I picked up the tail as we drove up towards the expressway; it was innocuous enough, a plain white Transit van. There was something about the way it was being driven that made me suspicious. It seemed to close on us then drop back suddenly as if the driver realized he'd got too near and tried to evade notice. It was probably nothing but I was still suspicious.
I turned down the stereo and adjusted the rear view mirror until I could see both her and the van.
"Miss Armstrong, does your father often have you followed?"
She snorted scornfully, "My father trusts me, Miss Sarocha, he would never stoop so low as to have me followed."
"Interesting," I replied, "hold on tight."
I floored the accelerator and pushed the overweight 4x4 to the limits of its acceleration. I heard a short squeal from the back as I flung the car around corners, attempting to put as much distance between us and the van as I could in the shortest possible time.
As soon as I got back to the highway, I slowed slightly and made a call.
"Secure365, Jones speaking."
"JJ, it's Sarocha. Listen to me," I hurriedly continued before he could reply, "I'm on the M4 heading back to London and we've picked up a tail. I've got Miss Armstrong in the car with me and there's a white transit van following us."
I knew it was definitely following us, I could see it in my rear view mirror and I pushed the accelerator a bit closer to the floor.
"Hang on a second, Sarge, I'm going to punch in our operations team," there was a slight click on the line and a second voice spoke.
"Freen? It's Mel in Ops, do you have a registration on the van?"
"Yeah, it's a white Ford Transit registration Kilo November 5 6 Echo Charlie Zulu."
"Ok, hold on... Freen, according to the Insurance database, that's registered to a green Ford Focus."
"Shit, JJ, this doesn't look good, the van is definitely on my tail and we're coming onto traffic. It won't be long before they catch up with me."
"Ok, guys, listen up; Mel, get in touch with the Police and alert them to our situation, Freen, do your best to stay out of their way just in case. Stay on the li..."
I looked across at the screen only to see the words 'No Signal' displayed. Shit.
"Miss Armstrong, can you do something for me quickly, please?" I asked glancing back at her. She'd obviously heard everything I had said and she didn't look quite as cocky as she had previously. I saw her nod in the mirror, eyes wide.
"Good, I need you to undo your seat belt, get into the middle of the seat and put the lap belt on, can you do that?" She didn't ask questions, much to her credit; she must have heard the hint of tension in my voice and she complied with my request immediately.
"Cool, now I want you to lie down on the seat, pull that lap belt as tight as you can. and make yourself as small as possible, can you do that for me please?"
She nodded again and vanished from my eye line. I adjusted the mirror once again to see the white van approaching at a rate of knots. I was weaving in and out of the traffic, lights flashing at every opportunity.
"Are we gonna be alright?" I heard her ask from the back seat.
"We are if I've got anything to do with it. This may be nothing Miss Armstrong but let's not take chances, ok? Keep your head down, hold onto something, and we'll be fine."
I honked and braked hard as a car and caravan cut me off. The van took advantage and blocked me in. The door opened and I saw the gunmen. I ducked as bullets shattered the glass. The only things that saved us were my brakes throwing off their aim, and the fact that firing from a moving vehicle with a high velocity assault rifle is difficult at best.
Leaning out of the window, I was grateful for the AK instead of a pistol or SMG. Swerving through traffic, heart racing, I did all I could to prevent the van from catching up and taking aim. Suddenly, my phone rang, breaking the surreal moment.
"Yes?!" I shouted as the phone automatically picked up the call and JJ's voice came over the speakers.
"Sarge, are you all right? We lost the call."
"No I'm not fucking all right JJ, the white van is full of hostiles and they're fucking shooting at us. Now stop fucking distracting me, I'm trying to do my job."
Our little duel continued for miles, ramming them whenever they got close. I wanted to be cautious with civilians around, but I had a 'package' and didn't want to be shot at. Unfortunately, the long stretch of the M4 made it difficult to lose them.
I finally had an idea and clipped their hood with my truck. As they swerved, hitting the barrier in the central reservation, I sharply turned the wheel to the left, ignoring the screeching brakes and honking horns.
We skidded onto the slip road, escaping to the safety of Leigh Delamere Motorway Services. Avoiding the car park, I drove to the bus and truck section, parking between two large trucks to hide. I then kicked out the shattered windshield and checked on my passenger.
"Are you okay back there, Miss Armstrong, any injuries?"
She looked up at me, just a hint of terror in those brown eyes that were back again, and shook her head. I leaned back in my seat and pushed her around roughly checking her over for wounds. She winced as I grabbed her wrist.
"Get the fuck off me!"
So, the scared little girl has suddenly disappeared to be replaced by the bitch again; fuck's sake, try to do someone a favor and see how you're rewarded. Damn, she pisses me off.
"Shut up and listen to me, I don't have time for your shit. Your father asked me to get you to London safely and I'll do that if I can. I need to know that you're okay. Now, what's wrong with your damn wrist?"
"N-nothing, I think I've sprained it, that's all."
"Right, fine." I dug around in the glove box and dragged out the first aid kit I'd spotted when I'd got the car last night, "strap it up with something in here then keep quiet."
"Have we lost them? We'll be safe here, won't we? They wouldn't try anything somewhere so public, would they?"
"Miss, these people attacked us in broad daylight on a public road. I doubt they'd have any compulsion not to pull up next to us in front of Scotland fucking Yard and riddle us with bullets. If this is the organization that your father told me about, they have no fear of dying."
"We'll hold up here for a bit,", I continued, trying to change the topic, "I think we're safe now but let's not risk it, yeah?" I looked at her and saw her eyes closed as she was shaking on the back seat.
Carefully, I took hold of her arm and felt my way along the soft skin from her forearm to her hand. The wrist was certainly swollen and looked painful but I didn't think it was broken.
"I think you'll live," I said, as I strapped it up with the small roll of bandage that every first aid kit seems to have for some reason, the one that's never usually used.
"How the fuck are you staying so calm?" she asked weakly as I stuck down the bandage with a roll of tape. "They were trying to kill us."
"Practice," I replied, matter-of-factly.
"Are you okay, now? Will you be okay here on your own for a bit? I need to go recon the area, make sure we're clear."
I got a small grimace as a response; satisfied that she was at least physically fine, I told her to keep still and stay down.
One thorough recon of the place and a quick call to JJ, the plan was organized; I was taking Miss Armstrong back to the apartment where I would meet up with him and James. She'd protested of course, but went silent after I pointed out that her flat in St Johns Wood would be the logical place for our attackers to pick her up again.
We got lucky today and I didn't believe in pushing that luck any further.
---
I escorted Miss Armstrong up the stairs to the small apartment I was using. She looked like microwaved shit, and had obviously decided that talking to me wasn't top of her priority list again.
'Fine by me, darling, I don't really want to make small talk with you either.'
It wasn't until I closed the door and told her to sit down that I noticed that she was still shaking. Her hands were shaking violently and her body was rocking with shudders. At first I thought it was just the cold, we had just driven two hours with no windows in the car after all; the last hour or so it was pissing down with rain as well soaking us both to the skin. I was fucking freezing too, but I'd been cold before; many times before in fact, so I just shrugged it off. Something else that I considered irrelevant; as usual, I had other priorities.
"You look cold, Miss Armstrong; we should get you into some dry clothes."
She looked up at me and it was at that point I knew she wasn't just feeling cold; I've seen people look at me with eyes like that before.
I know all about shock, know all about traumatic stress; the one thing I don't know how to do, though, is help someone else through it. I'm shit at it. I'm shit with other people's emotions. Though for some reason, despite my shortcomings in this area, I decided to guide her into the small bedroom and sit her on the bed.
"Look, let's get you out of these wet things, ok?"
The figure in front of me just nodded and sat there staring blankly into space.
"Here, let me help you with that," I said gallantly, and pulled at her shirt tugging it out of the skirt she was wearing. She tried to unbutton the front like a zombie, hands shaking.
Eventually, I pushed her hands to her sides and unbuttoned her shirt myself; I noticed her staring at me and I smiled into those dead eyes.
"Don't worry, I won't look."
She blinked and nodded sharply as I peeled off her shirt shuffling her body to allow me to slide it down her arms. Despite my promise, I couldn't help but sneak a peek as her bra-covered breasts were revealed. I mentally slapped myself for doing it but I couldn't help myself. She really is an attractive woman; and I am, after all, only human.
Dragging my eyes from her cleavage and feigning professional disinterest, I picked up a large towel that I'd gotten from the bathroom and wrapped it carefully around her shoulders; rubbing at her arms and back as she held onto it as if it was a life-vest and she needed to stay afloat.
"Skirt, too, Miss Armstrong. I'll get them dried for you, don't worry."
She nodded; eyes still fixed on the wall and lifted her backside off the bed to allow me to slip her skirt down her legs. I mentally slapped myself again as I caught myself looking at her legs. They suit her frame perfectly and there's more than a hint of muscle there.
'She works out by the looks of things, she's in pretty good shape.'
I tried to tell myself that it was just professional interest. A fit client would be easier to protect in danger. Maybe her physical health would aid her mental state after the attack, just like how exercise helped me.
Finally, I admitted to myself that I found her beautiful, very beautiful actually. Story of my life really; the ones that like me I end up pushing away, the ones I like just aren't available. Not to me anyway; most of them, like her, thought I was a 'psycho' because I was in the army.
I stood up and looked at her forlorn shape, sat on the bed with a towel wrapped around her to protect her modesty. She was a shadow of her former, uber-bitchy, self. She was clearly in shock and that isn't a good thing for anyone to go through, let alone a 'civvy'.
I hope she can handle her stress without involving me but gut feeling tells me that's exactly what she is though.
There's actually a part of me that wants to go over and do just that, a part that wants to wrap her in my arms and tell her everything will be okay. But as I normally do, I panic when it comes to dealing with emotional women; and bottling it completely, I left the room, deciding to implement the military standard cure for everything; I put the kettle on.
'You chicken-shit, Sarocha; you should be in there comforting her and you know it! Not making fucking tea for her.'
As the kettle boiled, I called JJ and let him know that we were home safe, if a little shook up. I told him that Miss Armstrong had been slightly hurt and wasn't one hundred percent emotionally.
Promising that he'd call James and they'd be straight over, he hung up leaving me to wait for the kettle to finally boil. At least I felt like I was making myself useful, that was a good thing; it stopped me dwelling on how lost the brunette looked.
It stopped me from kicking myself for being a cowardly bastard.
---
I carried the sweet tea and her suitcase to the bedroom. I found her curled up under the duvet and had been crying.
"Tea?" I asked, putting her cup on a table and dropping her case to the floor. "A good cup of tea makes anyone feel better."
I cursed at my forced cheeriness. I sounded like a squaddie from the 1950's. She nodded and smiled weakly at me, that faint pathetic smile, the one that doesn't reach her eyes.
She's not okay, she's nowhere near okay, even I can tell that. As I look down at her, I see a tear fall from her eye, then another and before I know it, she's collapsed into the pillow; her eyes streaming tears, babbling to herself incoherently.
Grasping my courage with both hands, I climbed onto the bed and put my hand carefully onto her shoulder.
"You're safe here, you can relax now. I've called the office, we'll have people with us within an hour."
To my surprise, she sat up in the bed and grabbed me into a hug; tears pouring onto my already soaked shoulder. Almost instantly, my body reacted as that soft skin pressed against mine. I could feel the swell of her breasts pushing into me as she gripped me as if life depended upon it and I was overwhelmed by her scent.
She is intoxicating, and my mind decided to go on a little panicked run around the room. Stalling for time, while the sensible part of my brain ran around screaming "NO, NO, NO" at the top of its voice, I patted her rather awkwardly on the shoulder in a pathetic attempt to comfort her.
"It's okay," I said, continuing to hold her and pat at her. "You're safe now, it's all okay."
She sobbed even harder and just held onto me. I'm actually surprised at myself; I really don't know how to handle sobbing women. I had been called an emotionless cow many times. But when you'd been through as much as I had, you don't run around with your heart on your sleeve; you just don't.
After a while, the cries got a little weaker, a positive sign at least.
"Feeling better, miss?"
She ignored me but I took the loud sniff as a good sign and carefully disentangled myself from her.
"I'll leave your tea on the side there. Through that door's the bathroom, there's a shower and stuff in there if you want to get cleaned up."
She looked at me with those big brown eyes, blinked at me and nodded. At least those pretty eyes didn't look dead anymore, but they did look hurt. She's hurting and there's not a damn thing I can think of that'll make her feel better. Picking up my tea cup and taking a sip, I tried to reassure her.
"I'm sure you'll be okay, Miss Armstrong. I'll be in the living room if you need anything."
"I'm sure I'll be fine now, Miss Sarocha," she suddenly snapped at me, "You can just fuck off now."
Jesus, 'mood swings-r-us' are back in full effect. One minute she's sobbing on my shoulder, the next the bitch is back.
I nodded and gratefully retreated to the living room.
Busying myself again, I made sure that all the doors and windows in the flat were locked, and closed all the windows and blinds. There's no sense attracting attention, or letting anyone that may have followed us to see what's inside.
Basic security checks done, I headed back into the kitchenette and opened the freezer. I removed the ice tray and cracked out a few chunks; wrapping them in one of the tea-towels that I'd found in a drawer. Holding the make-shift ice pack to my swollen eye, I sat back on the sofa and waited for the cavalry to arrive, ignoring the pain in my chest; the one I didn't know what to do with.