Lethal Promise
A Jack Jago Novel
By
Paul Stretton-Stephens
Published by Pen of Paul Media
Copyright Notice
Copyright ©, Paul Stretton-Stephens (2019), All right reserved
For information about permission to reproduce selections for this book, contact Paul Stretton-Stephens via [email protected]
The moral right of Paul Stretton-Stephens to be identified as the Author of Work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 (CDPA)
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, without prior permission in writing of the author and or publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any other form than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
ISBN 978-1-9995971-1-5 (eBook)
ISBN 978-1-9995971-2-2 (Paperback)
Author Paul Stretton-Stephens – Lethal Promise
Advisory Notices:
This publication is intended for persons over the age of eighteen due to the nature of the themes within.
The author is British and writes in British English.
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Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
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Bibliography
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A Final Few Words
Chapter 1
In the full blaze of the Australian summer sun, Jago raised his head from his prone position next to Hunter while avoiding the hail of bullets. The incoming rounds from over the water were still zinging above their heads. The attack had continued in a sweeping fashion since a pair of explosions, one at each end of the Mandurah Inlet Festival, detonated within seconds of each other. At once, a high concentration of people had scrambled towards the centre of the festival venue. That’s when the firing started. The attackers had driven the main thrust of people into a devastating field of fire.
Jago looked all around him. There was a pair of police horses and their officers to his left, shot to pieces, falling to the ground. The officers and one horse were still, while the other horse screamed like nothing on earth and writhed in agony. A family were running past the side of the stage where minutes earlier a blues band had been playing. The father carried the youngest and ran behind the mother, who was holding the hand of a child of about five years of age. The father was taken down from behind and, wounded, he cried out to the mother to keep running as he and the boy fell. The sounds of the boats towing the water-skis died amid the turmoil. Screams echoed across what had only moments ago been a celebration, a fun event.
“Hunter? Hunter, are you okay?” asked Jago, looking around to his friend.
Hunter didn’t reply. His gaze was fixed ahead, on the motionless bodies of his wife and Jago’s partner, Rebecca, who lay side by side.
“Come on,” said Jago at once.
The two men crawled towards the stricken women on the grass behind a foot-high wall. The women were situated at the water’s edge, out in the open and exposed.
“It sounds as though the gun is fixed-mounted and that they’re sweeping left and right. Let’s not take any chances that they’ll spot us and hit our area again with a sustained burst. I’ll draw fire and you drag Linda in behind what’s left of the wall.”
“But …”
“But nothing, Hunter. You get Linda. You’ve got kids to think about. Now, on the count of three. Are you ready?”
Hunter braced himself. He was used to the sound of gunfire, but this was different. It was his wife out there. “Yeah, I’m ready.”
“Stand by.” Jago waited for the sound of the firing to switch. “Three … two … one … Go.”
Jago darted along the foreshore, where he saw two policemen on the ground. One, with multiple gunshot wounds, was dead, and the other was lying on the ground covered in his partner’s blood and holding his head in his hands. Jago glanced back over the thirty feet he’d just covered. His movement had drawn no fire and he could see that Hunter had recovered Linda.
Jago shouted at the policeman, “COME ON, SNAP OUT OF IT, GET UP! THESE PEOPLE NEED YOU. RADIO IN YOUR POSITION AND RETURN FIRE.”
“Oh, what? Yeah, you’re right.”
“I’m taking your colleague’s weapon,” said Jago. “He won’t be needing it anymore.”
“Wait, you can’t do that,” said the policeman.
“Look, I’m on your side, and we haven’t got time to debate this. They’re still shooting at us. Now, return fire, and I’ll start from over there after I’ve done one thing.”
Jago ran, weaving his way towards Rebecca, who remained motionless. He could hear the officer behind him returning fire and took advantage of those vital few seconds to retrieve Rebecca. He carried her to safety and placed her beside Linda and Hunter to assess her injuries. Her hair was matted with thick red blood, and he couldn’t tell initially whether it was from a bang on the head or a head wound. Then he saw the entry wound under her left ear and, under her voluminous hair, the exit wound. She was dead. With all of her beauty, this silent woman had melted his heart, yet she was no more. He couldn’t believe it, and numbness set in.
Hunter’s shouting set Jago free from the numbness. “JAGO, SHE’S ALIVE, LINDA’S ALIVE. HELP ME!”
Jago flicked his mental switch and turned his attention to Hunter, and as he did, he noted that the gunfire had become more sporadic, making it difficult
to judge direction.
“Where’s she hit?”
“She’s taken one in the thigh and one in the arm. I’ve applied a tourniquet and make-do dressings.”
“Okay, good. We’ll just have to go for it and head for the road. There are too many people to get through to plan a pathway. Are you ready? I’ll take her in a fireman’s lift; it’ll be easier that way. You choose the pathway.”
“Yeah, let’s go.”
The pair heaved Linda up and onto Jago’s shoulder in a fireman’s lift, something he’d practised for years yet hoped he would never have to do, especially for his friend’s wife. Jago and Hunter covered the first thirty feet before the firing got closer to them. They took her to the ground with them.
Jago noticed that the policeman had stopped firing. He was either out of ammunition, Jago thought, or they had hit him. He looked over at the policeman – motionless.
They waited a short while, and then lifted Linda again and gained more ground. It was slow going due to the sheer volume of people between them and the road, which was only one hundred feet away. Hunter took the lead, giving Jago directions.
They arrived at the road and crossed to a side road, where the emergency services had gathered. Three brave medics came running and helped to carry Linda to a waiting ambulance.
“Hunter, you stay with Linda; she needs you. I’m going back.”
“But Jago, what about Rebecca? I’m sorry, I didn’t even ask. How was she?”
Jago shook his head. “She’s gone, Hunter, she’s gone. There’s nothing to do over there. Whereas … you see that drone overhead?”
Hunter looked up to see the drone flying above the main body of the crowd.
“That drone’s been hovering up and down the whole time, and someone close by must be controlling it and the direction of fire. You go with Linda, but direct me to the nearest police team first.”
“Jago, she’s out cold and in the best of hands. I can’t do anything for her at the moment, so I’m with you. Besides, you’ll need someone who knows the area. And we need more firepower than that police pistol, don’t we? Come on, we’re going left.”
Chapter 2
Hunter and Jago traversed the crowd, making their way to the mobile trailer that housed the event police command post. Along the way, they kept having to pause to help up an injured person and direct him or her to safety.
Jago couldn’t stop replaying the last half hour in his mind. It was hard to believe that only minutes earlier, in the midday heat, he and his friend Hunter had been sitting in one of the festival’s many eateries on the foreshore. They’d left Rebecca and Linda perched at the water’s edge, where a cloudless sky provided the perfect backdrop for the sun to shine unhindered. Rebecca and Linda had chatted non-stop, as if they’d known each other forever. Nobody would have thought they’d only met two days previously. With drinks in hand, they had been oblivious to the music that emanated from one of the nearby outdoor stages. Jago and Hunter had been enjoying tasty local crab along with a beer as they reminisced.
“Hunter, you remember that time when we were on a joint patrol near the Egyptian border?”
“You mean the time that the old man parachuted in solo to wish Frog a happy birthday?”
“Well, it wasn’t just to wish Frog a happy birthday, it was a ruse to get a bit of the action. He was stuck behind a desk all day and missed being out on ops.”
“He certainly got some of that, didn’t he? I mean, he’d no sooner landed and folded up his parachute than they opened fire. We had to help him get the hell out of there, otherwise he’d have been shot to pieces. Have you heard from him?”
“He contacts me every now and again, normally when he wants something done.”
“So, you’re not part of the service anymore?”
“No, I’m kind of freelance, but I work exclusively for the government. And I have to say, the pay is much better as a freelancer.”
“Yeah, but what about support when you need it most?”
“Well, support can be tough, but I’ve got a good team I can count on in a crisis. I also have a nice, fat expense account that can buy me more skills and expertise if needed.”
“Ah, Jago, that sounds awesome, mate,” said Hunter in his strong Australian accent. “I’m still tied into the Tactical Resource Group for another five years before I finish my time. I might tap you up for a job then.”
“That would be good, Hunter. There’ll always be a place for you on the team. And you can help me develop our charitable fund.”
“What’s that then, your pension slush fund?”
“No, one perk is that we get to gain the assets of targets and dispose of them. We convert them into cash and distribute the funds to ex-service personnel and their families who are in need.”
“Now that’s cool. But don’t charities already exist for that sort of thing?”
“Yes, they do, but they all have limits. Which means if someone needs, say, ten grand for an extension on their house, they would have to make multiple applications for smaller amounts to multiple charities, and it takes forever to get processed. We learn of their need and just deliver the cash. They can then apply for other things through the other charities. It helps those who are most in need and takes the pressure off the charities.”
“That’s so neat. We have nothing like that here. I wish we did.”
Then an explosion sounded at the north end of the foreshore. It was a car bomb in the vicinity of the small car park near the coffee shop which resulted in a massive ball of flames.
Moments later, there was another explosion, another car bomb, at the southern end of the foreshore. The car exploded in the small car park near the boat jetty.
This pair of explosions drove people to the centre of the foreshore, towards an already densely populated area.
That’s when the shooting began.
***
As Jago and Hunter neared the command post on the south side, they paused at a drinks vendor and helped themselves to bottles of water. They assessed the command post. The trailer was a wreck. Large areas of its bullet-riddled walls were left hanging, revealing the carnage inside.
The firing started up again, getting closer to them, and they took cover on the ground behind the trailer.
“Hunter, keep watch. I’m going inside to salvage some kit.”
Hunter responded immediately by lying prone and scanning the area as Jago began moving.
Jago entered the trailer and checked for signs of life. Four officers lay bloodied and crumpled on the floor. They were all dead. Jago grabbed a bag and stuffed it with two working radios, two Heckler & Koch MP5 sub-machine guns, two Glock 22 pistols, half a dozen magazines and a set of high-powered binoculars.
Hunter shouted, “Jago, take cover. They’re firing again.”
Jago heard the warning and burst through the weakened rear wall of the trailer. He shared the equipment with Hunter and they fitted their earpieces and tested the radios.
“Do you know the call sign for the duty TRG?” asked Jago, referring to the Tactical Resource Group.
“No, not today. But I can get through to central ops on this using an emergency code.”
“I don’t know how many police were on duty here, but I haven’t seen one officer who’s alive yet. We need to know how soon the security services can get over to that machine gun. You find out, and I’ll find out who’s controlling that drone.”
Hunter retreated to a more secure area behind some fast food vans and made his Tactical Resource Group (TRG) badge visible to any onlooker before calling central control on the radio. Meanwhile, Jago moved to the cafe area on the south foreshore. He squatted down beside a low wall next to some steps, placing the binoculars on the parapet, and scanned the area, looking for signs of a drone controller. There was too much cover on the opposite side of the water, with a clump of trees beside the fairground there. But he could make out the blue van from which the sustained fire was coming.
Jago tu
rned to view the drone, which was making a pass of the foreshore and coming his way. He took aim with the Heckler and Koch and blasted it out of the sky, before quickly turning back to watch through the binoculars for a reaction.
And there it was: near the side wall of the funfair, a single male stepped out from behind the cover of some trees by the jetty. He was wearing dark-blue overalls and carrying a drone control kit, with the console in front of him complete with a screen viewer with a sun shade. He’d briefly moved into the open, incredulous that his viewing had been disturbed, and in that one brief moment Jago had spotted him.
Jago opened fire, and the man darted back into the trees. Jago watched him get into a brown four-by-four and drive north-north-west.
Hunter joined Jago. “The TRG will be here in fifteen minutes. If we’re lucky, the helicopter team will be here in ten minutes. We’re on their secure channel now.”
“Good, let them know who we are and how to identify us. And tell them we’re in pursuit of an Asian male heading north-north-west in a light-brown four-by-four on the opposite side of the water and that we’re going to try and take out the shooter.” Jago looked about him. “I need a vehicle.”
He made for the road that passed through the car park, where all the cars had been shot up. With Hunter at his side, Jago flagged down a Jeep and commandeered it. Jago spun it around and headed for the bridge.
“As we hit the high point on the bridge, keep watch over there,” said Jago, pointing in the direction the four-by-four had gone.
As they crossed the bridge, Hunter caught sight of the four-by-four.
“There it is,” Hunter called out. “It’s got to be heading for the water; there’s nothing else over there.”
They were just leaving the bridge, and Jago swung the Jeep violently to the right, into the path of oncoming traffic and then onto rough ground. He quickly covered the grassy area and pressed on towards the blue van.
Lethal Promise Page 1