The Troika Dolls Read Online Free PDF Page B

survived, David.’
    And so, a few weeks later, she found herself on Bodmin Moor. It was a freezing day, all sleet and mud and grey skies. There were five of them on the Hostile Environment training course, designed to prepare people for work in conflict zones.
    On Day Two, they were driven to a massive underground bunker.
    At the far end, three walls had been constructed, one of bulletproof glass, one of brick and one of breezeblock.
    ‘Which one,’ the muscled instructor asked the group, ‘would you feel safe behind if shots were fired?’
    One man, a reed-thin journalist in spectacles with a formidable reputation, bravely answered, ‘All three.’
    Shots suddenly rang out. The first hit the bulletproof glass, pockmarking it softly like a raindrop on a pond; a second, a third— the journalist began to smile—until the fourth shot shattered the entire wall. More shots, the tang of gunpowder, booming echoes of violence in the empty hangar. All three walls smashed.
    ‘People,’ the instructor barked. ‘It takes four shots to shatter bulletproof glass, only two shots to smash through a brick wall, and a single shot will pass through a breeze block. Conclusion: you are not safe.’
    Stevie shivered: no one was.
    There was a night of drinking at the local pub. The journalist, it turned out, had written a stinging exposé on a particular group of rogue soldiers in the military. He was heading to Gaza the following week and he was joking about how he would be glad to get away from England: he was more frightened of the rogue soldiers and their friends in England than the missiles in the Strip.
    Day Three found the five of them on a defensive driving exercise on some wild country roads in the moors. It was Stevie’s turn at the wheel of the massive jeep; she was sitting on a pile of folders and coats so she could see clearly over the steering wheel. The heavy tyres skidded and churned in the mud as she fought with the gears for traction on the slippery roads. The rain was now pouring down and it took all her strength just to handle the wheel and gear stick at the same time.
    From behind the curtain of rain, Stevie suddenly saw another 4WD parked on the road, blocking access. She slowed down. Rocks on either side of the track meant she couldn’t pass without going some way back and onto the moors. All at once, the back doors of the parked jeep were flung open and four men in black balaclavas raced towards them.
    Stevie instinctively hit reverse and shot off backwards down the treacherous road. The pursuers dashed back into their vehicle and followed, gaining fast. Stevie spun the wheel and shifted gears again, this time shooting off-road into the moor, running parallel to the road.
    ‘Aren’t there dreadful bogs on these moors?’ she shouted above the roar of the engine.
    Mark, the journalist, nodded. ‘Big enough to swallow a car.’
    Stevie glanced into the rear-vision mirror: the jeep was close behind. She floored the gas, skidding on the wet grass. ‘Do you think those men are part of the course?’ she asked nervously. They had been warned to expect surprises throughout the day.
    The pursuers were driving them towards the rocks, knowing a jeep had no hope of passing there. Stevie looked over to the left and onto the moors. It was too risky to take the jeep across them if this was just a training exercise. There was a real risk that she would drown everyone in the car in a bog. She came to a halt at the rocks.
    ‘I guess we are about to find out.’
    The five were hooded and bound; their attackers didn’t speak a word. It was terrifying. What had they said in the briefing on interrogation? Accept your situation; your captors have physical control and there is nothing you can do about it .
    Stevie fought to keep her mind clear of fear, concentrating on the beating of her heart, the sound of the rain on the car roof, the fact that this was just an exercise . . . It felt very, very real.
    The interrogation started