Sharp Shot. Justin Richards

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СКАЧАТЬ the corner of the room, by the French doors. These opened on to a small patio overlooking the back garden. The desk had a sloping front that folded down to become a writing area. Behind it was a rack of pigeon holes and compartments. Jade had found a stack of old photos in one of Dad’s boxes, and put them inside the desk. Since then they had found several more to add to the collection.

      The newspapers were too big to go with the photos, so Rich put them in an empty drawer in the bottom part of the desk. Jade seemed busy unpacking the box, so Rich opened the lid of the desk and took out the bundle of photographs.

      There were maybe twenty or so, taken at different times in different places. Most of them showed John Chance—in army dress uniform, in a dinner suit, on an assault course covered in mud, but grinning. There was a crumpled picture of Rich and Jade’s mother. It was a small, creased, passport-sized shot, and it looked like it had been kept in a wallet or a pocket for years.

      But the picture that intrigued Rich was a faded snapshot taken in the desert. At least, it looked like the desert—there was lots of sand, but the four men in it were standing in front of a low wall. All four were dressed in khaki army uniforms. One of them was a younger John Chance, another Rich and Jade knew was Dex Halford, who’d been in the SAS with their dad. They both looked so young—in their mid-twenties, Rich guessed.

      One of the other two men was slightly shorter and stocky with a thin, dark moustache. He was standing beside John Chance, looking slightly wary. The fourth man was wiry and had a shock of hair the same colour as the sand. He was grinning and pointing at the camera with one hand, while his other hand was resting on Dex Halford’s shoulder.

      On the back of the photo was written in biro: Iraq —November 1990. JC, DH, Mark and Ferdy.

      “What’s that noise?” Jade asked suddenly.

      Rich pushed the photos back inside the desk, dropped the newspapers in front of them, and closed the lid. “I didn’t hear anything.”

      “Sounded like thunder.”

      Rich pulled out his mobile phone. “I’ll check the forecast.” He started up the web browser. It drained the battery, but he enjoyed using it.

      “Gadget man,” said Jade. “Why don’t you just look outside?”

      “It’s dark,” Rich protested as he waited for the webpage to load.

      “You can still tell if it’s raining. Rain—you know, that wet stuff that drops from the sky.”

      “Nothing forecast,” Rich told her.

      He pushed his phone back into his pocket and opened the French doors. The evening was quite warm for late autumn. There was a half moon and the sky looked clear. Rich stepped out on to the patio. The security light on the wall above came on at once, detecting Rich’s movement as he walked.

      The small garden ended with a wooden fence made of thin panels. There was a gate that led out to the small wooded area beyond. Behind that were fields and a small stream snaking through the hills. To Rich, brought up in an American city before the twins’ mother brought them home to Britain, it seemed very isolated and quiet.

      Now the quiet was shattered by the sound Jade had mistaken for thunder. Standing outside, Rich could hear it much more clearly. It was coming from the woods behind the house.

      It was gunfire.

      Rich stepped quickly back inside and locked the French doors.

      Outside, the security light went off. The doors were reflective panels of black. Rich found himself looking at his own reflection, Jade standing beside him.

      “Fireworks, do you think?” said Jade.

      “No. Guns.”

      Typical, thought Jade. Just when it seemed like we could finally settle down…

      “Might just be hunters,” she said, hopefully.

      “At night?”

      Jade sighed. “OK, we’d better take cover. And call the police.”

      At that moment the security light came on again, bathing the patio in harsh white light.

      Rich and Jade took a step backwards, as a dark shape approached the cottage. It crashed into the doors, bursting them open. A man staggered into the room, his eyes wide and staring. His face was caked in blood and his clothes were tattered and dirty.

      Rich stared open mouthed. He knew the man. He’d been looking at his picture just now. He might be twenty years older, his sandy hair going grey, but it was obviously one of the men from the photograph taken in Iraq.

      “Chance!” the man gasped. “Looking for John Chance. He’s the only person who can help me now.” The man collapsed to his knees, then toppled forwards to fall motionless at Rich’s feet.

       2

      “He’s still breathing,” said Jade, kneeling to examine the man. She felt his pulse, and it was strong if a bit fast. Then again, Jade wasn’t really sure what was normal.

      “He’s in that picture,” said Rich. “One of Dad’s friends from the army. The SAS.” He turned out the lights.

      “Hey, what did you do that for?” Jade demanded.

      “If there’s someone else out there with a gun, we don’t want them finding us too easily.”

      The man was coming round. He blinked and shook his head, pulling himself into a sitting position.

      “Hey, steady,” said Jade. “Rich—get him some water.”

      Rich hurried to the kitchen and was straight back with a tumbler of tap water. The man accepted it gratefully, though he spilled quite a bit down his muddy shirt. He was shivering despite the fact it was a mild evening, and he was wearing a heavy leather jacket.

      “John Chance,” he gasped again. “Got to get to John Chance.”

      Jade nodded. “He’s not here. He’s away.” She glanced at Rich, before adding: “Can we help? I’m Jade and this is Rich— John’s our dad.”

      “Away?” The man looked annoyed as much as frightened. “Why didn’t I know?”

      “Probably because he’s on a secret mission,” Rich muttered. “No one is supposed to know.”

      Jade glared at him. This wasn’t the time for criticism. “Can we help?” she asked the man again. “What’s the matter? We heard shooting—is someone after you?”

      “They’ll kill me,” the man said. He looked nervously over to the doors. The patio was still lit up by the security light; the door was swinging back and forth in the breeze, its catch broken. “If they find me, they’ll kill me. I thought Chance would help. I have to get away from them.” He grabbed the sleeve of Jade’s sweatshirt. “You have to help me. Get me away from here.”

      There СКАЧАТЬ