Blindside Page 8

‘Bullshit. You’ve done more than okay when you’ve had to. I mean, for someone chucked into the fire with no warning and little or no training.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘And it’s not like I’m asking you to shoot anyone this time, you know. It’ll be a different kind of thing.’

  ‘Just talking?’

  ‘Interacting with the law enforcement agencies.’

  Logan puffed out his cheeks and shook his head.

  ‘What?’ Cahill asked.

  ‘Alex, you can’t interact with anyone without starting a fight.’

  ‘Not true.’

  ‘Almost true.’

  Cahill picked up his gun and ear defenders and went to the wall beside the entrance. He put the magazine back in the gun and placed it on a mount. He hung the ear defenders up beside the others on the wall.

  ‘Have you told Tim’s wife yet?’ Logan asked as he joined Cahill to put his ear defenders on the wall.

  ‘No.’

  ‘You should. She’d want to know.’

  ‘You’re right. Why don’t you go home to get packed. Pick up Ellie and tell her what’s going on. I’ll call Melanie.’

  ‘The dream team,’ Logan said, following Cahill out of the room.

  He glanced back at the shredded target. Hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

  9

  After Logan left the warehouse, Cahill went to call Melanie Stark from another room in the building – a functional meeting space with a round table and six chairs.

  It was still early in Kansas, but Cahill figured that she wouldn’t be sleeping much.

  Turned out he was right.

  ‘How are you holding up?’ he asked, when she answered the call.

  ‘Ask me again in six months.’

  He thought that she sounded a little brighter than she had last night. Which wasn’t saying much.

  ‘I wanted to let you know that I’m not going to let this go. That I want to help you.’

  ‘Alex, I appreciate the sentiment, you know. But Tim’s dead. What’s left after that? Whatever we do, he won’t be walking back through the front door, will he?’

  ‘No. You’re right about that. But that doesn’t mean that we can’t honour his memory.’

  ‘I don’t mean to be rude, Alex. But that stuff sounds so hollow right now.’

  ‘I know. Doesn’t mean it’s not the right thing to do.’

  She sighed. ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘Suppose that I agree to let you help me. What are you going to do? And how much will it cost me?’

  ‘First, it won’t cost anything. I don’t charge friends for helping them out.’

  ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it.’

  ‘No need to apologise. It was a perfectly sensible question.’

  ‘So, what is it that you can do from over there?’

  ‘Not much. That’s why I’m flying out to Denver tomorrow.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I need to be where it happened.’

  ‘You organised this before speaking to me.’

  She sounded a little angry. Maybe that was good – showing something other than grief or hurt.

  ‘Yes. I was going to do it anyway. For Tim.’

  ‘Are you going alone?’

  ‘No. I’ll have someone with me. Logan – the lawyer you spoke to before.’

  ‘I don’t expect that the cops or FBI like lawyers much, do they?’

  ‘They don’t. That’s kind of the point.’

  She made a noise. Cahill wasn’t sure if it was a sniff or the best attempt at a laugh that she could manage right now.

  ‘I’ll speak to the cops and the FBI and anyone else who I think will help. Or might be trying to hide something. In my experience, if you stir up enough people it usually gets results in the end.’

  ‘Will this come back at me? I mean, will they—’

  ‘I’ll make sure it doesn’t.’

  ‘Thanks. I guess. Though I’m not sure what it is that you’re going to find. Maybe I don’t want to hear it. Have you considered that?’

  ‘I won’t tell you if you don’t want me to.’

  ‘No. I mean, I want to hear it. Good or bad.’

  ‘It won’t be bad.’

  ‘I appreciate your confidence.’

  ‘Listen, there’s something that you can do to help me.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Can you go through all of Tim’s stuff: clothes, bags, papers, computer. Everything. Look for anything that’s unfamiliar to you. It might be something that you wouldn’t ordinarily notice. Just a scribble on a piece of paper or a phone number you don’t recognise. If it’s there, you’ll know it when you see it.’

  ‘I’ll do that today.’

  ‘I’ll call you when I get in to Denver.’

  She paused.

  ‘Is this how you all are?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You know. Soldiers and cops and people in the Service.’

  ‘I suppose. The bond you have with someone you’ve stood beside and risked your life with is different from any other.’

  ‘Even that with your own family? Your children?’

  ‘Yes. I’m not saying it’s stronger, because it’s not. Just different.’

  ‘Well … thanks. I think Tim would have done the same for you.’

  ‘I have no doubt.’

  ‘Take care, Alex. I don’t want you to … you know. To get hurt for this.’

  ‘Don’t worry about me.’

  Cahill drove back to the city centre, parked under the office building and went up to find Tom Hardy in his own room. Hardy was on a call with a client so Cahill waited until he finished before speaking.

  ‘Tom, I’m going to Denver tomorrow with Logan. I’ll be gone for three days at least. Maybe more.’

  ‘As long as it takes?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘I can’t talk you out of this?’

  ‘You know me better than that.’

  Hardy nodded. ‘You need anything else from me?’ he asked.

  ‘I’ll need a contact over there.’

  Meaning: someone who can supply a weapon.

  ‘Of course. Can’t go walking around naked.’

  ‘Do you know anyone?’ Cahill asked.

  ‘No. But I can find someone. Don’t sweat it.’

  ‘Nothing fancy, Tom, you know?’

  Translation: a handgun.

  ‘I hear you. Watch your back.’

  Part Four:

  Exit Strategy

  1

  Seth Raines drove his pick-up truck west towards the Rocky Mountains with a man in the passenger seat beside him. They cleared the city limits and moved on to I-70 quickly in light traffic, the sun rising into a clear, blue sky. Raines reached into the door pocket and pulled out a pair of sunglasses, unfolding the arms with one hand while watching the road as it rose into the mountains. There had been a light snowfall in the mountains the night before and the sun sparkled in the fresh, crystalline snow.

  The road continued to climb up, snow-capped peaks high above them. It twisted through a pass before rising again into the town of Grant. As they passed through the town, Raines turned west again and, after about a mile and a half, pulled on to a track that wound up through dense woodland to a high clearing. This high up, snow covered the track and crunched under the wheels of his truck. A short distance along the track they came to a tall, metal gate. Raines stopped his truck next to a pole with a speaker on top and said his name, his breath visible in the sharp morning air.

  ‘Come on up,’ a voice answered as a buzzing sounded and the gates swung slowly open.

  They reached a clearing after another mile of the snow-covered track. There were three wooden structures built just behind the tree line at the northern edge of the clearing. Two men in green camo jackets and jeans stepped down off the porch of the middle building, the largest of the three, and walked towards the truck as Raines stopped. The men were carrying assault rifles and wore ballistic vests
over their jackets.

  Raines and his passenger got out.

  ‘Heard about Stark,’ one of the men said to Raines. ‘Bad business.’

  ‘We stick to what we’re doing,’ Raines said. ‘What happens is what happens.’

  ‘Sure thing, boss.’

  Raines’s passenger sensed something more than respect emanate from the man to whom Raines had spoken. Something like fear.

  Raines nodded at the man and walked on, his passenger following behind and staring at the dark tips of the tattoos on Raines’s neck. They mounted the steps of the middle building where Raines stopped, turning to his passenger.

  ‘Those are sealed,’ he said, indicating the other two buildings.

  The passenger looked left and right, noticing now that the other buildings had no external windows. Only heavy steel access doors broke up the otherwise featureless wooden exteriors.

  ‘The wood is just cladding,’ Raines went on. ‘An external shell to cover the actual building construction.’

  ‘I like it,’ the passenger said. ‘So it looks like any other private cabin if anyone gets interested?’

  ‘Correct. That’s the way we planned it.’

  Raines opened the door from the porch into the main building. Inside, the space stretched up to a double-height ceiling with a large, central area that was split into an office space at the back and a modest living area at the front – with couches facing an open fire.

  There were two more men inside, both sitting in the office area working at computer monitors. They were dressed in jeans and heavy cotton shirts. Only the handguns in holsters fitted round their waists gave away their military background.

  Raines went to the men and leaned over, looking at the spreadsheets open on both screens.

  ‘Looks good,’ he said, no emotion apparent in his voice.

  Raines moved to the living area and motioned for the passenger to follow. They took their coats off and sat on separate couches, the passenger looking around the room and shifting in his seat. Raines looked at the man, trying hard to keep his hatred for him hidden. In this business, he didn’t have the luxury of choosing whom he worked with. The man wore what looked like an expensive suit and a white shirt open at the neck. His black leather town shoes were flecked with melting snow.

  ‘Perimeter security?’ the man asked.

  ‘Motion sensors. We have them linked to the computers back there.’

  The man frowned.

  ‘No fences?’

  ‘Other than at the front, no.’

  ‘Doesn’t sound very safe.’

  The man picked an imaginary piece of dust from his immaculately pressed trousers. Raines noticed his accent now for the first time. He did a good job of hiding it.

  Raines resisted an urge to pull his handgun and shoot the man in the face.

  ‘It’s completely safe,’ Raines said instead, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees.

  ‘How?’

  ‘Well, I mean, you saw the fence at the gate we came in through, right?’

  The man nodded.

  ‘That stretches both ways to sheer drops down the mountainside. So we’re covered on both flanks by the natural terrain. No one’s getting in that way unless they’re prepared for a long climb.’

  ‘And even if they do get up, you have the motion sensors?’

  ‘Now you’re getting it.’

  ‘And at the back?’

  ‘The only way in to the back is over the top of the mountain from the other side. Ain’t gonna happen.’

  ‘And, again, the motion sensors.’

  ‘Those are located a minimum of one mile from here. And we have ordnance planted in the ground and on trees a half-mile in. Either remote triggered or via tripwires.’

  ‘Impressive.’

  Raines leaned back in the couch.

  ‘Anyone comes here up to no good and they end up dead.’

  ‘You consider the federal authorities carrying out their lawful duties to be up to no good?’

  ‘Especially the Feds.’

  Raines stared at him but did not reply. The man turned away from Raines’s hard gaze, pretended to look around again at the interior of the building to demonstrate that he had not been intimidated.

  ‘Let’s talk business,’ Raines said.

  2

  After their brief discussion, Raines waited in the main building while one of the men from the office showed his passenger around the rest of the compound.

  He walked to a door at the back of the living area and went through it into his own private office space. He sat at the sparse desk and breathed deeply, feeling more tired than he ever had.

  The drive up the track to the compound brought back the memories again: him and the other soldiers inside the Land Rover as it pitched and rolled over the rutted dirt tracks that passed for roads in Afghanistan.

  They had waited at the site of the opium field for less than an hour, the splash of pink flowers almost surreal in the washed-out haze of the desert.

  The soldiers kept mobile, not resting in one location and aware of their surroundings. Never straying too far from the track around the field for fear of wandering into an active minefield. Raines had seen two men from his platoon with traumatic amputations from mine blasts. They had survived, thanks to the swift treatment they received from the medevac team, but their lives would never be the same again.

  After the local ANP contingent had set fire to the field and the blaze had well and truly taken hold, they went back to the Land Rovers. The temperature was now close to forty degrees and was taking its toll on them.

  They took up the same positions on the rear bench seats as before. No one said anything as the Land Rover moved off, all of them watching the dark smoke rising from the poppy fields into the clear, blue sky.

  They drove back through Lashkar Gah and Raines was again struck by how primitive the place was, although he had been there many times before. The buildings were almost invariably made from mud and bricks and the roads were no better than the track they had followed from the camp.

  There were no women to be seen anywhere and men with lines etched in their faces watched the convoy pass by. Occasionally a group of children would run alongside, shouting and waving at the soldiers.

  Horn turned in his seat and waved back at one particularly enthusiastic boy who kept pace with them for a good fifty metres. Johnson shook his head.

  ‘What?’ Horn asked, annoyed.

  ‘Nothing,’ Johnson said.

  Horn stared at him.

  ‘Even after being here this long you can still relate to these people?’ Johnson said after a moment.

  ‘What else is it that we’re supposed to do?’

  Raines sensed the animosity between the two men, but did not interfere. Soldiers have to learn by getting their hands dirty. Or bloody. And aggression was part of the job description. But he admired Horn’s resilience – wasn’t such a bad kid for a soft, middle-class boy who volunteered to go to war. Raines thought, not for the first time, that if his own son had lived past his sixth birthday he would have been proud if he had turned out like Matt Horn.

  They passed through a more modern-looking part of town and the lieutenant asked why the rest of it was so primitive.

  ‘This is Little America,’ Raines told her. ‘We were over here in the sixties. Built some stuff and headed home again.’

  ‘No one ever stays in places like this for long,’ she said.

  ‘Is that what your job is about?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Trying to make it right with the locals. I mean, build their trust. Tell them we’ll be here till everything is all right. That it will be different this time.’

  ‘Yes. Don’t you have something similar?’

  ‘We do,’ Raines said, smiling.

  A look of annoyance passed over her face.

  ‘And there’s something wrong with that in your mind, Sergeant?’

  ‘No. I mean, I r
ecognise that the intention is pure.’

  ‘But …’

  Raines shifted in his seat and turned to face her. He noticed up close how young she was – like a lot of the officers over here in both armies. Probably straight out of officer school and posted here with no in-theatre experience.

  ‘But it doesn’t help us much,’ Raines went on. ‘When we call in fast air support to drop a couple of five-hundred pounders on a suspected Taliban compound and go in to clean up the mess only to find children’s body parts and screaming women.’

  The lieutenant’s eyes narrowed.

  ‘That’s what happens in a war,’ Raines went on. ‘We can’t avoid civilian casualties. How do you explain that to their mothers and fathers?’

  ‘We can only do what we can. But we still have to try. Or don’t you believe that?’

  Raines turned from her and saw that Johnson was watching their exchange intensely.

  ‘I wanted to know what you thought of it,’ Raines said.

  He looked back at the lieutenant, saw that she was staring at him, trying to figure out if he was testing her.

  ‘It’s a pity your tour is up so soon, Sergeant,’ she said.

  ‘Why is that?’

  ‘I think maybe I’d enjoy debating the finer points of our strategy with the local population some more.’

  Raines saw a smile twitch at her lips.

  ‘She got you there, Sarge,’ Horn said, laughing.

  He turned to speak to Horn and the front of the Land Rover disappeared, metal screeching as the IED in the road detonated under the vehicle.

  Raines had a split second to see Horn’s right leg torn from him just above the knee and then everything went dark.

  3

  Raines picked up the phone from his desk and dialled a number for a house back in Denver. It rang for a while and he waited, aware that it could take some time for the owner of the house to answer.

  ‘Yeah,’ the answer came eventually.

  ‘I met the guy today. You know the one?’

  ‘How did it go?’

  ‘He’s getting the full tour.’

  ‘You’re still up there, then?’

  ‘Yes.’