White Gold by Amphlett, Rachel
Dedication
For the real Harry
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How far would you go to protect a secret?
How far would you go to expose a lie?
Will Fletcher seems to have it all – perfect job, perfect life. Then in one act of extreme violence, his world is turned upside down.
A bungled assassination attempt on a London street uncovers a disturbing conspiracy fuelled by organised crime and political ambition. Now, Will finds himself on the run, pursued by a dangerous enemy who will stop at nothing to protect his employer’s past.
The only way to stop the chain of events is to follow a trail of clues that lead to the heart of British politics.
With the date for the UK General Election only days away and the killers closing in, Will is running out of time to deliver his own version of vigilante justice and expose the corruption. As the web of lies and deceit unravels, Will knows the answer’s out there.
All he has to do is look closer.
Everyone has secrets. Everyone lies.
eBook: 978-0-9922685-5-8
Paperback: 978-0-9922685-4-1
JANUARY 2009
Somewhere in Iraq
Dan Taylor pulled at the padded vest, reached underneath it, and flicked another shirt button open.
Sweat poured down his face as the armoured vehicle bucked and swayed along the pot-holed road towards their target. He turned to the man seated beside him. He had to shout to be heard over the roar of the engine. ‘Who called it in, Terry?’
The other man shrugged. ‘Some woman walked up to one of the patrols – said her boy had seen a couple of blokes running away from the house opposite and it looked like they’d buried something in the road there.’
Dan nodded, lowered his gaze to his feet and sat, trance-like, waiting for the vehicle to arrive at their destination. He shuffled, trying to work the cramp out of his legs in the tight, confined space. The man opposite kicked his foot. Dan looked up and took the proffered chewing gum with a grunt of thanks.
‘Cheers, H.’
Not that a stomach ulcer is a major cause of concern right now, he thought. He pulled at the strap under his chin which held his helmet in place. He felt a headache materialising, the helmet squeezing his skull in the heat.
The armoured vehicle continued to power along the dirt road between dilapidated houses. Most bore battle scars – bullet holes, missing roof tiles. In some places, rubble and twisted metal were the only clues where buildings had once stood.
Dan closed his eyes and let his body move with the twists and turns the vehicle made along the road. The tiredness and exhaustion consumed him. Three months added onto an already extended tour in the desert, the team were struggling to keep their wits about them. Every day, more explosive devices were being detonated by the unit. Just as they safely disposed of one bomb, another two were discovered, lying in wait for them.
Dan opened his eyes and glanced at his watch. They’d been out of the compound for six hours straight, driving from one emergency to another. He tilted his head back, stretching his neck muscles.
A shout from the front seat made him jump. ‘Hang on!’
The vehicle veered around a sharp left-hand bend and the road widened out. Dust whipped across the road as small pebbles spat out from under the wheels of the vehicle. They’d left behind the suburban sprawl of the rocket-shelled town. The houses left standing along the road stood sentinel as the vehicle followed in the day-old tracks of a supply convoy. The main road in and out of the town was a popular target for terrorists. The armoured vehicle accelerated, swinging left and right to dodge the larger craters and pot-holes.
The men sitting on the back panel seats held on to straps hanging from the ceiling of the vehicle and swayed with the motion.
‘Dicko, could your driving possibly get any worse?’ yelled H.
Dan didn’t hear the reply but from the grin across H’s face, he could tell it wasn’t polite. Dicko had once told him he’d been a courier driver in London before signing up – Dan often wondered how temporary that career would have been if Dicko hadn’t suddenly decided on a change of direction. He felt the vehicle slow to a crawl. Dicko spun the wheel and stopped.
A voice called back to them from the passenger seat. ‘Everybody out!’ David Ludlow, a young ambitious captain, shouted over his shoulder. ‘Dan, Mitch – you’re on the robot.’
Dan waited while H leaned over to the back of the wagon and released the door. The team crawled out into the glaring heat. Dust devils whipped up small clouds of dirt and grit. Dan stretched his large frame, and then walked to the passenger door. He leaned against the vehicle while David radioed in their position from the GPS coordinates.
The scenery had all started looking the same after a couple of months into the tour. Dust, sand, dust, and more dust. A burst of static was followed by a faint confirmation from their base.
David replaced the radio and turned to Dan. ‘Let’s do it.’
Dan walked to the back of the vehicle. A breeze off the desert swept the sweat from his face. He held up his hand to shield his deep blue eyes from the sun’s glare and stared down the road ahead of him. A thick haze clung to the afternoon horizon. On the left, further down the road, two burnt-out cars had been pushed out of the way and over to the side, to not to slow yesterday’s supply convoy. Dan blinked and pushed his sunglasses tighter to his face. He turned to help Mitch unload the bomb disposal robot from the wagon.