Under Fire E-Book

Rachel Amphlett

• Herausgeber: Saxon Publishing
• Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2013

Beschreibung

An explosion rocks a Qatari natural gas facility… a luxury cruise liner capsizes in the Mediterranean… and someone has stolen a submarine…

Dan Taylor doesn’t believe in coincidences – but can he convince his superiors they are next in the terrorists’ line of fire?

As Britain enters its worst winter on record, Dan and his team fight to ensure the country’s energy resources are protected. At all costs.

In an action-packed adventure from the Middle East through the Mediterranean to London, Dan and his team are on a quest which will test every choice he makes. Assisted by the enigmatic Antonia Almasi, Dan realises he faces an adversary far greater than he ever imagined.

And not everyone is going to survive.

Under Fire is the second book in an action-packed adventure thriller series that fans of Vince Flynn, Robert Ludlum and the Lee Child Jack Reacher series are calling "a blast!” 

Leseprobe

UnderFire

A Dan Taylor Novel

Rachel Amphlett

Contents

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Prologue

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

Untitled

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Epilogue

From the Author

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UnderFire

Rachel Amphlett

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© Rachel Amphlett2013

The copyright of this book belongs to Rachel Amphlett

No reproduction without permission

The names, characters and events in this book are used fictitiously.

Any similarity to actual people living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental

Prologue

North Kent,UK

Grant Swift pulled his keys out of his pocket and glanced through the glass doors of the atrium in the large industrial building. His fingers flexed around the handle of the battered briefcase in his hand, the black leather peeling and faded togrey.

Sleet poured off the covered walkway, the force of the downpour echoing through the building’s reception area. Grant jumped as a gust of wind shook the glass doors and sent debris tumbling across the landscaped path which led towards the carpark.

‘Going to make a run for it Mr Swift?’

Grant turned to the reception desk, manned by a solitary security guard who had looked up from a half-completed Sudoku puzzle. He pushed his scarf under his coat collar. ‘If I miss our anniversary dinner this year, I might as well look for a newhome.’

The guard laughed, reached across and turned up the radio. ‘I reckon you should take your chances then. Better you turn up soaked and frozen thanlate.’

‘That’s what I thought.’ Grant swung the briefcase over his head and pushed his way through the glass doors, the sound of a top forty radio station echoing in his wake. His feet kicked up torrents of water as he ran through the puddles on the concrete footpath. His breath fogged in theair.

As he neared his car, a late-model silver Mercedes saloon with a personalised plate reading ‘GEN1US’, he swung his arm up and pointed the key fob at the door. The indicator lights flashed once. Wrenching open the door, he threw his briefcase onto the passenger seat and launched himself into the driver’s seat. Pulling the door shut, he sat stunned, watching the sleet streak down the windscreen.

‘Jesus,’ he murmured, ‘bloody English weather.’

He shivered. His last assignment had been on a project in the Middle East. Two months later he was ruing the day he’d accepted a contract with the organisation and returned to the United Kingdom.

He ran his hand through his sodden black hair, shivered as cold water dripped down the back of his neck, and then glared as a pool of water spread under the briefcase and over the upholstery of thecar.

He shook his head, put the ignition card in its slot and started the car. The engine purred to life, the instrument panel lighting up like a primed jet fighter. Grant leaned forward and adjusted the temperature controls. The fog on the inside of the windscreen began to clear as he fastened his seat belt and switched on the headlights.

Flicking on the wipers, he put the car into drive and swung away from the complex.

A mass of architecturally-designed glass and steel, the organisation’s headquarters was the centre-point of the new business park. Its three storeys towered above the neighbouring offices, all designed to fit in with the tree line of the surrounding countryside. Twenty miles from the centre of London, the intention was to create an oasis of calm for the software engineers who had descended on the place nearly two yearsago.

Grant fidgeted in his seat, got comfortable and pointed the car in the direction of the city. With the weather worsening, an hour’s drive had just turned into two hours and he was definitely going to be late. Twenty minutes later, he was on the road heading west, the traffic nose-to-tail while he did his best to avoid being blinded by the rear fog lamps the idiot in front of him had switchedon.

The traffic slowed to a crawl and he craned his neck, trying to peer over the vehicles in front of him, He saw the red and blue flashing lights of emergency vehicles and groaned. He glanced down as the phone began to ring in its cradle and flicked a switch on the steering wheel.

‘Don’t divorce meyet.’

A throaty chuckle emanated from the other end of the line. ‘Thatbad?’

‘I’m about forty minutes away, tops,’ helied.

‘I thought as much.’ A pause. ‘I’ll phone the restaurant and tell them we’ll be there at eight o’clock, okay?’

‘Sounds like a plan.’ He checked his mirrors. ‘I’ll take the next exit. It’s a bit of a diversion but at least I’ll be on the move. I can’t see this lot going anywherefast.’

‘Okay. Besafe.’

‘Always. Loveyou.’

‘Love you too. See you when you gethere.’

Grant ended the call. Checking the mirror again, he indicated left and began to pull across to the left lane. Headlights flashed in his rear-view mirror. He squinted and angled his head so his eyes could adjust. He calculated the exit was only about two miles away and, sure enough, within a minute or so he passed a green sign pointing to the left. He started indicating half a mile before the slip-road began, easing himself out of the traffic and then edged the car down the ramp away from the dual carriageway.

The van behind him slipped into the wash from his tyres and followed him down the road. Glancing in the rear-view mirror, Grant smiled. Obviously someone else had had enough of the tailback.

As his car descended, he allowed it to pick up speed around a curving left-hand bend, and then slowed as he passed through the green traffic lights at the end of the slip-road. He steered the car across a right-hand turn and pulled up at a T-junction.

The force of the sudden impact from behind threw him forward, his body straining against the seatbelt. He blinked, shocked. Clutching the steering wheel tightly, he quickly corrected the car as it veered towards the middle of the road. The headlights behind him flashed once. He groaned, drove the car across the junction and pulled up on the opposite side of the road, cruising to ahalt.

The road was deserted, and no traffic passed the two vehicles. A street lamp flickered above the Mercedes, its light shimmering across the wet tarmac.

Fantastic. He punched the steering wheel with the palms of his hands, put the car into ‘park’ and unclipped his seatbelt, his heart hammering between hisribs.

As long as the idiot’s got insurance. Reaching down to the glove compartment he popped the lid open, took out a small notebook, then felt further under the dashboard and pulled out a ballpoint pen with the end chewed off. Closing the lid, he put his hand on the door handle.

He glanced in the wing mirror and froze. A silhouetted figure emerged from the other vehicle, a coat pulled up over its head, running towards his side of the car. Grant pressed the button to lower the window and blinked as rain blewin.

The figure slowed to a halt at the car door and bent down. In the bad light, Grant could just make out a bearded chin, a hood covering the upper part of the face, while rain cascaded down the figure’s back. The man shouted over the noise of the storm.

‘Sorry! My wife’s at home – expecting our first. Tried to stop but the brakes seized up. Youokay?’

Grant held out the notepad and pen. ‘Give me your insurance details – I’ll write mine down foryou.’

The man nodded and opened his mouth to speak.

Without warning, the passenger door was wrenched open. Grant turned, astonished, as another man pushed the briefcase onto the floor and lunged for him. Grant yelled, pulled on the door handle, then felt an arm thread around his neck. He coughed, gasping for breath.

The man in the hood leaned further through the window and murmured in his ear. ‘Don’t struggle – you’ll only make it worse.’

The other assailant held a syringe in his hand, the needle upright and primed.

Grant kicked his feet helplessly at the floor of the car, his toes clipping the throttle pedal. The man with the syringe grinned, his short cropped salt-and-pepper hair glinting in the low beam from the light above the cardoor.

Bile rising in his throat, Grant tried to prise the hooded man’s grip away from his throat. The salt-and-pepper-haired man grabbed his wrist, yanked up the sleeve and plunged the needle into the vein in the exposedskin.

Grant opened his mouth to yell – fear, pain, frustration – and immediately the hooded man clamped a hand over his jaw, silencing him to a muffledcry.

The other man relaxed, sat back in the passenger seat of Grant’s car and watched him, his eyes gleaming.

Grant’s head started to spin, his heartbeat pounding in his ears gradually slowing, echoed by the rain drumming on the roof of the car. Black dots appeared before his eyes as the hooded man’s grip slackened and he fell back into hisseat.

A muffled voice. ‘He’ll be out in sixty seconds.’

Sixty seconds? What happens after sixty seconds? The drowsiness began to claim him. Grant blinked twice, fought to lift his chin from his chest, aware his head was drooping.

The man with the salt-and-pepper hair lifted Grant’s briefcase out of the passenger footwell of the car, opened it and began sifting through the contents before he snapped it shut and shook his head at the other attacker.

‘Nothing here. We’ll take him with us. Let’sgo.’

Grant’s body sagged as the car door was opened. The hooded man reached in and, checking over his shoulder for any unwanted witnesses, slowly began dragging Grant from the vehicle.

‘No…,’ Grant murmured. Dammit, what had they givenhim?

Before he passed out, he was lifted into the back of the vehicle and a blanket laid over his body. The musty aroma of oil assaulted his nostrils, while the hard steel floor of the vehicle dug into his spine.

Then darkness.

One

Arizona,USA

Dan Taylor walked slowly across the parched earth. Dressed in a dark green Kevlar armoured jacket, with matching trousers and black lace-up boots, he paced towards a small malevolent object lying on the ground.

Across the barren plain, a late afternoon haze began to settle, liquefying the blue cloudless sky. In the distance the haze parted to reveal a long ridge of hills, scorched brown by the past summer’s heat. A few scrubby trees broke the monotony of the landscape, providing rare shade among the parched grasses anddust.

As he approached the object, his pace slowed. Almost reverently, he walked carefully around the object in a clockwise direction, kicking small stones and pebbles away fromit.

He stopped, appraising his work as a thin cloud of dust settled in his wake, and stared at the device which lay glinting in the sun’s rays. A sigh escaped his lips as he waited for his heart rate to slow down from the fierce beating between his ribs. As it calmed, he carefully crouched down in the dirt, flexed his fingers and reached out to the explosive ordnance.

His eyes blinked rapidly behind the protective visor covering his face. A bead of sweat trickled down his forehead, threatening to run into his eyes, but taking off the visor and wiping his face wasn’t an option. He shook his head slightly, flexed his bare fingers and re-focussed his attention on the device on the ground next tohim.

Dan rocked back on his heels away from the object, unzipped a pocket on the front of his jacket, and extracted a small set of pliers. Re-zipping the pocket, he held the pliers up to his face, nodded, then bent back down until his eyes were level with the device.

He’d studied a similar object yesterday, only then it wasn’t activated and had sat benignly on a work bench while he’d methodically stripped it apart and tried to unlock its secrets.

This time it was different.

He remembered what he’d learned yesterday, which wires could be safely cut, which wires had to be left alone. And how much explosive power lay hidden under the layers of metal.

Pushing aside any thoughts of what could happen, he reached out and gently slid the pliers over the dry packed earth towards the object. Usually, any bomb disposal team would use a specially-designed robot to neutralise a threat. The problem was, some devices were placed where robots weren’t an option.

Between the dirt and the shiny surface of the device, Dan saw a space, about a centimetre wide. A thin yellow wire protruded from the device, just visible to the naked eye. Pulling back the pliers, he crouched on his haunches for a few seconds, thinking. He then lowered himself onto the dirt, laying prone on the earth and wriggled forwards, reaching out with the pliers once more, his head tilted to oneside.

Carefully, he applied pressure to the pliers, the claws slowly closing in on the yellow wire. As the teeth bit into the coloured plastic covering, he stopped breathing.

Above him, he could hear the distant roar of a jet engine as an airliner spewed contrails across the azure sky. He waited for it to pass, until the silence returned to the landscape and the only sound was his heartbeat echoing in hisears.

Another heartbeat, then he cut the wire. Breathing out slowly, he pulled the pliers back, his heart racing.

Suddenly, a high-pitched whine began emanating from within the object.

Dan’s eyes opened wide. In one fluid motion, he stood up and began running away from the device as fast as he could, towards a piece of red tape which fluttered in the breeze between two fence posts.

In his mind he counted off the seconds – from habit rather than any knowledge of how much time he actuallyhad.

It was going to be close.

Approaching the red taped-off area, he dropped to his knees and skidded under the temporary boundary, sliding into a shallow trench crudely dug into the earth just hours before, crouched down and burrowed his head in hisarms.

The explosion rocked the landscape. The ground boiled and rolled upwards, lifting soil, shrubs, and rocks into the air. A small flock of crows scattered and squawked as dirt and fragments of stone fell back to earth, raining on his body, showering him in a layer ofdust.

Then silence.

Dan slowly raised his head and looked over his shoulder. A thick dust cloud masked the area where he’d been crouched next to the device. Standing up, he scowled as fragments of dirt slipped under his collar and down the back of his neck. Dusting himself off, he swallowed as the ringing in his ears began to fade, and then turned around at a shout from behindhim.

Two large white four-wheel drive vehicles parked a further hundred metres away framed a shaded area, a tarpaulin strung between them acting as a temporary respite from the bright winter sunlight. A swathe of red tape fluttered in a slight breeze, marking the outer perimeter of the temporary no-goarea.

Dan began to walk towards the vehicles, awkwardly at first as he eased out the kinks in his limbs and wondered how many bruises he’d have the following day. As he approached the cordon, another man rounded the back of one of the four-wheel drive vehicles, tucking a mobile phone into the back pocket of his jeans, and then folded his arms, waiting.

‘Nice work,’ he said as the dusty figure approachedhim.

Dan removed his protective visor and frowned, running a hand through his brown hair which had grown long over the previous summer, compared with the buzz cut he’d preferred while in the British Army. He stopped and turned, looking at the ruined landscape behind him, a thread of smoke trailing into the blue sky above. He turned back to the man standing next tohim.

‘That,’ he said, pointing over his shoulder at the smoking crater in the ground, ‘is a very nasty piece of kit, Chris.’

The man next to him shaded his eyes with his right hand and nodded. ‘Apparently they were found on a guy apprehended at a checkpoint on the Israeli border. Hezbollah of course…’

‘Had the Israelis come across anything like this before?’ askedDan.

Chris shook his head. ‘No, that’s why they shared a few with us – and why we called you. Figured we’d work out how the hell to disarm them and test their capability to see what we’re up against.’

Dan nodded. Since leaving the British Army after being injured in an IED blast in Iraq, he’d started to dedicate himself to learning everything he could about new terrorist weapons to make some sense of what had happened to him, and try to save someone from going through the same hell he’d lived through.

Although his nightmares had gradually faded, it took only a news report to flick the switch for him to have sleepless nights for weeks. Working as a consultant to the British Army and using his skills as an EOD operator, he found the work satisfying and cathartic.

For the past few months, he’d teamed up with Chris Lewis, an ex-SEALS munitions expert pensioned out of the US Navy following a training accident which had left him with two fingers missing from his lefthand.

Dan turned and walked over to one of the four-wheel drive vehicles. Under the shade of the tarpaulin, he began to strip off the layers of Kevlar body armour.

Chris followed him into the makeshift tent, and helped him lift the heavy protective jacket over his head. Dan almost staggered with the effort. As Chris dumped the jacket on the ground, Dan pulled off his boots then wriggled out of the armoured trousers. Underneath, he wore blue jeans and a black polo shirt, both faded from years of wear. While Chris put the Kevlar body armour onto the back seat of one of the vehicles, Dan re-laced his boots, then strode over to a mini-refrigerator hooked up to a small generator and took out a soft drink. Popping the lid, he drained half the contents in three gulps, and then belched.

He put the can on top of the refrigerator. On the floor next to it, a tarpaulin spread out over the ground held a display of butchered metal, wires, and detonating devices. Bending down, he pulled gloves over his hands, and retrieved one of the pieces of stripped parts. He turned it in his fingers, his blue eyes squinting at the parts, trying to work out how they’d been designed.

He turned and held it up to Chris. ‘It’s almost like a small limpet mine, but with a directional blast mechanism.’

Chris crouched down. ‘How come the one we just detonated tore a fucking great crater in the General’s paddock?’

‘That’s exactly what I’d like toknow.’

Both men looked up as a shadow passed over them, and then stood and looked at the smouldering hole in the ground.

‘Rogue one?’ suggestedDan.

The newcomer rolled up the sleeves of his denim shirt, twitched the baseball cap on his head and scratched his ear. ‘Some rogue.’

In his late sixties, General Bartholomew ‘Bart’ Collins retired from the US Army, bought acreage in the middle of Arizona and continued to fight terrorism in his own way, which provided both the US and British armies, and any consultants such as Dan, the opportunity to team up with other experts and pool their knowledge.

Dan looked over the General’s shoulder and frowned. ‘I didn’t hear you pull up. Where’s your truck?’

A deep rumbling snort from behind one of the vehicles pre-empted the General’s response.

He smiled. ‘I didn’t buy a ranch so I could drive all day son. I was out for a ride – saw the explosion and thought I’d better head over here to make sure you were both still in one piece.’

Dan turned, stretching his back, and looked at the General who was frowning at the crater.

‘What are you thinking General?’

The older man turned. ‘There are some very nasty bastards out there.’ He shrugged, unhitched his horse from the four-wheel drive vehicle’s bull bars and launched himself into the saddle with the agility of someone twenty years younger.

‘Sorry about your paddock,’ saidDan.

The man shrugged. ‘Shit happens. I was going to plough it over this year anyway. You’ve saved me a job.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘You’d better clean up here and head back to the house before Wendy serves dinner.’

Adjusting the reins between his fingers, he looked down at Dan. ‘I’ll see you both in the study for drinks and a full debrief at eighteen hundred hours,’ he said, and gave the horse a swiftkick.

As the horse cantered off, Dan gave the General a casual salute, and turned back to the task of tidying up. He bent down and began to gather the pieces of the dismantled explosive device, folded away the notes he’d made, tucked them into his back pocket and then started to put each piece of the device into its own separate plasticbag.

Chris used a permanent marker pen to label each bag before placing them into a metal container the size of a large toolbox. Dan threw the last bag towards Chris, stood up, then pulled off his gloves, balled them up and threw them in the passenger footwell of the vehicle.

They pulled down the tarpaulin which had been providing shade all day, rolled it up, and stored it in the back of one of the vehicles. Finally, they bent down and tested the weight of the metalbox.

Dan glanced up at Chris and nodded. ‘On three.’

They carefully lifted the heavy box into the back of Dan’s four-wheel drive vehicle, and pushed the doorshut.

Dan ran his fingers through his damp hair, a bead of sweat trickling down his neck as he surveyed the test area, checking they’d picked up everything. ‘I’ll follow you out,’ he said to Chris, who nodded and started the first vehicle.

Climbing into his vehicle, Dan threw the empty soft drink can and toolkit onto the passenger seat, swung the door shut and started the engine. He let it idle for a minute, rolled down his window, then swung the truck out onto the rough track and followed the cloud of dust behind Chris.

As he steered the truck along the narrow track towards the General’s house he glanced over at the winter landscape. He was already tanned from spending the previous six months in the barren vastness of Arizona.

Despite its remoteness, the small town where he’d based himself was friendly enough.

Which was just as well, given he was staying in the only available guesthouse.

Two

Grant Swift opened his eyes. Darkness enveloped him. Blinking, he felt his right arm under his body and realised he was lying on his side. His shoulder hurt where his body weight had been rocking with the motion of the van. Shaking his head, he tried to clear the heavy sensation behind his eyes. The hood scratched his face, and when he brought his hands up to his head to try to remove the rough blindfold, he found his wrists had been bound tightly together, the weakened circulation deadening all feeling in his fingers.

His heart thumped in his chest as his mind devoured and tried to process what had happened. How long had he been unconscious? Where washe?

He strained his ears. He was travelling, the undulating rhythm of the vehicle broken by the occasional pothole, while his body swayed with the motion of each bend in the road. He recalled seeing a van parked behind his Mercedes – how long ago? – and then… andthen…

Realising he had probably been bundled into the back of the vehicle, he blocked out the noise of the van’s engine and concentrated on the sound of two voices coming from the front seats. Conversation appeared to be minimal but a radio played. A series of advertisements were on, the upbeat jingle of a large chain of clothing stores playing behind an excited voiceover. Shortly afterwards, the radio station’s own jingle played before another top forty song began. Grant repeated the radio station jingle in his head. He recognised it, but couldn’t quite remember where he’d been travelling to at thetime.

He winced as he attempted to shift on the hard floor of the vehicle, and tried to sit up. He panicked, kicking out, his leg banging against something hard and metallic, which clanged loudly.

A voice from the front of the van carried over the drone of the engine and radio. ‘He’s coming round. How far isit?’

Another voice, muffled. ‘Not long. Keep him quiet.’

Grant tensed. He could see nothing through the hood pulled over his head, but he sensed someone approaching, then smelt the man’s foul body odour as he leaned overhim.

‘Please, no…,’ whispered Grant.

Urine trickled between his legs, and he closed his eyes, embarrassed. The cold steel floor of the vehicle made his muscles and joints ache. He tried to shift position, get some circulation back into his legs curled under hisbody.

A hand clamped down on his shoulder. ‘Be still.’

Grant whimpered as the man inserted another needle into his arm, and felt his world sinking beneathhim.

As he floated in and out of consciousness, Grant had a sensation of being carried by two people – his head had rolled back, and he felt a firm grip on his wrists and ankles. He tried to lift his head. His throat was parched and he desperately needed to swallow, but his neck was at an awkward angle and he started to cough violently. A voice swore. The grip on his wrists tightened, and he heard a door being kicked open before he was hauled through the opening.

He turned his head left and right, trying to hear or smell something to tell him where he might be. He gasped as he was lowered to the ground. Cold tiles bore into his exposed skin where his shirt had come untucked from his suit trousers. From his left, he could hear a scuffling sound then the jangle of keys, before one was selected and he heard it being inserted into a lock. The lock turned with a soft squeak, and he heard another door being opened. A faint click – he guessed a light switch – then he was picked up oncemore.

He panicked and began to struggle as he felt a sensation of descending. Both of his captors cursed.

‘For fuck’s sake!’ said the voice at the end of hisfeet.

Grant fell, his shoulders and knees taking the brunt of the wooden stair treads. Instinctively, he pulled his head and hands into his chest to protect them. He cried out as his left ankle bent awkwardly and the back of his head hit against a balustrade.

Then he was lying on his back, crying silently, while above him he could hear the chuckles of his captors.

‘That had to hurt,’ laughedone.

‘The boss said no bruises,’ chastised the other.

‘Well it was his fucking fault.’ The first voice had taken on a whining tone. ‘We didn’t do anything.’

A sigh. ‘Let’s take a look at the damage.’

Grant heard footsteps descending towards him. He cringed, turning away from the noise and eased himself up onto his hands and knees. He tried to stand up but his ankle gave way under his weight. He cried out as he crashed to the ground, his knees slapping against the hard stone floor. Again, he raised himself up and began crawling away from the voices.

‘For fuck’s sake! Stay still or you’re going to end up head-butting thewall!’

A hand grabbed him by his shoulder and forced him to the ground. Suddenly, the sack was ripped off hishead.

Grant blinked against the harsh light of a suspended light bulb swinging backwards and forwards from the ceiling above him. He turned his head to avoid the glare then gasped as his eyes met those of one of the attackers. A black mask now covered the man’s face. Grant frowned, trying to recall the faces of the men who had attacked him in his car. Whatever drug they had forced into his system had blurred the details of the attack and he couldn’t remember.

‘Who the hell are you?’ he croaked.

A snort emanated from behind the mask. The man turned and called up the stairs to the other. ‘He’ll live. A few scratches. Probably have a couple of bruises on his face by tomorrow but nothing toobad.’

‘What about his ankle?’

Grant turned at the sound of the other man approaching and squinted up at him. He was shorter and skinnier than the first kidnapper.

Grant cried out as the man kicked his ankle.

‘Can you moveit?’

Grant tentatively turned his ankle left and right. ‘It’s sore. Twisted. Not broken,’ he gasped.

‘Good.’

The man bent down and flicked a knife in Grant’sface.

‘Don’t!’ he pleaded.

The man laughed, grabbed Grant’s wrists and pulled the knife through the bindings, turned, pushed his colleague in front of him and began to walk up the stairs.

‘Wait!’ Grant crawled unsteadily to his feet, reaching out for the wall to balance. ‘Who are you? Where amI?’

The larger man stopped and turned halfway up the stairs to face Grant. ‘No questions.’ He turned back and climbed the stairs.

Grant heard the door being slammed shut and locked. He blinked then turned and surveyed theroom.

A thin mattress had been shoved up against the far wall, a pillow and blanket thrown haphazardly across it. Grant wandered over and picked up the blanket. It was covered in hair and smelled of dogs. He threw it down in disgust and glared at the stained pillow.

He scowled at the grey metal bucket which had been placed in one corner of the room, and noticed a bottle of water next to it. Bending down, he unscrewed the plastic cap and drank half the contents to quench his terrible thirst.

He re-capped the bottle and glanced up at the light bulb which swayed gently from the ceiling, then looked for its power source. He sighed and leaned against the wall in frustration. A light switch, rather than a pull cord. The kidnappers had thought of everything.

I can’t even hang myself.

Grant lowered himself onto the edge of the mattress on the floor, and slowly began to rock backwards and forwards, his arms hugging his knees while he closed his eyes and tried to fathom what the hell he’d done wrong.

Three

Turning the glass in his hand, Dan savoured the bourbon aroma as ice cubes clinked against the crystal surface.

‘Cheers,’ said the General, holding his glass in theair.

‘Cheers.’ Taking a sip, Dan relished the taste as it burned his throat. He hardly drank following a long dependency on alcohol after Iraq, but when he did now, it was with the knowledge it was a pleasure not a crutch.

He looked up as the door to the living area opened and Chris walked through.

‘Get over here son,’ said the General. He stood behind a bar built into a corner of the living area, filling a glass with more bourbon which he passed to Chris, who gratefully acceptedit.

‘Thanks, General.’

The General moved from behind the bar and walked across the large living area to a stone fireplace which dominated the far wall. He bent down, picked up a couple of small logs and tossed them into the grate, sending sparks flying up the chimney. Standing up, he grinned at Dan who was easing himself into one of the armchairs next to the fireplace. ‘Arizona winters are fine during the day but they can turn damn cold at night.’

Dan smiled. ‘I’d still take them over an English winter any time,’ he said. He stared into the flames, mesmerised and calmed by the flickering light. He started slightly at movement out of the corner of his eye, then relaxed as the General’s dog, a golden retriever by the name of Ripley, brushed against him and padded her way to a space on the hearthrug.

The General’s voice broke his reverie. ‘So – what do you make of those newIEDs?’

Dan shook his head and frowned. ‘Too high tech to be thrown together by a backstreet bomb-maker,’ he said. ‘Looking at the one we dismantled, the parts are too well machined.’

Chris wandered over and flopped down onto an adjoining sofa. ‘You’re saying they’re mass produced?’

‘Not on the scale you’re imagining, no,’ said Dan, ‘but certainly made in large quantities I would think.’

The General stood with his back to the fire, swirling his drink around in the glass. ‘Is that what determines which ones are directional, and which are more destructive?’

‘I’m not sure yet,’ said Dan, who took a sip of his drink before continuing. ‘We did notice the one we dismantled had a blue band around it. The one we armed and tried to neutralise this afternoon didn’t. Whether that’s the signature of two different bomb-makers, or a deliberate attempt to identify the clout of each – I think we’d have to take a look atthat.’

He broke off as the living-room door opened and a willowy blonde walked in. She approached the General, and gave him a light kiss on the cheek before turning to the others.

‘Hi Dad – hey you two,’ she grinned. ‘We heard you from here this afternoon – Mom swore blind the kitchen window nearly fell out of its frame thistime.’

‘It wasn’t that bad, Anna,’ Dan smiled.

Chris laughed. ‘So says the guy who had his head between his hands kissing dirt a nanosecond before it wentoff.’

‘Really?’ Anna’s eyes opened wide with concern. ‘You’reokay?’

Dan nodded sagely. ‘It’s been a while since I’ve nearly been caught out, but yes, I’mokay.’

‘Will you have nightmares?’ Anna blurted out, and then blushed as she realised her error. ‘I mean, sorry, but…’

Dan held up his hand. ‘It’s okay, don’t worry. I hope not, but we’ll see. Hopefully if I relax tonight, I’ll befine.’

Anna smiled awkwardly, her green eyessad.

‘Help yourself to a drink love,’ said the General as he pushed her in the direction of thebar.

Dan watched Anna as she moved smoothly across the room. She was of average height, slim and moved easily, almost gliding across the space, and totally oblivious to the effect she was having on her father’s visitors. Dan shook his head as he saw Chris grinning at him, and then glanced up as he saw the General wave his finger athim.

‘Not a chance in hell,’ growled the General. ‘She finishes university first.’

Dan put his hand up in surrender and tried to look innocent. ‘Don’t know what you’re talking about General.’

He was saved by a familiar call through the house. ‘Come and getit!’

‘That woman,’ said the General shaking his head, ‘would have made an excellent colour sergeant.’

Dan drained his drink, stood up and stretched. Bending down, he scratched the dog behind its ears then followed the others towards the dining-room.

His stomach full after another enormous dinner cooked by the General’s wife, Dan opened the back of the four-wheel drive vehicle and pulled the heavy metal box of dismembered bomb parts towards him. Chris took the handles at the other end, and between them they lowered it out of the vehicle to carry it across a wide yard towards a large barn with double doors.

One of the doors was already ajar. Dan and Chris slipped through the opening, breathing heavily with the weight of the metal container. They walked towards a low bench to one side of the barn, and lifted the box onto the surface.

Dan stretched his back and turned. The barn had once contained stabling for horses along its eastern side, whereas the western side had housed a tack room and office. Since the General had undertaken his new cause, the horses and tack had been moved out to new stables built on the other side of the main house half a mile away, and the barn converted into a large open workshop.

Along the sides, steel shelves had been built against the walls of the barn, their surfaces covered with metal parts, wires, and various boxes with labels on the front of them listing their contents. A floor-mounted rack system held an assortment of rifles, while near the door, several workbenches were laid out – including the one Dan and Chris were using to conduct their research into the new explosive device they’d been workingon.

Two men sat at one of the other workbenches, each meticulously cleaning an assault rifle. As Chris made his way back to the house, Dan wandered over to the two men, nodded and sat down at one end of the table.

‘More toys, Hatton?’ he asked.

The older of the two men nodded, his grey-flecked hair glinting in the overhead lights. ‘Yeah.’

Dan looked around the motley collection of guns on the table. ‘How long were you out there for this time, Steve?’

The other man glanced up, his young age masked by the years of combat in his eyes, a look Dan himself was well awareof.

‘Six months. Didn’t get extended this time,’ he said. ‘Back for six weeks then I head off again.’

‘Where exactly did you find this stuff?’ askedDan.

Hatton glanced quickly at the man next to him, and then back at Dan. ‘Can’tsay.’

Dan grinned. He knew damn well the marines had a tendency to bring souvenirs back from their tours of duty, and the men in front of him were no different. He guessed a few of the rifles would end up in private collections.

He turned as another four-wheel drive vehicle slid to a halt in front of the barn, and Anna climbed out, running towardshim.

Dan stood up, frowning. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘There’s an urgent call for you,’ she said, handing him a mobile phone. ‘He wouldn’t say who itwas.’

Dan reached for the phone. ‘Hello?’

‘There’s a plane at Phoenix waiting to bring you back to London,’ said a familiar voice.

‘What’s goingon?’

‘I’ll explain when you get here. What are you doing?’

‘Working with General Collins.’

‘Wrap it up, hand it over, do whatever you need to. Get here as fast as you can – you’re now working for me,’ David Ludlow barked. Now the head of a covert agency formed to protect the United Kingdom’s energy security, he still behaved as he had when he was Dan’s commanding officer in the BritishArmy.

The phone went dead. Dan looked at it in the palm of his hand, his heart hammering in his chest.

Time to leave.

Four

London,England

Dan peered out of the small window in the fuselage as the Airbus A-380 dropped out of the holding pattern it had been in for the past twenty minutes to begin its final approach into Heathrow. Heavy grey cloud filled the air while large globs of water clung to the glass, streaking down it as the aircraft continued its descent.

He’d slept surprisingly well during the flight. The usual terror-inflicted nightmares brought on by his past as a bomb-disposal technician in the Middle East with the British Army had been kept at bay with careful use of the airline’s free alcohol policy.

The cloud broke and he watched as the countryside passed beneath them. The aircraft lined up over the M4 motorway then followed the concrete expanse of the road to the outskirts of London before banking and lining up for the busy airport. A metallic scraping from below the fuselage emanated through Dan’s seat as [...]