Desperate Ground Read online

  L J Morris

  Desperate Ground

  (Ali Sinclair #1)

  First published by Crow's Foot Books 2019

  Copyright © 2019 by L J Morris

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

  This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

  L J Morris asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

  Second edition

  ISBN: 978-1-9162498-0-6

  Editing by Jo Craven

  Cover art by Nick Castle

  This book was professionally typeset on Reedsy

  Find out more at reedsy.com

  To Ruth, whose love and support got me here.

  Ground on which we can only be saved from destruction by fighting without delay, is desperate ground.

  – Sun Tzu, The Art of War

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  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

  Bonus Content

  Hunting Ground: Prologue

  Hunting Ground: Chapter 1

  Acknowledgements

  About The Author

  Prologue

  The wipers juddered and squealed on Owen Evans’ ageing hatchback as they struggled to cope with the torrential rain that was hammering down. Evans took the handkerchief from his top pocket and wiped away the condensation that had formed on the inside of the windscreen. Five minutes had passed since he’d pressed the buzzer on the entrance’s sandstone gatepost, but there was still no sign of movement. He began to think he was in the wrong place. He tried to focus on the manor house that he knew was on the other side of the gates, but, although his eyes were becoming accustomed to the dark, he couldn’t see anything through the downpour. Maybe he should get out and push the button again?

  The sudden flash of lightning and loud crack of thunder made him jump and lit up the imposing house like a haunted mansion from an old horror film. It was a hell of a night to be making a house call, but this could be his chance to get noticed. It could mean a promotion. None of the other analysts had been invited to the house before, but none of them had spotted the security flaw. Evans was glad he’d sent his report directly to the boss.

  With a metallic clunk, the estate’s wrought-iron gates came to life and swung open. Evans put the car in gear and crept along the track towards the house, tyres crunching on the gravel. An external light on the porch came on and the front door opened, flooding the driveway with light as the car pulled up. The young analyst climbed out of the car and, holding his briefcase above his head, ran to the entrance and ducked inside.

  He stood in the grand hallway; water dripped from his coat and formed puddles on the marble floor. The boss threw him a towel. ‘Dry yourself off, Evans.’ The older man’s voice was polished, educated, upper-class – everything you’d expect from someone who owned a house like this. ‘Please, come through.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Evans followed him into the study. Display cases of antiques and paintings, which Evans was sure were originals, lined the walls.

  ‘Have a seat, Owen. Can I call you Owen?’

  ‘Yes, sir, thank you.’ Evans took off his coat and sat in a small leather seat, a few feet in front of the large, antique desk that the boss now sat behind.

  ‘I’ve read your report, Owen. It makes for worrying reading. Are you sure about this?’

  Evans nodded. ‘Yes, sir, this has the potential to be a big problem.’

  ‘And the scenario you’ve put together, could that actually happen?’

  Evans sat forwards in his chair, sensing that this was his chance to shine. ‘As I explain in section two of the report, sir, in the right circumstances, it could be done. The consequences could be catastrophic. I’m surprised no one has ever noticed the potential weakness before.’

  ‘You did the right thing highlighting this, Owen. Have you briefed anyone else?’

  ‘No, sir, I came straight here from the office. I know when to keep things quiet.’ Evans sat back in his chair, a little smug.

  The bullet struck him in the centre of his chest, he watched as blood seeped out of the wound and spread across his shirt. He started to slide off his seat; his vision began to blur. He looked up; the boss was standing over him, holding a semi-automatic pistol in his hand. ‘I’m sorry, Owen. You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time.’ The pistol fired a second time and silenced Evans permanently.

  The older man put the weapon back in his drawer and sat down. The secure laptop on his desk displayed Evans’ report, marked at the top and bottom in red with: TOP SECRET – UK EYES ONLY. Evans hadn’t put it through the proper channels, no one else had or would see it. He closed the laptop’s lid, poured himself another scotch, and relaxed back in his chair, smiling to himself.

  Chapter 1

  Ali Sinclair bent her knees and rolled as she landed, but the impact still knocked the breath from her. The ground was more rocks than sand, and was a lot harder than it had looked from the top of the fence. Lying flat, sucking air back into her lungs, she looked and listened for any sign that she’d been spotted. There was no movement on the other side of the fence, no alarms, no shouts, no sound of running boots. If she were lucky, it would be three hours before anyone missed her. She rolled away from the reach of the floodlights, into the darkness, and, after one last check for any pursuers, stood up.

  Her hands were bloodied and pain stabbed at her left ankle, but she didn’t have time to worry about that now, she had to follow the plan. She wiped some of the dirt and sweat from her face with her shirt, turned away from the lights, and limped into the desert that surrounded the prison.

  The new moon didn’t provide any light and navigation by the stars wasn’t her strong point. Keeping the lights of the prison behind her she was able to travel roughly northeast towards the road that led to the outskirts of Juarez and the Mexico-USA border. Many of her fellow inmates came from Juarez or the surrounding area. The city had a history of bloody violence and brutal murder was still an everyday occurrence, especially of women. The cartels battled each other, and the police, over control of the billion-dollar drugs trade. The cartel’s initial promise of easy money and status sucked in innocent youngsters, destroying their lives, destroying their families. For those who were locked up there was no respite. The prisons were run by the cartels and gang membership became a survival strategy.

  Juarez wasn’t somewhere Sinclair was keen to visit, but it would be easier to disappear in the anonymity of the overcrowded city. The plan was to hide out there for a short time before making a night-time crossing into the US; that was her only chance of
avoiding a quick return to prison.

  She travelled as fast as she dared. Her eyes adjusted to the darkness but it was still difficult to make out any details on her route, let alone see any distance. She had to feel her way with every step, making sure that the ground ahead was firm before transferring her weight. She listened the whole time, but she could hear no noise over the sound of her own breathing, her own footfall.

  After fifty minutes of slow, painful progress, the ground under Sinclair’s feet changed. She dropped to one knee. The surface was hard-packed sand and gravel; it was the road to Juarez. From here she was supposed to travel parallel with it and stay out of sight, but it had taken her too long to get to this point. Travelling on the relatively flat, hard surface would be risky but it was the best way to put maximum distance between her and the prison.

  She took a few steps away from the road and sat down to check her injured ankle. It didn’t feel broken but travelling over the rough, uneven terrain hadn’t helped it. Her boot was giving the joint some support so she tightened her laces as much as she could and got to her feet. She couldn’t sit and rest; the sun would be up soon and she had to be under cover by then. Water and a place to hide were her priorities now.

  She knelt at the sound of a vehicle approaching, and watched as a white pickup trundled past. Its tail lights flickered as it bumped along the road and disappeared over the horizon. Sinclair stood up, checked both ways, and set off.

  She walked the first few steps, testing her ankle, then picked up her speed into a jog. The lights of Juarez were now visible in the distance and she gritted her teeth against the pain, concentrating on each step, left, right, left, right. She stopped. Up ahead was a noise; something that didn’t fit with her surroundings, something man-made. She crouched, and listened as it grew louder, it was an engine. Headlights appeared over the brow of a hill fifty yards from her. She dived off the road, rolled ten yards and lay still. The white pickup was back again. Sinclair tried to melt into the landscape; murmuring quietly, ‘Drive past ... drive past.’

  The truck travelled a few hundred yards along the road then turned and headed back towards her. Had the driver seen her? She didn’t think so, not in this light, but whoever this guy was, he was searching for something. He wasn’t police, so probably not looking for her; it was too soon for the alarm to have been raised anyway. Maybe he was a drug runner or people smuggler. Whatever he was, there was no way Sinclair could travel quickly with him driving up and down the road like that. She had to do something. If she could get the driver out of the truck and steal it, she might even get to Juarez before the sun came up.

  She waited until the pickup was only a few yards away, then stood up and launched a fist-sized rock at the windscreen. The impact of the rock cracked the glass and the driver slammed on the brakes, the truck’s wheels ploughed up the road as they skidded to a halt.

  Sinclair dropped back on her haunches and held her breath as the driver climbed out of the cab and walked round to her side. The flashlight in his hand created long shadows as he moved it left and right. Sinclair rocked on to the balls of her feet and waited until the light panned away from her, then sprang forwards and closed the gap between her and the driver. He swung the flashlight towards her but she ducked underneath it and drove her shoulder into his gut. They both slammed into the side of the truck and slid to the ground as the driver lost his balance. Her ankle was screaming but it would have to wait. Whoever this guy was, he was strong and hard to get hold of. She straddled his chest and swung a punch at his head, but he was too fast. He blocked the strike and grabbed the front of her shirt. Pulling her down towards him, he shone the light of the torch in his own face.

  ‘Ali, it’s me.’

  Sinclair stopped her attack and stared into his eyes. This was a face she knew well, a man with whom she had lots of history. Frank McGill, a man she trusted with her life.

  ‘Shit, Frank. What the fuck are you doing here?’

  ‘Change of plan. If you get off me, I’ll explain as we go.’

  Sinclair rolled off McGill and sat in the dust staring at him.

  McGill stood up. ‘We need to get you away from here. The Mexicans will be expecting you to be on foot.’ He helped her to her feet. ‘It’s good to see you, Ali.’

  Sinclair was glad to see McGill. When he’d visited her in prison and given her the escape plan she hadn’t been surprised. He’d always promised he’d get her home and it wasn’t the first time he’d put himself in harm’s way for her. She reached out and gave him a hug. ‘It’s good to see you too, Frank.’

  They climbed into the truck and McGill turned it east, away from Juarez.

  The inside of the truck was a mess. She didn’t ask where it had come from but, judging by the dust and the smell, she imagined there was a Mexican farmer somewhere who would be waking up with no transport.

  McGill fished a bag from behind the seat. ‘There’s some water in there, you look like you could do with a drink.’

  Sinclair took a bottle and poured half of the contents into her mouth, coughing and spluttering as she tried to swallow it all. Her skin was streaked with dirt, sweat and blood from the escape. Her clothes were ragged, and her normally athletic build looked a little too thin. Two years in hell had aged her.

  She poured some of the water on the cuts on her hands. ‘This sand gets everywhere.’

  McGill noticed the tremble in her voice. ‘You okay? I’ve got a first-aid kit and some clothes at a motel a few miles from the border. I booked in as Mr Smith.’

  ‘Did they buy that?’

  ‘I paid for a week in advance, I don’t think they gave a shit.’

  Sinclair laughed – her first in a long time. ‘I don’t know how you managed to pull this off, Frank, but I’m glad you did.’

  ‘Getting you out of the prison wasn’t difficult, Ali, I just paid enough in bribes for the guards to leave some doors open and look the other way.’

  ‘But your message said to head for a safe house in Juarez.’

  McGill nodded. ‘That’s right. The guards couldn’t guarantee which night you would escape. If I’d hung around here waiting for you for days, someone would’ve noticed.’

  ‘So why the change of plan?’

  ‘I’ve been watching the safe house for the last two nights, didn’t trust the fuckers.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘The police arrived about an hour ago, must’ve been just after you’d escaped. Someone’s tipped them off.’

  Sinclair frowned. ‘Why didn’t they just come after me?’

  ‘Easier to let you come to them, I suppose. Saves them searching a wide area. I got in the truck and came straight here, I was hoping I’d find you in time.’

  ‘All these bribes and safe houses can’t have been cheap. Where’d you get the money for all this?’

  ‘I called in some favours. Annoyed some people till they paid me to go away. Basically, made a nuisance of myself.’

  ‘I always said you were a pain in the arse, Frank.’

  McGill took a sharp intake of breath in mock hurt. ‘I could drop you off right here. You can walk the rest of the way.’

  Sinclair gave him a slap on the shoulder. ‘Just drive, I’m in desperate need of a shower.’

  ‘Well, I wasn’t going to say anything but …’ He sniffed the air.

  She gave him her sternest stare but couldn’t hold it and they both cracked up. It was as if they’d never been apart. Chatting and trading joke insults, the bond between them as strong as ever as they drove towards the motel.

  After an hour, McGill pointed ahead. ‘It’s just up here on the left, keep your head down.’

  Sinclair slid down into the footwell of the passenger seat as the truck pulled off the road. The motel was a long, low, single-storey building with an office at one end and doors to the rooms along the front. Its once bright coat of paint faded by the sun, and the walls and windows now pitted with sand that had been kicked up by the wind.

  McG
ill parked outside room twelve and looked around for anyone watching, but there was no sign of any of the other rooms’ occupants. The motel’s surveillance system consisted of one cheap camera, which he had already turned so only eleven rooms could be seen on the monitor in reception. He opened the room’s creaking wooden door then stepped back and knocked on the side of the truck. Sinclair climbed out and hobbled into the room. McGill followed her in and closed the door behind them.

  * * *

  It took Sinclair half an hour, under the lukewarm water of the motel shower, to scrub all the grime from her body. Towelled dry, her myriad of cuts and scrapes now stung from the antiseptic cream Frank had given her to rub in, and her old clothes had been replaced with a fresh clean set. He’d thought of everything, even got the sizes right, almost. It was the first time in two years that she’d been able to have a shower without the guards leering at her. The first time she’d been alone without the noise and stench of the prison. Tears welled in her eyes as the built-up feelings of fear and the unbearable loneliness of her ordeal combined with her utter relief at being free. She placed her head in her hands and wept.

  Back in the room, McGill stood at the bathroom door. He could hear Sinclair sobbing, thought about knocking to ask if she was okay but decided against it. She would tell him about her ordeal when she was ready, when she needed to. Until then, all he could do was let her know he was there for her.

  When Sinclair came out of the bathroom she sat on the edge of the bed while McGill strapped her ankle and dressed the deepest cuts on her hands.

  ‘Thanks, Frank.’ She stood up and tested his handiwork. With her boots on she should be able to move about without too much pain. She moved to the other end of the room and sat at the small table that was fastened to the wall under the room’s only window. ‘So, what’s the plan from here?’

  McGill re-packed the first-aid kit into his bag and pulled out a map. Laying it on the table, he pointed at the various marks he had made to show their intended route. ‘We follow the border south, it’ll be easier to cross there. I’ll drop you on this side of the river and you’ll make your way across. I’ll be waiting on the other side to pick you up.’