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

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СКАЧАТЬ five minutes, Cooper had got himself back on the highway and beyond, forcing the rusting station wagon well outside its limits. Sun in his eyes. Pain behind them. A migraine screwing in. He pressed his palm against them to stop the throb. Took his hands off the wheel for only a moment. But he knew that’s all it took.

      The Honda swerved, running onto the grassland like a breakaway horse. Smashing and slamming the axle along the rock scattered terrain, dragging the steering off balance as the brakes began to lock.

      Fighting to regain control, Cooper drove into a snaking skid whilst the mismatched tires ploughed up the prairies. And although it took less than a minute to pull up sharp, for the second time that day, he trembled as he exhaled. Real long. Real hard.

      He rubbed his head, for all the good it did. Glanced at the sun. Knew he was looking due east. And then Cooper looked some more. But it wasn’t the direction that interested him. It was what was on the crest of the hill.

      Without hesitation, Cooper floored the accelerator, forcing the old ’83 Honda’s speedometer to touch and quiver at ninety. The engine was racing faster than the car seemed to be able to move. Smoke was billowing up and the smell of burn-out filled the car, but it could’ve blasted right in half for all Cooper cared. As long as it got him over that ditch he was headed for… He angled the car so he could hit it like a ramp. Fast. Forward. But most of all up. Cooper knew it needed to go up.

      A dense cloud of smoke thickened in the car’s interior, making it difficult to see, while the car juddered at maximum speed. ‘Come on…! Come on…! Come on!’

      Wheels hit the edge at well over a hundred. A brief sense of suspension followed by a bone-shattering impact.

      Head flicked back.

      Front teeth sunk deep into his tongue.

      Blood filled his mouth.

      The Honda nose-dived, crashing into the hard ground on the other side. The engine seized and the grey driver’s door swung open. Fell right off.

      Desperately, Cooper rolled out. Running. Scrabbling. Holding his shoulder at the same time as trying to pop it back into its socket. He ignored the pain and the cold sweat and the clothes sticking and the blood dripping down his chin like he was the Guacamole guy.

      But none of it mattered to Cooper because now he could see the President’s black motorcade in the distance. And as crazy as he knew it was, right there was where he was heading.

       *

      Cooper felt it before he knew what was happening and it took him clear off his feet. Sending him through the air. Heat and energy expanding, blast-waves of air rushing out from the Honda as it exploded into a fireball of orange flame. Black smoke storming up to fill the skies.

      The explosion flung him down as unceremoniously as it’d picked him up. Thundering him into the ground. Pain shot through his ribs, ricocheting into his shoulder, whilst teeth once again found his tongue to sink deeply into.

      Sucking up the pain Cooper crawled onto his knees. Pushed himself up onto his feet. He didn’t turn but he could hear sirens. Cars breaking away from the motorcade. Drawn by the blast, racing towards him.

      Instinct had him running but he was aware there was nowhere to run on the grass covered plain. They were closing in. Herding him up like the buffalo.

      He could almost feel the heat from their engines as the Tannoyed words crashed across the quiet of the Colorado land.

      ‘STOP! THIS IS THE FBI… GET ON THE GROUND… DO IT NOW…! I REPEAT, THIS IS THE FBI… GET ON THE GROUND OR WE WILL SHOOT!’

      Then, like someone had reached into his body to tear out his muscles, a raw torture of fifty thousand volts surged through him, dropping Cooper hard onto his knee caps.

      Neck snapping back.

      Eyes rolling up to sockets…

      … teeth through tongue.

8

      d5 Ne7

      It was the call he was expecting. Later than he thought. But with the same meticulous pronunciation. And once again there were no surprises. None.

      The caller said, ‘I congratulate you on your initiative. I must say I’m impressed. I did wonder how it’d play out because there’s no doubt that you couldn’t afford anyone to find out exactly what it is you’re doing. Have done… Are about to do. Though next time there won’t be any warning. There’ll be casualties. Lots. Next time we’ll let slip the dogs of war. Unleash hell. And make no mistake, there will be another 9/11.’

FIVE MILES OUTSIDE GOROM-GOROM,

       BURKINA FASO, WEST AFRICA

       9

      Nd2 a5

      On any other day the boy would’ve wiped away the large droplets of sweat which sat and mixed with the dust on his sun scorched skin. But today was different. Today he needed to concentrate and finish off the present he’d been making for his mother. And although the brightly colored paper collage had been trickier and taken longer than he’d imagined, he was certain she’d be pleased.

      His faded Mickey Mouse T-shirt, and bleached out jeans held up by a piece of string, gave him little cool. And the corrugated roof, like iron waves sitting on the brick house, painted in hues of summer barley, gave him no shade. But he smiled, his happiness as it always was; warm and strong like the winds which blew across the burnt yellow grasslands under the African skies.

      Above the sound of the exciting buzzing of flies, a noise in the distance made the boy look up. He tilted his head, listening again. Not recognizing the sound. Frowning, he got up, only then wiping the sweat off his face, leaving the precious collage on the ground.

      He walked forward to the wide dirt road, the dust like a haze making the sun seem darker than it should be and the afternoon seem later than it was. Beneath his feet a rumble. He looked down at them curiously, as if somehow they would speak and tell him of the mystery of shudder.

      The tremble began to become harder and with it the noise greater. Roaring louder, reminding him of the stories of the animals which preyed and stalked in the forests. He shivered at the thought of such creatures but curiosity moved him forward. He was, after all, seven years old, and at seven years old, he knew he was almost a man.

      With renewed vigor, the boy stood in the middle of the road, looking into the thick haze which swirled and churned. Then like his mother pulling back the tattered drapes each morning, the curtain of dust parted, sweeping aside to reveal a huge object which reminded him of the giant horned beetles.

      His face smiled, delighted at whatever it was that was moving towards him. His face a spectacle of amazement, of wonder, as the mechanical insects trundled forwards.

      ‘Run Bako… run!’

      The boy whipped round at the cry of his name then watched as a vision of red burst up from the man’s head like a sequencing fountain before it imploded, СКАЧАТЬ