Dead Edge: the gripping political thriller for fans of Lee Child. Jack Ford

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      The heat of the day made the air feel heavier, denser than it really was, and the miles of clearing where villages had once stood stretched out into the distance, where the distance met the edge of the earth and the edge of the earth met with the unforgiving sun.

      Shots fired out from guns, and the sound drifted and disappeared far into the beyond.

      ‘Hold the gun firmly… that’s it. Against your shoulder. Hold it steady. Have you got your aim?’

      ‘Yes.’

      The cudgel was carved from the locust bean tree, and the strike to the side of the head ruptured and split the skin of the soldier’s temple as they fell, toppling down into the burnt-out grasslands which no longer gave shelter to the lizards and snakes that darted and weaved, seeking refuge from the African sun.

      ‘Comment t’appelles-tu? What’s your name?’

      ‘Amira.’

      ‘Bonjour, Amira. Welcome… But I think you’re forgetting your manners… How should you address me?’

      Through pain filled tears, Amira cried. ‘Commandant. Commandant.’

      ‘Yes, Amira: Commandant. Do not forget it.’

      ‘No, Commandant.’

      ‘We cannot always oblige; but we can always speak obligingly…Voltaire. He was a French poet, but he was a man who spoke out against Islam. And what does that make him, Amira?’

      The blood ran into Amira’s mouth as she shook and began to talk. ‘A Kafir, Commandant.’

      ‘Good, Amira. You’re learning.’

      ‘And what is a Kafir?’

      ‘An infidel. A non-believer, Commandant.’

      ‘Excellent. And what does it say to do with non-believers, Amira?’

      ‘It says, when you encounter the Kafirs on the battlefield, cut off their heads until you have defeated them. Seize them and kill them wherever they are… Commandant.’

      ‘That’s right. A Kafir will always be our enemy and we shall always treat them as such. Now get up.’

      Pushing herself back up onto her feet, Amira picked up her gun, listening to the graveled voice of the Commandant. ‘When I tell you, fire your weapon.’

      ‘Yes, Commandant.’

      The Commandant signaled, shouting to a nearby solider who stood attentively a short distance away.

      ‘Our newest soldier, Amira is ready…’

      Turning back to Amira, whose-dirt covered face was streaked with blood, the Commandant said, ‘Hold your aim… Fire.’

      The gun discharged a round of bullets which hit the sand, spraying and plunging into the hot dry earth.

      ‘Try again, Amira.’

      ‘Yes, Commandant.’

      She aimed once more.

      ‘Now wait…Wait… Fire…’

      A smile spread across the Commandant’s face. ‘Amira, look, a hit. You did well. God is great.’

      In the distance a woman staggered. Trying to run. Trying to push through the pain as the bullet embedded deep into her calf. Tearing it open to expose the tissue. She stumbled over the dead bodies of those who had gone before. Her screams merging as one with the cries of the others. The men and women. The children. Who stood, lined up and ready, waiting for their turn to become the target.

      ‘Again, Amira, you need to get it right. Finish it off. But this time, aim for her head.’

      A shot.

      A thud.

      As the woman fell to the ground in the distance, where the distance met the edge of the earth and the edge of the earth met with the unforgiving sun.

WASHINGTON, D.C.

       USA

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      It wouldn’t have been a house he would ever have chosen to live in. Not under any circumstances. But as Cooper dried his face in the cream and gold secocnd floor bathroom, he couldn’t deny that 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue felt real homely. Which was strange, considering.

      Cooper didn’t bother to look in the mirror. What was there to look at? He knew his hair was on the top of his head. He knew his face held his nose. He knew he ought to get a shave. Anything else, he didn’t need to know. Not the bloodshot eyes. Not the fading red and yellow bruises which made his skin look like the setting of the sun.

      He let out a long sigh. He slipped his hand deep into the pocket of the well-worn jeans he’d gotten out from the back of his closet, and then like a high voltage shockwave, it hit him. Jolted. Sending him spinning. He’d forgotten it was there. The pills… The pills… The OxyContin he was trying to part ways with, but which never seemed to want to part ways with him.

      Caressing the roundness. The smooth hard shape. Cooper twirled it over, over and through, between the gaps of his fingers. Welcoming it like an old friend. And then he stopped. Stared at himself in the mirror. Seeing but not feeling.

      He watched this stranger in the mirror, the way their mouth blew out their breath. The way they quickly sucked back the air.

      Chest out.

      Chest in.

      Then he watched their hand slowly pull the pills out of their pocket and heard them say, ‘So what do you say, Cooper? What’s it going to be? Which way you going to choose this time?’

      He turned away before he heard the reply, popping the pill into his mouth as he exited the bathroom to walk along the hallway, forcing his mind to think of nothing but the idea of having nothing to think of.

      ‘Dude! Seriously! How long does it take a guy to use the bathroom? Black Ops waits for no man.’ Jackson Woods grinned, gesturing Cooper to hurry back to the private sitting room and the abandoned game.

      He winked at Jackson, saying nothing as he tried to ignore – as he always did – the thick, raised scar running down Jackson’s forehead. The result, as well a constant reminder, of what had happened that day on the yacht all those years ago.

      ‘Coop! Hey!’

      Hearing the voice behind him, Cooper span round on the heel of his boot, feeling it sink into the cream, deep-pile carpet.

      ‘Hey, John, how’s СКАЧАТЬ