He rubbed his hand across his face, remembering too well what happened next. ‘Mitch saw something – a movement, I don’t know, something made him look up to where Dicko and H were walking and then over to the house. Then he turned to me and Christ, his face was so pale. He said “this isn’t the one” and then it all turned to shit.’
Dan carefully put down the photograph. He remembered the noise, the screams; Dicko – where was he? H lying there in pieces crying for help, knowing he was dying; shouts in a foreign language; and then, darkness. He looked up at David.
‘I don’t remember anything else.’
David nodded. ‘You were out of it for a couple of days straight. I think they thought it’d help with the trauma more than any injuries.’
Dan snorted. ‘Yeah, well it didn’t. I’d trade anything to lose the nightmares.’
David leaned over and picked up the photograph. He glanced down at it, and then looked up at Dan.
‘What if I told you Terry didn’t die?’
Chapter 38
Dan felt his jaw drop open.
‘What?’
David said nothing and watched Dan as his brain processed the information.
‘T-that means – fuck – we left him there?’
David nodded slowly. ‘After we got you and Mitch onto the helicopter, we searched the area. There was a lot of mess, obviously, and it was too hard to make out if any of the clothing was ours. That blast knocked in one wall of the building opposite, the far end of our patrol line.’
‘Where Terry was,’ added Dan.
‘Yes. Well, we searched that area too – all we could see was rubble, bricks, dust, blood and some scorched clothing. No sign of Terry. We had to assume he’d come out of the building and been in the way of the blast when it went off.’
David stood up and, picking up a remote control from his desk, wandered over to a small television in the corner. He turned to Dan. ‘Come here and watch this.’
Dan wandered over to join him, standing in front of two armchairs. ‘What is it?’
‘A few weeks ago, I started wondering whether we were missing a link in this whole mess. How on earth did someone like Delaney get involved in bomb-making? We know he’s a megalomaniac and obsessed with protecting his assets but who else is involved? Someone’s got to be helping him finance it – all that research and development would be too easy to track if it was just being operated out of his companies. But who’s building the bomb for him? It’s almost as if he’s got outside help – which doesn’t make sense because Delaney doesn’t trust anyone.’
‘So you reckon someone’s got a grudge against the UK government and Delaney’s taking advantage of that?’
David nodded. ‘What if Delaney found someone who had his own agenda and turned it to his advantage?’
‘What are you saying?’ asked Dan, frowning.
David smiled. ‘Watch.’ He hit the ‘play’ button on the remote and the television began to run a news item. ‘This is from three years ago,’ he explained, pointing to the screen. He turned up the sound, the male reporter’s sombre voice cutting in.
‘… bomb disposal squad turned up at the location and began to defuse the device using a robot. Unknown to them, the bomb they were defusing was a decoy…’
The camera panned out. Behind the reporter, dust and smoke churned the air from the explosion, a ruined house teetered to the left of the screen while people milled about behind the reporter, shouting and crying as they stepped over the rubble searching for family and friends. The reporter ignored them and continued filing his report.
‘… A second bomb exploded while the soldiers were working, killing at least five civilians and two army personnel. Two soldiers remain in a critical condition at a hospital at an undisclosed location …’
‘Jesus,’ said Dan, sitting down heavily in one of the armchairs. It was the first time he’d seen any news footage of the aftermath of the explosion. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up on end as he watched the scene.
The camera panned round to the left, taking in the sheer devastation of the blast, while the reporter continued. ‘…the UK government has pledged it will keep on reducing troop numbers here, despite the ongoing problems, saying that this was an isolated case and attacks on troops are decreasing. The local populace is asking who is going to protect them from internal threats once the Western coalition forces have gone…’
David stopped the tape. ‘Did you see it?’
Dan looked up at him. ‘What?’
David smiled and hit the rewind button. He stopped the recording when it reached the part where the camera began to pan away from the reporter’s face and over the scene of the blast. Then he hit the play button again, the reporter’s voice continuing over the scene.
‘…reducing troop numbers here, despite the ongoing…’
David hit the pause button. ‘There.’
He pointed at the screen and went through each frame of the film, one at a time.
Dan got up and walked closer to the screen. From behind the ruins of the house, a figure appeared. Dan squinted. ‘It’s too hard to make out.’
‘Keep watching.’
Tall, ragged, silhouetted in the weak sun filtering through the dust-laden breeze, the figure seemed to waver, before turning and disappearing back behind the building.
Dan stood up and looked at David. ‘No way.’
David held his gaze. ‘How close were we to the border?’
Dan wracked his brains. ‘About fifteen miles. He’d never make it, not after surviving that.’
David walked back to his desk. ‘You’re assuming he was injured in the blast.’
Dan nodded, following him. ‘He must’ve been. All of us were, one way or another. I remember him being next to that building before Mitch yelled.’
‘Yes, but did he stop when Mitch yelled, or did he expect the worst and run for cover?’ David mused.
Dan shrugged. ‘I suppose it’s possible. But, to me, it doesn’t give him a big enough motive.’
David reached down to a file on his desk and flipped it open. He sifted through the papers on the top and lifted out a two-page document, then slid it across the desk to Dan, who turned it around and began reading.