The Enemy

Chapter 3

Emma

"No," Emma said, punching the steering wheel. Cold rain pelted against the windshield as she jerked the Opel Omega around a hairpin turn in the first signs of dawn. She turned up news hour on the car radio and took another turn, the car's sirens blaring. She gripped the wheel with one hand, securing her pistol to her chest with the other.

Her phone rang for the fifth time. This time she answered. "Emma."

"Tom."

"Emma, what the hell are you doing? Locals just got on site, and you're still twenty minutes out."

"Fifteen."

"Ward is furious." She could almost see him take a frustrated breath. "He says to wait for our support upon arrival. Local uniforms don't know how many there are. And turn on your bloody comms radio."

She turned on the radio strapped to her chest. "Copy, Tom." She inhaled. "I'll assess and go from there."

"Emma—" he paused. "Do not go inside. Do you copy? Keep to protocol." There was a burst of radio static. "That's an order from Alpha Bravo One Zero not a suggestion."

Great. Alpha Bravo One Zero, her Senior Inspector Mark Ward, was also on his way. Emma put both hands back on the wheel. Her tactical driving days were few and far between. She ended the call with Tom and stuck to radio. The adrenaline of a high stakes mission rushed through her veins. It had been a long time since she'd been out in the field this way. "Where is the team?" Her mind reeled, and she pressed her foot down on the gas. She was so close.

She pushed her radio. "Alpha Bravo One Zero, rush backup. I'll assess once I arrive." Without giving herself time for a second thought, she switched it off.

"In case you're just joining us, there's an ongoing attack at Harrow school," the voice of Joanna Gosling announced from the car's radio over the pouring rain. "Local responders are on the scene and there are several pieces of information coming out from inside. We'll keep you updated on any developments. At the moment, there are many reports without anything confirmed. We will do our best to give you the facts as they emerge.

"Many are attributing the attack to the career criminal Robert de Ferrers and his associates. The group's last known attack on British soil was almost ten years ago. Robert de Ferrers war hired by late politician George Howards and—"

Emma jabbed the car radio off, taking another tight curve. Cursing, she took off her cap, tugged on the police mask left over in the car, and double checked her vest straps. Her weapon was secured to her chest along with three full magazines. She turned the police radio back on again. Her pulse pounded in her ears. Nearly there. Ward was barking orders over the line. She pressed her foot down harder on the gas. She didn't plan to follow any of them. She knew what she was going to do. Ward knew too. He knew no one could stop her.

The orange brick of Harrow was barely visible behind the pelting rain as she sped up the main drive. She pushed the car into park and jumped out behind a makeshift police perimeter, shoving through the crowd of local law enforcement.

"Get back!" Emma called, running forward and ducking her head. She shoved on a helmet and pulled the strap tight. Bang bang. Shots rang out, and she dove behind a car, pulling two officers down with her. "Get the bloody hell back," she spat in someone's face, heart beating out of her chest. Rain ran down her neck and back. It dripped off the lip of her helmet and into her eyes. A fear she hadn't felt in years squeezed inside of her chest.

One officer stared at her with wide eyes.

Rain pelted in loud smacks against her helmet. "Move your team back at least two hundred meters. The SCD 1 team will be here in two minutes."

He didn't move.

"That's an order!"

The man just stared.

She shook him. "Do you understand? Stand down!"

"Yes, ma'am." A voice said from her right.

Emma looked into alert brown eyes. She nodded. "Two minutes. Keep this secure." She patted the officer on the shoulder and bolted forward. Head down, she ran. She pushed on her radio. "Alpha Papa One Four to Alpha Bravo Zero One, we've got chaos here. Locals are attempting to secure a perimeter, but it's weak. They were setting up within range. They're moving back and holding tight. No civilians or enemies spotted. Are you ninety seconds out?"

"Three minutes out," Ward barked.

"Shit." She shut her eyes, making it to cover and pressing her body against the building's main entrance. She'd been here once for a clay pigeon tourney during her school days. She hadn't ventured past the dining hall with the team after they'd enjoyed a celebratory pudding there after the match. That had been more than ten years ago. She exhaled, ignoring the chill creeping up her spine.

He was in there.

She removed her weapon from her holster. He was doing it again and on her watch. She pushed her radio. "Copy that." She paused. "I'm going in."

"Alpha Papa One Four, do not go against—"

She pushed through the doors, gun raised and pointed forward, and backed quickly into a corner. Her every move echoed across the entrance, feet padding on the ancient wood and breaths heavy. She pressed herself into the corner and stilled. She listened. She watched.

"Alpha Papa One Four, report. We're ninety seconds out."

There was movement to her right. She tracked it with her gun, two schoolboys. They sprinted across the floor and Emma moved her aim to cover them. Her heart was in her throat, eyes darting everywhere to catch sight of an enemy. Every fibre of her being told her to cry out, but she couldn't risk exposing them. "Come on, come on," she urged.

More movement. The staircase to her left. Emma darted out of cover and aimed at it. "Here!" she cried, and the boys shrieked. "I'm police! Here now for safety!" She tracked her weapon through the din at the staircase, praying the boys listened, praying she could protect them. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw one of the boys pulled the other in her direction.

Emma squared up. "Raise your hands and move slowly," she called to the staircase, the command echoing back to her. "If you don't follow orders, I won't hesitate to shoot."

The shadowy figure stilled.

Emma didn't move. The boys made it behind her, out of breath and shaking. "Tell me everything you can," she said in their direction. She backed into cover and set up on a knee, gun poking out to stay on the staircase. She couldn't spare a look at the boys. "I need to know anything that could help your friends and classmates."

"They showed up in class! They talked about a bomb—"

"Good. Take deep breaths. How many? How were they dressed? How old? Men or women?"

"They're wearing black masks," the other boy answered, "like yours. I don't know if they were girls or boys, but I only heard boy voices talking." He sniffled. "They were looking for someone, they said. If we didn't tell them where he was, they'd kill us. They had guns and knives."

A memory flashed in front of Emma's eyes, and she pushed it away. "How many?"

"I think ten. I don't know if there were more. I've been trying to send texts but . . ."

"It's alright." Emma stood up. "You've done a great job." She pulled back into the corner with her gun still pointed out. "Boys, you must promise me that you won't leave this spot until officers with police written across their chest like me comes to get you."

"Don't leave us! We can't—"

"Shh," Emma whispered. "I'm going to clear the area. I'll get rid of any bad guy who could come back to get you. I promise." She glanced back once. "Okay?"

The boy's eyes grew wide. "Will you be okay?"

Emma nodded. "Stay safe." She pushed on her radio. "In the entrance hall. There are two young male student civilians on the left side in blue blazers by the door. Possible ten enemies in black wearing masks. Enemies are armed with guns and knives. Enemies looking to locate a specific target. Possible bomb."

"Copy, we're pulling in now. Stay put."

Emma raised her weapon. "I'm moving forward," she whispered, "up the main staircase."

"Alpha Papa—"

Gun raised, she darted for cover by the staircase and crouched down. She could hear the team assembling outside. Taking a deep breath, she crouched and darted to the first step. The staircase was now empty. "Moving upstairs."

"We do not copy. The building could be rigged with explosives. There's no movement until the bomb squad arrives."

"Copy, but I'm moving," she whispered. Bombs weren't scary. Losing another innocent person was terrifying.

"Do not disobey a direct order. Stand down."

Tom's frustration bubbled over the radio, but Emma ignored it. She didn't have a choice. He'd have to forgive her.

She cleared corridors, making her way deeper into the building. Along the way she stumbled upon large groups of students sheltering in place, but she didn't find what she was looking for. So far, there were no injuries.

One student grabbed her arm. "They were going to look in the library. The person they want is in there," he said, face ashen.

Emma's heart seemed to stutter. She nodded and moved as fast as she dared, closer to the sounds, every training regimen flying through her brain and battling with something greater. Something deep in her gut. She knew what she was going to do. No one could stop her.

She halted. The library. She stood just outside its doors, voices muffled within. "Pathway from main entrance clear to the library. Reports of enemies stationed here. I'm outside. About to enter and will report back. Over," she whispered. "Bomb squad two minutes out. Request to hold back until arrival."

"Request denied." 

"Alph—"

She crouched down and slipped through the door.

"Now that we're all civilly gathered here, let's begin." A cool voice spoke against the roar of adrenaline in her ears. Her brain worked in snapshots. Masks. Whimpers. Guns. Knife. She fought for control against the rush of self-preservation adrenaline. Emma ducked behind a bookcase and held onto her pistol. The familiar motion helped to settle her mind. Focus. Men. At least ten. The weight of the gun was a comfort in her hands. There were no guards by the door. He'd never been one for tactics. He was all about the show.

She peeked around the bookcase and checked the scene: hostages, six, and one was bleeding. Emma pulled back and rested against a shelf. She pushed her radio. "Six hostages and ten enemies. Entrance clear. Main target confirmed as De Ferrers. One hostage injured." She cleared her throat. "Shot at main target compromised by hostage. Permission to proceed."

"Alpha Papa One Four, I'm with a small team by the rear library entrance. Boots on in thirty. What's your perspective on target?"

"Not good. Situation is too volatile. Main target has hostage with a knife."

"Permission to proceed denied until team through. Thirty seconds."

"Alpha Charlie Zero Two," she hissed. "Don't—"

"Twenty-eight seconds."

She released the radio. "Shit." She hurried low around the shelves with her weapon up, pulse pounding in her ears. She couldn't lose this. It was her only shot. He continued to speak, and his voice raised all the hairs on her arms. The fear in her chest was thick. She fought to breathe through it.

"Let's have a conversation."

She caught snippets of his sniveling, quivering upper lip and beady eyes through tall bookcases as he regarded his prisoners. He dug the knife into the hostage's neck and drew more blood.

"I need to find Charles Townsend. If you tell me the location of Charles, I will happily release your friend here"—he pierced the knife deeper into his captive's neck—"and release him on his merry way. And, I'm starting to get frustrated, children. It's hard to predict just what I'll do when I get frustrated, and I've been very patient thus far." The boy in Robert's arms cried out in pain, and Robert laughed. The five other boys in the library looked hopeless. "You see, there's something I need, some information, something I need to find."

One stepped forward. "Oi, fuck off, you! We don't know Charles Townsend. You've got your wires crossed."

"I admire your take-charge attitude, young man." He pointed his knife out. He dropped his captive to the ground. "Why don't you come over here and say that again?"

He was clear. Emma moved, taking aim. She was only fifteen feet away. She had a clear shot.

The noise of the team erupted behind her. "Hands up!"

"Weapons down"

"On the ground!"

"Get down!"

Robert De Ferrer's face twisted, and he rushed to bring the knife down on the boy who had dared confront him.

"No!" Her finger pulled before she formed the thought.

The bullet whizzed by his left ear, grazing the top. He raised his hands, knife tumbling to the ground and the boy rushing away. Bullets flew from the enemy in every direction and shrapnel exploded everywhere, noise deafening her, but she didn't move.

Robert withdrew a hand from his ear and stared at it, covered in blood. He smiled and looked up.

"Hands up!" She moved forward, gun trained on him. "Hands where I can see them and down on the ground. Now!"

His smile widened. "How I hoped it would be you." Her mask was still pulled firmly over her face.

"Oomph!" A knee caught her in the gut, and she fell. She kicked out a leg and brought her attacker to the ground, up again in seconds. "No!"

Robert's retreating form sprinted away and towards a rear staircase.

She sped after him.

"Emma!" It was Tom. "Wait!" He pushed on his radio. "Request for backup. Headed to stairwell in northeast corner of the main building." He gained on her. Sweat on her face mingled with the rain from earlier.

"You can't do this alone. He isn't—"

Emma bounded up the stairs, following Robert's footsteps. She grabbed the railings and hauled herself forwards. She skipped three stairs at a time. She met a door. Locked. Tom was beside her now, breathing heavily.

She pounded the door with a well-aimed boot. Nothing. Tom joined her. Three kicks. Five. Seven. Eight. It gave way.

"Backup on route." Her radio crackled.

A wide, foggy expanse of gravel-covered roof stretched before them in the downpour. She dropped down with Tom as a bullet pinged off the metal doorframe overhead.

"Behind this exhaust outlet," she said, crawling for cover. Voices buzzed from her radio and Tom followed her.

He aimed his weapon in the bullet's direction and pressed his radio. "Alpha Papa One Four and Alpha Charlie Zero Two with main target on the roof. Visibility is low. He has a weapon. Total number of enemies unknown."

Emma gripped her pistol firmly. "Tom, stay here and watch my six. I'm going in."He grabbed her arm. "No one knows more than I do what this means to you, Emma. But you have to stand down. This is suicide."

She turned her head, hiding the shine in her eyes. He sounded surprised. She'd thought he'd known. She'd risk anything for this. Her thoughts flitted to John. She'd already risked everything for this. "I'll never get another shot. I won't miss this one." She turned back to him.

Tom stared at her, eyes wide behind his mask. He paused. "You go left. I'll go right."She nodded, and they stood. One clap to the shoulder, and they were off.

Visibility was less than two feet, but she didn't want to risk turning on her torch. She darted from one spot of cover to another, ears perked at every tiny sound. She turned her radio down. She made it to the far end of the roof and hunkered down beside a large chimney. Taking a breath, she rounded the corner.

"You're right on time."

She fired, but four hands gripped her and forced her down onto her knees. She fought, twisting and clawing, attacking them with her head, her feet, her elbows, but she couldn't escape. They pulled off her mask. They wrenched her gun away and threw it over the side of the building.

She heard it clatter to the ground below. "Fuck you, you fucking maggots. I'll slit each of your throats!"

One hand hit her in the side of the head. She straightened and spat out blood. It had been a while since she'd taken a hit like that. Another hand ripped at her hair, and she struggled against it. It tugged and tugged until it forced her to look up.Robert De Ferrers emerged from the fog and drizzle, smile on his fish-like lips. It had been years since they'd been face-to-face, and he looked even sicklier. Blood trickled down the side of his head from her earlier shot. He stopped inches from her face. His smile grew. "Emma Stapleton once again is it? It does suit you. And, my how you've grown." He walked around her. "Fancy seeing you here. I thought for sure you'd be cooped up with a litter of the beautiful John Huxton's babies." He sighed. "I was so crushed when I heard the news." He rounded to face her. "Though I can't tell you how delighted I am that we've crossed paths again."

She grinned, displaying her bloody teeth. "You're idiotic showing your face here. You'll never get away. You'll spend the rest of your life rotting away in prison."

"Tsk tsk, Ms. Stapleton," he said. "I can't believe you've forgotten to thank me for sparing your life all those years ago." He knelt down, breath hitting her cheeks. "You should've died that day. You and your friends should've followed my demands, and this all could've been avoided." He leered, eyes roaming over her. He slid his clammy palm up her forearm exposing the skin beneath her jacket.

She fought anew, but he still slid his fingers across the scar. She bit back the urge to scream. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

"Then, Beck Howards had to turn the hero and traitor-against-his-father all at once and come to your aid. And, all you got was this lousy scar." He moved back and stood. His smile returned. "Of course, Beck and his mother had to die. It's your fault really. All of this pain and suffering, you brought it upon them." He reached into his coat, pulling out his phone. He pulled up a program she'd seen too many times before. There was a bomb, and it was armed.

She struggled again, doubling her efforts. She kicked and writhed.

He punched in a number.

"No," she said. "You have me. What else do you want?"

"Charles Townsend." He continued to type.

"We'll pay you triple what you've been promised for that child." She hated the way she sounded, but she couldn't look away from his fingers. Tom. The students. The team. "Please."

He stilled.

"Please. Put down the phone. You don't have to do this."

He looked up. There was a glint in his eye. "Again, all you had to do was say the magic word—"

Bullets ricocheted off the chimney sending bits of brick and dust flying everywhere. Her captors dove away and she scrambled to her feet. "Southwest corner! Main target at southwest corner!" she cried into her radio.

"Stay down!" It was Tom. "Main target now heading east!"

She ran. "I have a visual. I'm engaging!" Her breaths wheezed, and she pushed her body forward.

Robert kept running. He ran for the edge of the roof. He turned. She was only ten seconds away. He raised his phone. He smiled.

"No," she said. "No!" She pressed her radio. "Everyone get dow—"

The roof exploded, and she catapulted backwards. She flew through the air, weightless in waves of debris. Her ears rang and she hit the roof hard, breath knocked away. Sirens blared, her vision blurred, and rain poured down. Her ears rang. She struggled to move, mind catching on the boys from the main hall. She raised her radio's volume. She listened to the chatter. It was dim beneath the ringing in her ears.

"Visual on main target?"

"No visual on main target."

"Confirmed. Main target is MIA."

"Eyes on blast zone? What's the radius—"

She closed her eyes.

Robert was gone. She'd failed. Again.