Read Online Bad Soldier: Danny Black Thriller 4 by Chris Ryan - Free Book Online
Authors: Chris Ryan
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‘You’re going soft, Danny Black,’ he said. ‘Everyone knows it. It’s that baby of yours. I’ve seen it happen a million times. You reckon anyone else in the Regiment would give a flying fuck about a boatload of ragheads?’ He sneered, then turned his back on Danny and stormed out of the SF room, slamming the door behind him.
Caitlin was staring at Danny. ‘Remind me never to get on your bad side,’ she said.
‘He had it coming,’ Danny said.
‘Did he sink that migrant boat?’
‘I don’t know. The headshed stonewalled me.’
‘You want to watch him, Danny. I know what he’s like. He’ll go off like a frog in a sock next time he sees you.’
‘I can deal with Tony,’ Danny said. He looked over to where the two prisoners were laid out on the floor. ‘Let’s move them to the Wildcat,’ he said. ‘The headshed wants us off the ship as soon as.’
Spud and Caitlin did the honours, pulling the two targets up to their feet. One of them said something in muffled Arabic. Spud jabbed him in the stomach with his elbow, just hard enough to wind him. The man doubled over, but didn’t speak again as Spud and Caitlin dragged them out of the room, following Danny towards, and then up, the metal staircase.
There was no sign of Tony on deck, which was still clear of regular naval crew. The lights of the Wildcat were beaming, and Danny could see the shapes of the flight crew in the cockpit, ready to leave. The captain was standing to one side of the landing deck, his wet hair blowing in the wind. Danny strode up to him. ‘We’re leaving one of our guys with you,’ he shouted over the noise of the helicopter’s rotors, which were just starting up.
The captain nodded. ‘We’ve just had a communication to say there’s a chopper on its way from Sigonella to pick him up.’
‘A word of advice,’ Danny shouted. ‘Don’t let any of your men rub him up the wrong way.’
‘Noted,’ the captain replied. He held out one hand. ‘I owe you an apology. Whitehall explained what happened to that boat. Explosives on board. A bad business.’ He looked across the deck to where Spud and Caitlin were bundling Santa and Rudolph into the Wildcat. ‘I don’t know where you’re taking those two, but I hope they get what’s coming to them.’
Danny gave the captain a dark look. ‘I think I can guarantee that,’ he said, before giving him a brief nod and running across the deck to join the others in the Wildcat.
Four
Calais, northern France, the same night.
A solitary figure stood twenty metres from the side of the main road into Calais. His eyes were half closed against the bright headlamps of the lorries trundling into the port town, interspersed with the occasional smaller car. On the other side of the road was a high fence protecting the railway line. A heavy freight train was trundling noisily past. He wondered if the passengers in the road vehicles could see him standing here, alone. If so, he could well imagine what unfavourable things they would be thinking and saying about him. But he didn’t care. He knew what he was running from, and that anyone would do the same in his circumstances.
His real name was Yusuf, but on his journey across Europe he had changed it so it sounded more Western: Joseph. Joe for short. He had first heard that name three months ago on the southern coast of Greece, fresh from the overcrowded old boat that had deposited him there – scared and hungry, but alive. It was amazing how much friendlier people were when you gave them a name that didn’t sound Muslim. Now Yusuf was so used to it that he’d even started thinking of himself as Joe.
Joe was tall, thin and lanky. As boys, his friends had always prided themselves on being strong and tough. Joe never was. He had a pronounced Adam’s apple and his dark hair fell in a centre parting. He wore an old pair of thick glasses that his mother had always said made him look very intelligent. He couldn’t see without them, but
Caitlin was staring at Danny. ‘Remind me never to get on your bad side,’ she said.
‘He had it coming,’ Danny said.
‘Did he sink that migrant boat?’
‘I don’t know. The headshed stonewalled me.’
‘You want to watch him, Danny. I know what he’s like. He’ll go off like a frog in a sock next time he sees you.’
‘I can deal with Tony,’ Danny said. He looked over to where the two prisoners were laid out on the floor. ‘Let’s move them to the Wildcat,’ he said. ‘The headshed wants us off the ship as soon as.’
Spud and Caitlin did the honours, pulling the two targets up to their feet. One of them said something in muffled Arabic. Spud jabbed him in the stomach with his elbow, just hard enough to wind him. The man doubled over, but didn’t speak again as Spud and Caitlin dragged them out of the room, following Danny towards, and then up, the metal staircase.
There was no sign of Tony on deck, which was still clear of regular naval crew. The lights of the Wildcat were beaming, and Danny could see the shapes of the flight crew in the cockpit, ready to leave. The captain was standing to one side of the landing deck, his wet hair blowing in the wind. Danny strode up to him. ‘We’re leaving one of our guys with you,’ he shouted over the noise of the helicopter’s rotors, which were just starting up.
The captain nodded. ‘We’ve just had a communication to say there’s a chopper on its way from Sigonella to pick him up.’
‘A word of advice,’ Danny shouted. ‘Don’t let any of your men rub him up the wrong way.’
‘Noted,’ the captain replied. He held out one hand. ‘I owe you an apology. Whitehall explained what happened to that boat. Explosives on board. A bad business.’ He looked across the deck to where Spud and Caitlin were bundling Santa and Rudolph into the Wildcat. ‘I don’t know where you’re taking those two, but I hope they get what’s coming to them.’
Danny gave the captain a dark look. ‘I think I can guarantee that,’ he said, before giving him a brief nod and running across the deck to join the others in the Wildcat.
Four
Calais, northern France, the same night.
A solitary figure stood twenty metres from the side of the main road into Calais. His eyes were half closed against the bright headlamps of the lorries trundling into the port town, interspersed with the occasional smaller car. On the other side of the road was a high fence protecting the railway line. A heavy freight train was trundling noisily past. He wondered if the passengers in the road vehicles could see him standing here, alone. If so, he could well imagine what unfavourable things they would be thinking and saying about him. But he didn’t care. He knew what he was running from, and that anyone would do the same in his circumstances.
His real name was Yusuf, but on his journey across Europe he had changed it so it sounded more Western: Joseph. Joe for short. He had first heard that name three months ago on the southern coast of Greece, fresh from the overcrowded old boat that had deposited him there – scared and hungry, but alive. It was amazing how much friendlier people were when you gave them a name that didn’t sound Muslim. Now Yusuf was so used to it that he’d even started thinking of himself as Joe.
Joe was tall, thin and lanky. As boys, his friends had always prided themselves on being strong and tough. Joe never was. He had a pronounced Adam’s apple and his dark hair fell in a centre parting. He wore an old pair of thick glasses that his mother had always said made him look very intelligent. He couldn’t see without them, but
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