Chapter 1
Anthony stared up at the night sky, trying to pick out The Plough. He stamped his feet and rubbed his hands as he did so, the cold beginning to penetrate through the heavy police jacket. His memory of the night sky was a little fuzzy, the last time he'd seriously studied it was using the constellation spinner his mum had bought him when he was about twelve. That was when he could visit his Uncle's farm and see the stars, unhindered by the orange glow of the city lights. That was many years ago. Can't see the damned thing for all the goddamn tea in China now, he cursed.
Anthony returned his gaze to the surrounding farm land he was currently staking out with three of his colleagues, checking he could still see the faint shadows of each. Art was leaning against a tall tree, long since dead and now only a deformed shadow of a trunk with jagged, twisted branches reaching to the skies. Jake was crouched to his right, binoculars trained on the dark farmhouse. Jesus, Anthony thought, he's been staring through those glasses for damn near three hours without moving a goddamn muscle, the man's not human.
But where the hell was Cody? Anthony had definitely seen him sitting with his back against the straw bales stacked up to the left just a few minutes before his little break to stargaze. He could still make out the bales, but Cody was remarkable in his absence. Damn kid, where's he buggered off to? Jesus.
Anthony looked down at his radio and considered flicking it on to do a check, but the brass had made it explicitly clear they were to maintain radio silence unless the situation became untenable. Was losing a team member untenable? Hell yes, but only if the team member was actually lost. Knowing Cody he's just gone for a whizz in the woods. If I break the silence and the little shit reappears it's my arse they'll tear open.
Anthony peered down at the ground, squinting in the murk, his breath puffing out in clouds of condensation. Christ, why do these scumbags choose the coldest damn night of the year to do whatever the hell the brass want us to see, he cursed as he spotted a decent sized pebble and grabbed it. With a deft, silent flick of his wrist the pebble went sailing over to Art, landing silently at his feet. Art looked over at Anthony and although it was too dark to make out, Anthony knew he had his 'what the hell are you playing at' face on. Anthony took great joy in getting Art to make that face, a serious, scrunched up look that was enhanced by his heavily lined and scarred skin, weathered as it was by a lifetime of excess. A subtle gesture and Art lifted a shadowed arm to signal he understood, before turning tail and disappearing into the dark woods.
Anthony turned his attention back to the farm house, still lit only by the bright stars above. The moon was absent tonight, perhaps the scumbags they were tailing thought that would give them greater cover. Arseholes, Anthony chuckled silently, you should watch the weather as well as the calendar, no goddamn cloud cover tonight.
Where the hell is that Plough?
A loud crack snapped him out of his search and with the speed of a panther he had grabbed his purported attacker, thrown him to the ground and pinned him down with his left knee.
"Christ, it's me!" a voice filled with fear squealed.
Anthony snorted haughtily and stood, offering his gloved hand to the cowering figure.
"What the hell?" Anthony hissed as low as his deep voice would allow while still maintaining a level of menace. The figure took his arm gratefully and a man in his mid-twenties was hoisted up as if he were a rag doll.
"I only went for a..."
Anthony put his forefinger to his lips and simply jabbed a finger at the man's chest before jabbing the same finger in the direction of the straw bales. The man nodded and turned to make his way. Anthony grabbed his arm and squeezed tightly, pointed at his own eyes before gesturing the same way to the young man.
That kid is gonna die before he's thirty, Anthony thought as he watched Cody trot back off to his post. How many times do I have to tell these new recruits, when you are on a stakeout, you are on a goddamn stakeout. If you need a piss, you hold it, or you do it. You never, never leave your goddamn post.
Before he could have another thought his ears picked up the sound of a truck. It was heading their way, winding down the dirt track that led to the farmhouse. He could hear from the engine that it was a Land Rover, not a new model, probably mid-eighties and well past it's use by date. His eyes swept his team members to make sure they had all heard. Thankfully they had, Art had returned silently to his post and even that sap Cody seemed to be aware, having sunk back into the shadows.
The high beam lights of the Land Rover cut through the trees, diffused by the light mist that hung in the air like incense. Art seemed to merge with the trunk he was standing by as the bouncing light hit it briefly, the vehicle turning into the driveway. I'm sure that man was a goddamn ninja in a past life, Anthony marvelled, himself unable to make out the man he knew had been there only seconds earlier.
The Land Rover roared to a halt outside the farmhouse and the door opened with a creak. A figure jumped out and seemed to stand by the vehicle, the lights still on, for an unusual amount of time. So long, in fact, that Anthony became to fear they had somehow been made. Who the hell was this guy anyway, Anthony asked, perturbed that his heart was starting to pick up pace. Screw you heart, he cursed, I know when I'm scared, don't you give me that bull.
At last the figure switched the engine off and made his way to the front door. Within a minute lights started to appear in various windows across the building, most of which were switched back off again not long after.
Is that it, Anthony wondered. Why the hell am I and my team freezing our nuts off out in this backwater farm? No real orders, no explanation, no time to survey or prepare. Just a secure message asking him to take three men and wait. No radios to be used, don't tell anyone else, just go. Go and wait. But for what goddammit? An arsehole in a Land Rover? Well he's come home safe and sound, nice and cosy in his farm house. We're freezing our collective butts off out here.
The radio burst into life.
"Tango Alpha Victor. Target identified as Ebbe Nystrom. You have a go for V6. Repeat target identified. You have a go for V6. Over"
Anthony grabbed the radio in shock and held down the transmit button.
"You said V6, please confirm."
"Transmission terminated," came the reply.
Anthony was about to try the radio again, but stopped himself. He knew better than that. But he couldn't deny he was shaken. A genuine V6. No bugger had actually had to action a fucking V6 operation before. It was all a theoretical situation used for training. A goddamn test of morals and ethics and nothing more. Bastards. I wouldn't have brought that bloody kid if they'd warned me.
Taking a deep breath Anthony changed the broadcast channel on the shortwave and clicked on transmit.
"We have a go. Take down target with extreme prejudice," he barked without further hesitation.
Silently the team made their move towards the farm house. Anthony made a line for the front door, signalling to Art to find a way around the back. Cody was paired with Jake and the two made their way to a side entrance Anthony had scoped before the light had faded. The team moved with menacing efficiency, creeping over the pebbled drive with no sound.
A small charge was applied to each door and with precision timing each exploded with a muted puff of smoke. Tentatively Anthony and his team pushed the doors open with the nib of their semi-automatic rifles, before lifting them up and sweeping each area 180 degrees and moving through the cluttered corridors of the house.
The team all arrived simultaneously in the front facing room, which was a vast space, filled almost entirely with photographs, maps and piles upon piles of written documents. Anthony peered at the maps, intrigued, before turning to find himself faced with a collection of A3 high resolution photos of the moon, pasted to the wall to complete a gigantic and complete image of the moon's surface.
"What the hell is going on?" a small voice piped up, causing the four men to sweep around, their guns aloft. A flash and a deafening crack later and a frightened Cody dropped his gun to the floor in shock, running over to the lifeless body of the woman who had entered the room.
"Get away from her," Anthony bellowed, his gun still held aloft.
"But..." Cody began to protest.
Anthony stormed across the room in two strides and pushed Cody aside roughly with his booted foot. Tentatively Anthony then crouched beside the woman and while keeping his gun trained directly at her pale face, rifled through her pockets and then her clothing, but found nothing.
"Do it," he said, without turning, gun still trained on the woman.
Jake nodded and produced a small digital camera, which he used to take one snapshot of her face.
Seconds later Anthony's radio crackled back into life.
"Ebbe Nystrom, identity confirmed. Continue with V6. Transmission ends."
"A fucking V6?" Art bellowed furiously.
Anthony stood and turned to his team, nodding.
"What the hell did this chick do to deserve that?" Jake queried.
I wish I knew, Anthony thought to himself as he studied the patchwork images of the moon, anger and curiosity welling up in his stomach.
