The Killing Grounds: an explosive and gripping thriller for fans of James Patterson
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JACK FORD is a novelist and is the author of six gritty British crime novels published under a pseudonym. Having studied global political Islam and American politics, Jack went on to take a Master of Science degree in counter-terrorism and will further those studies next year by tackling a PHD focusing on radicalisation and extremism. Jack lives in a quiet part of England and has three children along with lots of dogs and horses.
For Darley Anderson, my hero – the Alex Ferguson of the literary world.
Forever love, Jx
Acknowledgements
I loved writing this book, it was so much fun and I met so many wonderful people during the writing of it but a big thanks especially must go to Dr. Mark Faulkner and Dr. Zoe Marriage from SOAS, University of London who gave up their free time to answer a thousand questions on the DRC. A shout out to Dr. Dale Mineshima who somehow made American realignment and the Presidential doctrines a huge amount of fun. A special thanks to the US veterans who sacrificed so much of their lives and their mental well being for their country. A huge thanks to everyone at the Darley Anderson agency and of course a massive thank you to Louise Page, who is just awesome. Thanks also goes to Sally Williamson, my editor and Lisa Milton, who encouraged me to put the kick ass into Maddie. And never ending love to my family, friends, horses and dogs. But most importantly of all to the thousands upon thousands of forgotten street children accused of witchcraft in the DRC who inspired this story – you are forever in my heart.
‘It is estimated that between 26.4 million and 36 million people abuse opioids worldwide, with an estimated 2.5 million people in the United States abusing prescription opioids’
- US Centers for Disease Control and Prevention
‘You said I killed you – haunt me then. The murdered do haunt their murderers. I believe I know that ghosts have wandered the earth. Be with me always, take any form, drive me mad. Only do not leave me in this abyss, where I cannot find you!’
- Emily Brontë – Wuthering Heights
Contents
Cover
About the Author
Title Page
Dedication
Acknowledgements
Seven years ago
Present Day
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Eight miles outside Buziba, Sud-Kivu
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
Chapter 78
Chapter 79
Chapter 80
Chapter 81
Chapter 82
Chapter 83
Chapter 84
Chapter 85
Chapter 86
Chapter 87
Chapter 88
Chapter 89
Chapter 90
Chapter 91
Chapter 92
Chapter 93
Chapter 94
Chapter 95
Chapter 96
Chapter 97
Chapter 98
Chapter 99
Chapter 100
Chapter 101
Chapter 102
Chapter 103
Chapter 104
Chapter 105
Chapter 106
Chapter 107
Chapter 108
Chapter 109
Chapter 110
Chapter 111
Chapter 112
Chapter 113
Chapter 114
Chapter 115
Chapter 116
Chapter 117
Chapter 118
Chapter 119
Chapter 120
Chapter 121
Chapter 122
Chapter 123
Chapter 124
Chapter 125
Chapter 126
Chapter 127
Chapter 128
Chapter 129
Chapter 130
Chapter 131
Chapter 132
Chapter 133
Extract
Copyright
Seven years ago
Kenya’s northern coast – 30 miles south of the Somali border
How long does it take a man to realize his life is going to change forever? For Thomas J. Cooper it was barely a moment. Just a flicker of a stare to trace the angles of dark stretching shadows against the oak cabin walls. The slightest of turns towards the fluctuating sounds of the lapping waves. And that was all. Yet it told him everything he needed to know… They were in trouble.
‘Jackson…! Jackson…! What the hell…!’
Knocking over the glass of iced lemonade, Cooper scrambled up from the cream leather recliner he’d been asleep on. Took the yacht’s wood and chrome stairs three at a time. Charging along the highly polished deck of the sleek, white vessel. Cursing to himself as he slipped on the wet.
Bolting forward, he spotted the tall, sun-drenched figure of Jackson leaning against the bow rails. A bottle of whiskey in hand. A grin on his face. And a half cut look in his eye.
‘Hey Coop, is this the life or what? Nothing but open waters. Reckon I should get myself a job on the high seas…’
Cooper could see he was drunk. And God knows, it was the last thing he needed.
He watched Jackson step on to the top rails of the yacht.
Take the last slug of whiskey.
Throw the bottle casually into the sea.
Stretched out his arms shouting loudly. Forcing his slurred words to rise high above the sound of the sea. ‘Name the film, Coop… But I’ll give you a clue… I’m king of the world!’
But Cooper said nothing. Instead, he instinctively squinted up at the African skies.
Slipped off his watch to lie it flat on his palm.
Lined up the hour hand to point at the sun.
Giving him a crude idea of the direction they were sailing in.
And the knot in his stomach told him it was as he’d feared. North. They were heading north.
Swaying precariously on the bow rails, Jackson didn’t sense or notice or care or see or feel Cooper’s alarm. ‘Oh come on man, you gotta know. Coop, it’s easy… Titanic. Even my dog could’ve got that one. Maybe I make a better Rose though. What do you think? Can you see me playing opposite DiCaprio…? I love you Jack. I love you. Never let me go!’
‘Get the hell down! Now!’
Cooper yanked on Jackson’s arm. Hard. Real hard. Dragging him to the safety of the deck. And with the smell of alcohol heavy on his breath and a look of indignation he said, ‘Hey! What’s got up your nose Coop? All that… ’
‘Listen to me… ’ Cooper stopped suddenly as a cold uneasiness came over him like a sudden temperature drop. His eyes darting across the cerulean sea. ‘Jackson, I need you to start turning the boat round. We’re going to have to jibe her, but we gotta to do it fast.’
Jackson stared at him in astonishment. ‘Jibe? You’re crazy. The crosswind’s too strong to try to turn downwind. You’ll capsize her for sure.’
‘What’s going on?’ Ellie Granger, Cooper’s long-term girlfriend, stood bleary eyed behind them. She asked the same question which was on Jackson’s lips.
Cooper turned to her. And although his words were quickly spoken, he made sure they held warmth. He said, ‘Hey baby, look there’s no need to panic, but we’re going to have to turn the boat round. We’ve got to get back to Lamu as quickly as we can.’
She pushed her blond hair out of her big blue eyes and looked around puzzled and said, ‘I don’t get it. How long have I been asleep, Tom? I thought we were anchored up?’
Giving a side-glance to Jackson, Cooper spoke more to himself than her. ‘So did I, honey, so did I.’
Upon which his attention snapped back to Jackson. He barked out orders. Short. Sharp and precise. ‘Start pulling in the main sheet, I’ll come and help you but I’ve got to go and radio in our position.’
A veil of fear crossed Ellie’s face. She’d known Cooper since high school. Childhood sweethearts. Inseparable from the very first day. Fifteen years ago. Give or take a month. Yet in all that time she’d never seen him look the way he did now.
Her voice edged with anxiety. With unease. ‘Tom, you’re still not making sense. Why do you need to radio in? Is something wrong with the engine?’
Taking her hands, Cooper stared into her eyes intently. Locked into her gaze. And gave her a reassurance which he didn’t feel. ‘It’s just a precaution baby, okay.’
‘Tom, please. You’re making me nervous.’
‘Trust me honey, it’ll be okay. I promise.’
Jackson, beginning to sober up, grabbed Cooper’s arm. ‘Listen man, I didn’t mean anything by it. You guys were asleep so I thought it’d be fun to sail her. No harm done. Right?’
Shaking himself free from Jackson’ grip and not wanting to spend any more time explaining or talking or reassuring, Cooper began to hurry back below decks to where the mounted chart table was. His reply to Jackson was lost in the wind.
*
At the chart table, Cooper quickly scrutinized the radar screen. Watched the sweeping beam detect the flashing targets approaching their yacht at speed. And without hesitation, he picked up the radio. Selected the emergency maritime frequency.
‘Mayday, mayday, mayday! This is the Yankee Girl requesting urgent assistance from any US naval vessel. I repeat, this is Yankee Girl requesting urgent assistance. We are at 0-2 degrees, 21 north, 26-41 west. Mayday, mayday.’
There was a brief interval of silence before the radio crackled loudly. ‘Affirmative. I understand the vessel’s name is Yankee Girl. Break. Break. Vessel Yankee Girl. Vessel Yankee Girl, this is USS Abraham Lincoln. Request to know if you are in need of assistance. Over.’
‘Roger. In need of urgent military assistance.’
Cooper paused. Glanced at the target approaching on screen, adding. ‘Potential piracy situation. Over.’
‘Pirates? Oh my God, Tom, is that why we have to get back to Lamu?’
Ellie stood on the stairs. Her face drained of the softness of color as the voice on the radio cut through the air.
‘Yankee Girl, please identify yourself. Over.’
‘Ellie, please. Just go back to Jackson. I promise, I’ll explain everything. Let me just sort this out.’
Her voice trembled and she said, ‘Not until you tell me exactly what’s going on.’
‘Yankee Girl, I repeat. Identify yourself.’
‘I’m sorry baby, I got to do this.’
He turned his back on her. Not wanting. Not being able to deal with the hurt. The fear in her eyes. He raised the handset to his mouth. ‘This is Lieutenant Thomas J. Cooper of the US Naval Special Forces. Over.’
He heard a hint of surprise in the voice on the other end of the radio.
‘Lieutenant Cooper? This is Petty Officer Monroe, you are aware that this is an open radio channel and contrary to naval protocol for military personnel. Over.’
Cooper clenched his jaw as well as his fist. Tried to keep his composure. But it was tough. And he heard the strain in his own voice. ‘Affirmative, Officer Monroe, I am fully aware of protocol, but I repeat, urgent assistance required. Over.’
‘Lieut…’
Cooper cut him off as he heard Ellie walk away. The authority of rank speeding into his voice.
‘I repeat! This is a mayday call and as such, Monroe, you just need to listen and do your job… Over.’
‘Sir, yes sir! Please stand by, Yankee Girl.’
Placing the radio handset on the table, Cooper grabbed the binoculars before running back up the stairs to the deck. Two at a time.
He could see Ellie had now joined Jackson, who was pulling on the ropes. Struggling. Hauling in the main sheet as it billowed in the oceanic winds.
Pointing at the flapping sail, Cooper yelled, ‘Pull her tight! Jackson. Keep pulling her tight!’
Then through his binoculars, he scanned the horizon whilst listening to the desperate cries of Jackson.
‘Cooper…! Cooper! I need your help! She’s going to capsize!’
‘Hold her down Jackson. Just try to keep her steady… Ellie, take the slack up from behind him. I’ll come and take over in a minute… Whatever you do, just hold on.’
Chasing back down below decks, Cooper picked up the radio again to a different, but familiar sounding voice. A voice he could’ve done without.
‘Come in Yankee Girl. I repeat, this is Captain Neill. Do you copy? Over.’
‘Copy, sir. Requesting urgent assistance.’
‘Lieutenant Cooper, I understand you’re at 02 degrees, 21 north, 26-41 west, though presumably, Lieutenant, you’re aware it’s a high risk area with a code two situational alert.’
Cooper glanced at the flashing targets on the navigational screen moving closer. So close. Too close to the yacht. And the strangling panic wrung tighter and his words singed with anger. ‘With respect sir, both of us know it’s my business to be aware of all situational alerts, and therefore I understand the likelihood of a pirate attack is real, and most likely imminent.’
‘Have you had visual?’
‘Negative sir, but radar shows targets – likely to be pirates – heading straight for us at around 35 knots. ETA, just under ten minutes. Over.’
The captain’s voice was closed. Hostile. And it took every bit of restraint inside Cooper not to rip out the radio from the wall.
‘Cooper, let me get this straight. You’ve had no visual, yet you’re expecting me to send out my men on the likelihood.’
That was it. The wall invited him to punch it. And he accepted. Gratefully.
Frustrated, his tone still held discipline. He said, ‘That’s correct, sir.’
A pause.
A hush.
A silence which sounded like a ticking clock.
And eventually. Tightly. Captain Beau Neill said, ‘Lieutenant, request understood… and approved. I’m passing you back over to Petty Officer Monroe… But Cooper, don’t think I won’t speak to you about this when you get back on the ship.’
A couple of drawn, long seconds, followed by the voice of Officer Monroe. ‘Yankee Girl, have you had visual yet, sir? Over.’
‘Negative, but targets nearing.’
‘Are you on your own?’
‘Negative Monroe, two adult civilians on board. One male, one female.’
‘Are you armed, Lieutenant?’
‘Affirmative.’
Then the words Thomas J. Cooper had been waiting for.
‘Air support on its way. ETA twelve minutes. In the meantime, I advise you to get the civilians below decks… And Lieutenant, good luck.’
*
‘Ellie…! Ellie…! I want you to go downstairs to the cabin, lock the door, hide in the closet. Anywhere you’ll be out of sight.’
Charging towards her, Cooper watched as she shook her head, terror sketched and engraved into her features. She stood portside behind Jackson and, taking up the slack of the rope, she raised her voice to compete with the wind,
‘No, Tom! No way, I’m staying up here to help.’
Before he had time to argue, Jackson began to jibe the boat. Forcing the yacht to make the hazardous one-eighty turn. It tilted dangerously. Rolling treacherously in the waves. Cutting sharply through the water like a blade on silk as he expertly coaxed in the mainsail. Fighting. Battling the surging wind.
And the noise of the thick canvas sail, thunderous as it snapped through the air.
The boom swung across the decks. Shaking violently. Threatening to come lose from her tacks. And with the wind becoming increasingly stronger, harder to defeat, Jackson yelled frantically. ‘Coop! I can’t hold her! Coop! Please!’
Cooper hurried to help. But as he did the crosswind caught under the mainsail. Filling it out and causing the boom to swing back at speed across the deck towards Jackson.
‘Look out!’
The rapidity of the vessel’s boom hurtling sideways made it impossible for Jackson to get out of the way.
It hit him hard.
Split open his forehead from the bridge of his nose to the base of his hairline.
A large skin flap exposed an inch-wide wound as a fountain of blood first patterned then soaked his top. Pooling down onto the deck. He jerked backwards. His body going into seizure. Caused him to slump hard into Ellie as his legs gave way. Sending her staggering back towards the rails.
‘No! ...’
Cooper’s cry stretched further than his reach. His fingertips only managing to brush Ellie’s hands. Too far to catch her but not too far to miss the terror, the panic, frozen in her eyes as she mouthed his name. Screaming out for him to help as she buckled under Jackson’s weight. Losing balance as both she and Jackson plunged overboard.
Racing over the chain rigging, steadying himself as the yacht bobbed fiercely up and down, Cooper grabbed the lifebuoy. Stole a quick glimpse round.
The wind had begun to blow the sails straight on. Denying them any lift. Leaving them to flutter passively like flags at half-mast. And he knew the combination of the dying sails and the boom crashing freely from side to side would stall the vessel to an eventual stop, allowing him to attempt to rescue Jackson and Ellie without fear of the yacht drifting away.
Dashing over to the rails, Cooper leant over.
Ellie had always teased him about the concern he’d shown over her not being able to swim, but she was now floundering and struggling and battling and terrified as the force of the ocean pounded her into the side of the yacht, her hands sliding down the fiberglass side as she desperately scrabbled for some kind of hold.
With water rushing over her face and into her mouth, Ellie’s words were punctuated with the sounds of wild gasping.
‘Help… me… Tom…! Tom…! Help… me… please…’
Throwing the buoy to her, Cooper’s eyes once again darted along the surface of the ocean. But this time he was looking for Jackson. ‘Ellie, hang on to that…Whatever you do, keep hold of it.’
‘Pull me up!’
‘I have to get Jackson… just hold on.’
‘Tom…! No, wait! ...’
He turned away and Ellie continued to scream his name. The draw for him to look back was hypnotic. But he couldn’t. Shouldn’t. Wouldn’t. In truth, he didn’t dare. His composure was already beginning to crack. Peeling away. Exposing his vulnerability which he knew would serve only to distract. Costing time. Costing lives.
There… He could see Jackson to the left of the boat. Unconscious. Floating face down.
And without a breath of hesitation, Thomas J. Cooper dived in.
‘I’m here… It’s okay, I’m here… Stay with me Jackson, stay with me!’
Treading water, Cooper turned Jackson over carefully. Real slowly. And the sea turned red with blood.
‘Jackson…! Jackson!’
There was no response, but that didn’t surprise Cooper. He could see the injuries to Jackson’s head were worse than he’d initially thought. The gash so deep he could see skull. His eyes so swollen, if he’d been conscious, Cooper doubted Jackson would’ve been able to open them anyway. But at least he was alive. Barely. But alive all the same, and whatever happened, he was determined to keep it that way.
Using an extended arm tow with his hand under Jackson’s chin, Cooper swam, heading for the yacht’s ladder. He could hear Ellie still screaming. Screaming strong. But that was good. Real good. It told him what he wanted to know… She was still there.
Unexpected swells of rolling waves suddenly carried Cooper and Jackson sideward. And the sound of roaring and chugging and racing engines and a glance to his left confirmed his fears. Old battered white skiffs. And in them, Somalian pirates. Heavily armed and sporting t-shirts bearing American logos and wearing Bedouin scarfs showing only their eyes.
They hadn’t seen him. Though he knew it was only a matter of time. His only chance, however slim, was to get to the stern box on the other side of the yacht which held his gun. In desperation, Cooper dived under the water, dragging an unconscious Jackson with him.
Under the surface the sounds were distorted. The vision blurred, made harder from the dark billowing clouds of Jackson’s blood. And Cooper counted down, calculating how long it’d be safe to keep an unconscious Jackson under water.
Four seconds.
Three.
Two.
Re-surfacing, and hoping he was near enough to the yacht, Cooper was met by an onslaught of bullets and a firing of guns and a fusion of sounds and a discord of chaos and Cooper’s breathing was hard and his chest was tight and his energy was slowly draining away.
Chopping waves and whirling blades hovering above sent a downdraft of stinging ocean spray. And to the soundtrack of machine guns and through a gusting wind, Cooper squinted up.
And there in the sun drenched sky, reflecting light like armored angels waging war with dragons, were two US Navy helicopters.
As the skiffs turned and retreated the aerial rescue basket was lowered into the water and Cooper kissed Jackson on the side of his head. He whispered, ‘It’s goin’ to be alright. You hear me, Jackson? It’s going to be alright.’
*
‘Lieutenant, we’re going to take you both back to the ship,’ the US navy officer shouted above the blare of the rotating blades as the air crewmen hoisted Jackson and Cooper into the Seahawk helicopter.