And Your Enemies Closer

AND YOUR ENEMIES CLOSER THIRTY MILES TRILOGY BOOK 2 ROB PARKER RED DOG PRESS Published by RED DOG PRESS 2023 Distributed by BLOODHOUND BOOKS 2023 Copyright © Rob Parker 2021 Rob Parker has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988 to be identified as the author of this work This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser First Edition Hardback ISBN 978-1-915433-03-9 Paperback ISBN 978-1-915433-19-0 www.reddogpress.co.uk CONTENTS Love best-selling fiction? Prologue Part I 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 Part II 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 Part III 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 Epilogue You will also enjoy: Acknowledgements Love best-selling fiction? LOVE BEST-SELLING FICTION? Sign up today to be the first to hear about new releases and exclusive offers, including free and discounted ebooks! Why not like us or follow us on social media to stay up to date with the latest news from your favourite authors? Facebook Twitter Instagram For my family and friends. PROLOGUE Midnight, and the silence couldn’t have been louder. There were six of them in total. Four standing, two on the ground, bound tight in tarpaulin. Standing over the bodies, a woman and three men stood beside a cliff face that overlooked the dark, rolling peaks of a massive landfill. Four badges between them, one individual suspended. That didn’t alter the bond they shared. Trauma was more adhesive than any glue. ‘Is this the deepest point?’ Madison asked. She was battered and blood-spattered, dressed incongruously in a boxing vest and satin fight shorts. ‘I can’t see any part that might be deeper,’ replied Seabreeze, the slight but wiry man who’d brought them here. ‘We don’t have long,’ Christopher reminded them. Clearly, he was jittering with nerves—the hard-man shaven scalp exposed as a lie. Brendan Foley—the man who had started it all, the suspended officer—said nothing. He couldn’t. His mind had turned blank. Had he meant to kill the men down there? Yes. Should he have killed them? No. But in those fraught moments, when the blood had pumped harder than ever, there hadn’t been time to sweat the details. It was either him, or them. So, he’d made sure it was them. Four faces peered over the edge of the landfill, the sound of scavenging gulls drowning out the hiss of the nearby motorway, lights trailing a snake of hazed sodium between two cities. Manchester, to the east. Liverpool, to the west. ‘Let’s do this, then.’ Seabreeze grabbed the nearest long bundle. Madison reached to help, and together, they managed to PART I LITTLE GODS 1 That twenty quid for the key code had been well worth it. The door to the storage centre silently swung open. He took stealthy, broad strides to the central elevators. His hat was pulled down low, one of those Russian ones with the flappy ears. He’d tied it under the chin, in a neat bow, but it kept catching on his beard. Given a choice, he’d undo it—but he knew the cameras were everywhere. He didn’t dare look up. Brendan Foley found himself standing before two industrial-size lift shafts, with a stairway on the left, and a handy map on the wall. Room 2272. Where is that? His glance darted across the map. Second floor. He took the stairs, two at a time. At the top, a simple decision. Left or right? He couldn’t be seen to hesitate, not with those cameras on him. He moved to the right, picking up pace. As far as he could see, yellow, steel-padlocked doors lined the corridor, one after the other, scrolling past him on either side. He watched the numbers ticking down as he walked. 2320. 2318… Nearly there. Twenty seconds later, he was inspecting the stiff padlock of door 2272. It unnerved him. He wasn’t sure what would be enough. He checked left, and right. Quiet. Empty corridor. Three in the morning would do that for you. But there were cameras every twenty yards, covering both directions. Comprehensive, professional bastards. He was playing with fire. He looked back down at the painted yellow steel. He had to