Blindside - By Gj Moffat Page 0,40

but you don’t even ask why. Do you realise how stupid that sounds?’

The driver held Raines’s gaze. ‘Sir, I think you’re the one that’s confused.’

‘How’s that?’

‘You were a soldier, am I right?’

‘I was. I put my life on the line for the likes of you.’

‘And why did you do that?’

‘To serve my country.’

‘I don’t think I’m making myself clear enough. Let me try again. Why did you pack up your gear, get on a plane and go to a country thousands of miles away to fight?’

‘Because I was ordered to do it by my Commander-in-Chief.’

‘You mean the President?’

‘Yes.’

‘But that’s not true, is it? I mean, the President himself didn’t come down to your base and address you individually to give you an order.’

‘That’s not how it works.’

‘Exactly. The President set the mission and you followed the orders of your superiors. You did it without question because the chain of command is important. Because it is necessary.’

Raines regarded the man, watching to see if he was being taunted. There was no trace of humour in his eyes.

‘You’re trying to tell me that we’re the same?’

‘Yes.’

‘And what exactly are your orders?’

‘We watch you. We report back. Simple as that.’

‘And what is it that you think you’ve seen?’

‘Nothing so far. But it’s early.’

‘I don’t like being treated like a piece of garbage someone can throw away after it’s been used up.’

‘Look, sir. I don’t know what your gripe is and, honestly, I’m not paid to care. I’m paid to make sure you don’t do something that will hurt others.’

Raines wondered if he could get the drop on the two men – pull his weapon before they could. The thought of a gunfight in the close confines of the car got his heart pumping.

‘Do we understand each other?’ the driver asked.

Raines stared at him until the man looked away. You have no idea how close you are right now, Raines thought.

‘Let’s not do this again, okay? If you get on with your life as a respectful, law-abiding citizen of the United States, we can leave you alone. How does that sound?’

Raines put his hands on his lap.

‘Maybe it’s too late for that,’ he said. ‘Did you think about that?’

The man looked down at Raines’s hands and back at his face. Raines saw the realisation dawn that they had allowed a man into their car, a suspect, without searching him. Neither of the two men in the front of the car had any idea whether he was armed or not.

‘It’s never too late, sir,’ the driver said.

Raines let his hands drop to his sides. The driver shifted in his seat. Raines knew that he was trying to get into a position where he could reach his sidearm – figured he would have it in a shoulder rig like all the Feds do.

‘Sometimes it is, son. That’s why we go to war.’

The passenger seemed oblivious to what was going on and sat staring out of the windscreen. Raines wanted to do it so much it hurt. Take out some of his anger on these two men and all that they represented.

‘Sir …’

‘What?’

‘I think you better leave now.’

The strain in the man’s voice caused the passenger to turn to look at Raines. His hands stayed loose by his sides, palms now resting on the back seat of the car.

‘Maybe I don’t want to leave.’

The passenger’s eyes flicked between the two other men.

‘Some other time,’ Raines said eventually, reaching out to open the door. ‘It’s been a blast.’

3

The apartment felt emptier than when he had left. Raines went to the kitchen and dropped his keys on the counter before getting a can of Coke from the fridge and popping the tab. He drank half the can in one go and went to the living room, sitting on the couch and flicking aimlessly through twenty or so channels before happening on news coverage of some new military initiative in Afghanistan. He watched for a while until the various senior officers being interviewed blurred into one indistinguishable whole.

Light from the setting sun washed over the living room before fading to dark. Raines muted the sound on the TV and closed his eyes, the flickering light from the screen playing across his face.

Fatigue settled down through his flesh and into his bones. He took another sip from the Coke, not tasting it. He’d noticed in the last two weeks how food no longer held any pleasure for him. It was fuel for his body and nothing more than that. He hadn’t