Hot Zone (Major Crimes Unit Book 2) (8 page)

Summer, 1987

“Sarah, dinner in one hour.”

Eight-year-old Sarah ran through the living room and into
the kitchen where her mother stood in front of the stove. The air was hot, from
both the bright sunlight coming through the window and from the heat coming
from the cottage’s Aga. They had lived there less than a year, after having
decided to lay down roots, instead of moving all over the world with her daddy.
Sarah loved her new home and had even made a friend at school. Her name was
Holly and her parents were farmers. Sometimes, Sarah even got to spend time
with her daddy, who was home at the moment for two whole weeks. Her daddy was a
brave soldier.

“Can I go out and play until it’s ready?” Sarah asked her
mother.

“Of course, but don’t wander off into the road. Stay by the
house.”

“Can I have a biscuit to take out with me?”

Her mother turned away from the bubbling pot on the stove
and looked at her daughter. She rolled her eyes. “Go on, then. But only one.”

Sarah hopped up in the air and then ran over to the biscuit
tin, taking out her favourite chocolate digestive. She took a bite immediately
but took the rest out into the sunshine with her. She decided to play beside
the house, in the pebbled driveway that was flat enough for her to kick her
football around. Her father was always on at her about how little girls should not
be interested in playing football, but she loved running around and kicking it
far more than playing with her dolls or the plastic kitchen she had got for
Christmas.

Her daddy was in the garage, where she was not to disturb
him. She often heard him talking in there on the phone he had at the back,
inside a little office, but she never understood what he was saying. He spoke
lots about places with funny names and about men that sounded scary. She always
stayed away from the garage.

Her daddy’s car was parked out on the drive, where it always
was when he was home. When he was gone it would sit under a big blanket in the
garage. It was really long and a shiny red and looked lots of fun to drive in,
but she had never been allowed to go with her father when he drove it.
Sometimes her mother was allowed to sit in the passenger seat, but never Sarah.
Sometimes, when her father wasn’t looking, she would run her hands over it and
enjoy the feel of the cold metal.

The lure of the car called to Sarah now and she crept
towards it, marvelling at the shafts of light that bounced of its long, round
nose. It was a Jagwa and worth lots of money. One day, when she was grown,
Sarah was going to own a Jagwa, too. She took another bite of her biscuit and
then placed her hands along the bonnet, slowly sliding her fingertips along the
bodywork. The hood was made of fabric and could be pulled down in the sunshine,
but right now it was up. She ran her fingers along the rough material and found
it extremely soft and supple compared to the stiffness of the bodywork. She
wondered what it would be like to ride along with the top down, visiting the
seaside and seeing the seagulls overhead.

“Sarah!”

Sarah flinched so badly that she tripped and fell backwards.
A shard of pebble bit into her palm and made her cry out. Her father appeared,
towering over her, and dragged her back up to her feet. “Look what you’ve
done,” he shouted while shoving her head in the direction of the car.

She was already in tears, but she was able to see what she
had done. On the roof of her daddy’s Jagwa was a chocolaty handprint. Her whole
body shook in fear, and she wet herself when she realised what was to come.

“Look at you, you stupid girl. You’ve pissed yourself.” Her
daddy’s hand struck the back of her legs, making her scream. He hit her two
more times before he let her go. By that time, her mother had exited the
cottage and was standing on the drive.

“What’s happened?” she said meekly.

Sarah’s father growled. “The little brat covered my car in
chocolate.”

“Don’t be so hard on her. She’s a child.”

“Get her out of my sight. If I see her again tonight I’m
leaving. Do you know how little time I get to myself? Do you know what I do for
this country and this family?”

Sarah’s mother said nothing, as she rarely did. She just
shot her husband a hateful stare and pulled her sobbing daughter in close. A
year later she divorced Sarah’s father and they went to live in a cramped flat
in the city by themselves. Sarah never missed that old cottage even once. And
she missed her father even less.

M
attock
took the bullet without fuss,
as was his manner. Howard had watched in horror when Sarah leapt up out of
cover and fired off a spray of bullets, sending Mattock reeling to the ground,
hit and bleeding.

“We have to get out there and help,” said Howard. He and
Jessica were sitting inside the rearmost of the three black Range Rovers, doing
nothing. Mattock had insisted that he and his team secure the perimeter before
Howard and Jessica went in to retrieve Krenshaw and Sarah, but when they
arrived in the area, the scout team observed Major Stone and his men gearing up
to leave. Going in quiet was no longer an option. They had eyes on Krenshaw,
out in the open, and he was attempting to flee. Palu gave Mattock the okay and
Howard and Jessica were demoted to spectators. Now, Mattock was down, shot by a
woman who less than six months ago had fought side-by-side with him.

Howard didn’t need to wait for Jessica to agree with him.
She was already out of the car and firing off shots across the bonnet, sending
a rodent-featured man into hiding. Howard slid across the seats and exited out
on the same side, using the long vehicle as sufficient, though imperfect,
cover. Major Stone and his men were well-armed, but with handguns and machine
pistols. Mattock’s team carried recent-issue L85A2 British assault rifles. It
was a one-sided affair until Sarah blindsided Mattock.

A leather-skinned, older man popped up from behind the door
of one of the black vans and Howard aimed and shot. A spray of red mist erupted
from the back of the man’s skull and he fell down in a lifeless heap. At the
same time, Jessica emptied her magazine and managed to wing a stocky black man
in the neck, sending him face first into the open where bullets whizzed over
his head. The wounded man screamed for help, begged for it in fact, but was
soon shut up. Major Stone leapt out of cover and fired a shot from his hefty
pistol, reducing his own man’s skull to mush. He was back down in cover before
anyone could take a shot at him.

“Give up, Major Stone,” shouted Howard. “Two of your men are
down and we have you pinned. You’ll die here if you don’t give yourself up.”

The gunfire stopped. Although Mattock was down, his men
still numbered seven and were more than happy to keep shooting at fish in
barrels, yet they waited now to see if a ceasefire ensued. It didn’t appear
that Major Stone was going to come out with his hands up, but Howard’s words
had apparently made the man pause to think.

Howard decided to push the situation. “Do you want your
daughter to die, Major Stone? Sarah, I know you can hear me. Mattock’s dead. I
watched you shoot him when he wasn’t looking. Do you really want any more
bloodshed? Do you want to shoot me next, or how about Jessica? We were on the
same team not so long ago, Sarah. What happened to you?”

There was no answer, so Howard placed his gun down on the
bonnet of the Range Rover and stood out from cover, his hands raised above his
head.

Jessica grabbed at him but missed. “Howard, what the hell
are you doing?”

“Major Stone, I am unarmed, and you are an honourable man. I
know you won’t shoot me. Come out and talk. Or send your daughter. I’d like to
ask her why she just murdered a man who thought very highly of her.”

There was more silence and for a moment Howard worried that
Major Stone and his people had managed to scurry away someplace, but then he
saw the shifting shadows of someone moving behind the torn-up Jaguar. Dr
Krenshaw was also still cowering in the background, trying to hide behind a
steel wheelie bin.

“Just stop this, Major Stone. It’s Dr Krenshaw we want. You
needn’t have got involved in this.”

“Too late now,” someone barked in a deep voice that Howard
assumed belonged to Major Stone. He hoped he could appeal to the man’s honour,
or to his daughter’s loyalties, but it seemed neither were about to listen.

There was a flash of movement beneath the floodlights.

Something arced into the air, a small black shadow against
the glare of the flood lamps. It was followed by three more shadows. Each of
them began falling to the ground, right towards Howard and the MCU strike team.

Howard turned and ran, screaming, “Grenades.”

A
s
the MCU strike team leapt for cover, and a series of hellish bangs rocked the
air, Major Stone grabbed Dr Krenshaw roughly by the arm and re-opened the
warehouse door. Rat and Spots were both uninjured and quickly hurried into the
warehouse behind Major Stone. Sarah stood, not knowing which way to go. Did she
give herself up to MCU, and face what she had done? Or go after her father and
get herself in deeper?

For a moment it seemed like the frightened part of her was
going to win out and surrender, but then she thought about her time in the
army, the death of her husband and unborn child, and of course the loss of her
face. She thought about all the men sent to their deaths on missions they
barely understood, and thought about all of the success the MCU had gained off
the back of her efforts. She was tired of being used by others, only to be spat
out. Her father would be no different, but at least he could get her out of the
country. Choosing to follow her father offered the chance at a new life. Giving
herself up to the MCU offered a return to her old one.

What made up her mind was Ollie. He’d stopped to wait for
her by the door, looking afraid, yet determined. Sarah bolted inside the
warehouse with him and caught up with the other men. Her father glanced at her
and seemed like he was about to smile, but he quickly killed the expression
before it had chance to take on life. Rat was less happy to see her and snarled
and bared his teeth. “Shouldn’t you be back there with your boyfriend? He
seemed to know you pretty good.”

“Yeah,” said Spots, speaking to her for the first time that
day. “If you’ve set us up I’ll gut you.”

“Agent Hopkins doesn’t know me at all,” she spat back at
them. “If he
did
then he would be running the other way, same as the
both of you should do.”

Rat smirked and resumed his hurried march forward.

Spots, however, gave her a brief smirk and seemed to
reconsider his position. “Just like your father.”

Ollie came up on her back, grabbed her elbow lightly. Their
running had turned into a determined march. “What a mess. How the hell did the
MCU know how to find us?”

Sarah looked at him in surprise. “You mean you don’t think
I
had anything to do with it?”

“If you sold us out to the MCU you would be with them now,
wouldn’t you? Instead you took a shot at one of them and escaped.”

Sarah thought about how she had opened fire on Mattock and
quickly shook the image from her mind. She liked the cockney hard man a lot and
was ashamed at what she’d done. But done it she had and there was no chance to
change it now. She needed to get the hell out of there.

Her father led them through to the opposite side of the
warehouse, and once there he opened up what would once have been the public
entrance to the street. A solitary vehicle sat in the small car park outside: a
banged-up, 90s era BMW. He unlocked the vehicle and told them all to get in.
Rat sat up front, while Ollie, Sarah, Spots, and Krenshaw wedged themselves
uncomfortably into the back. The interior stunk of sweat and cigarettes and the
roof cloth was ripped and hanging.

Spots had Krenshaw on his lap, still clutching his briefcase
like a life preserver. Ollie sat on one side, while Sarah sat on the other.
Major Stone started the engine and they took off, pretty powerfully for such an
old car.

“Always good to have a few old bangers in reserve around the
city,” her father said as though he were trying to teach a lesson. “Never know
when you’re going to need an alternative escape plan.”

Rat was hooting with laughter in the front seat and checking
the magazine on his cumbrous Desert Eagle. A gun as powerful as his cock was
probably small, Sarah assumed. Spots sat almost sideways on the seat in order
to keep hold of Krenshaw and it made it hard for Sarah to see Ollie on the
opposite side of the car. Sarah managed to glance over at him through the
tangle of limbs and heads. “You okay, Ollie?”

He smiled at her. “I’m fine, just not a natural when it
comes to the nasty stuff. I’ll be okay.”

“You look like you’re about to shit yourself,” Spots
muttered.

“It’s just adrenaline,” said Krenshaw, a little calmer now
as time passed. “It will where off.”

Sarah sneered. “Wow, did you learn that at medical school?
Or at nursery when the teacher told you not to get over-excited?”

Krenshaw looked at her like one of his diseases, something
to be studied and handled carefully, yet that did not stop him from talking to
her with a voice dripping with disdain. “I find that stating the obvious to a
patient is more comforting than explaining the complex. I was merely trying to
be help calm your colleague down. You’re rather rude.”

“Compassion, huh? That’s an odd emotion for a terrorist. Did
you show compassion for the people you infected in Reading? Or South Africa?”

The doctor seemed confused. “I’m sorry, South Africa?”

“Heads down,” shouted Major Stone. “Plods up ahead.”

They all ducked down until they were told they had the all
clear again. When Sarah looked out of the window, she saw that they were
leaving Shepard’s Bush, most of the way, already, to Heathrow.

“How will we get through airport security?” she asked her
father. “MCU will have posted an alert to every airport in the country.”

“Of course they will, but we’re not going to be travelling
as ourselves. Our false passports will get us out of the country without
issue.”

Sarah couldn’t see how it was possible for a group of
fugitives to move through an airport unmolested, but she had no option but to
follow her father’s lead. She glanced sideways at Krenshaw and felt revolted.

“How can you be so calm?” she asked the doctor. “You’re
wanted for the death of dozens of people.”

He grinned. “Oh, I assure you that the number will exceed
mere dozens when my virus takes its full course. Did you get to see my work in
Reading? It was quite beautiful, don’t you think? The West is slow to
appreciate the rest of the world’s suffering, but I did them the favour of
speeding up the virus’s infection rate and lethality. Whiteknight Hospital will
be littered with the dead before the week’s end. Maybe then, Westminster and
the rest of Europe will actually start taking notice of what the 3
^rd
World has had to endure for decades.
Perhaps some of the money this country spends on mind-numbing television, to
forget the World’s suffering, will go where it is actually needed. Do you know
that the NHS spends three-million-pounds per year on unnecessary plastic
surgery? This country would rather throw money at plastic tits than a Congolese
orphanage full of dying children. It spends sixteen-million a year on obesity.
Can you believe it? All that money going to gluttons while nearly
eight-hundred-and-seventy million people starve worldwide. It is time they took
notice. Unfortunately, they will not do that until their charmed lives are
endangered.”

Sarah shook her head in disbelief. “You actually think
you’re one of the good guys, don’t you?”

“History is full of martyrs. Even Jesus was hated in his
time.”

Ollie chuckled. “Talk about a deity complex. I suppose you
think you’ll live forever?”

“Alas, no. My AIDS is quite severe and I doubt I’ll make
another year.”

Sarah flinched. “You have AIDS?”

“Get the fuck away from me,” said Spots, trying to shove the
doctor off his lap.

Krenshaw’s demeanour changed and he spat his next words with
venom. “You see? The way you all flinch proves my point about the stigma and
disregard the West holds for Africa’s suffering. I am, in actual fact, not
infected with AIDS but dying of throat cancer — something you can’t catch, so
calm yourselves. My mission was decided upon, however, not for my own health
concerns but for the poor people of Sub-Saharan Africa and beyond. When I
watched a child of five die of untreated bronchitis, I decided that the human
race was failing. No one mourned this five-year old girl, you see, for her
parents had both already died of other untreated conditions. Her body lay in
the dirt for hours, passers-by looking through her as though she did not even
exist, until I took her in my arms and buried her in a field. I never knew her
name and no one will ever know where she was buried. Her life was deemed no
more important than that of a mayfly, and so I deemed the life of those who
failed to help her no more significant than a mayfly. My revenge is a revenge
you have wrought upon yourselves, and when I am no more, buried in some field
the same way that nameless girl was, there will be hope and promise in the
world again. Nothing unites humanity like fear. Let the whole world fear AIDS,
Ebola, and every other 3rd World bogeyman. Perhaps then, we can find compassion
that reaches beyond our own selfish borders.”

The sun was coming up and Sarah blinked her eyes. She had
nothing else to say to Krenshaw, for as much as she found him abhorrent, she
understood the power of violence and intimidation to attain one’s goals. What
the doctor was suggesting might just have worked, too, if he’d been able to
continue, but there was no part of what he was doing that was in any way right.
As much as the world was off-kilter, there
were
people who cared about
the plight of the 3
^rd
World and
Sarah was sure the number would grow of its own accord, without having to be
beaten into compassion. Better to give willingly, she thought, than to have
one’s charitable arm thrust out forcefully.

They pulled into Heathrow airport ten-minutes later and
finally got out of the cramped BMW. They straightened their backs and moaned
with relief. Her father went around to the boot and put on a smart woollen
overcoat and pulled up the collar. The rest of them had to face the cold
morning in what they were wearing. When they got going, her father didn’t
bother locking the car, for they would not be going back to it, he told them.

“You did well,” her father said to her as they walked
towards the terminal.

“You killed Rupert,” was all she said in reply, having
wanted to bring it up the whole time in the car. “Your own man.”

“He was dying. Even if he wasn’t, he wouldn’t have wanted to
be captured.”

Sarah huffed. “Captured. You speak like we’re at war.”

“We are. Maybe if you had continued to serve, you would have
seen it more clearly. Was the needless bloodshed not clear to you when a
British missile killed your husband? Thomas, wasn’t it? What a crime he
committed, being in the wrong place at the wrong time. I’m sure our government
owned up to their crimes profusely. Made amends?”

Sarah shook her head. “They swept it under the rug.”

“Of course they did, as they have with uncountable other
vile acts before and after. If only you’d seen the things my men have seen,
Sarah. Believe me, Graves and Rupert were ready to die for the mission. I did
only what I would ask for myself. I would rather die than be brought in by this
government’s vipers.”

“MCU aren’t like that,” she said. “They’re good people
trying to help. I know.”

“Then perhaps you shouldn’t have shot one of them. They
might have had you back. Nice shot, by the way.”

Sarah frowned. “What do you mean?”

“You winged my old sergeant. Barely even touched him to be
honest. The Sergeant Mattock I knew would have carried on fighting, but perhaps
he’s not quite as tough as he used to be.”

Sarah had deliberately aimed at Mattock’s hip, not wanting
to deliver a kill wound and not wanting to risk a ricocheting round in his
centre mass. She had spread her shots wide, yet grazed Mattock a little deeper
than she’d meant to. The shock had turned his lights out and left him looking
dead. When Howard had spoken out to her, he obviously thought as much, but
there was no way she was going to kill Mattock. He was a good man. But shooting
him was bad enough for her not to want to remain in the UK a moment longer than
she had to.

Major Stone had them all spread out as they entered Terminal
1. They would be suspicious as a group, so were ordered to check in separately,
before gathering back as strangers at the departure gate. Their guns were all
left back in the car, a treasure trove for a would-be thief and impossible to
get through security. Sarah and her father took charge of Krenshaw and headed
off, while Rat, Spots and Ollie split off. As most major airports usually were,
Heathrow was teeming with people. It was a place without circadian rhythms — no
day, no night, always busy. Airports held a lot in common with Casinos in that
respect and they both had the same depressing air of exhaustion and weariness.

Sarah stood beneath the passenger information screens and
scanned for her flight details. Her father nudged her and told her not to
bother. “We three aren’t checking in as civilians. This way.”

Sarah followed after her father, making sure Krenshaw stayed
close by. She was still surprised by the doctor’s compliance and astounded that
he seemed in no way concerned. In fact, he seemed a little excited as they
headed towards a security checkpoint at the far end of the check-in desks.

Her father pulled a small pouch the size of an old VHS tape
and a shiny document from his coat pocket and handed it over to the unsmiling
gate officer. Sarah noticed that the small pouch was stamped with the words:
DIPLOMATIC BAG. The same thing was printed on Krenshaw’s briefcase, she
noticed.

Sarah was impressed when the three of them were ushered
through without so much as a cursory inspection, and even Krenshaw’s briefcase
passed without scrutiny. The only think that got even the slightest look were
the grotesque scars on her face, but that she was used to.

“We’re all travelling under diplomatic papers,” her father
explained a moment later. “Our official business states we are in charge of a
doctor and dangerous samples needed immediately by the World Health
Organisation.”