Wrecking Crew

NINE

Stone and Carter stood side-by-side staring in disbelief at the contents of the Mercedes trunk space. A young woman lay curled up on a tartan blanket. She was a petite red head, wearing a ridiculously tight white party dress, platform shoes and, quite obviously, very little else. There was a black gag tightly knotted across her mouth, and her hands and feet were secured together with cable ties that were almost obscured by red ribbon gift-wrapping bows. She was panting hard and staring at the two men with wide terrified eyes.

“Christ on a bicycle!” Stone hissed.

He reached forward but stopped instantly as the girl flinched and tried to shuffle backwards into the furthest reaches of the trunk. Carter put a hand on Stone’s arm to still any further advances.

“I’ve got this,” he said firmly, as his police training kicked in. He leaned forward and spoke softly to the girl.

“You have nothing to fear from us. Those men cannot hurt you anymore. Do you understand… do you speak English?”

The girl stared at him without moving as she considered the situation. Then she gave a short cautious nod. Carter squatted slightly to bring his eyes closer to her level. He smiled warmly and continued in a gentle voice.

“We’re here to rescue you — you’re safe now. I’m going to reach over and remove that gag. It’s very important for your safety that you do not scream or make a lot of noise. Do you understand?”

The girl relaxed a little before giving another nod. Carter slowly reached forward and with a little difficulty, he untied the gag.

“There, that’s a little better. What’s your name?”

“Jenny,” she croaked in a voice as dry as dust.

“Hello, Jenny.” Carter gave her a gentle smile, and then he turned towards Stone. “Get her some water, please. I saw a bottle in the car.”

When Stone returned he handed the bottle to Carter and respectfully stood back. Carter showed the bottle to Jenny and then carefully held it to her lips. The girl gulped the water greedily, coughing and spluttering. After she had sated her thirst, she whispered a quiet ‘Thank you’.

“I’m going to untie you now Jenny, but I need to use my switchblade, to cut through these plastic cuffs. You have no need to feel afraid; I’m not going to harm you. Can I untie you now? Is that ok?” Carter asked gently.

Jenny nodded and shuffled forward to give Carter better access to her bindings. To ensure that she remained calm, he kept up a running commentary throughout the process, explaining what he was doing and even showing the girl the knife before cutting the cuffs. Stone knew that Carter had worked vice for many of his years in the police force. He realized that he was watching a man experienced in rescuing the kidnapped and abused. Soon Jenny was free, and after she had rubbed some life back into her limbs, Carter carefully helped her to climb out of the trunk. As she tottered uncertainly on her ridiculously impractical high-heeled shoes, Carter kept a guiding hand on her arm until she regained her balance.

Considering the likely trauma of her recent ordeal, Stone thought that Jenny was showing remarkable resilience. She looked around for a moment, assessing the surroundings and her two rescuers. Jenny gave Stone an uncertain smile before turning her attention back towards Carter.

“What’s you’s names?” she asked in a thick Scottish accent.

“It’s probably best that you don’t know,” Carter said factually.

“That Stephens and Markov?” she asked, pointing at the two bodies.

“Yes,” Stone answered, speaking directly to the young girl for the first time.

“They dead?” she asked Stone.

“Yes,” he replied.

“Good!” she said firmly. “Sick fuckers!”

“You’re welcome,” Stone said with a slight smile.

“So what happens to me now?”

“Now, you go home,” Carter replied simply. “But first, could you tell me how you ended up gift wrapped and lying in the trunk of this car?”

She nodded and sighed.

“I lives in Glasgow. Last week I cum down to London fer a modeling job. I seen a commercial on the internet. I spoke with Stephens on the phone. He seemed nice, you know, polite — it sounded like he was ok. I sent him some pictures like he asked. He promised to pay for my rail fare, and hotel, and stuff. Me mam wasn’t happy; she wanted me to stay in college. We had a big row and I walked out. Then I phones Stephens and told him I was coming, and he said he would meet me at the station.”

Her eyes were filling with tears of embarrassment, but she bravely continued with her story.

“Everything seemed alright for a bit, until he says there was no modeling job, and I would get killed if I didn’t do what he said. I thought I was gonna get raped, but instead he brought me to some house and gave me to Markov so I wouldn’t run away. Markov wasn’t happy ‘cos he weren’t allowed to touch me. He said I was getting sold — he called it ‘married’ — to some Russian guy.”

She pointed at her clothes.

“Today they made me undress while they watched. Then they made me put on this ‘outfit’ and then I got tied up and put in the trunk.”

“Did they…?” Stone asked uncomfortably.

“Na!” she shook her head, “Markov said the guy they sold me to paid extra for someone pure.”

“So now what?” Stone asked Carter.

“I think I have an idea that could work,” Carter replied with a smile. He turned back to the girl. “Jenny? Can you drive?”

“You bet. I passed my test first time,” she said proudly.

Carter smiled and pointed at the picnic benches.

“Good girl. Please go and sit by the water for a while — ok?”

She nodded and tottered across the gravel towards the water’s edge. Carter shook his head sadly.

“Lucky girl. I shudder to think about the life that we’ve just saved her from. In my experience she would probably have been whisked out of the Country in some private jet, used and abused for five years and then sold on to the next highest bidder.” He pointed towards Stephens and Markov. “Are you feeling better about these two now?”

“Definitely! Right now I feel pretty good!”

“Give me a hand to put the bodies into the trunk, and then I’ll explain what happens next.”

Five minutes later, they stood next to Jenny at the water’s edge. Carter handed her the car keys and the shopping bag. Inside were the watches and jewelry, and half the money. The remainder of the cash would go to Megan, along with the cell phones and billfolds for her to inspect later. Carter spoke slowly but gravely, to ensure that the young girl took what he was about to say seriously.

“Jenny, you’re a very lucky girl. My friend and I have just saved your life. Now you’re going to go home, and forget that you ever met us.” He looked directly into her eyes. “For us all to be safe, you must promise to do exactly what I say. Is that clear?”

“Yes,” she nodded, “I promise.”

“Good girl. Now listen very carefully. I want you to take the car and drive north. I’ve already set the GPS to take you to the service area at Ferrybridge; it’s near Pontefract on the A1. All you have to do is follow the directions. Can you do that?”

She nodded silently.

“You’ve got almost a full tank of fuel, so drive directly there. Make sure you drive carefully and stay within the speed limits. When you reach the service area, look for a quiet spot where you can park. Pick somewhere well away from all of the other cars. Before you leave the car, make sure that you carefully wipe any surface where you may have left any fingerprints. After you’ve done that, you can leave the keys in the ignition, and walk away. With any luck, a car this nice will be stolen before the day is out. The GPS would help the police to trace where the car has been, so be sure to remove it, it just unclips. You can throw it away when you get home.”

He gave a smile and pointed to the bag she was holding.

“In that bag there’s about £20,000 in cash — it’s all yours now.”

Jenny gave a gasp of shock and delight, Carter lifted a hand to signal that she needed to continue paying attention.

“There are some stores at the service area. Buy some respectable clothes. Get jeans, a sweater, and a coat. Then dump that dress and get something to eat. I want you to look out for a coach party. There will be plenty about — it’s a regular stop. Find one that’s heading north and buy a ticket from the driver, or just give him some money. Either way, get on a coach, and stay on until Leeds. From there you can get a train home. Do you understand?”

“Yeah, just like hitchhiking,” she nodded, “but what happens if I get stopped by the police?”

“If that happens, you would have nothing to worry about. You’re the victim here. Just tell them the truth. Tell them that you were abducted to be sold as a sex slave. Then two men you don’t know saved you and sent you on your way.”

He patted her lightly on the shoulder.

“Of course the police will probably take away your money,” he said pointedly, allowing a moment’s silence for the message to sink in.

“Don’t worry, Jenny. Everything will be alright — just do exactly as I’ve asked. Tomorrow you’ll be at home watching television, and next week you can go back to college and complete your education.”

Jenny thanked both men and gave them a shy hug. After a few false starts she figured out the controls of the car, made an untidy three-point turn and set off for home. As they watched the Mercedes pull out of the parking lot, Carter spoke cautiously.

“Do you think my plan will work?”

“Not a hope in hell,” Stone replied seriously, “she’s never going back to college.”

Carter laughed aloud and patted Stone on the shoulder.

“Go collect the weapons, I’ll get the car.”

Carter drove them back to the service area to collect Stone’s car. For the time being, they decided to leave all of the weapons safely locked in the trunk of Ed’s car. Before setting off for their respective homes, they arranged to meet at Megan’s office in two days.

“That should give Megan enough time to check the guns, cell phones and credit cards to see if there are any leads we can follow,” Carter said. He put a comforting hand on Stone’s shoulder. “Why don’t you see if your girlfriend wants to come? I would like to meet her.”

“Already?” Stone asked in surprise.

“It’ll be fine, Eric. Megan’s pretty quick. If she’d found anything untoward about Linda, I would have had a call by now.”

“Ok, I’ll see you… ” Stone looked at his watch and grimaced, it was well after midnight, “I’ll see you at Megan’s tomorrow.”

After Carter had left, Stone sat in the quiet stillness of his car for a few moments, trying to gather his thoughts. Although he had just taken two lives, he felt strangely calm. His martial arts background was one of peace and harmony. Once he had believed that every life was precious, but previous experience had shown him that there were exceptions.

Finding young Jenny in the trunk of the Mercedes had proven that Stephens and Markov had been righteous kills. He was also confident with Carter’s assertion that there was little chance of a rigorous police investigation, and even less chance of it leading directly back to Stone. With that thought, he decided to file the memory of that night along with his recollections of stubbed toes and vacation food poisoning. In short, it would be something that he would never think of again.

Although it was late, he decided to risk sending Linda a text message.

“Loooong day! Just heading home. Would you like to meet tomorrow? I could come to you. Eric.”

To his surprise and delight, she answered almost immediately.

“Hi, you. I’m still up, couldn’t sleep. Could be at your house in an hour. Can I come over now? Linda x x.”

Stone smiled at the prospect and responded enthusiastically.

“Yes, please. Can’t think of anything better right now!”

She answered straightaway.

“On my way X X X.”

Stone replied that he couldn’t wait to see her and added some kisses of his own. He set off for home with a huge goofy smile plastered across his face.

The team were waiting for their target. They had been in position for a little over three hours. For this assignment, there was a team of just three people. There were two spotters, and one shooter. For the time being, three people would be sufficient. If the assignment dragged on for more than another day, then perhaps the numbers would have to increase; but for now, three would do.

The target lived in a middle house of a row of Victorian houses. It was one of eighty almost identical houses, on a one-way street with just one entrance and exit. The target’s street formed an upside down ‘U’ on the north side of a busy road, lined with mostly commercial buildings. The target’s house was easy to spot. It had a newly painted blue front door, and was almost dead center in a row of houses at the top of the ‘U’, facing north.

The two spotters were sitting in separate cars near each end of the road. They had their cell phones ready to warn the shooter of the target’s approach.

At one time in England, mortgages were so plentiful and easy to access, that many people seemed to move house as frequently as they changed their cars. Since the banking crisis, the tendency has been for houses to be extended and renovated, adding space, and value. The property directly opposite the target’s house had been extended recently, with the addition of a large room to the west side of the building. The extension was probably used as a sitting room, but if it wasn’t for the large front window, it could easily have been mistaken for a garage. Irrespective of what it was originally designed for, today it made a perfect snipers nest.

An hour previously, the shooter had crept across the back yard, carefully stepping around several toys and discarded bicycles. As planned, he had hidden in the bushes until one of the spotters knocked at the door and engaged the owner in a conversation about a lost cat. As soon as the shooter heard their voices, he silently shinned up the drainpipe, and slid onto the extension’s flat roof. Now the shooter was wrapped in a waterproof sleeping bag for warmth, and covered in a black waterproof shroud, making his profile almost invisible to even the most searching eyes.

From his prone position on the flat roof, the shooter was less than fifty yards from the target’s blue front door. Although the shooter was hidden in complete shadow, the street and front door of the target’s house were brightly illuminated by streetlights. From his prone position, with a downwards angle of about thirty degrees, the shooter had an unobstructed view.

He closed his left eye and looked through the viewfinder, centering the crosshairs on the doorbell while he adjusted the focus until the image was sharp and clear. The readout from the built-in laser rangefinder told him that the distance to the door was fifty-two yards. A second number reported that the temperature was a steady six degrees centigrade. These were perfect shooting conditions. Still air and good lighting — an easy shot, he couldn’t miss.

Ten minutes later a red sports car drove slowly past the target’s house, parking in a vacant space two houses down. The shooter swiveled his sights to focus on the occupant. It was a young and very attractive blonde woman. He watched her with mild sexual interest for a moment, but soon switched his attention back to the target house. He waited patiently.

He was good at waiting. Ten years as an Army sniper had taught him how to wait — quiet and still. Perhaps six hundred times he had waited like this; lying still for hours, or even for days. Sometimes he had waited in the pouring rain. He hated the rain. Regardless of what you were wearing, eventually it got through. Then the water would suck away your body heat, chilling the muscles until you began to shiver uncontrollably. Sometimes he had waited in the snow. He didn’t mind the snow. With decent clothing, you can stay hidden and warm in the snow for hours. A good snow hole, lined with dead leaves and straw, will retain heat like a sleeping bag and provide excellent cover. For most of his career, he had waited in the unrelenting heat of the desert. He liked the desert. As long as you stayed hydrated, avoided sunstroke, and ignored the flies, waiting in the desert was ok.

Being a sniper was sometimes like going fishing. You could spend hours sitting by the riverbank without ever getting a bite. Although he had waited like this on hundreds of occasions, and fired over a quarter of a million practice rounds, he had fired his weapon at a person just seventeen times.

Seventeen times, he had correctly calculated the distance to the target, allowing for bullet drop, and the effect of wind and humidity. Once the distance was as little as two-hundred yards, usually it was over a thousand. Seventeen times, he had placed the cross-hairs on the target’s head, breathed out slowly, and then gently squeezed the trigger. Seventeen times, he had heard the soft cough of his silenced rifle, and felt the firm kick of the recoil in his shoulder. Seventeen times, he had counted off the seconds as the bullet sped towards its target. Seventeen times, he had seen the distinctive pink puff of blood and brain matter, as the bullet found its target. Seventeen times, he had fired at a person. Seventeen times, and he had never missed.

In ten years as an Army sniper, he had fired hundreds of thousands of practice rounds. He had practiced until shooting became as easy as tying your shoelaces. Hundreds of thousands of times, through such repetition he had learned to sight, relax, breathe out, and then softly squeeze the trigger. Eventually he became so good that he could hit something the size of a fist, from almost a mile away. Today his distance to target would be just fifty yards. He couldn’t miss.

Thirteen minutes passed by quietly before the shooter felt a silent vibration from his cell phone. He pressed the return key and a soft voice spoke into his earpiece.

“He’s here. The car registration’s correct. It’s Stone.”

The shooter did not respond. To slow his heart ready for the shot, he took a deep breath and exhaled gradually through his nose. Then he sighted onto the doorbell again and gently caressed the trigger with his index finger.

Seconds later a blue Ford slowly came around the corner and parked directly behind the red sports car. The off-side doors of both cars opened almost simultaneously. Eric Stone and the blonde girl climbed out and immediately fell into a passionate embrace. The shooter swiveled his aim to the left, but his view of the target was slightly obscured by the trees in the neighboring yard. He didn’t panic, he knew that when the target reached the front door of his house, he would have ample opportunity to take his shot.

This close, the shooter could clearly hear their voices, even though they were whispering because of the late hour. The target called the girl ‘Linda’ and said how pleased he was that she had come. The girl responded with a kiss saying how tired the man looked. She called him ‘Eric’. Hand in hand, they walked slowly towards the house with the blue door, just as the shooter had expected. Once they cleared the cover of the trees, the shooter brought his sights up and leveled the cross hairs on Stone’s head. As Eric and Linda reached the gate, they suddenly paused, and then they turned together to face the house where the shooter was hiding. It was almost as if they could sense his watching eyes. With a cold smile, the shooter centered the cross hairs on a point directly between Stone’s eyes. Then he slowly breathed out and gently squeezed the trigger.

The numbers in the corner of the viewfinder quickly changed, as his camera soundlessly took pictures. Satisfied that he had successfully completed his mission by capturing an image of Eric Stone, the Shooter quickly switched to the woman’s face, and took another dozen silent pictures. Then he switched back to Stone again, centered the cross hairs on his forehead, and squeezed the trigger one more time. As the night vision camera captured one final image, the shooter whispered softly.

“Gotcha!”

Stone closed and locked the blue front door, pausing for a moment to process the strange sensation that had washed over him as he approached the house. For a moment he had felt a tingle on the back of his neck, it was so real that it was almost like an itch — but one that he knew he could not scratch. He thought that it was the same sensation that a gazelle experienced when it was being stalked by an unseen predator.

In other circumstances, Stone would have just ignored the feeling, putting it down to natural paranoia. Urbanites were always being watched by someone, particularly in Britain, where there were more CCTV cameras per head of population, than anywhere on the planet. However, with his knowledge of the Wrecking Crew, and what they had done to Charles, Eric’s senses were running in hyper-mode — and there was another thing. Just as he had become aware of the feeling of being watched, Linda had stopped and involuntarily squeezed his hand. She had felt something as well, he was sure of it. Stone attached the door security chain, before he turned to face Linda.

“I just had the strangest feeling out there, like we were being watched. Did you feel it as well?”

“Yes,” she nodded, “I felt something, it was very strange. I guess there are too many windows out there. Anyway, it was probably just some nosey neighbor wondering who your hot girlfriend was!”

She smiled cheekily, then leaned forward and gave him a slow kiss on the lips. He responded eagerly, holding her head in his hands, enjoying the warmth of her lips and her sweet taste. Linda’s arms snaked around his back, pulling him closer and driving her crotch wantonly against his hardness. When they came up for air, she put on a serious face.

“Can I stay?”

“I hope you will,” Stone said, his voice thick with lust, “it was a long drive for just a kiss.”

“No silly!” she gave him a playful thump, “I mean tomorrow. Can I stay tomorrow?”

“Of course you can. I want you here. I want to be with you.”

“I brought a bag, it’s in the car.” She looked up sheepishly. “Is that alright?”

Stone pulled her close again, kissing her fully on the lips.

“It’s better than alright — it’s wonderful.” He dropped his arms. “I’ll get your bag. You’ll need your things.”

Stone started to turn towards the door, but Linda stopped him by gently taking his hand.

“Right now I have everything I need,” she said, leading him towards the bedroom.