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Overview
Tough, resourceful, ruthless - as a Special Air Service (SAS) trooper, Nick Stone was one of the best. Now he's back on the streets. After a botched mission, the Regiment no longer want his services, but British Intelligence does - as a deniable operator. It's the dirtiest job in a very, very dirty world.
In Washington DC, it's about to get dirtier still. On the apparently routine tail of two terrorists, Stone discovers the bodies of an ex-SAS officer and his family. Soon he's on the run with the lone survivor of the bloodbath - a seven-year-old girl. And whilst she can identify the killers, only Stone can keep them at bay - and solve a mystery whose genesis takes him back to the most notorious SAS mission in recent history...
Remote Control is the first of Andy McNab's nineteen Nick Stone thrillers - bestsellers whose landscape is so compellingly close to the truth that they had to be vetted by the Ministry of Defense, and could only be published as fiction...
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781787397231 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Welbeck Publishing Group Limited |
| Publication date: | 05/03/2022 |
| Series: | Nick Stone , #1 |
| Pages: | 512 |
| Sales rank: | 399,134 |
| Product dimensions: | 5.30(w) x 8.40(h) x 1.30(d) |
| Age Range: | 15 - 18 Years |
About the Author
As a teenage delinquent, Andy McNab kicked against society. As a young soldier he waged war against the IRA in the streets and fields of South Armagh. As a member of 22 SAS he was at the centre of covert operations for nine years – on five continents. During the Gulf War he commanded Bravo Two Zero, a patrol that, in the words of his commanding officer, 'will remain in regimental history for ever'. Awarded both the Distinguished Conduct Medal (DCM) and Military Medal (MM) during his military career, McNab was the British Army's most highly decorated serving soldier when he finally left the SAS.
Since then Andy McNab has become one of the world’s best-selling writers, drawing on his insider knowledge and experience. As well as several non-fiction bestsellers including Bravo Two Zero, the biggest selling British work of military history, he is the author of the best-selling Nick Stone and Tom Buckingham thrillers. He has also written a number of books for children.
Besides his writing work, he lectures to security and intelligence agencies in both the USA and UK, works in the film industry advising Hollywood on everything from covert procedure to training civilian actors to act like soldiers. He continues to be a spokesperson and fundraiser for both military and literacy charities.
Read an Excerpt
As I got nearer to Kev and Marsha's room, I could see that the door was slightly ajar. I couldn't actually see anything inside yet, but as I moved nearer I started to smell something. A faint, metallic tang, and I could smell shit as well. I felt sick. I knew that I'd have to go in.
As I inched around the doorframe I got my first glimpse of Marsha. She was kneeling by the bed, her top half spread-eagled on the mattress. The bedspread was covered with blood.
I sank to my knees in the hallway. I felt myself going into shock. I couldn't believe this was true. This was not happening to this family. Why kill Marsha? It should have been Kev they were after. All I wanted to do was throw my hand in and sit down and cry. But I knew the kids had been in the house. They might still be here.
I got a grip of myself and started to move. I went in, forcing myself to ignore Marsha. The room was clear.
The next job was the master bathroom. I went in, and what I saw made me lose it, totally fucking lose it. Bang, I went back against the wall and slumped onto the floor.
Blood was everywhere. I got it all over my shirt and hands; I sat in a pool of it, soaking the seat of my pants.
Aida was lying on the floor between the bath and the toilet. Her five-year-old head had been nearly severed from her shoulders. There was just three inches of flesh left intact; I could see the vertebrae still holding on.
Turning my head away and looking out of the bathroom, I could now see more of Marsha. I had to hold back my scream. Her dress was hanging normally, but her tights had been torn, her panties were pulled down, and she had soiled herself, probably at the point ofdeath. All I saw at this distance of about fifteen feet was somebody that I really cared for, even loved maybe, on her knees, her blood splattered all over the bed. And she'd had the same done to her as Aida.
I was taking deep breaths and wiping my eyes. I knew I still had another two rooms to clear--another bathroom and the large storeroom above the garage. I couldn't give up now because I might wind up getting dropped myself.
I cleared the other rooms and half-collapsed, half-sat on the landing. I could see my bloody footprints all over the carpet.
Stop, calm down, and think.
What next? Kelly. Where the fuck was Kelly?
Then I remembered the hiding place. Because of the threats to Kev, both kids knew where they had to go and hide in the event of a crisis.
The thought brought me to my senses. If that was where Kelly was hiding, she was safe for the time being. Better to leave her there while I did the other stuff I had to do.
I got up and started to move down the stairs, making sure that, as I moved, I had my pistol pointed. As I descended I could see the blood I had left on the wall and carpet where I'd sat. I was almost willing the attackers to appear. I wanted to see the fuckers.
I got a cloth and a trash bag from the kitchen and started to run around the house wiping door handles and any surfaces where I might have left fingerprints. Then I went over to the patio sliding doors and closed the curtains. I didn't want anybody to discover this mess before I was well out of it, hopefully on a plane back to London.
I took a quick look at Kev and knew I was back in control. He was now just a dead body.
I went back upstairs, washed the blood off my hands and face, and got a clean shirt and a pair of jeans and running shoes from Kev's closet. His clothes didn't fit me, but they would do for now. I bundled my own bloodstained stuff into the trash bag that I'd take with me.
5
KEV HAD SHOWN me the "hidey-hole," as he called it, built under an open staircase that led up to a little makeshift loft stacked with ladders. The kids knew they had to hide there if ever Kev or Marsha shouted the word "Disneyland!"--and they were never ever to come out until Daddy or Mommy came and got them.
I headed to the garage. Pushing the door slightly, I could see the rear of the large metal doors to the right. The garage could easily have taken three extra vehicles besides Kev's company car. "Fucking thing," I remembered Kev saying, "all the luxury and mod cons of the late nineties, in a car that looks like a nineteen-sixties fridge."
The kids' bikes were hanging from frames on the wall, together with all the other clutter that families accumulate in garages. I could see the red laser dot on the far wall.
I moved in and cleared through. There was no one here.
I went back to the area of the staircase. Chances were she wasn't going to come out unless her mom and dad came for her, but as I moved I started to call out very gently, "Kelly! It's Nick! Hello, Kelly, where are you?"
All the time the pistol was pointing forward, ready to take on any threat.
Moving slowly toward the boxes, I said, "Oh well, since you're not here I'll go. But I think I'll have one more look, and I bet you might be hiding underneath the staircase in those boxes. I'll just have a look ... I bet you're in there ..."
There was a pile of large boxes. One had contained a freezer, another a washing machine. Kev had made a sort of cave with them under the staircase and kept a few toys there.
I eased the pistol down my waistband. I didn't want her to see a gun. She'd probably seen and heard enough already.
I put my mouth against a little gap between the boxes. "Kelly, it's me, Nick. Don't be scared, I'm going to crawl toward you. You'll see my head in a minute, and I want to see a big smile ..."
I got down on my hands and knees and kept talking gently as I moved boxes and squeezed through the gap, inching toward the back wall. I wanted to do it nice and slowly. I didn't know how she was going to react.
"I'm going to put my head around the corner now, Kelly."
I took a deep breath and moved my head around the back of the box, smiling away but ready for the worst.
She was there, facing me, eyes wide with terror, sitting curled up in a fetal position, rocking her body backward and forward, holding her hands over her ears.
"Hello, Kelly," I said very softly.
She must have recognized me, but didn't reply. She just kept on rocking, staring at me with wide, scared eyes.
"Mommy and Daddy can't come and get you out at the moment, but you can come with me. Daddy told me it would be OK. Are you going to come with me, Kelly?"
Still no reply. I crawled right into the cave until I was curled up beside her. She'd been crying; strands of light brown hair were stuck to her face. I tried to move them away from her mouth. Her eyes were red and swollen.
"You're in a bit of a mess there," I said. "Do you want me to clean you up? Come on, let's go and get you sorted out, shall we?" I got hold of her rigid hand and gently guided her out into the garage.
She was dressed in jeans, a denim shirt, running shoes, and a blue nylon fleece. Her hair was straight and just above her shoulders, a bit shorter than I remembered it; she was quite lanky for a seven-year-old, with long, skinny legs. I picked her up in my arms and held her tight as I carried her into the kitchen. I knew the other doors were closed; she wouldn't see her dad.
I sat her down on a chair at the table. "Mommy and Daddy said they had to go away for a while but asked me to look after you until they come back, OK?"
She was trembling so much I couldn't tell if her head was nodding or shaking.
I went to the fridge and opened it, hoping to find some comfort food. I found the world's largest Easter egg. "Mmm, yum--do you want some chocolate?"
I'd had a good relationship with Kelly. She was a great kid, and that wasn't just because she was my pal's daughter. I smiled warmly, but she just stared at the table.
I broke off a few pieces and put them on one of the side plates that she'd probably been setting earlier with Aida. I found the Off switch on the radio; I'd had enough relaxing soft rock for one day.
As I looked at Kelly again I suddenly realized I'd fucked up. What was I going to do with her? I couldn't just leave her here: her family was lying dead all over the house. But more important, she knew me. When the police arrived she'd be able to say, "Nick Stone was here." They'd soon find out that Nick Stone was one of Daddy's friends; the house was littered with photographs with me in them. And if they did arrest the grinning drunk in the barbecue shots, they'd find that for some strange reason he wasn't Nick Stone at all--he was Mrs. Stamford's little boy.
Kev's jacket was hanging over one of the chairs. I said, "Let's wrap you up in your dad's coat; that'll keep you nice and warm." At least she'd have something of her dad's; with luck it would cheer her up.
There was just a little bit of whimpering in reply. She was almost in rigor mortis with shock, though at least she had turned her head to look at me now. This was where normally I would have let Marsha take over, because a child's mind was far too complicated for me to work out. But I couldn't do that today.
I wrapped the coat around her and said, "Here you are; get this around you. Look, it's your dad's! Don't tell him, eh, ha ha ha!" I felt something solid in one of the pockets and checked. "Oh good, look, we can phone him up later."
I looked out the window--no movement. I picked up the trash bag, grabbed Kelly's hand, then realized that to reach the front door I'd have to come out of the kitchen and into the hallway.
"Just sit there a second," I said. "I've got to do something."
I had a quick look to make sure the doors were closed. I thought again about fingerprints, but if I'd missed a set, there was nothing I could do about it now. My only thought was to get out of the area and keep Kelly away from the cops until I'd sorted things out.
I went back and got her and checked the front of the house again for movement. She seemed to be finding it hard to walk. I had to grip Kev's coat by the collar, half-dragging her toward the car.
I put her in the front passenger seat and smiled. "There you go; that's nice and warm. Better look after your dad's coat for him. Keep it nice for when you see him."
Then I threw the trash bag in the back, settled into the diver's seat, put my seat belt on, and turned on the ignition. We drove off at a really sensible pace, nothing outrageous, nothing likely to be noticed.
We'd gone only a few hundred yards when I thought of something; I looked across at her and said, "Kelly, put your seat belt ojn. Do you know how to do that?"
She didn't move, didn't even look at me. I had to do it for her.
I TRIED TO make small talk. "It's a nice day today, isn't it? Yep, you'll stay wit me a while; we'll get everything sorted out."
Silence.
My mind switched back to the matter in hand. What was I going to do? Whatever I decided, I knew it was no good where we were at the moment. We needed to lose ourselves in a crowd. I headed for Tyson's Corner. I turned to Kelly and smiled, trying to be the happy-go-lucky Uncle Nick, but it just wasn't happening. She was staring anxiously out the window as if she was being wrenched away from all her familiar landmarks and seeking them for the last time.
"It's OK, Kelly." I tried to stroke her hari.
She jerked her head away.
Fuck it, just let her get on with it; with luck I'd be able to drop her off somewhere before too long.
What People are Saying About This
McNab is the best suspense thriller writer to put pen to paper since Alistair MacLean.
—(Stephen Coonts, author of Flight of the Intruder)
Action—packed and authentic in every detail, it gives us a hero who's at least as scary as the villains. Andy McNab is the real deal and a rare commodity—a hard guy who knows how to write.
—(John Case, author of The Genesis Code)
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