. The silence last almost a minute and Archer wondered if he’d lost the connection, until Jedi

  came back on.

  ‘We’ll look into it further,’ he said, ‘and I’ll come back to you. In the meantime, watch your back.’

  27

  The next morning Archer hit the floor at 5:30am and threw on his running gear.

  After a warm up he ran hard for twenty minutes through Southsea, before returning to the hotel

  sweaty and breathing hard.

  He rinsed off in his room and changed into togs, detecting no movement from Tracy’s room as he

  padded his way silently down to the leisure centre. The pool was empty and still and he barely

  made a ripple as he dived smoothly in. He didn’t count his lengths but just kept going, strong and

  rhythmic, until the G-Shock told him it had been half an hour.

  He touched the wall for the last time and hauled himself up onto the side, his chest heaving as he

  wiped his face clear and sucked in air. He could hear the clank of weights through in the gym, and

  wondered who else would be up this early. Grabbing his towel he quickly rubbed himself down

  before circling the pool to the gym door. He peered through the head height window.

  The only occupant was Tracy, using a machine for lat pul downs. From where he stood he could see

  the muscles working in her shoulders and back as she smoothly pulled the bar down behind her

  head, paused, let it raise slightly and paused once more before slowly releasing it up again. She

  wore a black Lycra crop top and shorts that revealed plenty of firm, toned flesh. She was totally

  focussed on her set and he stepped away before he got caught staring again.

  Archer shook his head at himself as he headed back to his room. ‘Jesus,’ he muttered, ‘get a fucken

  grip.’

  Tracy didn’t show at the restaurant until he was nearly finished his second bowl of muesli and

  fruit. She threw him a quick smile as she helped herself to coffee and porridge, and once she sat

  down he felt a change in the dynamics from the previous night.

  She told him in a whisper that they were meeting Matthew at 8:00am and would deploy from

  there. Her skin glowed with the recent exercise, and as she raised her spoon to eat he noticed she

  had a faint white scar between the middle two knuckles on her right hand.

  She saw him looking. ‘A misplaced punch,’ she explained. ‘Top left incisor of a drunk squaddie who

  tried his luck one night.’

  ‘Ouch.’

  ‘More ouch for him when my eighteen stone partner lifted him off the ground and threw him

  across the barroom.’ She smiled. ‘It’s an effective way of scaring the crap out of a bunch of raw

  recruits.’

  Archer drained his cup and set it down. There was nobody sitting near them and it seemed like an

  appropriate time. ‘So, ten years as a “Red Cap.” Must’ve been a pretty tough life for a young chick.’

  ‘It had its moments,’ she acknowledged, finishing her porridge and pushing the bowl aside.

  ‘There’re no shortage of stupid young blokes who need to be pulled into line, that’s for sure.’

  ‘See any combat though?’ Archer replied, with more of an edge than he’d intended. ‘Ever killed

  anyone? Been under fire?’

  Tracy’s eyes flashed angrily and she paused before replying.

  ‘I did two tours in Iraq,’ she said coldly, ‘I came under fire, I returned fire, I had mates killed and I

  made it out alive. So don’t talk down to me like some school kid, you arrogant fucken prick.’

  Archer raised his hands in surrender. ‘Alright, alright, calm down. I didn’t know, okay? You never

  said.’

  ‘Well, you never asked either, did you?’ Her tone was still angry. ‘What else do you want to know?’

  ‘Have you killed before?’ He held her gaze, and picked up the tiny flicker of a tell. ‘That’s a no, then.’

  She opened her mouth to retort and he cut her off.

  ‘It’s okay, I just needed to know.’

  She visibly relented slightly, without properly backing up.

  ‘It’s not such a big deal, it may not even get to that. Hopefully, anyway.’

  Tracy watched him critically. ‘You’re obviously new to this game yourself, so I’m guessing you’re

  probably fresh out the black pyjama outfit.’ Her eyes crinkled as he inclined his head to

  acknowledge the truth of her assessment. ‘It’s written all over you, you can almost still smell the

  cordite leaking out your pores.’

  Archer shifted uncomfortably under her gaze. He wasn’t used to being under the spotlight like this.

  ‘Obviously an officer,’ she continued, ‘because you have that arrogance about you.’

  ‘Which makes you an NCO,’ he replied evenly, ‘I’m guessing probably still a Corporal after ten

  years, meaning you were frustrated at being overlooked for promotion for less-competent blokes,

  and ultimately left before your time.’

  It was her turn to give the slightest of nods, accompanied by a twitch of a smile. ‘It’s still a boy’s

  club, and always will be.’

  They both went silent as they absorbed the information they’d just gleaned from each other.

  ‘I’m picking you as a committed bachelor,’ Tracy added. ‘No sign of a ring, no tan line where you’ve

  removed it-and you obviously fancy yourself as something of a ladies’ man anyway.’

  Archer cocked his eyebrow again. ‘Glad you noticed. For a single mum, you work in a dangerous

  game.’

  Tracy looked surprised. ‘Really? A single mum?’

  He nodded. ‘I’m not claiming to be a detective like you, but I know things about people.’ He ran an eye over her. ‘I can see it in you.’ He thought, but kept it to himself, and you probably bat for the

  other team as well.

  ‘My boy is nine,’ she told him, and added nothing further.

  Archer took the hint and didn’t mind. He didn’t know a lot about kids and had little interest in

  discussing them. ‘Right, so that’s that then,’ he smiled. ‘Glad we cleared the air
. Let’s go meet with

  your illustrious leader.’

  28

  The meeting place turned out to be an annex building at the Royal Navy base in Portsmouth. They

  were ushered inside by a couple of goons in suits, who closed the meeting room doors behind them

  and took up sentry outside.

  Matthew Livingstone sat at a conference table, working on a laptop connected to a projector. A

  young female in a business suit sat off to one side with a tablet on her knee. She nodded but said

  nothing. Livingstone gave a cursory greeting as they sat down, before jumping straight into a

  briefing.

  The young female dimmed the lights and an area map showed on the wall. Using a laser pointer,

  Livingstone highlighted areas of interest. Despite disliking the man Archer had to admit he gave a

  good briefing, which was largely a rehash of what Tracy had told him the night before, augmented

  with a few finer details.

  ‘Now,’ Livingstone finally said, hitting a button to change the map view. It shifted to an aerial shot

  of farmland with a road running along near the bottom, and what looked like a rough farm track

  meandering through it. ‘Let’s talk tactics.’

  Archer sat up and paid attention. This was the nitty-gritty of it.

  ‘This paddock here is where we know Boyle lands his plane. It is basically level and makes an ideal

  makeshift landing strip. The track here’-he indicated with the laser pointer-‘leads from the strip to

  the road, and from there he makes his way to St Ives. He stashes his car somewhere around here’-

  another indication with the laser pointer, this time to the wooded area immediately beside the

  paddock-‘and returns it later.’

  ‘How do we know this?’ Archer inquired and Livingstone paused. He seemed to be considering his

  answer.

  ‘Aerial reconnaissance has revealed the track to be well used, and has also located a car stashed in

  the woods there. An old Peugeot, actually.’

  He turned back towards the image on the wall to continue.

  ‘How do we know it’s his car?’ Archer persisted.

  Livingstone looked at him again, his lips pursing. ‘Our CHIS has told us that’s what he drives.’

  Archer knew what he was referring to but feigned confusion. ‘CHIS?’

  ‘Covert Human Intelligence Source,’ Tracy explained. ‘An informer.’

  Archer nodded his understanding and Livingstone gave him an enquiring look.

  ‘Anything else Mr Archer, or can I continue?’

  Archer smiled irritatingly. ‘Please do.’

  ‘So, tactics. The plan is to capture Boyle as soon as he hits the ground. We don’t want him going

  mobile, either in the aircraft or in the car. If that happens we have a real issue on our hands. We

  need to be in quickly, overpowering him and getting him away before he knows which way is up.’

  Archer listened silently.

  ‘This will be a simple two-person snatch and grab. You’ll locate the vehicle and disable it,

  eliminating that avenue of escape. You’ll lay-up between his landing area and the vehicle. Once he’s

  out and away from the aircraft you’ll take him out using distraction devices, and if necessary, bean

  bag rounds.’

  Archer listened, his face impassive.

  ‘You’ll secure him straight into a vehicle and bring him to an RV where he will be taken off your

  hands quick smart.’ Livingstone glanced from Archer to Tracy and back again. ‘Any questions so

  far?’

  ‘No,’ Tracy replied.

  ‘Only one, really,’ Archer commented.

  Livingstone looked at him impatiently. ‘Yes? Well?’

  ‘Who was the halfwit who thought up that plan?’

  Tracy groaned audibly and tried to cover it with a cough. Livingstone flushed angrily.

  ‘That plan is ideal for this situation,’ he snapped, jabbing the table top with his finger. ‘It keeps it

  contained from the public, off the roads and totally within our control. This man is a very

  dangerous terrorist, he is always armed and he will not hesitate to shoot.’

  Archer let him finish his rant and waited. ‘I counted three separate farmhouses within a k or so of

  that landing strip,’ he said. ‘Presumably all are occupied.’

  ‘Yes, well, what of it?’

  ‘That’s three sets of potential hostages if he gets loose and goes on the run. It’s three sets of

  potential witnesses to a shootout when we slot him and end up in court on murder charges. It’s

  three sets of star witnesses selling their story to the tabloids if anything goes wrong.’ He paused to

  let that sink in. ‘See what I mean?’

  Livingstone snorted. ‘Well if you do it properly, none of that will happen, will it?’

  ‘We can do everything right and try to minimise the risk, but the potential is always there. If it can

  go wrong, it will.’ He went for the buddy buy-in. ‘You’ve been around long enough; you know that.’

  Livingstone grunted begrudgingly now. Tracy stayed silent, watching the two men verbally parry

  and thrust.

  ‘So what do you suggest?’ the senior spy finally said.

  ‘Leave it with me,’ Archer told him. ‘I’ll get back to you.’

  29

  Boyle settled behind the wheel of the Peugeot and cranked up the heater.

  His fingertips were numb and he had drained the flask of coffee already. Not to mind; Ruth always

  had a hot breakfast waiting when he got there.

  Soon enough, he thought, bumping down the farm track to the road. But no time to think about

  that just yet. This was the most dangerous time, early hours of the morning when the body was

  screaming out for sleep. Had to have your wits about you.

  He shifted the Browning under his right thigh and checked his mirrors again before easing out

  onto the road. Six miles to St Ives.

  Tracy saw the dirty white Peugeot approaching through the scope on the Heckler and Koch

  G3/HK79 combo. She pressed the talk button taped to her thumb.

  ‘Twenty seconds.’

  ‘Roger.’ Archer’s voice came through the bud in her ear and she could hear the sound of the engine

  in the background.

  She was positioned flat on a bank with a ghillie over her and a clear line of sight down the route

  being taken by Boyle. In fifteen seconds he would reach the T-intersection below her position and

  because of the narrow winding roads, he would have to come to almost a complete stop before

  turning right and continuing on towards St Ives.

  Archer appeared from Tracy’s left, rounding a bend in a hired VW Kombi. It was painted with

  large multi coloured flowers and peace signs. Streamers flapped from the aerial and the rear

  windows had the curtains drawn.

  He geared down as he approached the intersection, indicating to turn left a few seconds before

  Boyle’s Peugeot got there.

  From her vantage point Tracy watched the impending move unfold just metres away. She was

  tense with nervous anticipation, but the plan was clear in her mind. She had been impressed with

  Archer’s planning and decision making, and also impressed with how he sold it to Matthew. The

  Kiwi seemed to have a chip on his shoulder but he was clearly no fool.

  In the distance she heard another noise and glanced up. The beat of rotors from a helicopter,

  maybe a klick out.

  The Irishman saw the van in plenty of time and flicked on his right blinker, glancing left as he

  slowed for the junction.
He glanced back to the right as the Kombi started to turn and he clocked

  the anti-nuke signs and the small Dutch flag stuck on the dash.

  Feckin’ beatniks.

  He glanced up and clocked the driver. Chequered cheese cutter, dark Thermo top. Thirties,

  unshaven.

  Tracy realised the heli was on a beeline for them, and at the same time she saw another vehicle

  approaching from behind Boyle. A maroon Range Rover just coming into sight around the bends,

  probably half a klick away. No, two maroon Range Rovers. Even from that distance she could see

  they were both loaded up with passengers.

  ‘Got company, unsure if they’re friendlies. Two Rangeys at twelve o’clock.’

  Boyle felt a tingle at the base of his neck. The driver somehow didn’t fit with the van. His right hand

  began to reach for the Browning.

  The beat of the rotors got louder, and a man could be seen leaning out the back behind the pilot.

  The heli looked like a Bell, red markings on white, but Tracy couldn’t be sure.

  Archer saw Boyle’s hand move and his body tense up, and knew he’d been burned.

  So much for the subtle tap.

  He hit the gas and the Kombi leaped forward, T-boning the Peugeot straight in the driver’s door.

  Boyle’s side window shattered and the Kombi’s engine roared, tyres screaming as the Peugot was

  shunted sideways.

  Tracy saw the heli’s nose lift as the pilot powered back and slowed, watching the events below. She

  could see now that the rear passenger had an M4 in his hands. She hit the switch on her thumb.

  ‘Got an M4 in the heli; watching.’

  Her task was to cover Archer, and if it went south she was to take our Boyle. The heli had just

  thrown a huge spanner in the works.

  Archer leaped from the van and discarded the cheese cutter hat. He darted to the Peugeot, which

  had stalled and flicked round to face him. He only had a couple of seconds to get Boyle under

  control and had to trust Tracy to cover his arse while he did so. The Irishman was dazed but

  moving, blood running from his forehead. Archer bounded over the Peugeot’s bonnet and reached

  through the shattered side window, grabbing the terrorist’s right arm with one hand and landing a

  solid hook to the temple with the other.