Blood and Ashes Read online

  ‘Don hired you? What are you, some sort of bodyguard?’

  ‘I’m just an old friend.’ The final word came out after the briefest of pauses, but Adrian picked up on it.

  ‘Friend? Don doesn’t have friends. All he has is people who owe him or people who hate him. Which are you, Hunter?’

  ‘I don’t owe him a damn thing.’

  The big man gave a bark of laughter. ‘Maybe we do have something in common after all.’

  ‘If you’re referring to keeping the kids safe, you’re right.’ I allowed the corners of my lips to turn up, but the smile had as much effect as it had on the children.

  ‘Has Don suckered you into his bullshit paranoia?’

  You’re not paranoid if everyone is after you. The thought brought back the quack-wisdom of one of my combat instructors at Arrowsake. The arms instructor had been drilling his troop on the importance of being constantly aware of the potential for danger, using a traffic-light sequence to explain the heightened level a soldier must work on while in the field. ‘Red always,’ he’d bawled. ‘Green’s for cattle, orange is for civvies. You don’t stay at red, boys, you’re fuckin’ dead!’

  A freckle-faced Scot named Gregor Stewart fancied himself as the troop clown. He’d quipped, ‘Don’t worry, boys, you’re no’ really paranoid if everyone is after you.’

  The instructor immediately swept Gregor’s feet from under him and jammed the barrel of his SIG in the young trooper’s ear. ‘Out there everyone is after you, boy.’

  After that Gregor stayed in the red zone; at least for as long as it took him to stop blushing.

  Shaking my head, relegating the memory to a corner of my mind, I looked at Adrian. I nibbled at a lip in thought. ‘Your wife was killed.’

  ‘An accident. A tragic accident, that’s all it was.’

  ‘Maybe,’ I conceded, ‘but Millie was just attacked in her home.’

  ‘She was what?’ Adrian’s arms finally unfurled, his hands spread as he grasped at handfuls of air. For the first time he looked anything but bitter. ‘Is she . . . ?’

  ‘She’s OK. She’s on her way here.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘I haven’t had the full story from Don yet, but, reading between the lines, someone broke into the house and tried to attack her. Does that sound paranoid to you?’

  Adrian’s dark hair had been perfectly brushed until now. He jammed his sweating palms through it and left it standing at odd angles. ‘Holy Jesus,’ he moaned. ‘Then Don was right? No, that can’t be. Brook was killed in an accident. It couldn’t possibly be connected.’

  Horror spread across Adrian’s features and for a second I felt sorry for the man. It was bad enough for me losing my wife Diane through divorce, but to have your wife burned to ash in a road accident was a hundred times worse. To then consider that such a shocking tragedy could have been murder must have been torture.

  Adrian shook his head. ‘No. It must be a mistake. Whoever attacked Millie . . . well, it must have been random. Some vagrant who thought the house was empty. Maybe he watched you and Don driving away and saw an opportunity and broke in looking for money or something to sell for drugs.’

  He was babbling, his words running together as he tried to find a theory he was happy with. I thought about mentioning the two I’d killed in the early hours but decided against it. ‘We’ll find out when Millie gets here.’

  ‘That’s another thing!’ Adrian’s hands went through his hair again. ‘Why is Millie coming here? She should wait for the cops at her place.’

  ‘She didn’t call the police.’ To allay Adrian’s response, I said, ‘Don told her not to.’

  ‘He did what? What the hell is he doing?’

  I don’t know, and I don’t like it, I thought. There was more to Don’s reticence than protecting me from a murder charge.

  ‘Don told me you know nothing of his past,’ I said. ‘You know he was a cop, right? But what about before that?’

  ‘Brook told me that he was in the military years ago.’

  ‘He was a marine,’ I agreed. ‘When he demobbed he went back to university and graduated with honours, met his wife, raised his family. He took another job to make ends meet.’

  Adrian was peering at me, mouth open, wondering no doubt what all of this had to do with anything and why it should affect the here and now.

  I went on, ‘He worked as an analyst and profiler, Adrian.’

  ‘That sounds like something the FBI would do?’

  I shook my head. ‘Not FBI. Don was recruited by a private firm. It was the equivalent of the modern-day risk assessment companies you hear about; those “think tanks” that work on behalf of the government.’

  ‘Are you telling me that Don was a spy?’ Adrian laughed out a single syllable that sounded like the bark of a dog. ‘You’re serious?’

  ‘Depends on your take on the word. He didn’t work in the field, if that’s what you mean. It was Don’s job to collect and analyse information, to identify and then track possible domestic terrorist and extremist groups. Sounds like a modern phenomenon, but even back in the eighties and early nineties radical extremist groups were a substantial threat to the stability of the nation. As the Cold War was ending, more immediate enemies were being identified on a regular basis. White supremacists, right-wing paramilitary groups, religious cults – you name it. Don was tasked with finding these people before they acted out their demented plans.’

  ‘And that’s how you got to know him?’

  Looking down at the carpet as though all the bad memories of those times were hidden in a secret weave of the pattern, I decided that confession might be good for the soul.

  ‘I was on a team that brought these groups to task. Don was only one of many analysts who fed us the intelligence necessary to complete our missions.’

  ‘You were with our government?’

  ‘I was a soldier.’

  ‘But . . . you’re a Brit, aren’t you?’

  ‘My team was made up of specialists from a number of NATO countries.’

  ‘Specialists?’

  My eyes strayed to the carpet again.

  Adrian blinked in dismay. ‘Maybe I’m jumping to conclusions here, but are you telling me that you were an assassin?’

  That snapped my chin up, my eyes going as cold as the underbelly of a glacier. ‘I was a soldier.’

  ‘Whose mission was to take down these extremists? Is there a difference?’

  ‘We didn’t kill them all.’

  I watched as the man went through a range of emotions. Finally, Adrian nodded to himself as though he’d come to some conclusion.

  ‘Carswell Hicks.’

  ‘You’ve heard of Hicks?’ That surprised me.

  ‘Brook once mentioned that her father was involved in his capture. But I never gave it much thought. I assumed he was just one of many cops on the task force that brought him down.’

  ‘Don wasn’t a cop when Hicks was captured. But he was the person instrumental in capturing him. He compiled the file that was handed to the FBI and it was Don’s evidence that guaranteed Hicks received a death sentence for his crimes.’

  ‘Except Hicks never did get the lethal injection, did he?’

  No, he never did. Human rights activists fought for Hicks and had his sentence commuted to life imprisonment in a high-security prison. I thought that of all the extremists Don identified Hicks was the most deserving of a bullet in the skull. Instead I said, ‘Last I heard he died while attempting to break out of jail. Some of his supporters staged an attack on the hospital wing he’d been moved to following an injury. During the getaway, Hicks and his colleagues supposedly perished when they crashed the medi-vac chopper they’d hijacked. But Don believes that he’s back and it’s Hicks who’s trying to destroy him by targeting his family.’

  ‘But how could that be possible?’

  ‘Don sent Hicks to prison. But there were others involved in his organisation. Maybe they’re finally looking fo
r payback.’

  ‘Dear God . . .’

  I nodded slowly.

  ‘Now you know who I am, and what the fuck I’m doing here. Do you still want me to leave?’

  Chapter 12

  Millie’s arrival was announced by a spray of fragmented shells as she gunned the Lexus up the drive and then swung alongside my Audi with a screech of brakes. She clambered out of the car, ducked back inside and came out holding a bundle in her arms just as Adrian opened the door, with me at his shoulder.

  Millie’s face was rigid with fear. No, that wasn’t quite right. Her face was set with anger, and it was directed only one way. Adrian stepped forward, but I pushed past him. As I moved quickly on to the drive my limp was forgotten, and my hand seemed in full working order from the way it dipped into my waistband and came out gripping the matt black SIG SAUER P226 that went everywhere with me. Holding the gun down by my thigh I stalked past Millie and partway along the drive, searching for anyone who might have followed her here. Behind me came the urgent words of Adrian and Millie, which sounded like both were casting bitter recriminations. They were joined seconds later by Don’s baritone. I tried to shut out their voices as I listened to the forest. All that came back was the rattle and hiss of the trees swaying in the breeze, and the drip of rain pattering on the ground. Dissatisfied, I completed a full circle while attuning to the natural rhythm of my surroundings.

  No vehicle was moving along the road beyond the gates. I couldn’t discern the movement of bodies slinking through the woods. I caught no clink of metal or brush of a boot heel through the undergrowth, but still I wasn’t happy. I felt that they were here.

  I could almost feel eyes upon me and it wasn’t a feeling I was about to dismiss. My biggest problem was that I couldn’t vector in on where the unknown watcher crouched. My gaze went back in the direction of the house and the knot of family members all converging in the driveway. Even the children had joined them, and the little ones were fussing over the bundle in Millie’s arms. Christ, I thought, she’s even brought the cat with her.

  ‘Everyone get inside.’ I began to hurry back to them. They were all bunched around Millie, asking questions in a rapid-fire manner and not one of them even glanced my way. ‘Now!’ I shouted. ‘Get inside the house!’

  The family group all turned as one, gawping. Little Ryan even took a couple of hurried steps away, and it was only then that I realised I was gesturing with the barrel of my gun. I quickly lowered it so that it was hidden by my hip.

  ‘What is it?’ Don was moving in the wrong direction, towards me instead of the house.

  They’re here. I wanted to shout out loud, but knew to do so would panic the children. Keeping calm, I went to the old man and gripped him by his elbow. ‘Get your family inside, Don.’

  Don’s tightening features said it all. He grabbed at the children and pulled them to him, at the same time ushering Adrian and Millie towards the front door. He glanced back at me but I gave him no mind, once more turning my attention to the woods. I was in a semi-crouch, unconsciously offering a smaller target. Little good it would do against a man with a scope on a rifle, but it was as much a natural reaction as it was a product of my training.

  ‘What in God’s name is going on?’ Adrian was torn between pulling the children out of Don’s grasp and racing for cover. Neither won out, and he swerved round Don to demand answers.

  ‘Get back inside,’ I hissed at him.

  Adrian had no idea of the danger he was in.

  His first inkling would have been when the high-velocity round punched through his upper torso. His flesh and bones were no impediment to a steel-jacketed round, and the bullet only flattened when it hit a wheel of Don’s Lexus.

  Adrian barely staggered.

  Then he looked down, mouth hanging open in shock as he saw the hole in his shirt that had opened up like a blooming rose.

  Very, very slowly he blinked.

  Around me time and motion had slowed.

  A guttural moan arose from Adrian.

  It felt like I was wading through a bog. Adrian’s eyes widened perceptively as he registered the dismay on my face as I looked at the crater in his chest. His mouth moved but I could hear nothing but my own moan emanating from somewhere deep inside. Then I turned away and my hand came up as slowly as a feather in an up-draught.

  Crack!

  The sound imploded within my skull, pushing down the moan for the briefest of seconds.

  Crack! Crack! Crack!

  Flame – beautiful, blue, edged in yellow – shot from my gun in time with the jarring staccato rhythm.

  My vision zeroed in on the glorious colours, which in the next instant were replaced by a seeping scarlet that clouded like ink in water. The red zone enfolded me.

  Reality crashed to life around me.

  Adrian fell face first on the driveway and didn’t move.

  I fired another volley of shots, but I was shooting blind. No way could I tell where the bullet that killed Adrian had come from. Then I turned and rushed towards the others. Seeing Adrian fall they’d all stopped. Shock dominated them.

  ‘Get inside,’ I yelled.

  Wishing to draw fire towards me, I ran from the family as they clambered for the front door, went over to Adrian and clutched at the man. I’m no doctor, but I’d seen enough dead bodies to know that Adrian had joined their ranks. Still, I grasped Adrian’s arm and began dragging him towards the cover offered by the parked cars. A round caromed off the roof of the Audi, the spent bullet spinning away into the woods on the far side. I pulled Adrian between the two vehicles. Judging by the direction from which the last bullet was fired, I was now out of the shooter’s line of sight but that meant nothing. A round from a rifle could pass directly through the body of a vehicle with little problem. Ducking low, placing the front wheel between us and the unknown rifleman, I rolled Adrian over on to his back. Adrian’s glassy eyes confirmed my initial prognosis, but I still pressed the tips of my fingers to the pulse point in his throat. There was only the putty-like feel of death.

  ‘Fuck sake,’ I sighed. Not very articulate, but it about summed up my feelings. I’d barely met Adrian Reynolds, and though I didn’t necessarily care for the man the senselessness of his death weighed heavily on my shoulders. It was a growing burden.

  I popped up from cover, fired a short group of three rounds. Ducked low again.

  A bullet shattered the windscreen of the Audi. Another punctured the front right tyre, thankfully the one on the far side.

  I’d been counting my bullets. Eleven of seventeen were gone already. Feeling for a spare magazine, I found one tucked into my hip pocket. All the others were locked in the boot of my car. No way could I reach them without giving the shooter a clear target.

  Crabbing to the rear of the car, I bobbed up again and fired the remaining six rounds in the clip. I swept my arm in an arc that took in twenty yards of the treeline in a little under two seconds. Even as I was ducking, my thumb worked the release on the gun and dropped the depleted magazine, and I rammed the other one in place. Then I was up and running, only vaguely aware of the scar tissue tugging horrendously in my thigh.

  Bullets followed my trajectory towards the house, streaking by a foot behind as the shooter tried to adjust his aim on my charging figure. Then I threw myself at the door that the family had slammed behind them in their haste. The door crashed open as I thrust my way through it. I spun and kicked it to. A bullet cut through the wood, tugged at my shirtsleeve.

  Swearing again, more savagely than before, I realised that this bullet had come from another direction. Evidently we were up against more than one attacker.

  The door wasn’t solid enough to stop a bullet, but it would halt a man for a while. Risking another round, I twisted the locks and threw a bolt in place. Then I sprinted for the back of the house following the babble of voices and crying children.

  ‘Get away from the windows,’ I shouted, even before I reached the kitchen where they were gathered.
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  There was a splintering bang at the front door, someone ramming against it with a shoulder.

  I twisted and fired a shot through the door and was rewarded by a shout of surprise. There was no pain in the words, which meant I’d missed, but at least the attacker fell back.

  I’d still no idea how many were out there, or who they were. It didn’t matter now. The time for pondering such nuances was over and all that mattered was doing everything in my power to stop them getting inside. Millie and the children were, and always would remain, my priority, though, and I wanted to check that they were safely tucked away. Last thing I needed was for a stray shot to find its way to them. I headed for the kitchen.

  What I found didn’t bode well for getting them to follow instructions. Millie had the two children enfolded in her arms as she crouched low behind a granite-topped island in the centre of the room. Both children were hysterical, screaming for their dead daddy who they’d watched gunned down. Millie was crying too, but her tears were more for the children than their father. Don was grabbing at his shirt front with both hands as he paced back and forth, muttering to himself.

  ‘Don,’ I snapped. ‘Get a hold of yourself, man. We have to . . .’

  Have to what?

  I wasn’t sure.

  If it was just me, I’d take the fight to my enemies and show them the folly of their attack. But my actions now had to be governed by the need to keep the children safe.

  I asked, ‘Where’s your gun? Did Millie bring it with her?’

  Don looked to Millie who glanced up from the crying children. She looked forlorn. Lost. ‘I left it in the car,’ she moaned. ‘I’m sorry . . .’

  I moved towards the back door. Threw the bolts in place. Turned back to Don. ‘What about Adrian, did he have a weapon?’

  Don shook his head. ‘No, not that I know of.’

  ‘Check,’ I told him. ‘He may have one hidden somewhere so that the children couldn’t get their hands on it. A strongbox; possibly in his bedroom.’

  ‘You want me to go upstairs? I’m not leaving my family!’