Sure Fire

Sure Fire
Justin Richards

Jack Higgins

The phenomenally successful Jack Higgins teams up with Justin Richards to launch a sure fire best seller for children.The mother of fourteen-year-old twins Rich and Jade dies in a car crash and they are told they must go and live with their estranged father, who they have never met before. Neither the children nor their father get on, but when Rich and Jade witness him being kidnapped they are drawn into a dangerous crisis that could engulf not just their family but the whole world…

JACK HIGGINS

WITH JUSTIN RICHARDS

SURE FIRE

Contents

Title Page (#u31157ee1-7075-5731-b709-d97a6f429b19)Prologue (#u38fb0928-e4f0-5ec7-87b5-fa00928102ce)Chapter One (#ua3699b83-b24e-59ff-b1fb-af3f016b07cd)Chapter Two (#ue98c0e24-2466-5878-bfc3-178a85b2e815)Chapter Three (#uf28fd4ee-3a7e-573a-9893-5a8d053b3e8e)Chapter Four (#u37afec0b-5b9a-5e9c-9a7b-0e5098cdb272)Chapter Five (#ua27bc199-48ed-5a8a-836f-b3a1f80ca7f6)Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Twenty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)

Prologue (#uce0d6ac3-0244-5c0c-ab32-ac2fda8807cb)

Two intruders moved through the oil storage depot, dark shapes against the black night.

One of them moved like a panther, silent and dangerous, leading the way through the jungle of pipes and cables, walkways and stairways. The other man had a limp and walked with the aid of a stick. Huge circular metal tanks rose up either side of them as the two figures made their way towards their target.

“Jammer seems to be working,” the man with the limp whispered, consulting a small device strapped to his wrist like a watch. A small red light flashed rhythmically where the dial should be.

His colleague nodded. His smile was barely visible in the black of the camouflage make-up that smeared his face. “No skimping on this job. Come on, they’ll realise there’s a problem if we hang around too long in one place.”

The jammer scrambled the wireless connection between the cameras that were nearest to the intruders and the security control room on the other side of the complex.

The effect would be to make the security monitors in the control room flicker on and off, seemingly at random.

The two men paused. The one with the stick pressed a button that turned off the jammer on his wrist. “No cameras in this area. We’re in a blind spot. Should be safe for a minute.”

The other man nodded his agreement. “Let’s have a look at the map.”

On the ground between them, they unfolded a detailed map of the complex. The man without the stick pulled something from the pocket of his black trousers: a packet of cigarettes and a lighter.

“You’re joking!” the man with the stick said. “You can’t light up here, John.”

John smiled. “Might seriously damage my health, you think, Dex? I didn’t bring a torch – this is to read the map.”

“Yeah, well, I do worry about my health. And yours.” Dex produced a pen torch and switched it on. “Now stop mucking about and put that lighter away.”

The lighter glinted as John put it away. It flashed in the torch beam for a moment, an engraving on its side visible for a second – a simple outline of a heart.

“You always were the cautious one,” John said.

“For all the good it did me,” Dex muttered. “The one time I try it your way, and look what happens.” He tapped his walking stick against his leg.

John didn’t seem to notice. He was tracing a route on the map with his finger. “Looks easy enough. Turn the jammer back on. Let’s do what we came for and get out of here.”

The building they wanted was a boxy, concrete block with no windows and a single metal door. A red security light cast its glow over the doorway, illuminating a uniformed guard standing outside. The shadow of a holster at the guard’s side left the intruders in no doubt that he was armed.

“Might as well put up a notice,” John whispered. “‘Stuff worth stealing is in here.’ Back in a moment.” Like a ghost, he disappeared into the night.

Seconds later, a sound like a stone falling made the guard move from his post. He drew his gun and walked cautiously along the front of the building. From the opposite side, a dark shape moved quickly, creeping up behind him. The first the guard knew of it was when a handkerchief was clamped over his mouth.

John laid the sleeping guard on the ground in the shadows next to the building. He returned the handkerchief soaked in anaesthetic to a small plastic bag and sealed it shut, before stuffing the bag back in his pocket. Dex knelt down awkwardly by the door and set to work picking the lock.

“Hold my stick, will you?” he asked. “And keep the torch steady.”

Red light spilled across the threshold to the inside as the door swung open. John helped his friend to his feet and gave him back his stick, then handed him a headset – infra-red goggles attached to a set of straps that fitted exactly over their heads and held the goggles tightly in position.

The view through the goggles was remarkably clear, and showed a large room criss-crossed with pipes that came in and out through the walls. A long narrow bench stood in the middle of the room, covered in glassware like a school science lab. Along one wall was advanced electronic equipment – computers, centrifuges and spectroscopic analysers. Several drum-shaped canisters stood at the far end of the room – smaller versions of the huge oil tanks outside – that were linked together by narrow pipes, which then joined a larger pipeline that disappeared out through the side wall.

“You set the charge on the pipeline,” John whispered, handing Dex a compact device. It looked like a plain black box with a small screen set in one side. “I’ll get the sample.”

Dex took the device and found the point where a number of the pipes converged and joined. He set to work, attaching the device just below one of the valves where the thin pipe from the canisters joined.

Meanwhile, John was examining the canisters at the other end of the room.

Carefully, he unscrewed the top of one of the canisters and saw that it was filled with a pale, viscous liquid. He glanced over at the laboratory workbench for something to put the sample of the liquid into. There were test tubes and beakers and jars, but all were made of glass. His eyes wandered round the room, looking for anything that might be of use.

Set high in the corner of the walls, a video camera swung slowly towards him. A thin wire emerged from the camera and disappeared into the ceiling above. John stared at the tiny red light on top of the camera and the wire emerging from the back of it. The camera moved round until it was pointing straight at him.

“We’ve got a problem,” John said. He grabbed the only container he could think of and reached into the open canister. “I think you should hurry.”

The sirens started – a sudden, high-pitched wail of sound. Dex gave John a thumbs-up and they ran for the door.

“That camera must be linked direct to the control room,” Dex said. “So the jammer didn’t work on it.”

They could hear the footsteps and shouts of guards behind them.

Dex was limping badly now and John had to help him along. “Leave me,” Dex said. “I’m only slowing you down.”

“I didn’t leave you in Afghanistan and I’m not leaving you now. I’ll throw you over the perimeter fence if I have to.”

Searchlights snapped on.

“They can’t shoot,” Dex gasped. “Not with all that fuel about.”

Before John could answer, there was a loud crack from behind them, and a bullet ricocheted off the concrete pavement close to their feet.

“Maybe someone should tell them that,” John said. “Come on!”

The security centre was in chaos. Uniformed guards shouted into phones and radios. People hurried from monitor to monitor, working the cameras. Then the door swung open and a man entered. The room went quiet.

“Tell those idiots to stop shooting,” the man said. He spoke with the trace of an Irish accent.

He did not speak loudly, but his words were clearly audible across the whole room. He was a short man, very thin, dressed in a simple dark sweater and jeans. His features were narrow and angular, and his hair was a grey crew-cut. There was a distinctive round scar under his left eye, faint white lines splaying out from it so the scar looked like a pale spider on the man’s face.