End Zone

  END ZONE

  The Deep State Series - Book 3

  DC Alden

  Copyright © 2019 DC Alden

  First edition published 2019

  This edition published 2019

  The right of DC Alden to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyrights, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Contents

  Glossary

  Lab Rat

  Bunker Mentality

  Crash Test Dummies

  Grave Decision

  Savage Kingdom

  Funky Cold

  The Cabin in the Woods

  Cash Point

  Snowcat

  Stand To

  Breacher Up

  Double Down

  Black Dolphin

  Bowel Movement

  Horror Show

  Bug Zapper

  Bombay Blues

  Throwback

  Dry Run

  Feet Wet

  Cry Me A River

  Don’t Tread On Me

  The Need for Speed

  Shanghai Surprise

  Born in the USA

  Bitch Slap

  Three Stretchers Outside Flagstaff

  Say Hello, Wave Goodbye

  Impeach This

  Permanent Vacation

  Did you enjoy End Zone?

  What’s Next?

  Glossary

  AAR — After Action Review

  AFB — Air Force Base

  APC — Armoured Personnel Carrier

  BSO — Basic Security Option

  CDC — Centres for Disease Control and Prevention

  CentCom — Central Command

  CIA — Central Intelligence Agency

  CQB — Close Quarter Battle

  DDO — Deputy Director of Operations (CIA)

  DEVGRU — The Naval Special Warfare Development Group/SEAL Team Six

  DOD — Department Of Defence

  EOD — Explosive Ordinance Disposal

  GAT — General Aviation Terminal (private)

  GDP — Gross Domestic Product

  HAHO — High Altitude High Opening

  HVT — High Value Target

  JDAM — Joint Direct Attack Munition

  Jefe — (Spanish) A boss or leader

  JSOC — Joint Special Operations Command

  JSOTF — Joint Special Operations Task Force

  JSOTF HQ — Joint Special Operations Task Force Headquarters

  Langley — CIA Headquarters, Langley, Virginia

  LZ — Landing Zone

  M4 CQBR — Close Quarter Battle Receiver - variant of the Colt M4 infantry rifle

  MI5 — Military Intelligence 5 — UK Domestic Intelligence Service

  MRE — Meals Ready to Eat

  NSA — National Security Agency

  NVD — Night Vision Device

  NVG — Night Vision Goggles

  Op — Operation (Military)

  OTC — Operator Training Course (Delta Force)

  PNG — Persona Non Grata

  ROE — Rules Of Engagement

  Rucks — Rucksack

  SAD — Special Activities Division (CIA)

  SATCOM — Satellite Communications (equipment)

  SecDef — Secretary of Defence

  SecState — Secretary of State

  SITREP — Report on current military situation

  SOCOM — United States Special Operations Command

  SOG — Special Operations Group (CIA)

  TIC — Troops In Contact

  TOC — Tactical Operations Center

  WMD — Weapon Of Mass Destruction

  XO — Executive Officer

  “Just because you do not take an interest in politics doesn’t mean politics won’t take an interest in you.”

  Pericles

  Lab Rat

  Dave Piper squeezed the knife a little tighter as the footsteps drew closer.

  He had no idea who it was. The shop doorway was deep and dark, and he lay still, curled up inside his sleeping bag with his back to the street. Out there the rain still hammered down. Tactically he was at a disadvantage, but clutching the small knife gave him some comfort. If he kept still, whoever it was might just piss off.

  It was after midnight, and Dave was on the verge of slipping into an exhausted sleep when he’d heard the vehicle pull into the kerb. He’d listened to the idling engine, the drum of windscreen wipers, the clunk of an opening door. Then came the footsteps.

  It wouldn’t be the police, he knew that much. Central London was virtually overrun with rough sleepers and the police had long given up trying to move them on. Trespass, shoplifting, drug use; Old Bill turned a blind eye to most things these days.

  So that left two options.

  The first would be the outreach do-gooders, who sniffed around alleyways and basements, trying to coax the homeless into drop-in centres or hostels, but Dave wasn’t interested. They asked too many questions and stuck their noses in where they didn’t belong. Even when the temperature plummeted, and the ice was thick on the pavements, Dave knew of a hundred warm air vents and underground car parks where he could bed down in relative comfort. So if the footsteps belonged to a Good Samaritan, Dave Piper would politely but firmly tell them to get lost.

  Then again, it might be the second option; trouble.

  The footsteps stopped close by. Dave heard quiet breathing in the dark and wondered what was coming. Maybe a stream of hot piss, or several sharp kicks to the ribs, accompanied by vicious encouragement and hoots of laughter. If it came to that, Dave was ready. He gripped the knife tighter and lay like a stone.

  ‘Hello? Is anyone in there?’

  A woman. Dave wrestled his upper body out of the sleeping bag. The knife was still in his hand, out of sight. Women couldn’t be trusted either. A bitter, vengeful bitch was the reason Dave Piper had lost everything and dropped off the grid in the first place.

  He stared at the figure standing over him, saw the ponytail at the back of her head, though her face remained in shadow.

  ‘What d’you want?’

  ‘My name’s Marion. It’s okay, I’m not with the police or anything.’

  A do-gooder. ‘I don’t need help. I just want to be left alone.’

  Marion crouched down next to him, but not too close, Dave noticed. He knew he smelled rank.

  ‘I’m looking for volunteers, for a health initiative that’s being run by Westminster Council.’ She held up an ID card. ‘We’re studying the long-term effects of street living, poor diet, hygiene, that sort of thing.’

  Dave reached between his legs and scratched at the lice. ‘I told you, I’m not interested.’

  ‘You’ll be paid for your participation.’

  Dave’s eyes narrowed. ‘How much?’

  Marion reached inside her jacket and pulled out a roll of notes. She peeled one off and held it out.

  Dave snatched it from her fingers and held it up. A fifty-pound note. He felt the crispness of the paper, held it under his nose. Cash had a certain smell and texture, and in another life Dave’s addiction had been money. He ran his tongue over cracked lips, his mouth suddenly dry.

  ‘What’s this for?’

  ‘A sign of good faith. There’s another four-hundred and fifty if you join the program. A
nd you’ll be paid cash, no questions asked.’

  Dave dropped the knife and sat upright. Hot, fetid air escaped from the folds of his sleeping bag. Marion stood up to avoid the stench.

  ‘What’s the catch?’

  ‘No catch. What’s your name?’

  ‘Dave.’

  ‘Well, Dave, it would mean accompanying me and the other volunteers to our facility outside London. You’ll be served hot meals and snacks and you’ll be assigned your own room, complete with en-suite facilities and Sky TV. All we want in return is your permission to conduct a medical. Nothing intrusive; blood pressure, lung capacity, a few samples, urine, blood, stool, etcetera. We’ll also be measuring your sleep patterns.’

  ‘That’s it? Because I don’t want anyone’s finger up my arse.’

  Marion grinned. ‘No, it’s nothing like that. You’ll be well looked after, and when it’s over you’ll get some new clothes and a brand new sleeping bag. How does that sound?’

  ‘And the cash, right? The four-fifty?’

  ‘Of course.’

  Dave threw back the sleeping bag and scrambled to his feet. ‘Fuck it, I’m in.’

  He woke with a start, jolting forward as the driver pumped the minibus brakes.

  He rubbed his eyes, then shoved a hand down his filthy jeans, his fingers probing for the fifty-pound note. It was still there, tucked deep inside his rotten underpants, and he relaxed a little.

  He watched the vehicle’s wipers sweep back and forth, beating off the rain. He felt the vehicle turn as the headlights swept over tall brick pillars and large black gates. One of them was open, and Dave glimpsed a figure in a hooded raincoat waving as the van drove past. He twisted in his seat to get a better look but the rear window was steamed up with condensation. It didn’t matter. Wherever they were going, Dave figured they’d arrived.

  He sat a little straighter, watching the road ahead as it wound through dark woods. Classical music played quietly on the radio and green digits glowed in the dark; almost three in the morning. Dave saw Marion lean over and mumble something to the driver, a hulking, bearded silhouette who wore latex gloves, just like Marion. The driver grinned and nodded, and Dave wondered what she’d said to him. Dave got the impression it was about their cargo, and that wasn’t very polite. Bitch.

  He clocked the faces of the other volunteers around him and saw a mixture of apprehension and excitement as dirty hands swiped at the foggy windows. As the minibus slowed, Dave was distracted by the building ahead. He knew a thing or two about property. Back in the day he was Charlie Big Bollocks, king of the East Sussex developers. Well, maybe king was an exaggeration, but life had been good once, and the money had poured in. Then came the parties, the cocaine, the affairs, the terrible investments, the slags at Customs and Excise, the divorce, the bloodsucking lawyers. That life was ancient fucking history, but Dave still recognised quality real estate when he saw it.

  The minibus crunched to a halt on a wide gravel drive. Marion climbed out and yanked the side door open. Cold air snatched away the warm, comforting stench.

  ‘This is it. Follow me, please.’

  Dave ducked out into the pouring rain and stood off to one side. Cold rain streamed down his face as he squinted up at the darkened building, at the tall windows and chimney stacks, the chipped and weather-beaten portico. No lights, anywhere. Odd.

  ‘Come on, pal.’

  The big lump with the beard was waving at him. Dave followed the others, their feet crunching on wet gravel as they followed a high stone wall to a heavy-looking wooden gate. Dave funnelled through with the others, expecting to see manicured rear gardens. What he wasn’t expecting was a concrete staircase. Dave reached out for the cold, wet handrail and followed the others down into a gloomy corridor. A couple of naked yellow bulbs hung from the low ceiling, throwing everything else into shadow. He smelled cold earth and rain, and his breath fogged on the dank air. Marion held open another door and waved them through.

  ‘Inside, please.’

  Dave was the last to enter the room; another low-ceilinged basement. Marion followed him inside, slamming the door behind her. A row of trestle tables stretched across the room, each with a large brown wheelie bin next to it. Dave counted twelve. One for each of them.

  ‘Choose a station and put any valuables into the plastic tray provided,’ Marion told them. ‘Once you’ve done that, take off your clothes and put them in the bins. That includes hats, blankets, sleeping bags, anything you brought with you.’

  ‘You want us to strip off here?’ Dave asked.

  Marion smiled and nodded. ‘It’s hygiene protocol. You’ll also notice a small EpiPen on each table. That’s a tetanus shot, which one of my team will administer. Once you’ve had that, I’ll take you through to the shower area. Fresh clothes will be issued afterwards, and a hot breakfast served in the canteen.’

  Dave headed towards a table. He dug into his crotch and unfolded the fifty-pound note, smoothing it out and laying it carefully in the tray while he glanced at the others. They were already getting undressed, kicking off their filthy shoes and clothes. Dave did the same, scooping up his garments and dropping them into the bin.

  ‘How much did they promise you?’

  Dave turned to his left. She had a shaved head, and her loose, naked flesh was heavily tattooed and dotted with sores. Most of her teeth were missing and her eyes were bloodshot. Mid-thirties, Dave figured. Life on the street often added at least ten years.

  ‘Five hundred quid,’ he whispered from the corner of his mouth.

  ‘Yeah, me too. My name’s Lem. As in lemon.’

  ‘Dave.’

  ‘I saw you get in the van. Any idea where we are?’

  ‘None, and I don’t give a fuck as long as I get that money.’

  Lem offered a toothless grin and leaned closer. ‘I’ve got a rock of crack tucked up my fanny. We can hit it later if you like.’

  ‘Sounds good,’ Dave said, giving her a wink. He’d probably fuck her too, which would be a bonus. She wasn’t a looker, not by any standard, but beggars were definitely not choosers. He sniggered at his own joke.

  ‘Stand still, please.’

  A man in a surgical mask with a long grey ponytail picked up the EpiPen on Lem’s table. He wiped her upper arm with a swab and jabbed her with the small needle. Lem didn’t flinch, Dave noticed. She was used to needles.

  Ponytail placed the used EpiPen back on the table and stood in front of Dave. ‘Arm, please.’

  Dave twisted his shoulder. Ponytail wiped his upper arm clean. ‘Why’s mine blue?’

  Ponytail’s eyes narrowed. ‘Excuse me?’

  Dave cocked his head towards Lem. ‘Her needle had a white label. Mine’s blue.’

  Ponytail shrugged. ’Different batch, probably. Stand still.’

  He jabbed Dave’s arm. Dave winced, and Ponytail moved on to the next table. Dave watched him, and at one point the man glanced back at him. You’re a wrong ‘un, Dave thought.

  Marion addressed the room. ‘Is everyone ready?’

  Dave cupped his privates, shivering in the cold. Others stood brazenly, tits and cocks on display. Dave wasn’t that shameless, nor that well-endowed for that matter. He kept his eyes front as Marion pointed across the room.

  ‘Let’s get you through the showers. Then you can all eat and relax.’

  Dave hadn’t noticed it before; a big green door, with a thick handle and ringed with rusty rivets. The bearded driver held it open, and its thickness reminded Dave of the door on a bank vault. He felt uneasy, and not for the first time. There was Marion’s quiet joke with the driver, then the odd look from Ponytail. Something wasn’t right. As the others filed into the darkness beyond, Dave hesitated.

  Marion appeared next to him. ‘In you go. Nothing to be nervous about.’

  ‘Yeah, come on.’ Lem patted Dave’s bony arse and winked. He remembered the rock and followed her inside.

  The floor was cold beneath his feet. The door swung closed behind him w
ith a heavy thump, shutting out the light. Dave’s heart began to race. He swallowed to clear his ears.

  ‘Soundproofing,’ a voice muttered from somewhere in the inky blackness. ‘I used to be a session musician back in the day. Worked a lot of studios.’

  ‘Worked a lot of gear too,’ cackled a woman in a thick Scottish accent. Nervous laughter filled the dead air.

  Then the lights snapped on, just four small yellow bulbs sunk into the ceiling. Dave blinked. The room was much bigger than he’d imagined, and he saw they’d formed a tight, naked group near the door. As people began to spread out, Dave ran his hand along the wall, feeling the smoothness of the yellowed tiles. The same tiles covered the floor and ceiling, where a dozen deflated black balloons dangled from brass nozzles.

  Balloons?

  Lem jumped up, her dog-eared boobs flapping as she tried to grab one.

  ‘Do not touch the apparatus,’ crackled a disembodied voice.

  ‘Put the fucking water on!’ the Scottish woman snapped back. She was short and dumpy, with a bird’s nest of wild red hair. ‘We’re freezing our tits off in here!’

  Dave searched for the source of the voice. There were no windows, just muffled air and thick walls. A sudden wave of claustrophobia washed over him. He swallowed hard. He wasn’t used to being confined, especially below ground. The smell of fresh, wet earth had followed them into the chamber. Panic bubbled. Dave wanted out.

  He marched towards the door. There was no handle, so he banged it with a bony fist. ‘Hey, open the door! I’ve changed my mind!’