Ultimate Weapon

by Chris Ryan

  ‘Leave it, you fucking idiot,’ shouted the Irishman.

  He rushed forward, holding tight on to the German. At first the man shrugged him aside, using all the strength in his shoulders to break himself free. Then the anger within him started to subside. Grabbing the German, the Irishman started to run down the hillside towards the path. Nick was running after them, but they were younger and fitter than he was, and even with the wounds they had taken, they were more agile across the muddy ground. Nick pushed himself forward, running through the field. The rain was beating into him. He tripped, falling face down in to the mud. He could feel the wind wrapping around him, and the flow of blood was starting to increase from the wounds on his arm. His head was splitting from the blow he had taken. He could feel the strength start to drain out of him. Ahead he could see the two men running on to the path, disappearing into the darkness.

  Shit, he muttered to himself. If I die here tonight, I don’t much care. But who will help Sarah?

  Without me, she had no one.

  SEVEN

  Jed knelt down in the mud. The rain was lashing into him, and the wind blowing hard down off the side of the mountains. The night was still pitch black. Pure luck, thought Jed. If my torch hadn’t chanced to shine in this direction I wouldn’t have noticed you. On a night like this, you might have died.

  Nick’s eyes had closed, and there was a thick pool of blood at his side. Jed tore a strip from Nick’s sweatshirt, and ripped it into a long thin bandage. Taking it between his hands, he twisted it around the top of Nick’s arm, putting all his strength into tying the knot. That should staunch the bleeding, he told himself. Until I get the old bugger to a doctor.

  He put his arms around his waist and hoisted Nick into the air. He must have weighed just over two hundred pounds, and the load was a heavy one even for a strong, fit man. He’d parked the Ford Probe he’d borrowed from one of the other guys in the Regiment at the bottom of the drive, where it hit the road. Another five hundred yards, he reckoned. He needs some medical treatment as soon as possible.

  He pushed on to the bottom of the field, then used one hand to lever open the gate while holding Nick on his back. The weight was crushing. What the hell happened to him? Jed wondered. How did he get to be lying unconscious in a field?

  First Sarah vanishes. Then this. Nothing makes any sense right now.

  He walked as swiftly as he could to the car, then flung open the door, bundling Nick on to the back seat. Suddenly his eyes flashed open. He lay still for a moment, then groaned loudly and looked up.

  ‘What the fuck are you doing here?’ said Nick, looking straight at Jed.

  ‘Saving your bloody skin,’ snapped Jed.

  He could see the damage in Nick’s eyes. They were bloodshot, and beaten: the eyes of a man who’d stumbled into a fight, and hadn’t been able to handle it.

  ‘What happened to you?’ said Jed.

  ‘I … I …’

  Nick was struggling for the words. His breath was short, and his body lacked the strength even to sit up. Jed got into the front seat, and turned the key in the ignition. The sooner he got the old guy to a doctor the better. He’d lost more blood than he probably realised: at least a couple of pints judging by the pool next to him, and after losing that amount of juice, a man usually didn’t even know his own name any more.

  ‘Hey, Nick,’ said Jed, trying to smile. ‘Try not to bleed all over the bloody car, will you? I borrowed it from a mate.’

  He looked round, as the car’s headlamps cut a beam of light through the darkness of the narrow country lane, but Nick had already lost consciousness again.

  Jed pushed aside the thin curtain, and looked down at the man lying stretched out on the grey, functional army bed. ‘I would have got you some flowers,’ he said. ‘But I wasn’t sure if you preferred carnations or lilies.’

  Nick looked back up at him, without a hint of amusement on his face. ‘I’m OK,’ he said sullenly. ‘I’ll be on my way in a day or two.’

  ‘You don’t look OK,’ said Jed.

  ‘I’ll be fine,’ said Nick fiercely.

  They were in Jed’s room at the base. Every guy in the Regiment got his own room, even if he lived off base with his wife. It was nothing more than a ten-foot by six-foot box, with a metal bed, a desk, a basin and a place to stash your kit. When Jed had arrived back at the base late last night, he carried Nick straight through to his room. The Regiment kept medical staff on call twenty-four hours a day, and he begged one of the doctors to come and take a look as a personal favour. He’d been chippy at first, complaining that this was the army, not the NHS: there was an A&E department in Hereford for dealing with the public. Sod that, Jed had told him angrily, the guy is ex-Regiment, and he’s hurt, so you can treat him now. The doctor – a young guy called Ed Merrill – had agreed, but warned Jed he was going to take a bollocking if anyone found out. Nick had taken a series of bad cuts to the arm and a nasty blow to the head, and had lost enough blood for him to pass out. They popped another pint into him – the Regiment always had plenty in stock, since it seemed to be remarkably careless with the stuff, the doctor had joked – and patched up his wounds. He’ll be OK in twenty-four hours, the doctor had said. We’ll keep him here until then, and let him get some rest.

  Jed had returned to see him just after lunch. His morning had been taken up with final briefings for the mission. The squad was due to fly out to Kuwait at dawn tomorrow, and their time was taken up with last-minute preparations. He could only spare a few minutes to see what was happening to Nick.

  ‘What the hell happened last night, then?’ he said.

  Nick was lying on the army bed. The Regiment only had doctors. There were no nurses running around to get you some fruit juice. But the medical care was first-rate. The one thing they did for you was patch up your wounds, Jed reflected. So you could get out there and get some more.

  ‘I fell over,’ said Nick.

  ‘And ended up with knife wounds in your arm?’

  Nick shrugged. ‘I got into a dust-up with the farmer about his sheep crossing into my garden.’ He tried to smile, but the pain in his jaw was making it hard for him to move his lips. ‘Country life is pretty rough, you know.’

  ‘Why don’t you tell me what really happened?’

  ‘What were you doing there, anyway?’

  ‘Christ, you’re even more of an ungrateful old bastard than I realised,’ said Jed angrily. ‘I know you and I have never got along, but I’m bloody worried about Sarah, just the way you are. I tried to call you last night to see if you’d heard anything from her, since I know you wouldn’t have the sodding decency to call me if you did hear from her. I couldn’t get hold of you, so I borrowed a mate’s car to come and see you. When you weren’t answering the door, but your car was there, I figured something up. I found you in the field, knocked out. And it’s lucky for you I did, otherwise you’d have bled to death.’

  ‘I’m strong enough,’ snapped Nick. ‘I’d have been OK.’

  ‘Right,’said Jed. ‘But you’d be in the A&E in Hereford, with the local coppers asking you questions about what fight you’d been in.’

  ‘I’d have sorted them out,’ said Nick. ‘Now, piss off and let me get on with my life.’

  Jed gripped on to the side of the bed. Whoever it was who’d stuck that knife into him last night, he was starting to know how they felt. ‘I love her as well,’ he said, a hint of steel in his tone. ‘And I want to find out what’s happened to her.’

  ‘You don’t love her, you’re just a bloody soldier,’ said Nick. ‘I know your kind, and you’re not good enough for her.’

  ‘You’re a soldier as well,’ said Jed angrily.

  ‘That’s different,’ growled Nick. ‘I’m good enough for her.’

  ‘And I’m good enough to save your sodding life,’ snapped Jed. ‘I’m beginning to wish I’d left you in that fucking field to die … it’s what you deserve.’

  Nick paused for a moment. Jed could see the fla
sh of anger in his eyes start to fade away, replaced by a look of sorrow. If the old bastard wasn’t so annoying, I might even feel sorry for him.

  ‘Yeah, well,’ he said, his voice turning down to just a whisper. ‘Maybe I wasn’t good enough for her.’ He sat himself up in the bed, and took a sip of water. ‘I was a soldier, you see, and soldiering and parenting don’t mix. Different trades. I was away fighting all the time, for this bloody Regiment. Her mum was worried sick. It was rough, you know, over the water, then out in the Gulf. Guys’ cards were getting punched all the time. One or two wives would be getting the knock on the door around here every month. It used to do Mary’s head in. She was on the point of a nervous breakdown a lot of the time, and that was no good for Sarah either. Then when I came back from Iraq I was a wreck. I was nervous, exhausted, I was drinking, I didn’t know how to cope any more. Then after Mary died, we fell apart, and Sarah was taken into care.’

  He looked at Jed. ‘So, you see, I was a crap dad, and a crap husband,’ he said. ‘And so will you be. All us soldier boys are. I don’t want that for Sarah. She’s had enough of that to last her a couple of lifetimes already.’

  Jed nodded. ‘Just let me help find her, OK,’ he said. ‘We can sort the rest of it out later. I’m off to Iraq myself. Tomorrow morning. And I want to help as much as I can before then.’

  For a moment, the two men remained silent. The clock on the wall was ticking closer to two o’clock. Nick took another sip of the water, wishing it was something stronger, then looked back at Jed. ‘There was money in our joint account.’

  ‘How much?’

  ‘A hundred grand.’

  Jed whistled. ‘Jesus, where did that come from?’

  Nick shrugged. ‘I have no idea.’ He hesitated before continuing. ‘Then these two blokes were watching my house. I saw them. That’s what I was doing. I went out to confront them, and see what the hell they were doing.’

  ‘And took a beating.’

  ‘I gave a good account of myself, thanks,’ growled Nick sourly. ‘They went home with a few bruises.’

  ‘How long were they there?’

  Nick shook his head. ‘Not long,’ he said. ‘They tapped my phone as well. I don’t think they are interested in me. Christ, there’s nothing about my life you’d want to watch, so it must be something to do with Sarah.’

  ‘Someone’s kidnapped her?’

  ‘Maybe,’ said Nick.

  ‘I don’t get it,’ said Jed. ‘Sarah’s just a postgrad, why the hell would anyone give her that kind of money? Why would they be looking for her?’

  Nick eased himself out of the bed. There was a thick layer of bandages around his head and arm. He walked unsteadily, and lifted his jeans from the hook, and dug into the pocket. Handing a few strands of hair across to Jed, he sat back down on the bed. ‘This is from one of the blokes that was watching me,’ he said. ‘You’re Regiment. You’ve got access to the police labs to run a DNA test on it. Find out who it belongs to. Then we’ll know who’s looking for Sarah and why.’

  EIGHT

  Laura switched her laptop to screensaver as soon as Jed stepped into the room. She was sitting in one of the small offices the Firm had taken over at the Hereford base six months earlier: a series of rooms, each one painted regulation grey, where the spies had been directing operations. First sending guys into Afghanistan, now into Iraq, the Firm and the politicians were treating the Regiment like their own private army. Even the Ruperts were starting to get pissed off.

  ‘I need something,’ said Jed, looking across at her.

  She stood up from behind the wooden desk. She was wearing black trousers and a cream blouse, with a single string of pearls slung around her neck. He could smell a dab of perfume on her skin.

  ‘I thought I took care of that last night,’ she said.

  Jed grinned. If I have to flirt with her, that’s OK with me, he told himself. Just so long as it helps me find out what’s happened to Sarah.

  ‘A DNA test,’ he said.

  ‘We’re not planning to have children, Jed,’ answered Laura with a light giggle.

  ‘It’s for a friend. A bloke attacked him. I’ve got a piece of his hair. I want to run it through the labs, and see if we can get a fix on who the guy is.’

  Laura shook her head. ‘Jed, we’ve got an important mission into Iraq to organise. We can’t run around doing errands for our friends.’

  ‘Listen,’ said Jed, his tone turning harder. ‘This is bloody important. I want it done.’

  Laura seemed taken aback by the harshness of his expression. She could see the anger in his eyes and hear the strength in his voice. ‘We’ve got a few hours down-time before we have to assemble the guys,’ said Jed, trying to soften his tone. ‘That’s all it will take.’

  ‘Just some hairs?’ said Laura.

  ‘About three or four strands.’

  ‘There’s no time,’ said Laura sharply.

  ‘The plane doesn’t leave until dawn,’ snapped Jed.

  Laura was already walking back to her desk. The mobile sitting next to the computer was ringing but she ignored it. ‘The Firm’s DNA labs are all in London,’ she said stiffly. ‘We can’t make it there and back by tonight.’

  ‘There’s a police lab in Cardiff that you can get access to. We can be there and back in three hours.’

  ‘I’ve said there isn’t time.’

  Jed took a pace forward. ‘Then make time.’

  Laura was glancing towards the small window. It was a cold, cloudy day, and some drizzle was spitting against the glass. ‘I’ve told you already,’ she said, a hint of exasperation in her voice. ‘I can’t become involved in anyone’s personal issues.’

  ‘Then I’m not going on the mission to Iraq,’ said Jed. He was looking straight at her, his eyes filled with determination.

  ‘It’s an order,’ said Laura. ‘Remember.’

  ‘No it bloody isn’t,’ snapped Jed. ‘This one’s off the books, so you can deny I was ever born if I get into trouble. I can go or not go. It’s my choice.’

  ‘If you change your mind now, it’s career suicide, Jed.’

  Jed shrugged. ‘And if you don’t get me into Iraq to find out what’s in that compound, then I reckon your career’s toast as well.’

  ‘What does that mean?’ she said.

  ‘Just help take these hairs to the lab,’ said Jed, ‘and you won’t have to find out.’

  The lab was spotlessly clean. A series of wooden benches filled one side of the room, and some sunlight was drifting in from the sides of the tall windows. From one of them, Jed could see the pillars of Cardiff’s Millennium Stadium rising into the sky. ‘Here,’ he said to the technician who had introduced himself simply as Dr Jones. ‘Two strands of hair. Fresh. Just came off the guy’s head yesterday.’

  Dr Jones nodded. He was a thin man, no more than thirty, with curly brown hair, and a pair of thick glasses. ‘It doesn’t make any difference whether it’s fresh or not,’ he said. ‘We can accurately test the DNA of a dinosaur.’

  ‘Just make it quick,’ said Laura. ‘We haven’t got much time.’

  They had driven at breakneck speed. Jed took his mate’s Ford Probe. Stupid name for a car, he thought every time he got into it. They might as well have called it the Ford Shag. Still, like most Fords, it was a nicely built car, and if you knew how to work the gears, it could cruise comfortably at over a hundred. Jed drove it hard, steering wildly into the corners on the road that twisted down along the Wye Valley towards Chepstow, then on to the motorway to Cardiff, but he was a good driver. Laura sat in silence for most of the journey: she didn’t want to come, and she didn’t mind if he knew it.

  Like most women I’ve met, thought Jed, she doesn’t need any lessons in sulking. They must teach it to them when they play with their Barbie dolls.

  Jed followed Jones towards the bench. He was working with nimble, practised fingers, but the expression on his face suggested that having done a thousand DNA tests, they no longer c
arried much interest for him. He gave a brief explanation of how the DNA was first extracted from the root of the hair, then analysed. The original strand of hair is dissolved into a chemical dish, to break it down into its component parts. The fragments are then transferred to a nylon membrane soaked with a radioactive solution. The radioactive chemicals bind with the DNA to produce an image which can then be captured on a computer, he explained. ‘What you end up with,’ said Jones, ‘is an image that looks pretty much like the bar codes that they put on stuff in the supermarket. That’s what we use to identify people.’

  Jed looked at the computer screen. A series of black lines, some thin, some fat. ‘That’s him?’ said Jed.

  Jones nodded. ‘The DNA has come out well,’ he replied. ‘You’ll be able to identify him from this easily enough.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘We just input it into the computer, then it compares the codes,’ said Jones. ‘Like I said, it’s just like a bar code in the supermarket. The computer can read it, and compare it to the millions of other people on its database. Then it tells you who it is.’

  Behind him, he could smell Laura’s perfume. She was leaning into his back, looking at the image on the screen. ‘Run it,’ she said coldly.

  ‘You have authorisation?’

  Laura took a card from her wallet, and put it down on the desk. She had already used her ID pass from the Firm to get them access to the South Wales Police Headquarters, and to demand that they be shown straight to the DNA lab. The pass she had just produced told Jones she was senior enough to have access to the entire police and intelligence services network. Jones looked at it and nodded. ‘OK,’ he said, visibly impressed by her level of seniority. ‘I’ll run it on the big one.’