by Aaron Fisher
Reading nodded, “Sarge.”
Paul made his way back to where the heap of bodies near where he had climbed over. He stopped. A faint moaning accompanied by laboured breathing was still coming from one of the corpses. As he got closer he noticed that one of the bodies was still moving, it’s back rising up and down even though its hands and one of its legs were missing. With a kick of his boot, Paul rolled the man over.
The man looked up at him, his panting face covered in blood and dust and etched with pain.
“Sarge?” Paul called out.
The others quickly gathered round.
“Jesus Christ,” Reading covered his mouth with his hand. “How the fuck can he still be alive?”
“He’ll be gone soon,” Baker said. “No way can we get a med evac here in time.”
“For fucks sake, look at him! He’s in fucking agony!”
“Sarge?” Paul said again, ignoring Baker and Reading’s banter.
Cowan met Paul’s eyes, he nodded. “Do what you have to.”
Paul brought his rifle up again and put a round between the man’s eyes.
115
21.37 GMT (Greenwich Mean Time)
Cardiff. Wales. Great Britain.
Cheriton Drive, Thornhill
Richard Russell stood in his children’s room doorway, watching his two sons sleep peacefully in their beds. They had gone out like a light as soon as their heads had hit the pillows. It had been a long day for Adam and Simon. It had been a long day for Richard. His sons had dragged him out of bed first thing in the morning to play football with them out in the back garden and then once they had all ate breakfast and gotten dressed, the whole family drove down to the bay.
Jade had linked arms with Richard. She pulled him closer to her as they walked along the sea front in the warm sunshine. They laughed when the kids run ahead, then back and weaved in between them as they played. Adam had felt sick when they took the waterbus on a trip round the barrage but quickly perked up again when it was time for ice cream.
After they had finished their cones the Russell family went inside the Techniquest museum. It was supposed to make learning about science fun but Richard guessed that his sons, only six and four, had been more preoccupied with the amazing floating football and the giant walk-on piano than any pretext for education.
Richard suddenly felt two arms wrap around him. A warm, soft body pressed itself tight against his. He turned to face his wife, gently brushing her hair back with his fingers, before kissing her.
“Come on,” Jade said. “Time for bed.”
“In a minute,” Richard said, already turning to look back on his sons. “It’s been a good day, hasn’t it?”
“It’s been a great day,” Jade agreed, hugging him again. “They love spending time with you.” She squeezed him tightly. “I do too.”
Richard smiled but his eyes had lost their shine.
“What is it?”
He shook his head, “Aw, it’s nothing. Just, thinking about my father.”
Jade placed a soft hand on her husband’s cheek and turned his head to face hers. “Don’t think about that now. This is a happy day, remember?”
Richard nodded. He held her by the hips and grinned as he whispered in her ear. “And you know what would make me even more happy right now?”
Jade eyes went up and to the left as she shrugged, “Richard, I’m pregnant.”
Richard stopped mid-move, completely thrown. “What?”
“I’m pregnant.” Jade repeated, the corners of her mouth starting to raise in an apprehensive grin.
The corners of Richard’s mouth began to rise further. His eyes lit up. “You’re serious?”
Jade laughed, “Of course I am!”
Richard lifted her up into the air and spun her round. “That’s brilliant!” He dropped her down and hugged her fiercely, then kissed her excitedly on the lips. “That’s fantastic!”
“You’ll wake them up,” Jade managed to say before Richard quickly kissed her again.
It was too late. The eldest was already sitting up, confused and rubbing the sleep from his eyes with one hand, “Mum? Dad? What’s going on?”
“Adam, help me shift your wardrobe, we’ve got to fit another bed in here,” Richard laughed, kissing Jade again.
Lake Road East, Roath
Tony Horton had practically leapt for his car keys when the call had come through for a M.I.T. officer to attend a crime scene. On a quiet Sunday night, there was only a handful of personal in the office and he was easily the most qualified, but to claim the homicide for his own he had to be first on scene.
Jumping into his Audi TT, he praised the day he had bought the expensive machine. Initially he had only got the car to reflect the lifestyle that he endeavoured for himself. If people look at you and think you’re someone successful they’re going to treat you as someone successful. Clamping his magnetised siren light to the roof, Tony had come to the satisfying conclusion that the TT would now serve another purpose in getting him to his destination faster than his competing colleagues.
A worthy investment.
As he pulled up, Tony allowed himself a smile. He was first on scene. The case was his.
Lake Road East was a long road, adjacent to the twinning Lake Road West. Both roads had only one side of large, luxurious houses, as between the two roads laid the beautiful, public Roath Park. It occupied an extensive stretch of land, starting at the top of North Cyncoed and ending in South-East Roath. The park’s most focal feature was the thirty acre lake, formed by the damming of the Nant Fawr stream. The promenade along the dam and the bottom half of the park was fenced off and locked up at night, but the area around the lake itself was open and saw its fair share of late-night joggers and dog walkers.
It was in this area of the park that Tony now found himself. Several panda cars had already blocked off the road with uniformed officers telling drivers to use an alternative route. Seeing his now silent flashing light, one of the uniforms waved Tony through, moving a cone to allow him room to pass.
Tony parked up behind one of the pandas and walked towards the blue and white police tape. He casually lifted it above his head and strolled under. A uniformed officer rushed past Tony, his hand clasped tightly over his mouth, he keeled over, cream liquid pouring from his mouth.
Another uniform looked up at him questioningly as he approached the water’s edge. Tony flashed his warrant card, “Murder Investigation Taskforce. Who called us?”
The uniform pointed, but even before his arm was fully extended a familiar voice said, “I did.”
From behind one of the large weeping trees, a balding man in his fifties dressed in a white, plastic forensic overall with a grey and black beard appeared. Tony instantly recognised him as David Hall from the coroner’s office.
Tony was pleased. Hall had a reputation for being blunt and precise, and true to his form he spared Tony any unnecessary pleasantries, “Uniform called me in when the body was discovered. An elderly gentleman walking his dog found her.” David nodded towards a parked ambulance. “He’s being treated for shock.”
Tony remained silent, taking in everything Hall had to say.
“C.I.D. are supposedly en route, but as soon as I was able to turn the body over, I knew this one would get handed over to the murder squad anyway.”
Cardiff’s Criminal Investigation Department still dealt with most murders themselves. The Murder Investigation team primarily specialised in homicides where the evidence of intent was unambiguous or there was substantive risk to life. With a rise in knife crime in the city some cases that Tony deemed undeserving of the taskforce’s resources had also been transferred to the department, but Tony’s instincts and experience told him that this was different.
The body had been propped up against the foot of a tree, as if she were sitting down.
Tony crouched down in front of her.
The girl must have been in her mid teens, probably not even out of school yet. She was
completely naked and there was a large, wound above her left breast where the skin looked like it had been literally torn open. Her body was ghostly white, still slimy and dripping wet from where they had found her half submerged in the water. Her red hair stuck to her face but even through the messy locks, Tony could see clearly two dark, hollow holes where her eyes should have been.
121
11.47 GMT (Greenwich Mean Time)
Seven Months Ago
Cardiff. Wales. Great Britain.
Allensbank Road, Heath
Richard cursed under his breath as yet another set of traffic lights turned red just as he approached them. He checked his watch. He was already twenty minutes late. The appointment for Jade’s scan had been half past. He phoned her to tell her he was going to be late, was on his way, and to ask if they could let a later appointment go before them instead.
Even on full speed his wipers struggled to keep up with the ferocity of the downpour. The weather suited his situation perfectly. Right now it seemed the whole world was against him, joint together in their mutual effort to stop him being there for that very first scan of his unborn child.
The traffic from the junctions left stopped and Richard moved his foot over to the accelerator in anticipation of the green light. Instead the traffic started coming from the right now. He cursed again, “Fuck.”
Without warning the two way radio in his car suddenly crackled into life. “Officers in need of assistance! We are sustaining every fire from several armed hostiles at Richmond Crescent, Roath!” The voice was intercut with static and the distorted sound of gunfire. “We need backup! Armed response required urgently! I repeat, we are taking heavy fire!”
Richard was already on his way as soon as he heard the street name. With a flick of a switch, the red and blue lights concealed behind the metal grill of his Black Ford Mondeo sprung to flashing life and the shrill sound of the siren met the roar of his engine as he set off down the road, his foot to the floor.
He weaved in out of the traffic quickly. Most cars moved out of his way, having heard the siren or spotted the lights. Others kept coming towards him or stopped stubbornly where they were.
Richard couldn’t help feeling a little kick out of running every red light that met his eye. It was revenge for their earlier oppression over him.
Most drivers were smart enough to stay put at the junctions when they heard an emergency vehicle approaching but were unsure of the direction, even if their traffic signal was green. Not this one woman. Behind the wheel of a large, expensive, silver people carrier she decided she knew better than the others and carried on, driving straight into Richard’s path.
He quickly spun his wheel round to the right, swerving behind her. His left wing clipped her back end slightly, sending her into a spin. Richard didn’t bother to stop. He steadied the wheel again and continued on, pushing his foot back down hard on the accelerator.
The Mondeo twisted round the impossibly tight corner into Richmond Road, rubber flaring up into smoke behind it. Richard fought to stop the vehicle from skidding out of control, understanding now why the sign had said no right turn.
He could already hear the sound of gunfire, echoing down the street. Some people were running away down the road, their hands clasped round their heads, as if that would protect them from a speeding bullet. Other people were emerging from their houses and flats, curious and confused by the pandemonium that had suddenly found itself on what was normally a comparatively quiet street.
Richmond Crescent met Richmond Road at two points. The furthest point from Richard was also the main point, landmarked by the presence of the Lord Mayor’s official residence and now, as his two-way repeatedly informed him, a very loud fire fight. The second, met the road halfway down, and whilst it was technically open to two-way traffic, was only one car in width and generally used as more of the street’s backdoor.
Richard decided to take the second route, with any luck it would give him the element of surprise and besides, he was starting to enjoy these sharp corners anyway.
The detective spotted the fire fight easily. It was hard not to. Up ahead, two panda cars were parked in an inverted ‘V’, blocking the top of the crescent off to any vehicles. A lifeless body in a uniform lay sprawled out on the pavement in front of one of the old houses, that were mostly rented out now to various university students. Flashes of light spat out of the bottom floor window and the heads of three uniformed police constables ducking down behind their cars.
Despite the times, standard British police officers were not assigned firearms and Richard could see that he was the first to answer the call for assistance. He was on his own.
Richard yanked up the handbrake with his left hand as he pulled at the wheel with his right and jumped out of his car as soon as it came to a stop. He drew his Berreta and scrambled over behind the front wheel for cover, knowing full well that an assault rifle could rip through the metal like it was tin foil.
Sure enough the rounds came, punching holes in the smooth bodywork that Richard had only just had washed and waxed.
The gunfire stopped, and Richard dared to quickly peer around the front of the car. It was maybe fifteen metres to the window that they were firing from. A small brick wall, about three feet high separated the front garden from the pavement. If Richard could reach it, it would provide adequate enough cover. The problem lay in what he would do once he got there? He needed armed support.
Cardiff had only recently been given its own Armed Response Unit, but in comparison to the numerous teams of its London counterpart the Welsh Specialist Operations Squad was not all that quick to respond.
The shooting started up again, only it sounded louder, nearer. Richard pushed his luck, sneaking out again for a glimpse. Three men were walking down the pathway. One held an AK-47 assault rifle to his shoulder. He sprayed a burst in each direction as he advanced. The other two had handguns and held holdalls in their free hand. Whilst the first one seemed lethally confident, stepping over the dead police officer without even a break in stride, the other two were all over the place. They twitched and jumped in every direction like squirrels.
Mr. Confidence kept up a steady volley of gunfire, his Kalashnikov’s 7.62x39mm rifle cartridges puncturing the Mondeo and two panda cars. The two Squirrels darted for a white van parked up on the side. They were going to get away if Richard let them. Get away clean before the A.R.U. even thought about getting off their arses.
Richard swung his arms over onto the bonnet and squeezed off a few 9mms at the armed men. One of the Squirrels flinched suddenly, a round snagging in his shoulder. Mr. Confidence replied sharply with a storm of bullets that Richard swore he felt skim through his hair as he ducked back down quickly.
Mr. Confidence snatched up the wounded Squirrel and threw him into the back of the van as the other climbed into the driver’s seat. Mr. Confidence barked a few rounds over at the pandas to warn the uniforms off too. Driving Squirrel started the engine and Mr. Confidence quickly jumped into the front passenger seat.
The tyres screeched and without thinking Richard jumped out in front of the vehicle as it hurtled towards him. He pressed hard on the trigger three times in quick succession. The windscreen glass shattered and Driving Squirrel’s forehead split open in two places with the third round exploding through his eye. His body dropped against the steering wheel. The horn blared and the van veered suddenly to its left, crashing into Richard’s Mondeo.
The van drove the Mondeo straight into the eight foot wall that cordoned off the Lord Mayor’s house on the other side of the street. The horn still rung out like a dying moan, echoing down the road.
Richard breathed deeply. The Mondeo had been inches away from him when it had suddenly been pounded into the wall. He kept his eyes trained on the van’s door as he approached, weapon still raised. “Armed Police! Exit the vehicle slowly, with your hands in the air!”
The back doors suddenly burst open and the Wounded Squirrel leaped out, landing on his
feet, his head spun in all directions as he waved his gun around.
“Armed Police! Put down your weapon!”
The Squirrel jerked his head at Richard suddenly, eyes wide. He pointed the gun at him and that was enough to put him down.
Before the gunshot had even began to echo, the passenger seat sprung open and Mr. Confidence fell out, still clutching his AK-47. Richard quickly fired at him. But bullets were already flying through the air in the opposite direction. They caught him in the chest. Tearing through his flesh like it wasn’t even there.
127
15.24 (Local Time)
Jucaylay. Helmand Province. Afghanistan.
Jucaylay, Afghanistan
The round had hit Paul square in the chest, knocking him off his feet. He landed hard on his back. The Bergen had cushioned the fall but the impact of the bullet had still knocked every last breath of air from his lungs. He gasped deeply, fighting to breath. He’d been shot before, but this felt different. It was like he felt it before it even happened. His hands moved over his chest, idly, almost by themselves.
What happened?
Paul struggled to remember where he was. He traced back the last events he could recall, hoping they would lead him to the present. They were on their way to Camp Bastion, hitching a ride with soldiers that had been on an offensive operation in the green zone. Paul’s squad had been sent to Kandahar on a search and destroy operation. There had been reports of the Taliban hoarding a cache of weapons in the caves up in the mountains. The attack had gone well.
They’d been told to rendezvous with a patrol on their way back to Bastion. Reading had been really looking forward to finally enjoying some R&R. Camp Bastion had been built kilometres in the desert away from everything else to make attackers easier to spot from a distance, but soldiers were assigned air-conditioned pods to live in, out of the fifty degree plus heat. Plus they served proper meals.