Ultimate Weapon

by Chris Ryan

  Steve stumbled, and a low scream started to rise up from his lips. ‘Move. Fuck it, move,’ shouted Jed. He dragged at his arm, but could feel the weight of the man pulling him back. Bullets were smashing into the ground all around him, kicking up dust and blowing tiny chunks of brittle concrete up into the air. The MOPP suit was filling up with sweat and dirt, making Jed’s whole body feel as if it was being licked by flames. He tugged hard. Then he turned round. Steve’s foot was dragging behind him, his face twisted with pain. Jed could see the fear and despair that was starting to take a grip on the man. ‘It’s my foot,’ said Steve. ‘The bullet’s gone into my fucking foot.’

  ‘You’ll be all right,’ shouted Jed. ‘Just hold on to my arm.’

  He started to drag him. Steve was trying to bury the pain as the wounded foot scraped through the dust. Jed looked forward. Another twenty yards to the wall. He could see the rope, twisting down, and he could see Matt laying down fire towards the admin block. One scream, then another. The Iraqis were taking a beating, but they weren’t about to give up. They knew they had the edge, in numbers. With enough time, they can just outgun us.

  Another bullet ricocheted off the wall, then slammed itself into Steve’s chest. The Kevlar underneath his T-shirt deflected the tiny lump of metal, but the blow still struck him like a hammer. He stumbled and fell, crashing to the ground. The smoke from the grenades was filling the courtyard with ugly, thick plumes of dust, and they were still ten yards from the wall. Matt was laying down some fire in the direction of the admin block, but the Iraqis weren’t taking any punishment. They couldn’t see well enough to aim, but that wasn’t stopping them firing aimlessly into the courtyard. This is a slaughterhouse, Jed thought grimly. And I’m in the middle of it.

  Another bullet smashed into Steve’s thigh. The wound was a bad one, and blood was starting to gush from it. Steve rolled over, his fist clenched together in agony. ‘Just bugger off,’ he muttered. ‘I’m done for. Just leave me.’

  Jed knelt down. He could hear the bullets stinging the ground all around him. The noise was battering his ears, and the smoke and debris of shattered concrete was filling his lungs. He gripped Steve’s leg, and started trying to push his hand down on to the bleeding wound to staunch the blood loss. ‘Grab it, you fucker,’ he shouted down into Steve’s face.

  ‘I’m not going to bloody make it,’ said Steve. ‘And if you don’t run now, neither are you.’

  Jed was suddenly reminded of what Nick had told him. He wished he’d fought the Iraqis and helped his mate. It might mean death. But it was better than being taken alive.

  ‘Just keep bloody quiet,’ he snapped. ‘You’re losing enough strength as it is.’

  Jed grabbed Steve around the chest, and with one heave lifted the man clean off the ground. He grunted, then hoisted him up over his shoulder. Steve was a heavy man, weighing in at almost two hundred pounds, and his kit made the load even heavier. Ignore it, Jed told himself. Ten yards. That’s all.

  He staggered forward. One step, then another. Blood was flowing freely from the wound, mixing with the sweat and dirt that had already filled Jed’s suit, creating a pungent, sticky, crimson mess.

  A bullet. It hit Jed hard in the chest, just below the heart. The impact was like a crane smashing into your side. He could feel the square lump of steel thump him, and pain started to ripple out into every muscle. The Kevlar deflected the path, and within an instant Jed knew that it had saved him. But the bullet had unsteadied his balance. He was wobbling, finding it hard to keep a grip on the ground. He staggered one more step, then another, fighting his way though the fog and noise. Another bullet had ripped into Steve’s side, lodging itself in the man’s stomach. The blood was falling from two wounds now, emptying itself out of his body like the liquid from a broken bottle. He had lost consciousness. And within a few seconds, Jed realised, probably his life as well.

  He staggered forwards, pushing himself to cover the last few yards. His breath was ragged, and his heart thumping in his chest. He’d seen combat before, but he’d had the right kit then, and enough force. This was something different. This was a beating. And the way it looked right now, they were all going to die.

  ‘Blow the fuckers up,’ Jed screamed at Matt.

  He put Steve down, relieved to get the weight from his shoulders. It only took one look into his eyes to see that he was dead: the glazy, watery, despairing look of the corpse had already taken hold of him. The rope was dangling against the wall. Jed gripped hold of it. One bullet smashed into the wall, then another. Bits of concrete were chewed out of its surface, spitting up into the air. The fog from the grenades was starting to clear, and the Iraqi fire was becoming more accurate. In a few seconds, they’d be able to see him clearly. Then I’ll be dead for sure.

  ‘Get Steve,’ said Matt.

  ‘He’s bloody dead,’ snapped Jed.

  ‘Bring him up,’ yelled Matt.

  ‘I told you, he’s bloody dead,’ shouted Jed. ‘Now blow the fuckers.’

  Matt’s eyes furrowed together. A look of blind fury contorted his face, twisting his mouth and cheeks into an ugly grimace. He took a series of grenades from his belt, and started tossing them into the centre of the compound. He could hear a series of screams as the explosions took down three, maybe four of the Iraqi soldiers. Great clouds of smoke and dust were billowing out of the courtyard as the grenades detonated, each explosion amplifying the last one.

  Jed grabbed hold of the rope, hauling himself up the wall. He could see Matt turning his fire towards the door of the admin block, laying it into the area around the door, to keep the Iraqis pinned back. There were cries of pain and shock as men’s bodies were caught up in the explosion, then more cries and barked commands as they tried to make sense of the situation.

  Havoc and destruction, thought Jed, as he cowered from the rising blast. What this Regiment has always done best.

  Matt looked at him, his eyes blazing with fury. ‘You fucking killed him, you tosser,’ he shouted. ‘That’s two of us you’ve done for now.’

  ‘Don’t be bloody stupid,’ snapped Jed. ‘It’s a sodding slaughterhouse down there.’

  Down by the admin block, Jed could see that two of the Iraqis had caught fire, their bodies burning on the edge of the courtyard. The sickening smell of singed flesh was filling the air, mixing with the burning wood and plasterboard. One soldier had run forward to try and put out the flames licking across his mate, but Matt had already turned his pistol on him, spraying him with a sprinkling of bullets that ripped through his chest and lungs. The guy fell to the ground. Jed could see flames racing across the courtyard spitting upwards into the night sky. Whatever the hell it was they were making in there, thought Jed, it was certainly flammable.

  He rolled off the wall, hitting the ground with a thump, then tore off his MOPP suit. ‘Move, you fucker,’ he shouted up at Matt.

  He looked around. The street leading away from the plant was already starting to fill with people. Some were leaning out of windows, trying to see what was happening. A few – the smarter ones, thought Jed – were evacuating the area. They were running out of their houses, some of them getting into their cars. He could already hear the wails of police and army sirens, but they were some way off. A mile maybe. Enough, he decided. In the crowd, we can still escape.

  ‘I said, bloody move,’ he shouted at Matt again.

  Behind him, he could hear the first muffled sounds of an explosion. ‘Let’s go,’ said Matt, landing with a thump at his side.

  Jed had cast aside his MOPP suit, and stuffed it in his kitbag. Sprinting away, the two men plunged into the crowd. People were thronging on to the street now, many of them still in their nightclothes. A smell of fear was filling the streets, and the noise of men and women shouting was deafening. Flames were still rising up from the plant, as fire started by the grenades started to spread, along with an odour of tar and burnt paint.

  ‘Just lose ourselves, but keep tight to me,’ hissed Jed.

/>   He could feel a mass of panic-filled people all around him. One guy was elbowing him, trying to make some space for his family. A woman was wailing, looking around desperately for one of her kids. Jed fingered the digital camera in his pocket. Two good men have died already for these pictures, he thought bitterly. For what?

  FIFTEEN

  The pub smelt of cold lager and lukewarm chips. A typical student hang-out, thought Nick, as he sat himself down at the bar. Scruffy, cheap, and not too bothered about how drunk you got.

  ‘Diet Coke,’ he told the barman.

  I’ll save the drinking for later. For when I really need it.

  He looked around the main room. A group of young guys had sat themselves down at one table, starting an animated debate about last night’s football. Nick checked his watch. It was just after six. Lana had said Sam Beston always came into the Three Crowns around that time for a beer. About six foot, she’d said, with lanky brown hair, and usually wearing baggy jeans and a sweatshirt, often with his iPod plugged into his ears. Useful, thought Nick. Most of the guys in here look just like that.

  She’d given him a mobile number, but he hadn’t wanted to ring it. After his confrontation with Wilmington, he’d been more certain than ever that whatever had happened to Sarah, it had something to do with her work in the Cambridge labs. If I get in touch with the kid, then he might disappear as well. Who’s to say they’re not listening to his mobile calls, the same way they followed me and tapped my phone?

  Whoever the hell they are.

  Two guys were standing next to the bar, both ordering pints of bitter. Both tall, both with brown hair, but one of them was wearing jeans, the other chinos. Nick looked across. ‘I’m looking for a guy called Sam Beston,’ he said.

  The taller of the two students glanced at him. There wasn’t even a trace of suspicion in his eyes, Nick noted. ‘That’s me,’ he replied.

  ‘I need to speak to you.’

  Beston paused for a moment. Nick was suddenly aware of how young he looked. His skin was fresh and unlined, and his eyes clear. Same as Sarah, he thought to himself in a flash. She’s too young to be out there by herself. She needs looking after.

  ‘I’m Sarah’s dad,’ he continued.

  ‘Nick?’

  He nodded. ‘She’s mentioned me, then.’

  Beston took a step closer. His friend nodded to them both, then walked away to join another group of young guys who had just walked into the pub. Whatever was happening here, it wasn’t any of his business. ‘What’s happened?’

  Nick looked at the barman, then back at Beston. ‘What makes you think something’s happened to her?’

  Beston shrugged. ‘She hasn’t been into the lab for a couple of weeks,’ he replied. ‘That’s not like her.’

  Nick nodded. Most of his life he’d worked on instinct, and had learnt to trust it over the years. His instincts told him that Beston was young and naive and probably telling the truth. As Lana said, he probably had a bit of a crush on Sarah, but he wasn’t her type: she liked the action man, butch hero, just like Jed, rather than the slightly dweeby type like the boy standing next to him. None of that mattered. He cared about Sarah, and he could trust him. More than I can trust anyone else she works with in that lab, anyway.

  ‘I’m trying to find her,’ said Nick.

  ‘Shit,’ said Beston. Suddenly he looked worried. ‘I mean, I thought she was at home or something. I did text her last week, though, and didn’t hear back from her. That was pretty weird. Sarah always texts you straight back.’

  The words tumbled out of him, as if a tap had just been turned on. Nerves, thought Nick. They make some people talk too much. ‘I need to find out what she was working on in the lab,’ said Nick.

  Beston took a gulp on his beer. ‘You really think something’s happened to her, don’t you? Christ, it couldn’t be anything to do with her work, could it?’

  ‘I’m just trying to find out, that’s all,’ Nick said. ‘I need to know everything she was up to in the last few weeks. It doesn’t matter how small or insignificant it is. I just need to build up a picture of what she was doing.’

  Beston laughed, but the sound was hollow and dry. ‘Just working,’ he said. ‘Working really hard.’

  ‘On what?’

  ‘Do you know much about the labs?’

  Nick shook his head. ‘I spent most of my life in the army. I’m not a scientist.’

  ‘We all work pretty much by ourselves,’ said Beston. ‘Most of us are doing our doctorates, a few have junior lectureships. The professors and the more senior fellows all have their own areas of interest. So it’s not like we’re all working together in a team or anything. Still, most of us have some idea of what the others are working on. We talk about things we’ve wrestled with, swap ideas around, share different skills. It’s helpful.’

  ‘And Sarah?’

  Beston shook his head. ‘Not her,’ he said. ‘Sarah didn’t like to discuss her work with anyone. Said it ruined her concentration. She kept it all to herself. The only person she talked to about it was the professor.’

  ‘Wilmington?’

  Beston nodded. ‘He was always fussing over her. Taking her aside, spending time going through her equations.’

  Right, thought Nick. And the bastard told me he didn’t know what she was working on.

  ‘More than the other students?’

  ‘Much more,’ said Beston. ‘Some of the guys reckoned he fancied her, but not me.’ He paused, looking straight at Nick. ‘Sarah’s bloody clever, you know. I mean, we’re all clever down in the labs. We’ve all got firsts in physics, and Cambridge isn’t exactly a crap university. But Sarah is really the dog’s bollocks. Much smarter than the rest of us. That’s why the professor’s always fussing over her. He knows she’s smart. If anyone’s going to come up with anything really startling then it’s going to be her.’

  Nick drained the rest of his Diet Coke and ordered another for himself and a pint for Beston. He was gasping for a drink himself, but knew he couldn’t. He had to concentrate. And once he had a drink inside him, he was useless to everyone.

  ‘She must have given you some clues as to what she was working on.’

  ‘Only once.’

  Nick pushed the pint across the bar. ‘Tell me about it.’

  ‘It’s funny, we were in this very pub,’ said Beston. ‘About a month ago. We were all just standing around at about six in the evening, talking about what was happening at the weekend, that kind of thing. And Sarah was about to get a round in, and everyone was complaining about the cost, and she suddenly said: “I’ll buy this pub soon. Then maybe I’ll make it a free bar.” ’

  Nick thought for a moment. A month ago. That could have been just before the hundred grand arrived in her account. She knew it was coming.

  ‘Go on,’ he said softly.

  ‘We all laughed, and one of the guys was ribbing her, but Sarah said: “I’ll buy it with the money from my Nobel Prize.” And the way she said it, I wasn’t sure she was joking.’ Beston paused, taking a gulp of his drink. ‘Well, we all laughed. Guys in the labs are always saying stuff like that. Nobel this, Nobel that. Most of them don’t even know how to change a light bulb. It’s just students bragging. But Sarah wasn’t like that. She never even talked about her work, let alone bragged about it.’

  ‘You think she meant it?’ asked Nick.

  ‘I followed her to the bar, and started helping her get the drinks in. She looked at me with those big eyes of hers, and pushed her hair out of her face, and said. “Unlimited clean energy. That would be worth a prize or two, wouldn’t it?” ’

  Beston put his pint down on the bar. He pulled up a stool that had just come free, and propped himself against it. ‘Sarah didn’t kid around, not about her science. “Cold fusion,” I said to her. “If you think you’ve cracked that, forget it. It’s just a pipe dream.” And all she would say was “Wait and see”. I asked her to tell me some more, but she just said we had to get the drinks back to
the rest of the guys.’

  Nick looked at Beston. ‘I don’t even know what the hell cold fusion is?’

  ‘Only the holy grail of applied nuclear physics,’ said Beston. ‘It’s a nuclear reaction, but one where atoms are fused together rather than split up. So, just as in a conventional nuclear reaction, tremendous quantities of energy are released, but it is completely safe. A single cup of water could be used to power the whole of Britain for a year.’

  ‘Christ,’ said Nick.

  ‘Well, it’s great in theory,’ said Beston. ‘But nobody has ever been able to make it work in practice. Every few years someone comes along and says they’ve cracked it, but it always turns out to be a hoax. The technology is just about impossible to construct. So most people reckon that although the theory is fine, nobody will ever be able to make a reactor that actually works.’

  Nick leant forward, propping his elbows up on the bar. A couple of guys were within earshot, but seemed engrossed in their own conversation. ‘But if they could, what then?’

  ‘Unlimited clean energy, at virtually no cost,’ said Beston. He paused, taking another swig of his beer. ‘I don’t know where you would start. It would finish off the oil and gas industries for a start. That would wipe out at least a dozen of the world’s biggest companies. Most of the countries in the Middle East would be buggered, and so would the Russians. The economics of the Third World would be transformed. I guess most of the existing power structures in the world would be overturned.’ He smiled to himself. ‘But like I said, it’s just a pipe dream. It’s not really going to happen.’

  The oil industry would be wiped out, thought Nick. He turned the phrase over in his mind, once, then twice. The Lubbock Group – whoever the hell they really were – were following Sarah’s work. Beston is wrong. It is really happening. And Sarah was on to it.