Nick Oldham - Critical Threat

Henry now saw his friend clearly. Donaldson’s face was showing no emotion as though he was totally untroubled by what he was doing. He wasn’t even breathing heavily. If Henry had to make a guess, he’d say that Donaldson was actually enjoying himself in some perverted way.

Then, Henry noticed something in Donaldson’s right hand and wasn’t sure where it had come from.

‘Oh no you don’t,’ Donaldson said to Ali, tapping him on the cheek, bringing him back from the edge of oblivion. Ali looked desperately up at him, then at Henry with eyes that pleaded for help.

‘Karl,’ Henry said warningly.

Donaldson sniggered. To Ali he said, pointing at himself, ‘Bad cop’ — then, indicating Henry — ‘good cop. A winning combination.’

‘Karl, this has to stop,’ Henry said.

But the big American did not seem to hear Henry, as once again, he walked behind Ali and raised his right hand, gripping the instrument Henry had noticed him holding: an expanding baton, which he wrist-flicked to shoot it out to its full length, then smashed it down on to Ali’s shoulder.

It was like hitting a tomato. Blood flicked everywhere.

And Ali’s scream of agony rent through the fetid air.

‘There’s no one to hear you,’ Donaldson said when the sound had died down and Ali sat there sobbing and moaning, rolling his head and eyes, his face contorted with sheer agony. ‘So tell me — now! ’ It was the first time Donaldson had raised his voice.

He laid the baton gently across the wound so that Ali could see it from the corner of his eye.

Then he raised his hand once more — at which point Henry could not stand it any more. Ashamed he had let it go so far, he moved and took hold of Donaldson’s forearm.

‘No,’ he said through a short breath. His head shook as he stared into Donaldson’s blazing eyes. ‘No,’ he said again.

‘Good cop, eh?’ Donaldson sneered.

Clearly the American was on another level of consciousness. The red mist had truly descended to cloud whatever judgement he had. Henry had experienced something like this on many occasions when he wanted that result, or was under real pressure, but never to this intensity.

‘Time for you to speak to him,’ Donaldson said.

‘What?’ Henry said, realizing that Donaldson believed Henry was about to play his part in this scenario. ‘No — I mean it, Karl. This whole thing has to stop. Can’t you see how wrong it is?’

Donaldson shook himself free from Henry’s grip and raised the baton.

Henry pushed him away and stepped between him and the prisoner. The two men stood like statues for several beats until Donaldson growled, ‘You’d better get out of here, Henry.’

Henry regarded him for another brief moment of contempt, then strutted out of the interrogation room.

He needed air, to escape the reek of the room. He clattered down the wooden steps to the ground-floor corridor and stumbled to a fire exit, ignoring the fact that a notice on it declared ‘This door is alarmed’.

Not as much as me, Henry thought as he crashed through it and found himself in a high-fenced courtyard somewhere down the side of the industrial unit. He fell against the fence and listened to the high-pitched alarm he’d just activated.

No doubt a soldier would come out and shoot him now. It would be a blessed relief, he thought.

The air tasted sweet. Beyond the tightly meshed fence was an expanse of wild moorland which Henry could smell.

He took in deep breaths, trying to slow his body down. His head ticked nervously and his heart pounded.

A man with a gun drawn did appear at the door. One of the ‘Bobs’: the soldiers-cum-pseudo-paramedics.

Henry raised his hands defensively. ‘It’s OK — I needed air, fast.’

‘OK, pal.’ The soldier muttered something into a discreet radio mike secreted somewhere on him and the alarm came to a sudden halt, its echo lingering. He looked curiously at Henry, then withdrew, leaving him alone.

Henry turned to face the fence, hardly able to see anything through the tight steel mesh, and laid his forehead on the criss-cross strands, standing there until he became aware of a presence behind him. Without looking, he knew it would be Donaldson.

‘I thought you’d be up for this, Henry,’ Donaldson said. ‘That’s why I brought you here and trusted you,’ he said accusingly, hurt.

Henry could not bring himself to turn because he knew that something very fundamental had changed in the relationship between him and the Yank. There was now no more burying his head in the sand. He had seen up close and personal just what sort of a man Donaldson was, or had become. Now there was no going back. He either had to accept it, or not. Henry was lost for words as he choked something back in his throat.

‘That guy and his pals are out to kill the Secretary of State today, and I will do anything within my power to prevent that happening. This is a war, Henry. You know that.’

Henry’s nostrils flared as rage boiled inside him.

Donaldson went on. ‘We are dealing with mass murderers, people who want not only to destroy our way of life, but us too,’ he said reasonably. ‘He would have killed you today. He’s already had a hand in murdering two of your colleagues. I saved your life today.’

‘And for that I’m eternally grateful,’ Henry said truthfully. He now turned to look upon his friend, tears beginning to well.

‘And they are planning to kill Ms Rice today. Just for your information, maps, itineraries, photos and descriptions of venues have been found in that house this morning … and also the clothes Ali was wearing when our surveillance team latched on to him early this morning — covered in the blood of your colleagues, who stumbled on him, Akbar and Rashid, and maybe others, planning an assassination.’

Henry recalled how Ali had been dressed when he’d answered the door, how he had smelled. Clean, fresh, as though he’d just had a shower.

And to confirm his thoughts, Donaldson said, ‘The shower upstairs is clogged with blood.’

‘How do you know Akbar was there?’

‘We’ve had a forensic and CSI team at the scene who specialize in dealing with scenes like these. They’ve got fast-track DNA equipment in their vehicles and Akbar’s DNA has been found in several locations in the house already … simple.’ He shrugged. ‘He’s on the loose and the Secretary of State’s life is on the line.’

‘Cancel the visit, then,’ Henry suggested.

‘Can’t be done … she’s a politician and she won’t be seen to bow down to the threat of terrorism. It’s our job to make sure the hit doesn’t happen.’

‘More fool her.’

‘It’s a principle, Henry. The world is at war, and we have to do anything we can to win, don’t you see?’

‘You sound as brainwashed as them,’ Henry said. ‘Another side of the same coin.’

Donaldson stared at him.

‘I know that guy tried to kill me and I know I’ve got a lot to thank you for over the years and today, but you need to know one thing about me …’

‘What’s that?’ Donaldson asked, a sneer on his lips.

‘I believe in the rule of law, ultimately, and human rights and that the end does not justify the means and all that shit. I know all that stuff trips us up, makes it almost impossible to operate and I know that if I’d had to kill Ali this morning to stay alive myself, I would’ve done … but he’s alive, I’m alive, and now the process of law should take over, not the rule of the fuckin’ jungle-’

‘You’re in a dream world, Henry … I brought you here today because I thought you were in and understood what was going on. Obviously I was wrong and I’ve compromised myself because of it.’