Deception Read Online Free Page A
door. No answer. The floorboards squeaked as his balance shifted, but there was no answering shift from inside. He knocked again, waited, then slid a card underneath the door and walked back downstairs, trying not to breath in the sour atmosphere of damp walls, ancient carpets and stale cigarette smoke. He was deliberately making enough noise for Pike to hear him, and the card said heâd be waiting outside and why. He was hoping the soldier was going to come down without any drama.
If he didnât, he and the MPs â military police â would have to go in and get him.
Fifteen minutes passed, during which a cat wandered across the unkempt rear garden, jumped over a rusting metal wheelbarrow and disappeared through a ground floor window propped open with a saucepan. Traffic noises sounded out in the street, kids laughing, the distant rattle of road mending machinery. A womanâs head popped up from behind a fence two gardens down and stared hard at him before disappearing again. Life was going on as normal.
Then Pike appeared.
He had a holdall in one hand and was wearing a denim jacket and jeans, with a baseball cap mashed down over his eyes. He was tall and lean, sporting the remains of a tan from his last tour in Helmand, or maybe his stay in Thailand. But underneath it he looked soft and pasty, and wobbly on his feet. Too long spent indoors behind curtains, waiting for the sound of footsteps. Instead of looking for Harryâs offer of a chat, though, he came out of the back door and down the garden path as if the place was on fire.
Harry let him come. He guessed he was heading for a green left-hand drive BMW 5 Series in the service alley at the rear. Four years old, good condition and a bit flash, the left-hander had been a sure giveaway, a cheap pick from the vast backstreet car market of south London.
Something silver glinted in Pikeâs free hand.
When Harry stepped out from behind the garden wall, Pike looked shocked and skidded to a halt. Up close, his eyes held an unreal light which might have been from too little sleep, too much alcohol or too many pills. Drugs were the most likely, drugs to keep him awake, alert and ready to go, as available among active service units as they were on the streets. But there was something else in there, too: the look of a man who had travelled beyond reason and couldnât stop.
He gave a small, high-pitched moan, more child than man, and dropped the holdall. It landed with a soft thump. Spare clothes, whatever he could carry that wouldnât slow him down. Going AWOL means travelling light.
âDonât,â Pike muttered, and motioned for Harry to get out of his way.
He had a compelling argument; he was holding an SA80 British army bayonet in his hand, blade up, the light glinting off the clean metal. The edge looked razor-keen, which went a long way to explaining what Pike had been doing to pass the time in his bolthole. There was no point wondering if he knew how to use the weapon.
He would know.
Harry waited for him to make a move. There were two options for dealing with Pike: one was under Harryâs jacket on his right hip. He could simply pull out the 9mm Steyr semi-automatic and shoot him â especially now heâd seen the bayonet. Under the rules of engagement, such as they were, armed defence was permitted. But he didnât want to do that.
He waited instead while the seconds ticked by.
Pike launched himself on six.
The second option was less fatal, but risky if it didnât work. Since he really didnât want to shoot a man for being desperate and traumatized, he took out the Taser and pulled the trigger.
He had forgotten to issue the required warning, but that was just a technicality.
The twin probes hit Pike in the chest, the charge of electricity to his nervous system taking his legs out from under him and dropping him like a sack of cement. He lay trembling on the path, one foot kicking uncontrollably, the
If he didnât, he and the MPs â military police â would have to go in and get him.
Fifteen minutes passed, during which a cat wandered across the unkempt rear garden, jumped over a rusting metal wheelbarrow and disappeared through a ground floor window propped open with a saucepan. Traffic noises sounded out in the street, kids laughing, the distant rattle of road mending machinery. A womanâs head popped up from behind a fence two gardens down and stared hard at him before disappearing again. Life was going on as normal.
Then Pike appeared.
He had a holdall in one hand and was wearing a denim jacket and jeans, with a baseball cap mashed down over his eyes. He was tall and lean, sporting the remains of a tan from his last tour in Helmand, or maybe his stay in Thailand. But underneath it he looked soft and pasty, and wobbly on his feet. Too long spent indoors behind curtains, waiting for the sound of footsteps. Instead of looking for Harryâs offer of a chat, though, he came out of the back door and down the garden path as if the place was on fire.
Harry let him come. He guessed he was heading for a green left-hand drive BMW 5 Series in the service alley at the rear. Four years old, good condition and a bit flash, the left-hander had been a sure giveaway, a cheap pick from the vast backstreet car market of south London.
Something silver glinted in Pikeâs free hand.
When Harry stepped out from behind the garden wall, Pike looked shocked and skidded to a halt. Up close, his eyes held an unreal light which might have been from too little sleep, too much alcohol or too many pills. Drugs were the most likely, drugs to keep him awake, alert and ready to go, as available among active service units as they were on the streets. But there was something else in there, too: the look of a man who had travelled beyond reason and couldnât stop.
He gave a small, high-pitched moan, more child than man, and dropped the holdall. It landed with a soft thump. Spare clothes, whatever he could carry that wouldnât slow him down. Going AWOL means travelling light.
âDonât,â Pike muttered, and motioned for Harry to get out of his way.
He had a compelling argument; he was holding an SA80 British army bayonet in his hand, blade up, the light glinting off the clean metal. The edge looked razor-keen, which went a long way to explaining what Pike had been doing to pass the time in his bolthole. There was no point wondering if he knew how to use the weapon.
He would know.
Harry waited for him to make a move. There were two options for dealing with Pike: one was under Harryâs jacket on his right hip. He could simply pull out the 9mm Steyr semi-automatic and shoot him â especially now heâd seen the bayonet. Under the rules of engagement, such as they were, armed defence was permitted. But he didnât want to do that.
He waited instead while the seconds ticked by.
Pike launched himself on six.
The second option was less fatal, but risky if it didnât work. Since he really didnât want to shoot a man for being desperate and traumatized, he took out the Taser and pulled the trigger.
He had forgotten to issue the required warning, but that was just a technicality.
The twin probes hit Pike in the chest, the charge of electricity to his nervous system taking his legs out from under him and dropping him like a sack of cement. He lay trembling on the path, one foot kicking uncontrollably, the
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