Aggressor Read Online Free PDF Page A

‘This isn’t his thing.’
    One of the guys in the tent came up and put his hand on Bastard’s shoulder. ‘It’s not worth it, Buster. These guys were sent here to help. Special relationship, right . . .’
    Bastard’s jaw jutted as he returned my stare, weighing his options. His eyes never left mine. Then, without a word, he turned on his heel.
    I guided Tony out of the tent but he didn’t come willingly. He still wanted answers.
    The light was good enough to see the US flag fluttering from the antenna of one of the CEVs as it manoeuvred round the compound. It wasn’t the only Stars and Stripes flying. I wondered if any of them had noticed the much bigger one hanging from the Davidians’ own pole.
    The armoured vehicles had churned up the ground so much round the target it looked like the Somme. Litter from crushed wheelie bins was scattered by the strengthening wind.
    I had my arm round Tony’s shoulder, guiding him back to the trailer. But he didn’t want to go. ‘I’ve got to check something.’
    ‘What can we do? There’s—’
    Tony pulled free and started to run. The steel container flown in by the RAF was about two hundred metres away.
    I set off after him. It wouldn’t hurt. If nothing else, it took him two hundred metres further away from Alpha Pod.
    As we approached the container, I could see it had sunk an inch or two into the ground under its own weight. When we got closer, I could see the two back doors had carved an arc in the soft ground where they’d been pulled open. The padlock had been cut.
    Tony was almost hyperventilating with rage. ‘They had no right, Nick. You know the deal. They were only to take it after consultation. In the name of God, Nick, what are they doing?’
    I looked inside. Several of the half-size oil drums were missing. The gas inside was under such pressure, Tony had told me, that it was solid. When the seals were removed, it degraded into fine particles, which could then be pumped into a building under pressure.
    He leaned against the container as if he’d taken a punch in the gut. I hadn’t noticed until then, but the animal screams had stopped. The only sounds were the rattling of tank tracks and Nancy Sinatra singing ‘These Boots Are Made For Walking’.
    Wind gusted off the prairie as I shut the container doors.
    Another roar of approval went up from the spectators. Tony’s eyes followed a flurry of activity alongside several 4x4s on the track to the outer cordon. Binos raised, the thrill-seekers were pulsating with excitement as they munched on their fresh breakfast muffins. In an hour or two the funfair would start up again, and the novelty stalls would churn out more Davidians: 4, ATF: 0 T-shirts. But by then the scoreline would be well out of date.
    I leaned against the container with Tony. Police in body armour, M16s over the shoulder, milled around with cups of coffee and egg rolls, eager to get a good view.
    Tony shook his head in disbelief. His eyes welled with tears. ‘They’re going to die in there, Nick. They won’t be coming out. Some of the children are probably dead already. We must stop it. Who do we see? Who do we call? This is madness!’
    I turned my head. ‘We’re not going to stop anything, mate. Look at this lot.’ The BDU-clad bodies took more pictures and cheered Nancy’s every word. ‘You’re flogging a dead horse, mate.’
    The tears started to roll down his cheek. ‘What? What are you talking about?’
    ‘What the fuck do you think is happening? Look at those wagons.’ I pointed at the CEVs rampaging round the compound. ‘And fuck knows what’s going on round the back. Why do you think the lines have been cut? There’s an agenda, mate. They want the fuckers dead.’
    His jaw dropped. Tony didn’t share the Rambo mindset of those in the helicopters and tanks. He invented toys for them to play with, but I could see he wasn’t used to joining in the game.
    ‘Look, the people on the ground here aren’t the