Ultimate Weapon

by Chris Ryan

  He pulled Rob up from the surface of the water and dragged him towards the shore. He had lost consciousness, and the blood was still draining out of the wounds he had taken to his neck and shoulder. Some of the slime and foam from the river was sticking to the raw flesh torn open by the bullets.

  Jed pulled hard, getting him clear of the water. The tide was half out, and there was a stretch of thick mud that ran up to a walled embankment. Above, there was a road running alongside the river, but at this time of night there didn’t seem to be any cars on it. The searchlight was still scanning the river, but the gunfire had stopped. Jed could hear voices carried down from the bridge on the wind. Perhaps they thought they’d shot whoever was in the boat, sending them down to the riverbed to meet the hundreds of corpses that must be tossed into the Tigris every year. But Jed couldn’t be certain of that. They might be sending a search party along the banks of the river right now. They were only five hundred yards down from the bridge. They had to move fast.

  Jed knelt down. Rob still had a pulse on him but he was fading fast. His mouth was choking with the blood running through from his neck. At his side, Matt had pulled out a stretch of cloth from the medical bag in his rucksack, and was busy tying it round the neck wound. The bleeding was starting to slow, but it was impossible to say how much blood he’d lost under the water. Two, maybe three pints. The skin around the two wounds was covered with mud: any diseases in the water – and it looked like there were plenty – and they would have infected him by now. The guy needs a hospital, thought Jed. And probably for a few weeks at least.

  He glanced anxiously up and down the riverbank, then up towards the bridge. The light was still hovering over the boat, but hadn’t been flicked across to the shore. Jed listened hard. He could hear the lapping of the water a few feet away from him. And somewhere in the distance he could hear the rumbling motor of a truck.

  ‘We’ve got to move,’ he hissed to Steve and Matt.

  ‘You grab his arms, I’ll get his shoulders,’ said Matt.

  Jed paused. There were just fractions of a second to finalise the decision. ‘We can’t take him,’ he said flatly.

  ‘Bollocks,’ hissed Matt. ‘He’s our mate. Now grab his legs.’

  Jed stood up. He could see the anger in Matt’s eyes. ‘Half the sodding Republican Guard could be here in a minute,’ he said. ‘If we don’t move now, we’re fucking dead.’

  Steve was looking from one man to the next. Jed could tell he was weighing the argument. He knew the drill book, Jed was aware of that. Standard operating procedure said that when a man was down, you gave him first aid, then moved on. You couldn’t jeopardise the mission to save one man. No special forces unit could work like that, it would never achieve anything. Yet the drill book didn’t always matter. When one of your mates was shot up, and needed help, it was hard to leave him behind. Most soldiers cared a lot more about the men in their unit than they did about the mission. And those that didn’t were the psychos, thought Jed.

  ‘We’re not leaving him,’ said Matt, his voice rising above a whisper for the first time. ‘The fucking ragheads will torture the sod. Now let’s get the bugger to safety.’

  ‘It’s no fucking use,’ said Jed. ‘He needs a hospital. What are you going to do, check him into the Baghdad Central A&E? If we don’t leave him, we’ll be bloody captured.’

  ‘He’s my mate. Now lift his legs,’ said Matt.

  ‘You’re jeopardising the mission.’

  ‘Sod the mission,’ snapped Matt. ‘You’re just a fucking wannabe Rupert, Jed. We don’t need any bloody graduates slumming it with the proper soldiers. Just fuck off, and let us look after our mate.’

  Jed looked at Rob. Putting his finger to his wrist, he could tell the pulse had stopped. He’d lost too much blood, and it was still draining out of him. ‘It doesn’t make any difference,’ he said quietly. ‘The poor sod is dead.’

  There was silence. Without a word, Steve helped Jed lift up the body, and started to carry it towards the rushes by the side of the river. Pushing the corpse down into the weeds, they covered it as best they could. Taking out his GPS reader, Jed measured his precise position. ‘When this war is over, we’ll be back to get you,’ he said. ‘Make sure you get a proper burial.’

  For a moment, Jed could see the hatred in Matt’s eyes. His pupils were like bullets, loaded up and ready to fire. Then it subsided, replaced by a look of sadness that rode across his face like a wave. ‘Let’s bloody go then,’ he muttered.

  I’ve been in the army for four years, and this is the first time I’ve seen a man I know go down, thought Jed as he walked away. Let’s hope to God it’s the last.

  TWELVE

  Nick took the cup of tea Lana had just made him. She had always been thin, but today she looked like she’d lost weight. The redness in her eyes suggested she hadn’t been sleeping well. It’s getting to her, he thought. Just the way it is getting to all of us.

  ‘So no word at all?’ he said, taking a sip on the tea.

  Lana shook her head. ‘Nothing,’ she replied.

  ‘You’ve asked around?’

  Lana nodded. ‘It’s ten days now since anybody heard from her. No text messages, no phone calls, no emails. Nothing.’

  Nick nodded. The young stayed in touch in ways that hadn’t been possible when he was in his early twenties. He could remember when he was first in the army; he’d been gone a month before getting in touch with his mum or any of his mates. She must have been worried sick, he realised now, and he regretted not having done more to let her know he was OK. ‘Seen any guys hanging around the flat?’

  Suddenly Lana looked worried. She was a frail girl, Nick noted, but not timid: she had a purpose and strength to her that suggested she wouldn’t back down easily in any confrontation. Nick hadn’t told her anything about the money that had been paid into Sarah’s account. Nor had he said anything about the men following him, or the investigators hired by the oil industry. But she wasn’t stupid. She must suspect that something bad had happened to Sarah.

  ‘Guys? What the hell do you mean?’

  Nick shrugged. ‘People watching the flat, following you, anything like that. Just anything suspicious, that’s all.’

  Lana gripped her mug tighter. ‘No,’ she said anxiously. ‘I mean, I haven’t noticed, but I haven’t been looking either. What should I look for?’

  ‘Maybe a couple of guys just sitting in a car out in the street, the same face looking at you as you walk to your college, anything like that,’ said Nick.

  ‘Christ, no.’

  Nick walked over to the window. The flat was on the first floor of a Victorian terraced block. He looked down into the street. He could see a row of parked cars, mostly cheap run-arounds that parents had bought for their student offspring. None of them were occupied. He looked at the houses opposite. Maybe they’ve taken a bedsit in the street so they can keep an eye on the place. He scanned the windows, but could see nothing except drawn curtains or empty rooms. They must be here, he thought. Somewhere.

  Lana joined him at the window. Raindrops were spitting down on to the glass. ‘What’s happened to her, Nick?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘But you’re suspicious? You don’t just think she’s gone on a drinking bender?’

  ‘For ten days?’ Nick shrugged his shoulders. ‘Even for a girl who can drink like Sarah can, that doesn’t sound very likely.’

  ‘Then what?’

  ‘It might be something to do with her work,’ said Nick.

  ‘She’s just a student,’ said Lana.

  ‘Doesn’t matter,’ snapped Nick. ‘I need to know what she was doing in those labs.’

  Lana paused for a moment. She was sipping on her tea. ‘Then speak to a guy called Sam Beston.’

  ‘Who’s he?’

  ‘A colleague at the lab. Sarah never speaks to me about her work because I don’t suppose I would understand it. But she talks to Sam about it. He’s the guy she’s closest to. I t
hink he’s a little bit in love with her, but she wouldn’t go for him. He’s the thoughtful, scientific type, and she always has this whole macho thing going.’

  ‘Where will I find him?’

  ‘I don’t know where he lives, but Cambridge is a small place. If you don’t find him at the lab, try the Three Crowns. That’s where all the scientists go drinking.’

  Nick nodded. ‘I’m trying the professor again,’ he said. ‘If there’s no luck there, I’ll track down Sam.’

  Lana reached out to touch the side of his arm, but Nick instinctively pulled it away. He regretted it instantly, but since Mary’s death, he hadn’t liked to have other people touch him. Only Sarah. ‘You should go to the police,’ she said.

  ‘And tell them what, exactly?’ said Nick. ‘That a student hasn’t called her dad for ten days? That’ll give them a bloody good laugh.’

  He headed for the door, then paused, looking back towards Lana. He could tell how frightened she was. ‘I’ll find her,’ he said firmly. ‘And I’ll do it by myself.’

  With his head down, Nick walked out into the street. The rain was starting to fall heavily, and the water was already flowing fast into the gutters. Nick pulled up the collar of his leather jacket, but ignored the rain lashing his hair. I wasn’t able to rescue her mother, he thought. But I can sure as hell rescue Sarah. Or die trying.

  Nick looked at the computer screen. He was sitting in one of the Internet cafés in Cambridge, and he’d just done a Google search on the Lubbock Group. From the information he’d managed to beat out of Stonehill, he didn’t reckon they were his best lead. If they were tracking me, he thought, it follows that they didn’t know where Sarah was. But they might be part of the conspiracy all the same.

  The search turned up a couple of dozen entries. They were mostly fringe websites, some of them compiled by left-wing organisations, others by survivalists and environmentalists. The sites described it as a group of the leading players in the oil industry – the big oil companies, OPEC, the British and American producers, and more recently the Russians – who gathered together once a year at a secret location. According to a couple of the sites, they were very close to the Bush family – one described both Bush presidents as nothing more than frontmen for the Lubbock Group. They were ascribed the power to start wars, change governments, direct the global economy – to do whatever was necessary to keep the oil barons in dollars. Why would they be interested in Sarah, wondered Nick. What had she been working on?

  There was one six-year-old story from Business Week, which discussed the rumours about the Group, but dismissed them as probably untrue. That was the only reference Nick could find in the mainstream press. Wrong, mate, thought Nick, as he finished the article. They’re real. And the Lubbock Group is looking for Sarah, just like me.

  Professor Wilmington, thought Nick, getting up and walking out of the café. That bastard knows where Sarah is. And he knows why the Lubbock guys are looking for her.

  Professor Wilmington looked up from his computer when Nick walked into the room. ‘What the hell are you doing in my office?’ he snapped. Nick could see him calling up the screensaver before he stood up and walked towards the doorway.

  ‘Looking for my daughter,’ said Nick firmly.

  It had been a half-hour walk from Sarah’s apartment to the labs, and Nick’s hair was wet and matted to his head. Glancing round the room, he could see that the professor was alone.

  ‘Well, as her father, I’d have thought you were the man responsible for her welfare, not me,’said Wilmington.

  The equations had been wiped clean from the blackboard but Nick could still see traces of the chalk left behind. There was a faint smell of cigarette smoke in the air, although he couldn’t see any sign of an ashtray. ‘I need to know what she was working on.’

  ‘I already explained to you,’ said Wilmington. ‘I don’t follow the work of all my students that closely.’

  There was a note of exasperation in his voice that was starting to annoy Nick. Whatever it was that the professor cared about it clearly wasn’t his students.

  ‘Something to do with energy, maybe,’ said Nick.

  A thin smile spread across Wilmington’s lips. ‘Well, I think you’ll find that most of advanced physics relates to energy in one way or another. Or maybe you’re not familiar with Einstein’s work.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter what I’m familiar with,’ said Nick. ‘I need to know whether Sarah was doing anything that might get her into trouble.’

  Wilmington stepped closer to Nick. The two men were just inches apart: so close that Nick could smell the thick, cloying aftershave on his chin. ‘I really don’t appreciate the way you keep barging into my office like this,’ he said. His voice was low, but there was a thread of real anger running through it. Wilmington was not a big man, nor did he look in great physical shape. Nick knew that he could snap him like a matchstick if he needed to. But there was a physical presence to him all the same: his eyes were focused and intense. ‘Now, I really must ask you to leave. I have work to attend to.’

  ‘Something to do with the oil industry?’ persisted Nick.

  ‘This is ridiculous,’ snapped Wilmington. ‘We don’t do industrial research here.’

  ‘Then what kind of research was she doing?’

  ‘Pure science,’ he said. ‘Now, if you don’t leave this minute, I’ll have to call security.’

  Like most soldiers, Nick knew how to adopt an air of menace, and didn’t mind using it when necessary. He was used to intimidating people. Yet so far as he could tell, the professor was not in the least bit afraid of him. ‘I want to see her papers.’

  ‘We don’t keep papers here.’

  ‘Her computer, then.’

  ‘I’m afraid that’s not possible either,’ said Wilmington. ‘All the students use their own laptops, and the lab’s mainframe can’t be accessed by outsiders.’

  ‘You won’t bloody lift a finger, will you?’ said Nick angrily. ‘It doesn’t matter what I ask you, you’ll just say no.’

  ‘Quite so,’ said Wilmington. ‘For the third and, I hope, final time, please leave my room.’

  ‘It’s my daughter we’re talking about,’ said Nick. ‘How would you feel if your family was under threat?’

  ‘I know all about that,’ said Wilmington coldly.

  For the first time, Nick felt he could see a flicker of concern flash across the man’s face. Maybe he has a daughter of his own, he thought. Maybe that’s the way to get through to him.

  ‘If I don’t get any answers from you, I’m going to bloody lose it,’ he said.

  Wilmington looked towards the door. Nick could hear a movement. The door was opening. As he turned round, he saw the man he’d seen here last time. The Arab.

  Salek.

  He was stepping into the room, walking briskly towards the professor. ‘Is this man bothering you?’ he asked.

  Wilmington glanced at him, but who was controlling whom he couldn’t tell. ‘He’s just about to leave.’

  ‘Not until I get some answers.’

  ‘There are no answers here,’ said Salek patiently. ‘The professor is concerned about Sarah’s well-being, as is everyone in the laboratory. But he sees nothing to worry about yet, and certainly doesn’t believe it relates to her work here. This is a purely academic establishment.’

  ‘Who are you?’ said Nick.

  ‘A friend.’

  Nick just rolled his eyes.

  Salek took a step forward. He was dressed in a white cotton shirt and black tousers, and his brown eyes were looking straight at Nick. With one sudden movement, his right hand flashed up, grabbing Nick’s left wrist and tugging it into the air. Nick could feel the nerves being stretched, and a burst of pain rattled up through his arm. For a moment, Nick was paralysed by the attack. His chest and neck were seizing up. He looked into Salek’s eyes, and could see the contempt in his expression slowly replaced by amusement.

  Christ, he thought. This man is at least
a decade younger than me. A decade quicker and a decade stronger. He must have had some kind of military training to know those kinds of moves. So why is he hanging out in Wilmington’s office all the time?

  Nick struggled to regain his composure. His left wrist was being twisted tighter and tighter: Salek was turning it like a screw, scrunching the nerves and the arteries. The pain was blinding. Steeling himself, Nick rolled his right fist into a ball, focused his eyes, then slammed his fist down hard into Salek’s right hand. There was a momentary pause. Nick could feel the impact of the blow travel down from his right hand, into Salek’s fist, then down into his own left hand. He cursed, trying to control the pain. Then his eyes flickered up. Salek had loosened his grip. Nick snatched away his fist, cradling it next to his chest.

  ‘You’re a strong man, Mr Scott,’ said Salek. ‘At least, for a man of your age.’

  ‘You’ll find out how strong soon,’ snapped Nick, ‘if I don’t get some bloody answers.’

  ‘That would be a pleasure,’ said Salek. ‘But you must realise you aren’t going to get anything here today. Your threats and intimidations are no good here. You’re not my equal in strength, and if anyone hears a fight, there will be a couple of security guards here in a minute, with the police backing them up a few minutes later.’ He looked at Nick and smiled. ‘So fuck off.’

  Nick’s fist was still clenched. The pain was rippling through his left arm and into his neck, making it hard for him to concentrate. ‘Who the hell are you working for?’

  Salek’s hand flashed out towards Nick’s wrist but missed. ‘There are a dozen different way to inflict pain on you, old man,’ he said. ‘Like I just said, fuck off.’

  Nick turned round. This was useless. Whether he could beat the man in a fight, he didn’t know. He did know he had the guile of a snake. It would be a tough battle. Nick wasn’t afraid of the man, but what would be the point? The noise of the fight would bring the police down on them in seconds, and he’d end up spending the night in the cells. It wasn’t going to help anyway. He’d learnt a long time ago that you had to know when to march to war and when to retreat, and he wasn’t about to forget the lesson now. ‘This isn’t finished,’ he said, heading for the door. ‘And if I ever discover that either of you had anything to do with Sarah’s disappearance, I’ll rip both of you apart limb by bloody limb.’