Soft Target (Major Crimes Unit Book 2) (3 page)

The stranger approached, his
footsteps growing louder.   Sarah crouched and waited.

Clip clop clip clop.

Clip clop.

Clip.

Sarah leapt up from behind the
wheelie bin and swung her leg in a flying roundhouse.  It was a knockout blow,
designed to end the confrontation before it had chance to begin.  If the
stranger was some kind of off-duty police officer, taking his head off was
probably a bad idea, but he asked for it when he
’
d
started with the cloak-and-dagger bullshit.

The stranger ducked Sarah
’
s leg and swept her feet out from under her as soon as she landed. 
She was so surprised, that her head struck the concrete on the way down and
left her lying there in a daze.

“
Captain Stone,
”
said the stranger. 
“
I
prefer to shake hands upon meeting, but I
’
m
open to other customs too.  Would you like to get up and try something easier?
”

Sarah gazed up at the man and
saw that he was clean-cut and handsome.  His chin jutted out like a superhero
’
s and his dark sideburns looked like they
’
d
been shaped with a laser.  Not a single crease found its way onto the
finely-tailored shirt beneath his grey coat. 
This guy isn
’
t a plod,
Sarah thought
.

Sarah shoved herself backwards and sprang to
her feet, then leapt at the man again, this time opting for fists.  Her first
blow missed, glancing sideways off a blocking forearm, and her follow-up blows struck
thin air.  Her humiliation was compounded by her legs being swept out from
under her again.

As soon as she hit the ground, Sarah sprung up
and launched into yet another attack, but this time the man pulled a gun from
inside his coat and pointed it at her forehead. 
“
You
’
re testing my
patience, Captain Stone,
”
he said.  
“
Please,
calm down.
”

Sarah let her fists drop to her sides, but kept
them clenched. 
“
Who
the hell are you?
”
she demanded.

The man let his own fists drop and took a step
closer.
 
“You
can call me Howard.”

Sarah frowned.  The man didn
’
t look like a
‘
Howard.
’ 
“
What do you want with me?
”

“
An afternoon of your time.
”

Sarah went to turn away.
“
Sorry, I
’
m busy.
”

“
Busy with what?  Cashing the pittance the US Government begrudgingly
pays you in widow
’
s benefits, or the marginally more generous giro the British
Government gives you for taking half your face?
”

Sarah snarled.  The mention of her scars made
them tingle, and her left eye blinked sorely where the pink creases met her
eyelid.  “You know nothing.”

“I know that you made a fine Captain until you
hit that IED, the same day that a British missile mistakenly took your husband,
US Army Ranger, Lieutenant Thomas Geller.  I know that you’ve been slinking
around for the last five years like a feral fox, snapping at anybody who comes
too close.  I know that you’re angry, Sarah, and I don’t blame you.”

Sarah snorted.  “So what,”
she said.  “Half
the world is angry.  The other half are pushovers.  What do you care?”

Howard looked at her.  It had been a long time
since any man had kept his eyes on her for more than a few seconds.  “I can
give you the chance to do some good again, Sarah,
”
he said. 
“
I
want to give you the opportunity to pull yourself out of the quagmire of
despair you
’
re
in.”

“Who are you?”
 
Sarah was getting tired of the vague talk and wanted some straight
answers.  “Who do you work for?”

“An agency you’ve never heard of.  An agency
whose job it is to keep this country safe.  I work for the government.”
 

Sarah smiled.  “You work for the government
? 
Well, why didn’t
you say so?  In that case, you can go to Hell.”
 

She tried to walk away again.

“The bomb that went off yesterday….”

Sarah stopped walking and turned back.  “Yeah,
good job protecting the country there.  How many died?”

“Forty-two.  The people responsible have owned
up to it.”

“
People?
 I heard it was a geriatric with a grudge.
”
 

“It was,”
said Howard.  “The bomber was Jeffrey Blanchfield.  Sixty-eight years of
age and a retired postman, just like the news reported; but there’s more.  The
grudge may have been his, but the bomb came from
Shab Bekheir
.”

Sarah froze.  For a moment, she couldn’t move
at all or speak.  She spluttered before she could finally get her words out.  “
Y-
you’re telling me
that a terrorist cell in Afghanistan is responsible for a pensioner blowing up
a village in Lancashire?”
 
She couldn’t help but laugh; it was ridiculous.

Howard was completely serious.  “We received a
videotape this morning taking credit for the attack.  Al Al-Sharir made the
claim himself.”
 

Sarah’s eyes widened.  Her scars stretched and
itched, the wasp sting on her palm throbbed, and her blood was pulsing.  “Al-Sharir?”

“That’s right,”
Howard continued, “Al-Sharir, the man responsible for the IED that hit
your squad.  You’re the only one who survived, right?”

Sarah shook her head.  “No one made it out
alive that day, not really.”

“Fancy a chance at getting even?”

“
What? 
By going with you?  I don
’
t
even know you.
”

“
No,
you don
’
t, but
what do you really have to lose by trusting me?  I didn
’
t go to the trouble of tracking you
down, just to pull your leg.  You have experience that we can use Sarah.  Help
us.
”

Sarah didn’t have to think about it much longer. 
The guy was right, what did she have to lose?  “Where are we going?”
She asked.

“A place that doesn
’
t exist.”

Sarah was about to ask what he
meant when a door suddenly opened at the back of the parking yard.  A man
stepped out of the bank
’
s rear exit.  To Sarah
’
s surprise, it was
the Assisant Manager, out for a cigarette, no doubt while the bank
’
s queue still trailed out the front entrance. 

Sarah rolled her neck and it
clicked loudly.  She looked at Howard and said,
“
Just
let me deal with something and I
’
ll be right with you,
okay?
”

Howard looked confused, but
shrugged and nodded.

When the Assisant Manager saw
Sarah stomping toward him, he seemed at first surprised, then worried. As she
got closer, however, he chose to stand his ground, puffing up his chest like a
peacock. 

Sarah grinned.  Men never ran
from a woman; they always thought they were the ones with the power. 

Sarah kicked the smug git right
in the bollocks before walking back to Howard. 
“
Okay,
”
she said. 
“
Now we can go.
”

“
W
here are you
parked?
”
Sarah asked Howard.

“
Nearby.  My colleague is waiting for us.
”

“
It
’
s not Will Smith, is it?
”

“No.”

“
Pity. 
I thought you might have been the men in black.
”

“
I
’
m not wearing
black.
”

“
Good
point.
”

Howard kept them to the back streets, heading
away from the city centre.  It was a part of town Sarah hadn
’
t visited before
and it was none too pretty.  The well-kept Victorian buildings of Birmingham’s
nucleus gradually gave way to rundown terraces, oily tyre-fitting garages, and
ethnic food stores.  They walked for almost twenty minutes before Sarah become
impatient enough to say something. 
“
Where
the hell are you taking me?  Maybe you should show me your badge or something
before we go any further.
”

“
We
’
re almost there,
”
was all Howard
said.  Despite the lack of assurances, Sarah
’
s
curiosity spurred her on.

When they crossed over a one-way street, to the
chagrin of a beeping van driver, Howard said a little more.  “We couldn’t
arrive directly in the city centre.  We had to touch down on the outskirts.”

“
Touch down?
”

Howard smirked.  It seemed to
be his default expression and his overly-manly chin jutted out every time he
did it. 
“
Come on,
”
he said,
“
just inside here.
”

Sarah studied n old scrap yard
in front of her.  The gates were hanging open, but the surrounding fence was
topped with wicked spikes. 
“
Oh, hell no,
”
she said. 
“
You
’
re not getting me in there.  This is starting to feel like a mob
hit.
”

“
Are you always so dramatic?
”

“
Look at this face,
”
Sarah pointed to her scars. 
“
I
’
m the Phantom of the bloody Opera.  I can
’
t
help but be dramatic.
”

Howard kept his smirk and
forged ahead without comment.  He passed through the open gates and headed
inside the scrap yard.  Despite her better judgment, Sarah followed.  She hated
to admit it, but this was the most mentally stimulated she
’
d been in years.  After avoiding people for so long, Sarah was
suddenly involved in some kind of intrigue with a man she
’
d just met; a man who could take her in a fight.  That was
intriguing all by itself.  Sarah might have been rusty, but she was a past
practitioner of Aikido, Muy Thai, and Krav Maga.  There wasn
’
t many people who could put her on her back so easily.

They headed deeper into the
scrap yard, passing engine-less car frames and machinery carcasses.    Nobody
else was around, which was weird.  With the gates hanging wide open, Sarah
would have expected to see a couple of employees, at least.

“
Just around here,
”
said Howard.  He cut behind a rusty shipping container
and disappeared from sight.  Sarah slowed down, her body tensing.  She knew
nothing about Howard, and being led into an abandoned scrap yard wasn
’
t exactly comforting, but she had come this far. 

Sarah took a deep breath, then
sprang around the side of the rusty container, ready to fight at the first sign
of danger.

“
Hop aboard,
”
said Howard calmly, pointing to an idling helicopter as
if it were the most normal thing in the world. 

The Griffin HAR2 was painted a
solid black instead of its typical earthen hues, and the RAF insignia were
missing from its tail boom.  Sarah hadn
’
t
seen one of the plump, twin-engine helicopters since a training mission in
Cyprus ten years ago.  Seeing one made her think of the Mediterranean Sea and
the feeling of sun and salt on her skin.  Of all her memories of the Army, it
was one of the few nice ones.

“
I
’
m not getting in that helicopter unless you tell me where we
’
re going.
”

Howard gave a hand signal to
the helicopter pilot and turned to face her. 
“
Sarah,
your father is a major in the SAS, is he not?
”

Sarah
’
s
eyes went wide. 
“
I don
’
t know what you
’
re on about.  My father is a major in the Royal Logistics Corp.  He
’
s in charge of ordering the regimental bog roll.
”

Howard chuckled. 
“
I know everything about you, Sarah, so there
’
s
no point lying.  I know that your father is Major Curtis Stone.  I also know
that you are the only female in the history of the British Armed Forces who has
taken and passed the SAS selection tests, despite still not being accepted
afterwards.
”

Sarah couldn
’
t help but snarl.  She
’
d outperformed and
outlasted nearly all of the men in the selection tests, but had been denied
entry anyway, presumably because of her sex.  The only reason they
’
d even let her try out was because her father had pulled strings. To
top it all off, her father had only pulled those strings because he
’
d been so sure she would fail, giving him yet another reason to
belittle her.  She showed him, though
—
proved that she was
as good as any man
—
but they turned around and reminded her that it didn
’
t matter so long as the world was still controlled by cocks and
balls.  She
’
d gone through two weeks of the grimmest hell she could imagine, for
nothing.  The strength and unwillingness to quit she
’
d
possessed during those gruelling trials had never truly returned to her.  Her
father had extinguished it the day he told her she had no place in the SAS, and
that doubt had followed her for the rest of her career.

Howard folded his arms. 
“
The Government keeps secrets, Sarah.  You know that as well as
anyone.  I cannot give you the location until you
’
ve
been given the proper clearances.  I promise that at the end of a short
helicopter ride, all will be revealed.  After that, you can choose to help us
or not.  A quick signature on an Official Secrets document and you can stay or
leave at your leisure.
”

Sarah chewed her bottom lip. 
She was distrustful of anyone with a Government stamp on their paycheques, but
she had to know what was going on and why Howard knew so much about her.  Her
natural proclivity was to investigate, and it was very hard to fight against. 
She needed to find out what was going on.

“
Okay,
”
she said,
“
but you try to stick
a blindfold on me and I
’
ll bite your face.
”

Howard raised an eyebrow. 
“
There won
’
t be any need for
that.
”

And there wasn
’
t. 
When Sarah stepped into the back of the helicopter, she found that the windows
on both sides had been blacked out.  All she could see was the passenger cabin
and the cockpit ahead. 

The man behind the controls
was a giant.  His shoulders were twice the width of the seat and bulged out on
either side.  His neck was as thick as Sarah
’
s
thigh, and his face was almost as ugly as hers.

“
This is Mandy,
”
Howard said, getting into the co-pilot
’
s seat.

“
Mandy?  Isn
’
t that a girl
’
s name?
”

“
His name is Manny Dobbs,
”
said Howard. 
“
Mandy is just a nickname.  Yours is going to be
‘
pain-the-arse
’
if you don
’
t start being nicer.
”

“
Scarface would suit me better.
”

“
Bit clich
é
, don
’
t you think?
”

Sarah shrugged. 
“
Oldies are the goodies.
”

Howard turned back to face the
front and exchanged a few quiet words with Mandy.  Soon the engine started up
and the rotors began spinning.  The gentle rocking gave way to a sudden lurch,
and then they were off, airborne.

“
The flight will take about forty minutes,
”
Howard
informed her. 
“
Take a load off and I
’
ll tell you when we
’
re near.
”

Sarah eased back in her seat.  As she glanced
around, she noticed that much of the interior differed from the utilitarian RAF
model she was used to.  Nylon rigging and handholds lined the cabin
’
s roof, and
additional compartments and cabinets had been installed.  Even the cockpit was
sleeker than what she was used to. The stark dashboard had been replaced by something
more akin to a modern day 4x4 than a military helicopter. 

Once again Sarah wondered, and
worried, who exactly she
’
d agreed to ride along with.  Whoever they were, they were no branch
of the Military that she knew of.  Perhaps they were civvies or some sort of
private organisation, but the way Howard had fought her, and the fact that he carried
a concealed weapon, made her wonder if that could be true either. 

All of these thoughts tired her,
and the comfort of the chair sucked her inwards, swaddling her like a colicky
babe.  She couldn
’
t help but close her eyes and take a nap.

AFGHANISTAN, 2008

The
heat in Afghanistan was like everything else in Afghanistan: out to kill you. 
It burned your skin, without you realising it, until you took a shower and
gritted your teeth as your whole body screamed. 

While some parts of the country were green and
pleasant, others were nothing but mud and desert, or mountainous rock and
shale.  When the wind was up, you couldn’t open your eyes for fear of getting
grit in them.  But all that paled in comparison to the people.  There was no
difference between the civilians who wanted to help and the Taliban who wanted
blood.  Both looked and dressed the same, and both waved and smiled whenever
they saw British soldiers.  It was like fighting with shadows, impossible to
tell friend from foe. 

That was why Sarah was glad
she was getting out.  She
’
d entered Sandhurst Military Academy because that was what members
of her family did
—
at least that
’
s what the men did. 
The Armed Forces were an esteemed tradition in the Stone family, and joining
had seemed like a good way to impress her father, but it had only horrified
him.  He had sent her to college to become a lawyer or a vet, not a butch Jane
with a rifle she was too dainty to handle.  Her father, most of all, would be
pleased that she was now finally making the decision to leave the Army and play
homemaker. But she wasn
’
t doing it for him, she was doing it for Thomas.

Sarah met Thomas at Camp
Bastion, a British military base the size of Reading.  The US Camp Leatherneck adjoined
it and their personnel would often come onto British turf to share intel, play
sports, or take advantage of the softer alcohol rules.  While there was always
a
‘
them and us
’
mentality between the two camps, there was also a great
camaraderie. 

Thomas was a Ranger with the
75th,
an officer who
’
d come to share information on a Taliban enclave his squad had
surveyed in a surrounding village.  He didn
’
t
have the forces to deal with it himself and there were no significant US
reinforcements in the area.  As the village was covered by a British patrol
route, Sarah was obliged to hear Thomas out and act on his intel.  His offer of
sharing a bootleg bottle of wine with her in the Officer
’
s NAFFY that same evening had been above and beyond what was
expected, but somehow his wide smile and Floridian drawl had won her over. 
Eight months and several sneaky bottles of wine later, they got wed in a modest
ceremony in front of Camp Bastion
’
s chaplain.  She and
Thomas flittered between bases as often as they could, but eventually one of
their romantic liaisons had led to something quite unexpected.  In the harsh,
rocky plains of Afghanistan, Sarah had gotten pregnant with an American
Sergeant.  They were going to be a family, albeit one separated by gunfire,
hostile territory, and nationality.