Read Soft Target (Major Crimes Unit Book 2) Online
Authors: Iain Rob Wright
Soft Target (Major Crimes Unit Book 2)
When a quaint
village in the United Kingdom is stuck by a suicide bomber, the once proud
nation is brought to its knees with grief. Yet that first attack was just the
beginning of something much greater and much worse. Something that nobody
could ever have predicted.
The days that
follow will determine if the UK even has a future left, or if it will be
reduced to anarchy and ashes.
The only person
that stands between the people of the UK and its complete destruction is an
angry, damaged ex-solider named Sarah Stone. Sarah despises her own country
and what it did to her, which is what makes it so hard when she is forced to
save it.
SOFT TARGET is the
first in a series of books featuring acerbic protagonist Sarah Stone. It is a
non-stop action thriller in the same vein as 24.
* * *AN SG THRILLER RELEASE* * *
Part of the SALGAD PUBLISHING GROUP
Redditch
UK, Worcestershire
ISBN-13: 978-150069143
ISBN-10: 1500569143
SOFT TARGET copyright 2014 by Iain
Rob Wright
Cover Art Copyright 2014 Stephen
Bryant
All rights reserved. No part
of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means,
electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any
information storage and retrieval system, without the consent of the publisher,
except where permitted by law.
More Books by Iain Rob Wright
THE FINAL WINTER:
Apocalyptic horror novel where it
never stops snowing and something ancient stalks the earth.
ASBO:
Innocent family man is targeted
by a gang of sadistic youths.
ANIMAL KINGDOM:
Animals turn on mankind and try
to make humanity extinct.
SEA SICK:
A deadly virus is unleashed on
board a luxury cruise liner.
SAM:
A young boy seems to be
possessed. But is he?
RAVAGE
:
Apocalyptic horror that
culminates in a fight for survival at a hilltop amusement park. Say
goodbye to the world.
SAVAGE:
Apocalyptic sequel to Ravage
where the stakes are even higher at an abandoned pier. Sometimes being alone
is better.
THE HOUSEMATES:
Reality TV turns deadly. 12 competitors
but only 1 winner.
Dedicated to
those with scars of any kind…
With special
thanks to:
Sean Ellis
&
Chris Kirk
Everything I got
right, I got right because of them.
“
Great Britain has lost
an empire and has not yet found a role.
”
–
Dean Acheson
“Terrorism has
no nationality or religion.”
–
Vladamir Putin
“Damn it!”
–
Jack Bauer,
24, Fox Network Television
B
irds flocked around the
village square as young and old alike scoffed popcorn and candyfloss.
Shuffling bottoms filled every bench while an exuberant rock band filled the
air with tunes from
The Beatles.
Those who couldn
’
t find seats stood and revelled, raising
their plastic cups to the music and whistling and hooting like maniacs.
Stretched between a pair of
gnarled oak trees, a gaudily painted banner with bright red letters declared:
‘
MAY 25th SPRING FETE.
’
Carnival games and
food stalls had sprung up all over.
Jeffrey Blanchfield stood
beneath sagging red-blue-and-white bunting and gazed up at the clear blue sky.
The day was crisp, clear, and almost pure. The wafting scent of freshly cut
grass and the cooing of hungry pigeons signalled the beginning of a lovely
afternoon. The sun was high in the sky and blazing.
Standing in the fresh air was
something Jeffrey always enjoyed, ever since childhood on his granddaddy
’
s farm. He
’
d tried to take Margaret to see it once, on their fourth
anniversary, but the rural area where it had once stood had been paved to make
way for a trading estate. He hadn
’
t realised it at the
time, but a little part of him had died that day.
As a boy he
’
d often stood amongst the cows, breathing in the heady aromas of
country air and fresh dung. Nowadays, thirty-five million cars had fouled the
country air and the cow dung had been replaced by paved minefields of dog
shit.
Jeffrey
’
s worn kneecaps clicked and yelled at him, and he let out a shiver.
Even today, in the bright sunshine, he was draped beneath his long grey anorak,
trying to stay warm.
When had he gotten so old?
Ahead, a young girl, with
sapphire ribbons tied in her pigtails and a stuffed bear tucked under one arm,
held a mongrel by a lead. She was alone, and watching the fete with curious interest
as her scruffy pet cocked its leg over flowerbeds. Jeffrey knew it was wrong
to approach the girl, especially in this day and age, but he always found
children to be so insightful. Their opinions were so often indicative of the
current state of society, and Jeffrey wanted to know where things currently
stood.
It was a regret that he and Margaret
had never managed children of their own
–
his fault, thanks to a low sperm count. Perhaps if they
’
d been able to make a family, things would have turned out
differently. Jeffrey would have made a great father.
He approached the young girl,
moving close enough to pick up her scent. His hairy nostrils detected mummy
’
s perfume mixed with sugary sweets: the smell of childhood mixed
with an impatience to grow up. Jeffrey wondered if he
’
d
ever tried to wear his father
’
s aftershave as a child, but couldn
’
t
remember. It was so hard to remember anything these days.
The little girl turned and
noticed Jeffrey standing beside her.
“
Hello,
”
she said, slightly wary.
“
Hello, there,
”
Jeffrey said.
“
How are you doing today, young lady? Enjoying the fete?
”
The girl nodded and grinned.
Two of her front teeth had fallen out, revealing the buds of permanent ones
underneath.
“
I won a teddy bear,
”
she gushed, pointing to a wonkily-stitched gypsy prize tucked
beneath her arm,
“
on the darts game over by the duck pond.
”
“
How
splendid,
”
Jeffrey said, then knelt down to pat the girl
’
s mongrel on the head. It was some kind of diluted beagle; a
half-breed, like most of the world nowadays.
“
And
what is this little fella
’
s name?
”
“
Ruby. She
’
s a girl.
”
“
Ruby? What a pretty name.
”
“
I called her it cus it
’
s my favourite
stone. When I gets married, I
’
m gunna have a big ruby on my weddin
’
finger.
”
She raised her hand and wiggled her ring finger at Jeffrey.
Jeffrey sighed.
“
Don
’
t you dream of doing something other than getting married and having
an expensive ring? Don
’
t you want to do anything special?
”
Jeffrey
’
s voice had unwittingly taken on a disapproving
tone which upset the girl.
“
I
…
I
’
d like to be a vet and help animals,
” she
said. “I like animals.”
Jeffrey nodded. He reached
down and patted the young girl
’
s
head.
“
Now, that
’
s a good profession, young lady. Your
mummy and daddy will be very proud.
”
“
I don
’
t have a daddy,
”
the little girl said.
Jeffrey shook his head and
sighed.
“
Another careless
pregnancy, no doubt; so many of them nowadays. Women today have such little
self-respect
—
and men no
better; work-shy hoodlums and ignorant bastards, the lot of them.
” Jeffrey realized his lack of manners and covered his mouth with a
withered old hand. “Forgive my language, young lady. The internal filters
start to go at my age.”
The little girl backed away
with her dog.
“
You said a bad
word. Mummy!
”
The little girl
scanned the crowd, yanking at the poor mongrel
’
s neck, until a heavyset woman emerged from the crowd, grasping a
beaker full of cider in one hand and a grease-dripping burger in the other.
Her flabby breasts spilled from an undersized halter-top and she sported a
ghastly tattoo of a flower on her flabby right foot.
“
W
a
s up, bab?
”
the woman asked in a thick
‘
brummie
’
accent.
“
Was wrung?
”
Ugly way of talking,
Jeffrey thought to himself.
If ever there was a region so proud
of sounding stupid, it
’
s
Birmingham.
Jeffrey had visited Smethwick once for
a football match that a work colleague invited him to. Never again. It had
been a dirty, grimy, uncivilised place, full of people spitting and snarling.
There had been a pub near the stadium with boarded-up windows and peeling blue
paint. The North was a much nicer area of the country, but even that was going
downhill fast.
The little girl pointed an
accusing finger at Jeffrey.
“
The
man said a bad word.
”
The fat mother glared at
Jeffrey suspiciously, narrowing her heavily made-up eyes. Jeffrey hid his
disdain of the woman behind a polite smile.
“
Completely by mistake, Ma
’
am, I promise you.
Your sweet daughter has already had an apology from me. Forgot my manners.
Mind starts to go at my age, I
’
m
afraid.
”
The woman wrapped a chubby arm
around her daughter.
“
Nay
problem,
”
she said, but as she
moved away she muttered,
“
dirty
old perv.
”
Jeffrey shook his head and rolled
his eyes. You couldn
’
t have a
conversation these days without somebody accusing you of something
.
Probably
because most people these days were indeed up to something.
Jeffrey was
usually the exception, but today even he had sins to commit
Nearby, a teenage girl writhed
inappropriately up against an older boy. A group of lads leered at the thong
peeking out the back of her jeans. Nobody took exception to the lewd display.
The sight of flesh-on-flesh and tongue-in-mouth was something the younger generations
took no offence to. Things that had once been private and intimate, were now
frivolous and undervalued. Jeffrey sighed and wondered where it would end. Would
people rut in the street fifty years from now?
Jeffrey remembered the green
and pleasant land of his childhood and missed it dearly. He remembered when a
foreigner was a novelty, instead of a sucking parasite or a potential
criminal. He remembered when women, like his beloved Margaret, had
self-respect and men knew what hard work was. He remembered when children were
seen and not heard.
It had all turned to shit. Jeffrey
had seen more of this life than he ever intended to, and it was making him sick.
He pushed his way through the crowd, receiving a drenched elbow from a
carelessly held cup of cider. He winced and frowned as cuss words flew over
his head like fluttering sparrows. Exposed cleavages sullied the scenery along
with great puddles of alcohol and half-eaten food. All around, people danced
in their own tawdry filth.
Jeffrey made his way to the
bandstand, suffering the glancing blows, drunken shoves, and reckless swearing
with gritted teeth. He felt like Jesus walking the
Via Dolorosa,
disregarded
and misunderstood, but history would show that he was the righteous one in the
end, and that it was everybody else who was damned. Jeffrey
’
s sacrifice would be remembered. What he
did today would help future generations by making them see what was truly
important.
By the time Jeffrey reached
the bandstand, his arthritic knees felt like hot coals, and his ribs stung from
a dozen elbow-points. The tribute band had just finished their latest number
and were interacting with the crowd.
“
Who
’
s enjoying
themselves?
”
the lead singer
crowed.
The audience sang and cheered.
Beer and cider flew from their cups and spattered the ground and each other, a
dirty baptism of cigarette ash and alcohol.
“
Is
everybody ready for a rocking summer?
” asked the lead
singer of the band.
There were more cheers.
“
Now,
before we play our next number, me and the band would just like to thank you
for being such a wicked audience.
”
‘
Wicked
’
is the correct word
, thought Jeffrey.
“
You
people really know how to have a good time.
”
In case Jeffrey had any doubt
about what he was going to do, he studied the crowd one last time and reminded
himself of the reasons he was there. To his horror, he spotted a group of
people his own age gyrating and snogging like teenaged lovers. It was
sickening.
Jeffrey
’
s mission had begun the moment his beloved Margaret had died at his
feet, clutching her chest and pleading for life not to leave her. But it had
left her. There had been nothing he could do for her but watch her die on the
worn carpet of their living room.
The heart attack had been
inevitable as soon as the government started housing benefit seekers and
minorities in their once idyllic neighbourhood. He and Margaret had broken
their backs working to pay-off their cosy, three-bed semi; worked their whole
lives so that they could enjoy a retirement together. But when their twilight
years finally arrived, they were full of stress and aggravation, not peace and
tranquillity. Petty crime had taken over the area, theft and vandalism on
every corner. Pretty soon, Margaret had become afraid to leave the house, unwilling
to risk the haranguing of the local youths congregating in every underpass.
The constant fear and worrying had eventually taken Margaret from Jeffrey. She
’
d been too gentle to cope like he had. That was why she had gone on
to a better place, while he was stuck in the cesspit that had become the UK.
When someone had given him a
chance to change things, he hadn
’
t needed to think
twice about it. He
’
d accepted his mission willingly, eagerly, and was now finally ready
to follow through with it. His action would set something magnificent in
motion. His would be the opening act of a grand scheme designed to make the
world take a long look at itself. Only then would people change. Only then
would kind souls like his Margaret no longer be preyed upon.