Last Man Standing

Book 0: Matt Standing Thrillers

by Stephen Leather

Genres: Thrillers

Synopsis

The explosive stand-alone thriller from Sunday Times best-selling author Stephen Leather, featuring appearances from Dan 'Spider' Shepherd.

Friendships forged in the heat of combat can be stronger than anything.

So when SAS trooper Matt Standing is told that the former Navy SEAL who saved his life is in trouble, he doesn't hesitate to go to his aid — even if that means flying halfway around the world to Los Angeles.

Navy SEAL-turned-bodyguard Bobby-Ray Barnes has been accused of killing the man he was supposed to be protecting. Three other bodyguards were also killed, and now Bobby-Ray is on the run.

The dead client was a Russian oligarch with connections to the Kremlin. But who wanted him dead? And if Bobby-Ray wasn't the killer, who carried out the assassination, and why is Bobby-Ray being framed? Standing is the only man who can answer those questions - providing he can stay alive long enough.

Release date: January 24, 2019

Publisher: Hodder & Stoughton

Print pages: 400

Sample

Matt Standing was lying on his bunk listening to an Arabic language lesson through earphones when a Navy SEAL pulled back the flap of his tent and called his name. Standing sat up and switched off his iPod. The SEAL was Rick Lopez, a keen-as-mustard Hispanic demolitions expert and a member of the team Standing had been embedded with for the past four months. ‘We’ve got a live one,’ said Lopez. ‘We’re moving out in three minutes.’ Lopez hurried away without waiting for a response.

Standing put on his flak jacket and reached for his weapon, a Heckler & Koch 417 assault rifle. He ducked out of the tent and jogged over to where his platoon was assembling, close to the three four-door Toyota Tacoma pick-up trucks that the SEALS used as their preferred transport. They called them NTVs – Nonstandard Tactical Vehicles – and modifications included belt-fed machine-gun mounts, grenade launchers, roll bars, infrared headlights, satellite communications, and tracker units. The NTV was a monster and as it resembled a Syrian rebel truck, it could often pass through high-risk areas when a military vehicle would have been fired on.

Two more SEALs hurried over. There were sixteen men in the platoon and Standing made seventeen. He had been embedded with the SEALs for more than three months as part of a special forces exchange programme. His place in the SAS had been taken by a SEAL who was presently on operations in Afghanistan.

The lieutenant in charge was a year or so older than Standing, brown-haired with hazel eyes, and taller than the average SEAL with bulging forearms, and a six-pack that he liked to show off by going bare-chested in the camp as often as possible. Now he was in full combat gear including a Kevlar vest and helmet. His name was Skip Dunnett and while he usually appeared relaxed and laid back, his easy-going nature belied a tough professionalism and a fierce loyalty to his men. ‘This is a chance to get one of yours, Matt,’ said Dunnett. ‘A guy from London who’s been in our Top Ten for the past three months.’ He showed Standing a printout of a bearded twenty-something Asian holding an RPG as he posed in front of an ISIS flag. ‘They call him the Axeman because—’

‘I’ve seen the videos,’ said Standing. ‘Where is he?’

‘We’ve had intel that he’s meeting with an ISIS commander in a village some fifty clicks south of Manbij. So, two birds with one stone. There’s a drone in the air but it’s for observation, the top brass want them taken alive for questioning.’ He put the printout into a pocket on his protective vest. ‘We’ll drive to within a mile of the target and proceed on foot. Normally we’d wait until dark but we don’t know if the bad guys plan to overnight there, so we’re going to strike while the iron’s hot.’

‘How good is the intel?’ asked Standing.

‘It’s come through the MID and they’ve requested that we take action rather than the Syrian Army,’ said the Lieutenant. The Military Intelligence Directorate was the country’s military intelligence service, which reported directly to the president.

‘Because they know the locals will only fuck it up,’ snarled Warrant Officer Andy Wirral. ‘All they know is how to gas civilians and bomb hospitals.’

‘There isn’t a Syrian unit available,’ said the Lieutenant. ‘They’re asking that we hand any ISIS combatants over to them, but my orders are that we take any prisoners straight to our airbase in Kharab A’sheq. Should take us just over an hour if we’re lucky. The CIA will give them a grilling there before deciding whether or not we hand them over to the Syrians.’

Lieutenant Dunnett climbed into the lead vehicle, followed by four of the SEALs.

Standing was in the middle vehicle. Wirral was already in the front passenger seat as Standing climbed into the back. The driver was the oldest member of the team, Leeman Jones, who had just celebrated his thirtieth birthday. Jones was a New Yorker, broad-shouldered and square-jawed, his eyes hidden behind impenetrable wraparound Oakley shades. Jones gunned the engine and black smoke belched from the exhaust.

Lopez climbed in after Standing. They were joined by Bobby-Ray Barnes. Standing had trained with Bobby-Ray during a one-month stint at the unit’s base in California prior to being sent out to Syria and the two men had become firm friends. He was close to Standing’s age but a couple of inches taller and ten kilos heavier. He was from Los Angeles and had the look of a surfer, blond-haired and blue-eyed with gleaming white teeth. ‘So they’ve found the Axeman,’ Bobby-Ray said as he dropped down next to Standing. He patted him on the leg, close to the Glock 19 in its nylon holster. ‘What the fuck is it with your Asians? Why are they so keen to leave the UK and fight in this shithole?’

‘They’re not my Asians, Bobby-Ray.’

‘You know what I mean, dude. We don’t see American Asians over here. They know that the US of A is the best fucking country in the world and they’re lucky to live there. But your Asians, they must fucking hate the UK, right?’

‘Again, they’re not my Asians. No one understands these guys. And they’re a very small minority at best.’

The jihadist known as the Axeman was a British-born Asian, Abdul Khan, the only son of a Leicester doctor who, up until the age of seventeen, had seemed to be destined to follow his father into the medical profession. Khan had been radicalised at his local mosque and a few days after his eighteenth birthday had flown to Syria to fight for ISIS. He had appeared in several ISIS propaganda videos, bearded and waving an AK-47, but in recent months had taken to executing prisoners using a large axe. Bobby-Ray was right: Khan was a wild animal that needed to be put down, the sooner the better.

The final space in the back of the truck was taken by Ryan French, his skin tanned brown from tours in Syria, Iraq and Afghanistan and the proud owner of a bushy beard that reached halfway down his chest. He was a skilled sniper and cradled a Knight’s Armament Mark 2 Sniper Weapon System that he was capable of using at well above its usual one thousand-yard range. ‘Off to work we go,’ he said, grinning.

Lopez stood up and grabbed the machine gun. He pushed his sunglasses up his nose and loosened the red and white checked scarf around his head. ‘Rock and roll!’ he shouted.

The gates opened and the three vehicles drove out of the camp. The operational command centre had been set up on the outskirts of the town of Ayn Dadad in 2016, not long after the area was seized by the Kurdish militia. It had initially been used to monitor the movements of opposition groups affiliated with the Free Syrian Army but was now used as a springboard for US special forces to mount search and destroy missions in the north of the country.

All the houses within a quarter of a mile of the base had been demolished and the rubble removed. The land was used by local farmers to graze their goats and for local kids to play football. A dozen or so young men were kicking a ball around but they stopped to watch the convoy drive by. One of the men pulled a mobile phone from his pocket and began talking into it. Standing turned to stare at the man. A call from his girlfriend or tipping off ISIS that the Americans were heading out? There was no way of knowing, but Standing feared the worst.

‘Phone a friend, do you think?’ asked Bobby-Ray as if reading his mind.

‘Happens everywhere,’ said Standing. ‘Afghanistan, Iraq, anywhere there are troops there’s always a hostile with a phone ready to call in troop movements.’

The man put the phone away but continued to stare at the convoy. French casually sighted his rifle on the man. ‘Bang, bang,’ he said.

The convoy kept at a steady thirty miles an hour. The traffic was light and the vehicles behind the convoy held back, intimidated by the fire power. The drivers coming from the opposite direction stared openly at the Americans, some with undisguised hostility but most were simply curious.

Once they were a few miles from the town the traffic thinned out to just the occasional pick-up truck or agricultural vehicle. The fields either side of the road were mostly bare of crops. Food production had dropped by half since the civil war had erupted in 2011. The conflict disrupted the State system that subsidised farming and provided seeds to farmers, and the country had moved from being an exporter of grain to an importer. The majority of the millions of refugees who had poured out of Syria were former farmers and their families who were no longer able to make a living from their land, and many of the buildings either side of the road had been abandoned.

Standing’s earpiece crackled. ‘Heads up, guys, there’s something in the road ahead.’

Standing peered over the top of the cab. The wreckage of what had once been a people carrier was lying across the road, riddled with bullet holes. It was on its side and a child was hanging from the window. At first Standing thought the child was dead but an arm twitched. It was a boy, and his white robe was spotted with blood. Just behind the people carrier was an old pick-up truck, its doors open and steam feathering from the engine.

The three US vehicles slowed to a halt. Lopez kept his machine gun moving as he scanned the surrounding area.

‘Stay frosty, guys,’ said the Lieutenant.

Standing looked around. The nearest high ground was several miles away but there were several dozen buildings within sniper range. Most had flat roofs and open windows. Bobby-Ray was following his example and scanning their surroundings. Jones was tapping his gloved hands on the steering wheel. ‘What are we waiting for, that kid needs help,’ he muttered.

‘We’re on a mission,’ said Wirral. ‘This is a distraction.’

Jones turned to look at the warrant officer. ‘That kid’s dying,’ he said.

‘The LT’s doing the right thing,’ said Wirral. ‘This could be an ambush. Don’t get too close in case we have to move quickly.’ He twisted around in his seat. ‘Stay alert, guys!’ he shouted.

The child stopped moving. Blood dripped down from his arm to the road.

‘Everyone stay put,’ said the Lieutenant in Standing’s ear. ‘I’m sending a medic over. Keep your engines running and your eyes open.’

One of the SEALs in the lead vehicle dropped onto the road and jogged over to the people carrier. He was carrying a first-aid kit in his left hand, his carbine in his right.

Standing continued to scan the surrounding area, his trigger finger in position. Lopez had the machine gun aimed in the general direction of the two damaged vehicles. Standing knew that every second that passed meant a sniper attack was less likely – any sniper in the vicinity would have started firing as soon as the convoy had come to a halt.

The other two machine guns were moving left and right, covering the sides of the roads.

‘We’ve got company,’ said Jones, checking his wing mirror.

Standing twisted around. Two saloon cars were heading towards them.

‘LT, we’ve got two vehicles fast approaching at the rear,’ said Wirral over the radio.

‘Make sure they’re not hostiles and keep them back,’ said the Lieutenant.

‘Roger that,’ said Wirral. He climbed out of the cab and walked around to the rear of the truck. ‘Matt, Bobby-Ray, with me,’ he said. ‘Ricky, keep the gun on them but hold your fire until I say otherwise.’

Lopez turned the gun to aim down the road as Standing and Bobby-Ray jumped down and walked to stand either side of Wirral.

As they walked to the last truck, three more SEALs piled out and joined them, fanning out to block the road. The warrant officer held up his left hand to stop the cars while Bobby-Ray and Standing raised their weapons.

Standing felt reasonably relaxed. Both cars looked well cared for and their windows were up. The front car had a man driving and a female passenger, her head covered with a hijab. There were two men in the second car, both elderly. The cars braked smoothly a hundred feet or so from the final truck in the convoy. The second car was directly behind the first, which was another good sign.

‘Stay back!’ Standing shouted in Arabic. ‘Stay where you are!’

‘The kid is still alive,’ said the medic through Standing’s earpiece.

‘That’s not our problem,’ muttered Wirral.

‘We can’t just leave the kid to die,’ said Bobby-Ray.

‘Kids are dying all over this godforsaken country,’ said the warrant officer. ‘The best way to stop that happening is to take out as many of these ISIS scumbags as we can.’

‘Well, it’s the LT’s call,’ said Bobby-Ray.

The lead car edged forward and Standing raised his hand again. ‘Stay where you are!’ he shouted in Arabic. The SEALs had their weapons pointed at the cars. ‘It’s okay guys, they’re just nervous,’ he said.

‘We should tell them to turn around,’ said one.

‘They’re cool,’ said Standing. He smiled and waved. The passenger in the front vehicle waved back.

‘Everything under control at the rear?’ asked the Lieutenant.

‘All good,’ said Standing.

‘We’ve got three vehicles heading this way from the north,’ said the Lieutenant. ‘Matt, you and Bobby-Ray move to the front. Gator and T-J, go with them.’

‘Roger that,’ said Standing. He and Bobby-Ray ran along the road towards the front of the convoy. Lopez had turned the machine gun around and was covering the two cars. Wirral raised his hand to tell the two cars to stay where they were.

Ed ‘Gator’ Hebert, a native of Louisiana, jumped down from the lead truck, followed by T-J Hamelin, a Texan who favoured a black cowboy hat when he wasn’t on duty.

As Standing reached the lead truck, he saw the medic pulling the child out of the people carrier and lowering him gently on to the ground. The boy was covered in blood but his chest was moving. The medic knelt down and opened his first-aid kit.

The SEAL manning the machine gun on the lead truck was pointing the barrel down the road. Beyond the two damaged vehicles blocking their way were three trucks, each leaving plumes of dust behind them. Standing had a bad feeling the moment he saw them. They were powerful pick-ups, not too dissimilar from the ones that the SEALs were using. Unlike the NTVs, the approaching trucks didn’t have machine guns mounted on them, but there were men sitting in the back. They could have been workers heading to or from work, but if that had been the case Standing would have expected the vehicles to have slowed.

‘I don’t like this, LT,’ said Standing, shouldering his weapon.

‘Hold your fire, Matt,’ said Lieutenant Dunnett.

Standing looked across at Bobby-Ray. Bobby-Ray flashed him a worried smile. He was clearly as apprehensive as Standing.

Standing bent down to talk to the Lieutenant through the open window. He looked up at Standing. ‘They might just be in a hurry,’ said the officer before Standing could say anything.

Standing shook his head. ‘They’re hostiles, LT. I’d bet the farm on it.’

‘Have you got a farm?’

‘It’s an expression.’

The Lieutenant pointed down the road. ‘Make it clear they’re to stop,’ he said. ‘If necessary fire a warning shot.’

Standing nodded and jogged towards the damaged vehicles. The medic had ripped the shirt off the little boy and was applying a dressing. The boy’s chest didn’t look as if it was moving any more.

The trucks were about a quarter of a mile away and showing no signs of slowing despite the fact they must have seen the damaged vehicles blocking the road.

‘What do you think, Matt?’ asked Bobby-Ray, slipping his finger over the trigger of his weapon.

‘I think a warning shot’s not going to do a blind thing,’ said Standing.

T-J and Gator stood to their left and shouldered their weapons. Standing and Bobby-Ray moved apart. Bobby-Ray raised his hand. The trucks were too far away to hear him, so he didn’t shout anything.

The trucks continued to speed towards them, then suddenly the rear trucks moved, one left and one right, so that all three were abreast as they sped down the road.

‘LT, this isn’t good!’ shouted Standing.

‘Fire a warning shot,’ said the officer.

Bobby-Ray fired a quick burst in the air above the middle of the three trucks. As Standing turned to look at Bobby-Ray, he saw movement on the second floor of one of the buildings behind him. There was someone in one of the windows. There was a glint of sunlight, from a sniper’s scope or binoculars maybe, and there was definitely a figure standing there. Bobby-Ray lowered his weapon, then turned to see what Standing was looking at.

The house was about three hundred yards from the road, an easy enough shot for a half-decent sniper. But if it was a sniper he could have taken a shot at any time, Standing knew. So maybe it wasn’t a sniper? What then? An observer? Someone who had called in the trucks? The options raced through Standing’s mind in less than a second.

He turned back to look at the three trucks, now just a hundred yards away. The men in the back of the vehicles stood up, brandishing AK-47s.

‘Hostiles!’ shouted Standing. He dropped to one knee and brought his weapon to bear on the middle truck. He fired a quick burst at the driver’s side of the windscreen. The glass exploded and he fired a second burst. The truck continued to race towards him, so he lowered his aim and fired another burst at the offside front tyre. Almost immediately the offside of the truck dipped and it crashed into the vehicle next to it in a shower of sparks. Standing slapped in a fresh magazine and fired again, this time at the truck to the left, the first burst at the windscreen followed by a second at the tyres. The truck spun off the road, spilling out the men in the back. It bucked along the rough ground and came to a halt. The men in the back were shaken but not injured and they jumped out. There were five of them, their faces covered with scarves and sunglasses. T-J and Gator fired and cut the men down with a series of short, controlled bursts.

The middle truck was now careering along the road, swerving crazily, then it crashed onto its side, spilling out the men in the back.

There was only one truck still heading their way. Bobby-Ray and Standing fired together. The windscreen exploded and the offside tyre burst; the bonnet flicked up and steam poured skywards. The truck ran off the road. T-J and Gator had finished picking off their targets and turned their attention to the final truck, spraying it with bullets. In a matter of seconds all the armed men in the back were dead.

Standing lowered his weapon. The Lieutenant climbed out of his vehicle and walked over. ‘Shit,’ he said.

‘What do you think, LT? Was this whole thing a set-up?’

‘It’s starting to look that way,’ said the officer. ‘Fuck. So there is no ISIS officer and no Axeman.’

‘It could be a coincidence,’ said Standing.

‘Yeah? Or it could be that they ambushed the cars and placed the kid in the window knowing that we’d stop.’

Bobby-Ray was looking over at the house again. ‘There’s somebody in there,’ he said.

The Lieutenant went over to join him. He shaded his eyes with his hand. ‘I can’t see anyone.’

‘There was a flash. Off glass.’

Standing stared at the house. He nodded when he saw movement in one of the top-floor windows. ‘There’s definitely someone in there,’ he said.

He dropped his gaze to the lower floor. The building was featureless concrete with white paint peeling off the shutters and doors. A stray dog cocked its leg against the side of the building.

‘LT, can I use your binoculars?’ asked Bobby-Ray.

The officer handed them over. He put them to his eyes and focussed on the front door. ‘There’s a wire running out of the front door,’ he said. He lowered the binoculars.

A figure appeared at the window. A man, his head swathed in a black and white headscarf. ‘Sniper!’ shouted the Lieutenant, but Standing could see that the man wasn’t holding a rifle. There was something in his hand, though, and Standing realised what it was. A trigger.

‘IED!’ he shouted at the top of his voice.

He turned to look at the two damaged vehicles. The medic was still attending to the boy. To the left, dirt had been spread across the road. Standing knew with a terrible certainty that the dirt was to cover the wire that ran from the house, across the field and into the car. He reached over to grab the Lieutenant and pull him away. Bobby-Ray was moving, too, stretching out his arms and putting himself between them and the car.

‘IED!’ Standing screamed again.

The medic looked over but made no attempt to leave the boy. Standing looked over at the lead truck in the convoy. The driver gunned the engine but there was no way he would be able to reverse the vehicle with the second truck blocking its way. ‘Get out!’ he yelled.

The SEAL operating the machine gun turned and threw himself off the back of the truck. The SEALs with him followed suit.

Bobby-Ray was pushing the Lieutenant, his shoulders hunched against the explosion he knew was to come.

Standing looked over at the medic. He had scooped up the boy and was turning to carry him away from the people carrier. His eyes locked with Standing’s and there was the briefest of smiles before the car exploded in a mass of fire and flames. Metal and glass ripped through the air and the medic was thrown to the side. The blast hit Standing a fraction of a second later and he fell backwards, his shoulders hitting the road first. Bobby-Ray crashed onto him and the impact forced the air from his lungs. His right hand managed to keep hold of his weapon and he used his left to roll Bobby-Ray off him. He staggered to his feet, ears ringing. The Lieutenant was lying on his back, blinking in shock, but he didn’t appear to be too hurt. Bobby-Ray was on his side. His flak jacket had protected his chest and vital organs but his legs had been hurt by the shrapnel. His eyes were closed but he was breathing, albeit noisily. ‘Medic!’ Standing shouted. He stood up and looked over at the people carrier. It had been shifted by the explosion and had shielded the SEAL medic from some of the blast but not enough to save his life. The explosion had torn through one leg and he lay on his side, blood still pooling from his left thigh. The small boy lay next to him like a discarded doll. ‘Medic!’ Standing screamed again.

A SEAL emerged from behind the lead pick-up truck and ran over. ‘Take care of Bobby-Ray,’ said Standing.

The Lieutenant was coughing. ‘What the fuck happened?’ he gasped as he got to his feet. His cheek had been ripped open and blood trickled down his neck.

‘IED in the car,’ said Standing. He took a trauma pack from his belt, ripped it open and slapped it against the Lieutenant’s cheek. The Lieutenant used his hand to keep the dressing pressed against the wound. ‘You’ll be okay,’ said Standing.

The medic cut away what was left of the material around Bobby-Ray’s injured legs. Standing looked over at the house where he had seen the trigger-man. He started to run. As his feet pounded on the road he heard the Lieutenant shout something but Standing didn’t catch it. He hit the side of the road and his boots slapped against bare earth. The man had gone from the window but Standing hadn’t seen him emerge from the building, which either meant there was a back way out or that he was still inside.

His chest was burning from the exertion but he quickened his pace. Something thwacked against the ground to his left and he looked over at a three-storey building. There was a man on the roof with a rifle. Another round hit the ground a few inches from Standing’s foot, kicking up dirt.

Standing planted his right foot hard and twisted to the left, then immediately went down on one knee and fired a quick burst at the sniper. The rounds went low and smacked into the wall just below the roof. Standing adjusted his aim and the next burst blew the sniper away in a red mist. The sniper was still falling backwards when Standing was on his feet and running full pelt towards the house.

He caught movement in his peripheral vision to the right and he swung his weapon in that direction, his finger already tightening on the trigger. He relaxed immediately when he spotted the two boys, one of them holding a football, staring at him open-mouthed.

He heard a brief rattle of gunfire behind him, a single shot from a Kalashnikov followed by rapid fire from HKs.

He was less than a hundred feet from the house now. There was no movement at the upper windows and the front door remained firmly shut. The shutters on the ground-floor windows were closed. As he ran he heard an engine burst into life. He slowed and the engine roared. A second later a white SUV sped from behind the house, its wheels spewing up dirt. He dropped onto one knee again, took aim and shot at the heavily tinted windscreen. It imploded and he caught a glimpse of a dark-skinned man wearing sunglasses behind the steering wheel. Standing fired a single shot and the man’s face transformed into a pulpy mess. The SUV continued to accelerate, so Standing assumed the man’s foot was jammed on the accelerator. He let loose a quick burst at the nearside wheels, ripping the tyres to shreds. The rear window of the SUV slid down and the barrel of an AK-47 emerged, but Standing was already taking aim and he fired a burst into the rear of the vehicle before the Kalashnikov discharged.

The car bucked over the rough ground then spun to the left, towards Standing. He leapt to the side, rolled on the ground and came up firing, two long bursts that shattered the remaining windows. The vehicle slammed into a tree and the bonnet sprang open. There were three men in the SUV, two behind the driver, and all three were dead.

Standing slapped in a fresh magazine and ran towards the house, his weapon at the ready. He was breathing heavily but far from tired. As always when he was in combat, everything seemed to have slowed to a crawl. All his senses were in overdrive. He heard shouts from the road and the crackle of burning vehicles, and he could smell the cordite in the air. He glanced to his right as he ran. The two boys were still watching him with wide eyes, too shocked to move. His eyes flicked back to the upper windows of the house. Still no one there. Most likely all the occupants had been in the SUV, but he needed to make sure.

More shouts from behind him. His name being called. He took aim at the front door and fired a burst that splintered the lock. The door sagged on its hinges. As he ran towards it he looked over to his left at the house where the sniper had been. There was another man on the roof now, this one wearing a black headscarf and . . .