Adrian Magson - Retribution

Harry was watching him carefully. Rik was smiling but it didn’t quite look right. He knew why: Rik was thinking about the time he’d used a gun in London. He’d got shot then, but still kept firing. That kind of thing stays with you.

‘Nobody, I hope. You’re my back-stop. You stay below the parapet at all times. We don’t even travel together.’

‘Don’t you trust your new best friend?’

‘It’s not Deane who bothers me: the UN’s full of holes and I’d rather you didn’t figure on anyone’s radar. That way we keep an advantage.’

Rik nodded. ‘Fine.’ He put the gun down and produced two mobile phones. He handed one to Harry. ‘We keep in touch with these. I’ve already fed in my number. Use it and lose it if you have to — we can always get replacements. Deane has your UK mobile number, don’t forget; if he wants to find you, he’ll put a trace on the signal.’

‘You’re as paranoid as me.’

Rik gave a crooked smile. ‘I learned from the master.’

‘Glad to hear it.’ Harry pointed at the internet connection on the side table. ‘Plug in and boot up. We’ve got work to do.’

Sergeant Carl Pendry had eased his way with care into a clump of juniper, and was waiting for the first of his sniper class to arrive. The morning was fresh with the smell of damp earth, a touch of pine and closer to, the sharp, rich aroma of crushed grass. High in the trees a squirrel scratched away, oblivious to the man below. It was one of the things Pendry loved about this job and always impressed on his trainees: snipers were in a dangerous profession, out on their own or with a spotter for hours, even days at a time. But that didn’t mean a man couldn’t appreciate his surroundings.

Pendry was dressed in regulation camouflage smock and pants, his head covered by a green woollen net cap dotted with foliage. His face was a blend of wavy green camo paint to break up the darkness of his skin against the background, and in his hand he held an M16 assault rifle. He had been in the same position for forty minutes and was beginning to feel the first pangs of hunger. His mouth was dry from the effects of the drinks with Harry the previous evening, and he wished he’d brought some water. A glance at his watch told him it was just coming up to 6 a.m.

There were five men in the class, all of them better than good. Their task was simple: to approach and ‘take out’ Pendry without being detected. But it had to be within a thirty-yard kill zone. Anyone spotted before that was in danger of flunking the course or being back-marked. And none of them was keen to go through another six weeks of initiative tests, psychological assessments, assault courses and daily runs considered among the most demanding in the US military.

Their covert skills were still a little rough around the edges, and Pendry had decided to introduce an element of realism to the scenario. Earlier that morning he’d armed himself with a few flash-bangs — giant fireworks which could blow a metal pail several feet. In the words of the quartermaster-armourer, they were harmless to humans unless swallowed or, he’d added drily, if they landed right next to a trainee who was dreaming of his girl back home. The noise alone would blow the shit clean out of his bowels.

A faint scuffle a few yards away and the squirrel ceased its scratching. Pendry half-closed his eyes, concentrating on locating the source of the noise. He was guessing it would be Lloyd; he was the best of the bunch and unbelievably quick. Twenty-one years old and thin as a whippet, the farm boy from the Smokey Mountains could slide through the undergrowth like a snake.

Pendry pulled out one of the flash-bangs. Give it twenty seconds and if Mr Lloyd was sitting in the same spot, his ears would be ringing for a week. If that didn’t scare the crap out of him, and some idea of realism into him, Pendry had live rounds in his M16 to warm up the atmosphere around the boy’s head a little.

A small bird looped urgently out of a bush thirty feet away. It was near the source of the earlier sound, and Pendry heard a faint rasp of clothing. He grinned. Lloyd had snagged himself on a root. Now he was trying to free himself. This was going to be easy.

Then came a muffled drumming, followed by the sound of someone running through the bushes. He frowned. If that was Lloyd, he was going the wrong way!

Pendry exploded out of his hide, his M16 held across his body and the flash-bang spinning away into the grass. Either his star recruit had gone nuts or someone had intruded on the exercise. Damned civilians — they were way out of place this far into the training grounds! Now he had to make sure the stupid fucker didn’t get shot by one of the trainees.

He pounded after the intruder, brushing aside the hanging branches and catching a glimpse of a camouflage jacket disappearing into a thicket fifty yards ahead.

‘Hey! Hold up there!’ he roared, and scrabbled for his cellphone. The man was running like an Olympic sprinter and Pendry knew he’d never catch him. But at least he could keep him in sight and alert security to get the stupid sonofabitch picked up before he got himself killed.

Then he caught a glimpse of a figure lying prone in deep cover, his rifle pointing straight at him. It was Lloyd.

Damn! That clever fuckin’ kid had set this up to deceive-

Pendry skidded to a stop. Something wasn’t right. He stared down at the trainee, a chill gripping his gut. The farm boy wasn’t moving. Lloyd was lying with his face down in the earth, a widening pool of blood spreading beneath him.

His throat had been cut from ear to ear.

An hour later the training area was swarming with security patrols and military police with dogs. Overhead a Bell AH-1Z attack helicopter cross-quartered the sky in a search pattern of the ground below, while a larger version thudded away after dropping off a fully armed search team. All training had been suspended and a military investigation team was on its way in. The whole area was in lockdown.

Harry Tate was studying the layout where the killing had happened, standing within an area marked by white tape. Lloyd’s body lay beneath a military groundsheet, the grass around him bright with splashes of blood.

‘Go over it again,’ Harry told the instructor, who was still stunned by what had happened. Fortunately, after calling security, Pendry had had the presence of mind to ring Harry at the hotel before he left. Harry had phoned Rik on the internal line and advised him to keep his head down and to continue trawling for information on the members of the CP team and any news about murdered girls in Kosovo in 1999.

Getting on to the training area had been surprisingly simple. It was the first time he’d used his UN pass, and although he’d had to resort to a phone call to New York, it had worked with surprising efficiency. Even so, he had been escorted to the scene of the killing by two armed troopers, who were still posted nearby.

‘I heard a noise,’ Pendry repeated. ‘Like he’d got hisself snagged. . you know how it is when you’re crawling. Then there was this thumpin’ noise, like someone was beating the ground. Next thing this guy took off through the trees. I started after him. I mean, I thought it was a civilian. . we get ’em comin’ through here from time to time, even though it’s off-limits. They get off on being near the action.’

‘Did you see the killer?’

‘Tall — about five ten — and wearin’ plain camo jacket and pants. Stuff you can buy from any surplus store.’

‘Hair? Skin?’

‘Dark hair. . couldn’t see any skin. Pale, I think. He could sure run, though — like a jackrabbit.’

A Ranger colonel appeared along the taped trail leading out of the area. A young lieutenant scurried along in his wake like a tug chasing a liner. The senior officer, lean, compact and grey-haired, scanned the area with cool blue eyes, then looked at Harry with flinty hostility. He evidently knew who Harry represented, but all he saw was a stranger — and a foreigner — with no US military credentials. His thoughts were obvious: the UN had no remit on Ranger turf and Harry should be kicked off as soon as he got word from HQ.