Torsten Dahl book 1 - Stand Your Ground by David Leadbeater Page A

visible, the leader of the pack. Dressed impeccably as always, he stood out now, uncharacteristically, as the odd man. The rest wore camo pants and t-shirts covered by black military-style jackets. Dahl had seen them a thousand times, but didn’t think these were lined with the bulletproof plates that were available. Some mercs would rather be comfortable than remain breathing, it seemed, but that was nothing new. Dahl’s eyes roved over the weapons: an assortment of AK’s, HK’s and even less accurate hardware. Everything he saw told him that Grant – the best of the best – had been forced to assemble a team from whatever was available. He’d been hasty. He’d had to make do. An improvisational hunt, started at Dulles, no doubt. That worked in Dahl’s favor. And made him suspect that Grant wasn’t alone in this after all. Added to the many questions now haunting him was, Who had helped Grant amass this team. The men’s professionalism did not, frankly, rise to Grant’s usual standards. If Grant had organized this hunt alone, he would have come prepared, backed to the max by men who knew their job.
    Grant and another, equally or more powerful individual. Both after Dahl and his family. Their hunt spurred quickly by a chance sighting at Dulles. Still . . . to have this many men at the ready, on Barbados, of all places? The puzzle would make little sense, Dahl knew, until he had all the pieces.
    Dahl looked ahead, telling Johanna and the children to stay low. The beach narrowed past another property and then swept further inland. His mental map of the island was incomplete but did contain parts of the local landscape. The ocean around them was by no means empty; small sailboats with masts drifted to and fro with no signs of life aboard. Red- and blue-topped umbrellas lined the beach to the right and Dahl saw an exit off the beach, a makeshift path that led into a busy area of town, somewhere near the Harbour Lights Night Club. This was Bayshore or Pebbles Beach, then, a tourist hotspot and a great place to get well and truly lost.
    Dahl considered the choices. Yes, they could power out to sea, become a speck on the horizon, but Grant would already be anticipating that. Heading further out would only make them more vulnerable if Grant commanded any significant resources whatsoever.
    Dahl opened the throttle and aimed the nose of the craft at the beach. They stood a far better chance ashore, and Grant’s men now lay far behind.
    “Get ready,” he said. “We’re heading inland.”
    Johanna turned those red eyes upon him. “Can’t we talk to someone? Where are the authorities, for God’s sake?”
    Dahl understood that complaining helped decent people make more sense of their situation. “We’ll find somebody who can help. But first we have to reach town.”
    The speedboat sped among the shallows now, then struck the beach hard, bouncing slightly as it skimmed the sand. Isabella and Julia jerked forward but Dahl was already there, protecting their heads. As the boat shuddered to a stop, he pulled them out. “This time,” he said, “you run with me.”
    Johanna climbed out, lost her footing and then rose again. The fight was not inside her, not today. She was so far out of her element that she might have lost all sense of self; she was running past empty.
    “That way.”
    He moved between the umbrellas, slogging up the sandy beach. Sunshine beat down upon his shoulders. Emptiness surrounded them for the most part, but there were a few other stragglers and shapes moving within a stand of palm trees and greenery to the right. Dahl couldn’t physically help the bystanders, and some soldiers — many of them – would remain mute to conceal their own location, but Dahl couldn’t bring himself to do it. He shouted that they should get the hell away from the area. Return to their hotels, even.
    No answers were forthcoming. The danger hadn’t reached them, yet.
    As the sand evened out and they approached the