I Dare You: A gripping thriller that will keep you guessing (A Kate Blakemore Crime Thriller Book 1)

by Murray Bailey

  The Arab.

  FIFTY-SEVEN

  Thirty-one months earlier

  Mirrorman’s attention began to come and go in waves. The sun had risen and he managed to shift himself out of the direct light. An inconstant wind had started just before dawn and sand blew across the entrance. Outside, Boomer’s body was already covered by a thin layer of grey dust. Mirrorman desperately wished he had the strength to crawl to Boomer and pull his buddy out of the sun.

  He looked beyond his friend, across the desert speckled with rocks, and saw the air begin to shimmer as it heated up. Combined with the moving sand, he had the sense it was alive. Or was that his mind starting to play games?

  His focus was on the horizon, willing a chopper to appear. Surely they were looking. Surely they had seen the emergency symbol. Or had that been covered by sand now? The other possibility, that the prisoner had been totally truthful, also worried him. Think, he told himself. Keep your mind active. You will survive.

  Who had sanctioned the mission? Who knew about it? Mirrorman and the rest of the unit had been briefed by the command sergeant. Most missions were covert and he was accustomed to the secrecy. Black Ops meant plausible deniability by the government. Black in, Black out had been the communication from Topcat. What did that mean really? Surely the CO ordered the mission. Who gave him the instructions?

  They had been at Forward Base for five days before the signal was given: the package has arrived. The Arab, the man they had to extract and bring back alive, was at Rafha in his compound. Intel said that it wasn’t heavily defended. The plan was to slip in, pick up the Arab and just walk out the main gates. A few casualties, but minimal force and subtle. But Tinman was covering the exit and realized there were far more armed men than expected. Plan B had worked; they’d gotten out, but Dogtag had been killed.

  Mirrorman’s mind went over this again and again. Dogtag had been killed. His unit had never lost anyone on a mission before. And now they were all dead. He forced himself to concentrate on his hand. In it he held the water bottle. Slowly, with no strength, he managed to raise it and pour water into his mouth. It dribbled over his chin as he tried to swallow. No point in saving it, he had lost a lot of blood. He wouldn’t last much longer. He wanted desperately to write down what the Arab prince had told him. The link to the CIA. Politicians. Corruption. Was it true? He tried to write in the sand but his hand was too weak and the sand too fine.

  The men in the jeep who had shot at them—the Arab had expected them. He said they were Americans or working for the Americans. Someone wanted them dead. Someone didn’t want the Arab to be forced to say what he knew.

  But he told me, Mirrorman thought. He knew he was dying and he told me. It must be true. He smiled. For a moment he was transported back to his eighth birthday.

  His mother had made Superman-style outfits. A blue cape for him, a yellow cape for his brother—although they swapped depending who wanted the power of invisibility and who the super strength. Instead of Superman’s “S” the tops had a giant “M” for Mirrormen. They’d worn those clothes to shreds until all that remained were the cloaks. He imagined wearing the yellow cape now. Imagined the power coursing into his arm. He moved his hand, then his arm, until the satphone was within reach. His fingers closed around its cold plastic and, slowly, he brought it up to his ear. He heard noise like a hundred voices speaking Arabic in a shredding machine. Was someone really jamming it? Why else would the signal be a problem?

  He began to talk, although he didn’t know if anyone could hear him.

  Now and again he checked for a response but heard only static and the desiccated voices. He kept going, repeating himself, sometimes wondering whether he was speaking or just thinking the words. His voice was distant and detached, as if he were listening to himself in a dream. After a while he realized his hand had dropped and the phone was on the floor. He started to wonder whether he had ever held it. He could no longer think clearly. The words the Arab had said no longer made sense. They too became part of a terrible disjointed dream.

  And in that dream he saw a speck in the distant haze. He struggled to see it but his eyes wouldn’t open. Then it was back, larger this time.

  It’s a chopper, Mirrorman’s addled mind told him. He blinked his eyes, focus coming and going. Am I hallucinating?

  The thudding sound of chopper blades beating the hot air reached him.

  He tried to move, to wave, to crawl. In his mind he did but in reality he sat and stared.

  The dust swirled all around now and he could no longer see the helicopter. But it was there, the sound now thunderous in his ears like being by a giant speaker at a concert. Bon Jovi. He could see the band playing, almost hear their songs, but the bass was too loud, too pulsing, hurting his head. The dust was all around now. He couldn’t see. It got darker and darker until finally all light was sucked from the cave and there was only silence.

  FIFTY-EIGHT

  Present day

  Kate ran across the road screaming at Matt. Cars sounded their horns as she dodged through the traffic, finally reaching the Volvo.

  Confusion distorted his face. “What’s up? You’re white as a—”

  “The Arab!” she gasped. “I’ve just seen the Arab in a car! Get us out of here!”

  Sudden understanding kicked Matt into action. He jerked open the driver’s door and jumped in. As Kate dived in beside him, he gunned the engine. “Which way was he going?” he shouted.

  Kate pointed out of town and the Volvo was immediately on the road heading in the opposite direction.

  Matt stared in the rear-view mirror. “What make was he driving?” He sounded breathless.

  “It was dark-blue. I’ve no idea what make. American.” She opened her window and manually forced the side mirror so that she could see behind. “I don’t see it.”

  Matt had accelerated and weaved between vehicles. Now he slowed to the speed limit and his voice was calmer. “Right, let’s not draw attention to ourselves. Steady does it. We’ll cut through and then loop back around.” It was as if he were talking to himself. Then to Kate he said, “Keep looking out for him. If you see him, yell. We’ll just have to take our chances with the law. OK?”

  “Suits me!”

  After a few blocks, Kate gave up trying to see through the side mirror and swivelled in her chair. The seatbelt was awkward so she took it off and set off the standard manufacturer’s alarm when a seatbelt isn’t buckled.

  Matt waved at the seat. “Buckle it under you,” he instructed.

  With the seatbelt alarm silenced, Kate peered between the front seats and out through the rear window. Watching for blue cars. There were a few false alarms but no sign of the Arab.

  They hit the I-66 but then Matt came off at the next ramp and slowed, watching who followed. No dark-blue cars. He rejoined the Interstate and seemed to relax. “Jeez!” he said, “I’d convinced myself it was the police we were worried about. This Arab guy scares the bejesus out of me!”

  Kate kept her eyes on the vehicles behind, still watching for the dark-blue car and any unusual manoeuvres. She choked back an ironic laugh. “You’re scared? Oh great! I’ve been petrified of this guy for over a week. He’s following me and he’s been killing people I know. Scared shitless doesn’t begin to describe how I feel!”

  “You’re right… Sorry.”

  They left the I-66, and as they headed north, Kate wondered where they were going. This wasn’t the route through The Plains. She swivelled back and faced forward, looked at Matt and asked, “Where are we going? This isn’t the way we went yesterday.”

  Matt shrugged. “Just varying it. We’re going back to the house. Myron will call if he gets something.”

  “So no luck so far?”

  “No.”

  “You said no more than an hour. I expected you to come and find me at the internet café. What took you?” She tried to keep her voice flat but suspicion edged it nonetheless.

  He shook his head slowly. “What can I
say? I lost track of time. Myron was onto something. I wanted to see if he’d cracked it. He hadn’t but he’s got all the gear and I’m sure it’s just a matter of time.”

  “But the code was a message for me. You said yourself that the message would be simpler. Dare or truth told you there was another message—one I should understand—not too difficult. But he still had to be careful. He must have realized someone with the skills could crack a standard code.”

  The car accelerated as he was distracted from maintaining a steady speed. At the same time, Matt looked at her. “You’ve solved it, haven’t you?”

  Kate said nothing. She stared ahead. They had been in a forest and now came out the other side.

  “Come on, Kate. I’m risking my career—maybe my life—helping you.”

  “Your career? What is your job?”

  “That is a classic misdirection. You’re avoiding the question.” He stole a critical glance at her. “Tell me. What have you worked out?”

  Kate pursed her lips, deep in thought. She knew so little about this man. How trustworthy was he? What’s his real involvement in this? But if she didn’t trust him, then how would she get to Montana? She couldn’t fly now the police were looking for her as Darcy. It would mean driving. She’d looked at the map and judged the distance at two thousand miles. God! She’d never driven more than about four hundred before. That could be four hard days driving on her own, possibly cut in half if she shared it.

  They came to the side road that led to the lake house and Matt took it. When he reached the property, he parked under the lean-to and went in. She followed, her head still spinning with questions and issues.

  He said, “I need a stiff drink. D’you want something?”

  Kate declined and stood by the window, staring at the lake. How was she going to progress from this point? How was she going to trust this man?

  When Matt appeared in the lounge with a tumbler of whiskey and ice, she decided it was time to talk. She said, “I need to know what’s going on.”

  “I’ve told you.” He sat, took a slug of whiskey and smacked his lips. “That’s better.”

  Kate bristled. She stood with her hands on her hips and looked him in the eye. “No, you’ve told me precisely nothing. You’ve proved that you know as much as I do, that’s all. You’ve tried to gain my trust, but the truth is there’s so much I don’t know and you aren’t telling me.”

  Matt paused a long three seconds. A bird on the lake broke the silence with its shrill call as it took flight. When he spoke, Matt seemed genuinely concerned. “What like?”

  “Well for starters, why Joe was abducted a year ago? What was going on? And why was I pointed to a fictitious internet story? Which, by the way, led me to someone in a prison for the criminally insane—oh, and it clearly wasn’t Joe!”

  Matt nodded and took another mouthful of whiskey. “OK,” he said. “It’s about time you knew.” Then, like the click of a switch, his demeanour transformed from friend to aggressor. In a smooth motion, Matt reached under a trouser leg and drew a gun.

  Special Agent Michelle Ramirez pulled onto Lexington and immediately spotted a commotion ahead. Cars sounded their horns and brakes squealed. Jesus! There it is! Just over a block away the silver-blue Volvo weaved dangerously between other vehicles. Ramirez put her own foot down, trying to keep the Volvo in her sights while at the same time not drawing attention to herself. But the whole thing only lasted seconds because, as suddenly as the excitement began, the Volvo slowed to normal speed.

  Surprised though relieved, Ramirez got into the rhythm of covert pursuit. She tried calling her partner. No response.

  The Volvo headed south and then picked up the Beltway, looping back. At the I-66 the driver headed west, out of town, then seemed to hesitate at off-ramp 57 before taking it. As Ramirez came off the Interstate she immediately saw the Volvo slowing and knew the driver was checking for a tail. Spontaneously she turned right onto Lee Jackson Memorial, drove past the I-66 on-ramp but then pulled into a parking lot and eased around. While she was certain the Volvo driver would go back onto the Interstate, she was prepared for almost anything. Within a minute the Volvo appeared and headed back onto the Interstate. Giving it a five-car head start, Ramirez resumed the tail.

  At ramp 53 he repeated the manoeuvre but, instead of rejoining I-66, he picked up Lee Highway and headed through the state forest. There he turned right on a minor road. She dropped back further now, cautious not to be spotted.

  The state forest ended and the trees started to thin out. Ramirez maintained her distance but patches of dense woodland, combined with a winding road, meant every now and again she would lose sight through a bend. She guessed they were heading for The Plains but, just as she decided to close the gap, she saw the Volvo turn off.

  She drove past the lane, stopped and studied the satnav. The map showed the road led to a small house with a lake beyond.

  One way in. One way out.

  She took the next turn—a muddy track that tested her creaking suspension. At the end the track looped around, a short spur going to a cabin. According to the satnav she was now close to the other property, between them a copse and the lake.

  Ramirez tried her partner again. His phone was now off. What is he playing at? Previous annoyance with him was on the verge of boiling over to anger. Well, fuck him, she was doing this alone then!

  She got out, entered the wooded area and cut through undergrowth until she came out at the water’s edge. To her left she could see a single-storey building with a decking, and on one side the Volvo was parked under a lean-to. Keeping close to the edge of the woods, Ramirez followed the lake towards the house. A coot made her jump as it skimmed away across the water, piping its panic as it fled.

  Ramirez drew her gun and squatted. She could see the house clearly now, about eighty yards away. Large windows by the decking. Two people inside. One sitting, one standing. Definitely the blonde woman standing. The other person was probably the man from the airport.

  Then it all changed. The man jumped up with a gun in his hand.

  “Get down!” Matt whispered urgently. “There’s someone outside.” Holding the gun ready, he edged into the kitchen. Moments later he rushed back. “Shit! There’s someone around the front. Saw him checking out the car.”

  Matt moved through to Kate’s bedroom. She followed.

  A sharp knock on the door made her jump.

  “Police!” A voice called.

  Matt eased back the curtain. Kate peered over his shoulder and caught a glimpse of a man holding a gun.

  “That’s no trooper,” Matt whispered.

  Kate shrank back. “Oh my God, it’s him! It’s the Arab!”

  “OK, back to the lounge—in the corner—out of sight of the kitchen door and window.” He pushed her then, seeing fear starting to make her go rigid. As she went, he pulled the sofa round and flipped it over. They crouched behind it. Kate in the corner, Matt at the side, his gun aimed at the door.

  The front door splintered open. A crash and then silence. Kate found herself looking at the window. She saw movement, a reflection. The Arab was at the lounge door. She found her voice, but when she spoke it had a strange gruff quality. More a growl than a whisper. “He’s by the door.”

  Matt fired. Two shots in quick succession.

  Shots responded, thudding into the sofa, tearing through it and striking the wall. Kate covered her ears. Matt returned fire. “Keep low!” he shouted, barely audible above the shots and her pounding blood.

  The window shattered, sending a thousand beads of safety glass skidding across the deck. Matt jerked backwards against her and yelled in pain. A rush of blood blossomed on his shoulder. Kate screamed. With Matt injured, the Arab rapid-fired, charging into the room.

  Matt pulled himself around and resumed his position. His shots silenced the Arab’s for a second and Kate heard a thud. Had the assailant been hit or had he dived for cover? Then intensive shooting began once more.

  Kate
curled into a ball, her whole body trembling with fear.

  The Arab stopped firing again and the sudden silence was filled with dark anticipation.

  Matt reached over and shook her. Kate looked at him, her eyes glassy with terror. Blood poured down his left arm, his face was drained.

  He shook his head. “We’ve gotta get out. He’ll come around.” He nodded to the trees. “Can you run?”

  Kate was unsure but she said, “Yes.”

  “Go when I say. Head for the trees, run in a crouch, head down, and don’t look back. I’ll draw his fire and cover you.” Then he responded to her expression of concern. “I know what I’m doing. I’ll be fine. Wait for me in the woods.”

  He checked for signs of the Arab then eased himself up, using the corner of the room as a partial shield and support. “Get ready.” He edged into the room and checked through the kitchen window. He came back. “OK, I think he’s behind the car, coming round that way. We’ll both go onto the decking. I’ll go right. Count to three and run.” He touched her arm and forced a smile. Then a thought crossed his face and he said, “His real name was Cassano. Joe Cassano.” He shrugged his eyebrows, forced the smile again. “OK… let’s go.”

  He stepped onto the decking with Kate, still quaking, a shadow on his heel. He checked left and then hurried right. For a moment, exposed, she wanted to dart back inside. Then she steeled herself, counted and started to run. Her legs felt strange at first, heavy and dis-connected, but the adrenaline drove her forward and she reached the first bushes before the gunfire began. Patches of ground were sodden and she slipped and fell. Immediately, she got up again and forced herself on-ward.

  The gunfire stopped just as she fell again, lurching through reeds close to the green water. Had the gunfire ended because Matt or the Arab was dead? She squatted, looking back at the house. The Arab stood over Matt’s body and fired. Then he started to run towards the lake.