Bad Soldier: Danny Black Thriller 4 (50 page)

Danny moved his gaze to the kid’s target on the ground. He instantly felt himself burning up with hatred. This guy had obviously taken a round to the left shoulder and was clutching it with his right hand, but blood was seeping through his fingers. His body shook badly. He was wearing black clothes – a warm waterproof jacket, sturdy boots. Lying to the side of him was a drone control unit with a long silver antenna.

Danny focussed in on the target’s face. He didn’t even need to see this bastard’s neck. He immediately recognised those features from the video clip he’d seen back at the IS compound in Iraq. He knew it was Mujahid.

And it was very obvious that the kid with the gun wanted him dead.

Danny took another step closer. He saw that the kid was crying. Shoulders shaking. Tears running down his cheek.

‘You need to listen to me very carefully,’ Danny said in as neutral a voice as he could muster. ‘You have to put that gun down. If you don’t, I’ll have no option but to fire, and trust me, I don’t want to do that.’

There was a pause. The gunman glanced in Danny’s direction. ‘Are you the police?’ His sobbing voice trembled.

‘No. Not the police. But you still have to drop that weapon.’

The kid was breathing heavily. He didn’t move the gun. ‘You know what he did?’ he said. ‘You know what he did to my mother and father? He hung my father from a tree. He raped my mother and killed her, and made me watch. I have tracked him all the way from Syria. It has taken me months. And you think I’m going to let him go now?’ He gave a humourless, tear-filled laugh.

Danny moved forward again, two paces. He was only five metres from the gunman, and he spoke with a sudden, quiet urgency. ‘Let him go? I promise you, my friend, that’s the last thing I’m going to let happen to this man. By the time I’ve finished with him, he’s going to wish you’d emptied every round in that weapon straight into his skull. That bullet in the shoulder? It’ll be the least of his problems.’

Another step forward. Three metres. The kid didn’t shift position. His body shook even worse than before. ‘I can’t trust you,’ he whispered. ‘I can’t trust anyone here.’

‘What’s your name?’ Danny said.

‘Joe.’

‘That your real name?’

‘No.’

‘Doesn’t matter to me. You know those things this guy did to your family?’

The kid nodded hesitantly.

‘He’s going to do all those things to my family too. If you kill him now, I’ll never find them.’ Danny narrowed his eyes and then, knowing that Spud would have him covered, he took a gamble. He lowered his weapon. ‘You’re a clever kid, Joe. I can tell that. You know what to do.’

Joe blinked at him, his eyes still heavy with tears. Then, slowly, hesitantly, he let his gun arm fall to his side.

The reaction from the kid’s target was immediate. Still clutching the wound on his shoulder, he made a sudden and frenzied attempt to scramble to his feet. But Danny was there before he could even stand up. With all the force he could muster, he jabbed the heel of his right foot directly into the gun wound in the militant’s shoulder. The guy inhaled sharply with the sudden pain, and was clearly about to shout out again when Danny directed a second kick hard into the pit of his stomach, winding him so badly that Danny knew he wouldn’t be able to shout out for at least thirty seconds.

Danny bent down, grabbed a chunk of the target’s hair and yanked his head back. There, clearly visible, was a scar the shape of a smile that spanned the entire width of his neck.

‘Hello Mujahid,’ he breathed. He leaned in closer so that his lips were just an inch from his target’s ear. ‘My name’s Danny Black. Maybe it rings a bell.’

The effect of his name was immediate. Mujahid started to writhe and struggle, desperately trying to get away. It was a useless attempt. Still clutching his hair, Danny simply slammed his face against the rough bark of the tree. Soft enough to keep the bastard conscious, hard enough to hurt. Badly. Then he leaned in again.

‘I think you’ve got something that belongs to me,’ he said.

Twenty-five

‘What was it? What the bloody hell was it?’

Yellow Seven was stammering. His hands shaking. The rest of the royals were at the altar end of the church, surrounded by a ring of close protection officers. Yellow Seven had somehow broken free of them. None of the public had been allowed inside, of course. Too great a security risk. Tony could hear their panicked commotion outside as he stood near the church’s entrance, with Yellow Seven tugging at his arm.

‘I said, what the bloody hell was it?’

‘Remotely controlled drone,’ Tony said. ‘Modified Claymore mine.’

‘Someone was trying to kill us?’

Tony gave him a withering look. ‘Yes, your Grace. Someone was trying to kill you. If that drone had been a few metres higher when it blew, it would’ve butchered all of us.’

‘And you . . . you shot that thing down?’

Tony kept his poker face. ‘Yes,’ he lied.

Yellow Seven blinked. ‘There’s an honour in this for you, Tony. I’m going to see to it that there’s a—’

‘You need to get with the other CP guys. The threat could be ongoing.’

‘Where are you going?’

Tony sniffed. ‘Hunting for bad guys,’ he said.

He left Yellow Seven standing there and walked out of the church.

It was bedlam. Half the crowd were still crouching on the ground, ghostly amid the heavy mist. Mothers were clutching their children and crying. Everybody was avoiding the twisted form of the downed drone, but it was impossible to get away from the stench of cordite in the air, a remnant of the Claymore’s explosion. A couple of security guys were tending to the wounded with the help of two men who looked like they might be doctors. A body was lying aside from the others, its face covered with someone’s jacket. It looked small, probably a kid.

Tony wasn’t here to mourn the dead. He was here to find Danny Black. After all the work he’d put in on Yellow Seven and his inbred family, Tony was fucked if he was going to let Black take the glory. He gave the treelines surrounding the area a cursory scan, but he knew he wouldn’t see Danny or Spud there. Because even if everyone else, in the chaotic aftermath of the drone strike, had missed the sound of gunshots to the north, Tony hadn’t. He knew that Danny Black would be following that sound.

He started moving clear of the crowd, past the vehicles peppered with Claymore shrapnel, putting the screams of the injured from his head. After only a few seconds, he sensed someone at his shoulder. He turned to see Matt, the whisky-loving kid from the CCTV room. ‘Where you going, Tony?’ he asked breathlessly.

‘Checking the perimeter.’

‘I’ll come with you.’

Like hell you will, Tony thought.

‘Mate,’ he said, ‘you need to do me a solid. Get into the church, keep an eye on Yellow Seven. Don’t let him get a bad case of stupid and leave the church before we get the all-clear.’

Matt’s face became doubly serious. He nodded and ran back to the church, leaving Tony to start jogging towards the exit.

He picked up pace as he drew clear of the crowd, knowing that he would be fading from their view as he headed off into the mist. It had been three minutes since the strike. Another ten minutes, this place would be crawling with armed response units and buzzing with helicopters. He needed to catch up with Black before that happened. Make it clear to him who was running this show.

He sprinted through the gates at full pelt. His instinct told him that the gunfire had come from the direction beyond the visitors’ centre on the far side of the perimeter road. He shot through the collection of small buildings to the car park on the other side. He hesitated here for a moment. The car park was surrounded by trees. Where now?

His directions came in the form of a second gunshot. Directly north, beyond the far end of the car park. Tony didn’t know what the hell the gunshot meant, but he followed it anyway. He burst through the trees into the forest, his breath steaming in the mist as he ran.

Twenty metres on, he came across proof that he was heading in the right direction: a corpse, slumped against a tree, a close-quarter bullet wound to its face, a smashed-up navigation screen in its fist. Tony gave it only the briefest of glances. He scanned the area to the north. His eyes instantly zoomed in on a tree sucker, springing up from the ground, with a red thread of clothing hanging from one of its thorns.

He followed the direction that the marker indicated, surging along an animal trail that showed signs of having been recently followed – bent-back branches and the occasional footprint in the softer patches of earth.

After forty-five seconds, he stopped.

There were figures in the mist up ahead. Twenty metres. Four of them. They were just silhouettes, but Tony could make out the squat form of Spud Glover with his back to him. Another figure was slumped up against a tree, and the remaining two were close to each other, apparently talking. Muffled voices drifted through the mist towards Tony, but he couldn’t hear them clearly.

He drew his weapon and stepped forward. Slowly. Silently.

Sudden movement up ahead. One of the figures – Tony could see now that it was Black – had rushed over to the person slumped at the base of the tree. Black had grabbed the figure’s hair and was slamming his face against the trunk. Bending over to whisper in his ear.

Tony was ten metres from them now, and only five from Spud. He saw that the fourth figure was a Middle Eastern-looking kid with thick-rimmed glasses and a shabby red hoodie, awkwardly carrying a handgun.

Tony gave himself a moment to take in this scene, to get straight in his head what he thought was happening. Then he cleared his throat.

Spud spun round. Instant dislike spread across his face, but that didn’t bother Tony. The kid with glasses shrank back a little – he looked like he was thinking of running. Fine. Let the fucker run. Black was the only one Tony was interested in.

And as Tony stood there, Black turned towards him, still holding the figure by his hair. Even Tony was surprised by the appearance of his Regiment-mate. His eyes were bloodshot, his bruised face as pale as death. And when he spoke, his cracked voice was hoarse.

‘Get out of here, Tony.’

Tony gave a bleak smile. He stepped forward. Spud stood in his way, weapon raised.

‘You never were one of life’s thinkers, Glover,’ Tony said. ‘But even you’re not that stupid.’

With a contemptuous flick of his hand, he brushed Spud’s weapon away. Spud didn’t stop him as he paced towards Black.

‘So,’ Tony continued coolly. ‘Looks like you got your man. Has he given you the location of little baby Black yet?’

‘This is nothing to do with you,’ Black said. ‘Take my advice and fuck off out of here. You can tell your new friends it was you who stopped the hit, let them puncture your chest with medals.’

‘I already have, Black, you don’t need to worry about that. Of course, that doesn’t mean there isn’t a bit of unfinished business.’

Black yanked his prisoner to his feet. The guy’s face was scraped bloody, and he looked like he was going to piss himself with fear. ‘I haven’t got time for this,’ Black said. He looked over at Spud. ‘Let’s move,’ he said, and he nodded at the young kid with the glasses too. ‘Come with me,’ he said. ‘We need to get you away from the police.’

Black gave Tony a look of contempt before turning his back on him and facing further into the forest.

Tony moved fast while he still had the opportunity, and to stop that moron Spud Glover doing anything stupid. He raised his handgun and fired.

There was no question of missing. Not at a range of five metres. Not for Tony. The 9mm round from his handgun slammed straight into the back of Danny Black’s prisoner. Tony knew that the round would enter his heart from behind, and kill him instantly.

The sound of Tony’s weapon resounded through the forest. Mujahid collapsed.

Danny jumped back as he fell.

The world seemed to spin.

He fell to his knees, preparing to administer CPR, to try to keep his prisoner alive. But it was totally obvious that Mujahid was dead already. No breathing. No pulse. Blood seeping from his back.

Danny got to his feet again.

Deadly slow.

He turned to Tony.

Spud looked genuinely panicked, like he didn’t know what to do. For a moment, Danny thought he saw a twinge of fear in Tony’s face. Like the sight of Danny walking slowly towards him had got him thinking he’d maybe gone too far. But the expression died quickly, and was replaced with Tony’s regular arrogant swagger.

A sudden scuffle. Spud had kicked Tony behind the knee. It was impossible for Tony to remain standing. He collapsed. A moment later, Danny and Spud were standing over him, weapons pointing down at him.

‘What the – what the hell—’ Danny could hardly talk. He felt like he was hyperventilating. ‘That man – my daughter – you
knew
—’

Tony slowly got to his feet. ‘Poor Danny Black,’ he said, as insultingly as possible. ‘But let’s look on the bright side. Not only did I shoot down the drone that was going to take out, what, a hundred and fifty people? I also just stuck a round in the heart of the fucker responsible. That’s got to be worth a bit of a celebration. For me at least. I’d say this is turning into my day.’