Ryan, Chris - Zero 22

The General nodded. Danny lowered his Kalashnikov – it was useless now – and drew his Sig. He kept it raised, two handed, as he approached the screaming man, then stowed it as he stood above him. The burning Nissan was just five metres away. It radiated immense heat. Enough heat for it to scorch Danny’s skin. Turgenev was lying between him and the fire. The network of scars on his scalp almost glowed red in the night and the mohawk was crisping up in the heat and giving off the acrid stench of burning hair. It didn’t seem to bother Turgenev. What bothered Turgenev was his leg. The grenade had exploded against his quad. His trouser leg had burned away and the leg had split open. The meat of the muscle was fully on display and Danny could see a narrow shard of bone extending from thigh to knee. There was not much blood. The skin, and what remained of the trouser leg, was smouldering. Danny reckoned he had a bit of life in him yet. He knelt down by his side, aware of the General looking over them. He put one hand over the man’s mouth to muffle his screams. ‘Hello, Turgenev.’

Turgenev’s pained eyes widened. Perhaps he was surprised that Danny knew his name.

‘I’ve got medical supplies,’ Danny continued, ‘and a way out of here. You do what I say, you’ll live. You don’t, I’ll throw you on that fire while you’re still alive. Up to you. You understand what I’m saying?’

Danny removed his hand from Turgenev’s mouth. Turgenev took a large intake of breath. Danny thought he was about to spit at him, but he didn’t.

‘Name your target,’ Danny said.

Turgenev panted some fast, shallow breaths. An attempt to start speaking. ‘O’Brien,’ he whispered finally.

‘Who gave the order?’

‘You think they tell us that?’ He closed his eyes and shuddered.

‘What do you know about a fourth of July terror hit?’

Turgenev opened his eyes again. ‘America,’ he whispered. And he managed a grin. The same grin he’d given Danny in the Syrian desert. The same grin he’d worn in the picture they’d shown Danny of him holding the decapitated heads of two SAS men. Danny wished he could waste him right then, but he held back.

‘I’m going to give you some pain relief real soon,’ he said. ‘But you’ve got to tell me everything you know first. What’s happening on the fourth of July?’

Turgenev’s grin became even broader.

‘The fourth of July,’ Danny pressed. ‘What’s happening on the fourth of July?’

‘Not the fourth of July,’ Turgenev rasped.

‘What do you mean, not the fourth of July?’

‘They changed it.’

Danny looked up at the General. O’Brien had a sick expression on his face. ‘When?’ he said

‘Today,’ Turgenev said, and his grin became a sneer of complete contempt.

‘Where?’ Danny said. ‘Where’s it happening, Turgenev?’

Turgenev looked from Danny, to the General, back to Danny. ‘Fuck you,’ he said. ‘Just shoot me now.’

Danny nodded slowly. He stood up. ‘We’ve got everything we’re going to get out of him,’ he said, but the General didn’t even seem to be listening any more. He looked stricken. Panicked. Danny stared down at Turgenev who was still grinning madly at him. Then he bent down again and mustered all his strength. He needed it to roll Turgenev towards the burning Nissan. He had to grip the huge man’s clothes and use his feet as well as his hands to move him. Two rolls would do it, he reckoned. He grunted and Turgenev struggled, but the grenade wound had sapped his strength and he was now no match for Danny, who grimaced against the heat of the flaming car as he manoeuvred Turgenev closer to it. When Turgenev was just a metre from the car, Danny had to jump back because the heat was too intense.

Turgenev started screaming again, in Russian this time, so Danny had no idea what he was saying. He didn’t care. He watched with grim satisfaction as Turgenev’s clothes caught alight, followed by what remained of the hair on his head. Turgenev writhed and shouted. He tried to wriggle from the flames, but now he was the flames. His whole body was burning. The scarred skin on scalp shrivelled and smouldered. His face seemed to melt. The open wound on his leg, wet and fresh, was the last to burn. His screams faded and though there was still some movement in his body, he was as good as dead. Danny didn’t need to see any more.

He turned to the General, who was watching Turgenev in horror. He seemed to shake himself out of it. ‘I thought I had plenty of time before the hit,’ he said. ‘We need to get the deepfakes out there.’

‘You have to tell me where the footage is.’

‘I already did. Washington DC.’

‘That’s not enough. Not now. Exactly where is it?’

‘I’m not going to tell you.’

‘Why the hell not? You heard what he said.’

‘I have my reasons.’

‘They’d better be damn good, because people are going to die.’ And before the General could point out that they were standing in the middle of a bloodbath, he added: ‘ Civilians are going to die.’

‘I can still get there in time. They’re seven hours back.’

‘Tell me where it is, we can get someone there right now.’

‘Not going to happen, soldier.’ The General’s face glowed in the light of the flaming vehicle. ‘I tell you, you tell your superiors, this goes all the way up to the highest level of government, and you’ll forgive me for being suspicious about the motivation of governments, right? Your prime minister is in no position to stand up to my president. This thing will get swept under the carpet. I’m not going to let that happen.’

Danny knew determination when he heard it. It crossed his mind that the General might need a taste of the medicine he’d just given the Wagner Group, but he instantly dismissed that thought. What he needed was the General’s trust. He wasn’t going to buy that with violence. ‘Get your clothes off,’ he said.

The General raised an eyebrow.

‘We need to put your clothes on one of these bodies,’ he said. ‘Your ID tags too. It won’t fool anybody for long, but if the Russians think they’ve nailed you, it might make them look in the wrong direction.’ He turned his back on the General and looked at the bodies strewn around the clearing. The guy with the butchered face was closest in build to the General. He was wearing khaki trousers and a black T-shirt, both torn and blood-spattered. There was a bad smell about the body where it had started to leak fluid from its various orifices. Danny removed the garments. The corpse was heavy, the process fiddly. When he turned, he saw that the General was down to his underwear again. They swapped clothes and Danny went about the even more cumbersome business of re-dressing the corpse. It took a couple of minutes, by which time the General had put on the dead man’s clothes. They were a tight fit, and a mess, but they would do. ‘Give me your tags,’ Danny said. The General unclipped the necklace with his military ID and handed it over. Danny put it round the corpse’s neck. Then he grabbed it under its arms, hauled it to its feet and manoeuvred it on to his shoulder in a fireman’s lift. He and the General turned to face the copse.

‘ Jesus! ’ the General whispered.

Danny froze.

Bethany was standing at the treeline, facing them. Her right arm was extended, pistol in hand. She was pointing the gun in their direction. The two men stood side by side, Danny with the corpse still over his shoulder, as she strode towards them.

‘What the—’ Danny started to say.

Bethany was ten metres from them when she started to fire. Five shots in quick succession. Danny was aware of the General looking down at his chest, as if expecting to see bullet wounds.