Fortress

46

‘Hey, partner.’ Kyle Pope eased himself away from the pillar and stepped forward. ‘Of all the gin joints in all the towns…’

‘Who does that make me, Ingrid Bergman? And, by the way, you’re no Bogart.’

‘Didn’t think you’d recognize me.’

Tom punched his shoulder and was enveloped in a big man-hug. ‘I’d smell you a mile off.’

Even with the mirror Aviators and the chin-muffler beard, there was no disguising Kyle Pope. Six feet four in his bare feet, he had towered over his adversaries in Iraq. Yet his black eyes and olive complexion, from Tartar stock somewhere on his mother’s side, gave him a look of the universal citizen, and an almost legendary capacity to blend in. When you were in a minivan stuck in the middle of a traffic jam in Baghdad, he was the one you wanted to keep close to. The man led a charmed life, a major reason Tom was still alive.

‘Nine years — Jeez, where did they go?’

The joint SAS-Delta Force assault had been on a compound in Ramadi, about a hundred klicks west of Baghdad. Local resistance was anticipated, so Delta operators in tracked and turreted Bradleys had mounted over-watch. The intelligence had told them the house was occupied by a large extended family so casualties had to be minimized. House clearing was second nature in the Regiment. Tom had practised this sort of drill ad nauseam with live-fire exercises in the Killing House back at Stirling Lines. The trick was to be confident enough to fire without hesitation, yet spare the innocent. Flimsy, rusted metal gates protected the entrance. But before they were through they were met with a hail of fire from the upstairs windows and he was hit in the thigh.

The wound itself wasn’t life-threatening, but he was pinned under one of the gates and part of the wall that had exploded with an RPG fired from the house. Trapped, without help, he could have bled out. They couldn’t call in the Bradleys as he knew that others firing from neighbouring buildings couldn’t see him. In a brief lull, Kyle had run forward, but as he bore down on Tom another volley of AK opened up. Kyle wheeled round and sprayed the windows, while hauling Tom out of their arcs to safety. It had been the first day of the rest of his life.

‘Good to see a friendly face out there tonight.’

They moved a couple of steps away from the crowd.

‘Yeah, these dudes ain’t exactly top of my list of drinking buddies. They lapped up your spiel, though. You sure hit the high notes.’

A couple of well-wishers headed towards Tom but backed off when they saw Kyle.

Tom noted the Glock holstered on his friend’s hip. ‘Who are you expecting?’

‘Comes with the territory. I help Mr Stutz with his security.’

‘That a full-time job?’

‘Twenty-four seven.’ Kyle nodded at the men in black, chests straining at their suit jackets. ‘Yep, that’s my team.’

‘How’re the kids?’

Tom remembered he had twin boys and a baby girl.

‘Good, I guess.’ Something in his tone indicated that that was as far as he wanted to go on that subject.

‘How about we get some beers? Take a break from all this flag-waving.’

Tom looked round and saw Stutz deep in conversation, Skip fiddling with his phone and Beth smiling relentlessly. Maybe he should have been working the crowd, flying the flag for Invicta, but getting an inside track on Stutz’s operation from an old buddy was too good an opportunity to pass up. Kyle gripped his arm.

‘C’mon. Those guys seem to have it covered.’

Tom saw him catch Stutz’s eye. Stutz looked up from the group he was talking to and nodded. Tom grinned. ‘Okay, partner, let’s ride!’