by Ian Jones
‘This just gets fucking worse,’ Gilbey hissed. ‘You piece of shit.’
He punched the sheriff straight in the face, sending him backwards. He fell down and rolled onto his side, moaning, his nose trickling blood.
John put his hand on Gilbey’s arm, preventing him from going in for the kill.
‘Leave it,’ he said quietly.
He looked at the three men, who were still gratefully passing around the bottle of water. He nudged the Lincoln driver with his foot.
‘You got any food in that thing?’ he asked, gesturing across at the big shiny car.
The man looked up at him, and nodded.
Gilbey walked over and undid the handcuffs on the man’s wrist.
‘Get up.’
John marched him across to the car and watched him carefully, always keeping the rifle aimed. The man pressed a button and the boot door opened, rising up on its own. He pulled out a wicker box.
John took it and lifted the lid. Inside were chicken pieces, salad, crisps, fruit and small bottles of white wine. There were plates, glasses and napkins
‘Nice,’ he said. ‘Give it to them.’
The driver stiffly walked across and placed the box at the feet of the three men without meeting anyone’s eye, and then went and sat back down again, a pretence of defiance that John could see right through. The cuffs went back on.
The three men tentatively rooted through the box and ate, staying silent and keeping close to Gilbey.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Ray Tilling was a Regulator. In fact, technically, he was the last one, as the others were either seriously injured and recovering elsewhere, lined up incapacitated against the side of a van, or dead.
Tilling enjoyed being a Regulator, it appealed to him. He liked the sense that people were scared, enjoyed suddenly turning up at someone’s house and making threats, meting out justice of some kind or another. It was about respect, and soon he would be getting plenty of that, at last, there hadn’t been much of it so far in his life. And he had particularly enjoyed the fun they had with Rita Geller, that was a bonus for sure.
But now, he was confused, and he was lost.
This was his third hunt, and he had been ordered to do exactly what he had the last time they were out. Hunter was along with them for this one, which was a first, and unexpected. Tilling was wary of Hunter, and this could be the opportunity to get on his good side. It was about time, Tilling was fed up with always being regarded as dim, someone who always needed extra help, the butt of the jokes. He had travelled out to Brown’s in the pick-up, and had jumped out just inside the gates and then ran across, following the fence down to where there was a big round rock at the base, and then turning ninety degrees heading toward the centre for a bunker that had been dug out, especially for him.
Tilling was a safety, he was there for two reasons. At a previous hunt, in fact it had been the first one that he had worked, one of the prey had overpowered one of the guests and made off with his AK47. He had bolted for the fence after loosing off a few shots. Luckily, nobody had been hit, and the gun just had the standard thirty round magazine, which the guy emptied with wild shots within the next two minutes. But it had been problematic, the hunt had descended into chaos, people shooting at shadows, it was a miracle one of their own hadn’t been killed. Eventually they had flushed him out as he tried to hide in a corner and it was dealt with, although the guest’s wounded pride took longer. So, the new strategy was to have someone behind enemy lines as it were, somebody who could respond quickly and flank any problematic prey. His job was also to clean up, occasionally a hunter may suddenly get cold feet about finishing one of the prey off, and it would be Tilling’s job to get it done. Not that it had happened so far. All that had occurred in the last hunt unfortunately, was that he had spent hours in the bunker on his own listening to excited shouts and watching sporadic bursts of gunfire.
Tilling carried an MP5, and had a backpack with five full clips in it. Plus he had his Beretta in a holster on his belt. He was longing to use either gun, he had an itch desperate to scratch. It was agreed his job was dangerous, after all he was out in the open while untrained, excitable men were shooting high power rifles at anything that moved, so he wore a Kevlar vest, and had a radio which linked him to the master of the hunt, which today was Hunter. He had night vison goggles strapped to his head. And best of all, because it was dangerous, he got extra in his wage packet. He was an important man, doing an important job.
But tonight wasn’t working out so well. The worst part of it initially was finding the goddamn bunker in the dark. Once he was there and inside he was reasonably safe, with the goggles on he could see anything moving a long way off. But tonight, he was still looking for the bunker. There was a long berm, which ran almost straight across for many metres, and was deep in places. The bunker was at the east end of this. He had worked out the best way to find it in the daytime, and at the last hunt once he had hit the berm the bunker had been easy to find. But tonight, after what felt like hours of walking, he just couldn’t seem to find even the berm. He guessed he must have wandered off the centre line that he should have taken, and had now finally made the decision to turn around, intending to make his way back to the fence and start again. It would take a long time, and he would get all sorts of shit about it, he knew. And if anyone came his way he was biting the dirt, and fast, he would lay very still until he was on his own again.
Fuck it, at last he had been given some responsibility, and he would probably lose it now if anybody discovered what an asshole he was being.
But as he warily made his way toward the fence he realised, nobody had to know! He could just say he was in the bunker, how would anyone ever find out he was wandering around the place lost? Pleased with himself, he checked in on the radio, to no response. He sniggered silently, he was much smarter that anyone gave him credit for.
He wondered how it was progressing, apart from two shots early on there had been nothing since, but he knew that sometimes the guests would take some time to get moving. In the distance he could see the spotlights on top of the tower, but he tried not to look at them too much as it spoiled his visibility. He decided that he would move closer to it, while all the time heading toward where he knew the gates were, as that way he should be able to get a better fix on his direction; the last thing he needed right now was to be wandering around in circles in the dark or to blunder in on everyone as they were setting up.
He moved the goggles up and away from his face then walked along steadily, watching his steps as best as he could and straining his ears to listen, moving closer to the building meant it was more possible he could run into someone, from either side. The wind was becoming more and more of a problem, it was building up in loud gusts that seemed to blow in from different directions.
He kept moving, as fast as he could while avoiding falling over on the difficult terrain, his head down. He checked his progress repeatedly, and realised that he had strayed too close to the centre again. Behind him and away to his left he could make out the vehicles in the remaining light from the spot lamps. He shook his head, embarrassed. What the hell was wrong with him tonight? He couldn’t even walk in a straight line.
He looked over, something didn’t look right to him. He realised what it was, the pick-up was still there. Normally that would be roving around the perimeter, but it was parked up.
He wondered what was happening, and dropped down the goggles.
Now, the area was a sea of green, he could see the warm engines in the vehicles, but he could also see people, and what he was looking at didn’t make a whole lot of sense. They were concentrated in one area, with a one group that appeared to be sitting or kneeling, and another standing.
He dug out the radio and keyed the button.
‘Ray to Hunter, can I get a sit rep please? Er … over.’
He stood there, watching. No response, nothing at all.
‘Er … Hunter? It’s Ray here, just checking in
, wondering what’s happening can you let me know? Over.’
Again nothing. Tilling had no idea what to do, his tall frame still, hair blowing everywhere in the wind, head moving around slowly. If the shit had gone down, then at least he was out in the open. His best bet would be to get the hell out. He took the Beretta out his pocket and walked forward, then stumbled and fell, dropping the gun in the dirt. Swearing softly to himself he used the display screen on the radio to find it and put it back in his pocket, shaking his head.
Suddenly his dream job didn’t feel so great. He was out here, on his own, and no contact on the radio. Anything could have happened and he would have no idea. Tilling was not at all sure what to do next.
He realised he had no choice, he needed to try and work out what was going on. He put the radio back in his pocket and moved toward the centre, if he couldn’t get anyone on the radio he better find out for himself. If it looked like everything had gone to shit for whatever reason he was well hidden and should be able to get clear, at the very least hide out somewhere.
Gilbey was reassuring the Hispanic men that they had nothing to worry about but he needed them to stay right where they were for now when he suddenly snatched up his rifle and peered out through the sight into the wilderness of the compound. John raised his too and followed the direction.
‘What is it?’ he asked.
‘I saw something out there, something blue, lit up. Some ways off, could be a cell phone maybe but it was there for sure. I seen it.’
John turned back to the Regulators.
‘You got someone out there?’
The men looked at each other, then shook their heads.
‘You understand, if you’re lying, then we’ll just waste you where you are. Because it makes no difference to us at all. I’d just as soon shoot the whole damn lot of you anyways, including the fucking judge,’ Gilbey growled, without taking his eye off the scope.
John crouched down by the van.
‘So?’
The Regulators were nervous, he could see that. Scared. They were in it now, that much was for sure. Whatever happened, they wouldn’t be going home. The Lincoln and the pick-up drivers were younger, probably thirty at most, in fact they looked similar, maybe related. The van driver was bigger, older, with a hard face and mean eyes, he was avoiding looking at John, his eyes were fixed on some point way in the distance.
John decided he didn’t like him.
He got the handcuffs key off Gilbey and unlocked the man’s wrist, then stood him up.
‘What’s your name?’ John asked.
‘Paul. Paul Gibbs.’
‘Well Paul, I don’t like you. I don’t like any of you idiots. So, you’re going to have to help.’
‘I don’t think so.’
Gibbs was staring at him hard. He was taller, and had long arms. Tough guy.
John placed the SA80 carefully on the ground near Gilbey, and then turned and stood in front of Gibbs.
‘You’ll do it,’ he told him.
Gibbs glanced over at Gilbey and then back at John, his eyes narrowed and he swung a big fist. He had some tactics, lead in with the left while preparing the real damage with the right. But John could see it coming, the way Gibbs was shaping up, so he ducked down from the left and moved sharply around to the side and then let go with his own right, a solid, crashing punch straight to Gibb’s face.
Gibbs staggered backwards, shaking his head.
John moved forward, opening his arms out wide.
‘Come on,’ he invited.
Gibbs tried to rush him, still reeling from the punch and John sidestepped and punched again, this time straight onto the other man’s nose, and then another, equally hard into the kidneys. Gibbs fell forward on all fours, breathing hard. John kicked him solidly in the ribs, sending him onto his side. Gibbs rolled over onto his back groaning.
‘Job done?’ Gilbey asked, still staring off the other way.
‘I think so,’ John replied, and hauled Gibbs to his feet, where he stood shakily.
‘Well Paul, here’s what we are going to do. Me and Gilbey think there’s another one of you idiots out there somewhere, probably armed, probably intent on getting away if he’s worked out you are all fucked. He ain’t gonna be trying to save your arse, and you know that. Right now, he’s too far out to do us any damage. So, you are going to start walking, straight that way. Once the guy starts shooting, we’ll see where the muzzle flashes are, and deal with it. Good plan, right?’
‘That’s a great fucking plan,’ Gilbey said with a grin, still focussing his rifle outward.
Beaten, Gibbs stepped forward then halted sharply and turned.
‘Wait …’
John looked hard at him.
‘Yeah wait. You just realised it. He’s gonna start shooting at anybody, because by now he’s realised there’s a problem and it’s dark out there. He’s gonna want to get the hell out of here, and I can’t say I blame him. What he doesn’t know is the FBI are on their way, so whatever happens now you guys are all fucked.’
Gibbs looked out into the open, and gulped.
‘Shit! Ok, ok. Fucking hell. There is a guy out there. I don’t know him real well, he’s name’s Ray. He’s the clean-up guy.’
‘Where?’
‘Out there. I don’t know, there’s a bunker, but I’ve never been there. I guess he’s there.’
‘How does he keep in touch?’
‘Radio. Hunter’s got one. Or did, anyway.’
John picked up his rifle and pushed Gibbs over to Hunter’s body. Together they searched it. No radio. Gibbs looked at the other Regulators questioningly.
‘In the car,’ the Lincoln driver said.
At that point, headlights came into view, way in the distance but heading their way and moving fast.
At last, John thought.
John opened the Lincoln’s passenger door and found a radio on the dashboard. He threw it to Gibbs.
‘Over to you. Probably best he comes in.’
Gibbs turned the radio over in his hands. He keyed the talk button uncertainly.
‘Er … Ray? This is Paul, you should get your ass over here. We got some deep shit.’
No reply.
He looked at John and shrugged. John sat him back down and snapped the cuffs on him, and walked over to Gilbey.
‘He’ll go for the gates.’
‘Definitely.’
The headlights were getting closer, impossible to see how many there were.
John jogged over to the pick-up and started it, then threw it around in a tight circle and headed off back up the track toward the gates, full beam and lights on the roof shining out brightly in front of him, the whole area now lit up.
He saw him less than five minutes later, moving across to his left, ducking and moving but clearly silhouetted against the blackness behind him. John drove past and then turned sharply, so his headlights were aiming right at the man and then stuck the pick-up in park and leapt out with the SA80 raised high, walking right between the car lights, impossible to see from the other direction.
Through the scope he could clearly see the man right in front of him moving one way then another, wanting to run but unsure which way. John fired a warning shot, which kicked up the dirt right at the man’s feet.
‘Stand still!’ he commanded.
The man continued to move, so he fired again, same place, a big dust cloud.
‘I said stand still!’
Finally, the man got the message. John walked closer.
‘Throw your weapons out in front of you, and also the backpack. I won’t ask a second time.’
The man did exactly as he was asked, the MP5, the Beretta, then the backpack and held his hands high in the air.
John walked past them and grabbed the man, and herded him back toward the pick-up. By now the vehicles were at the gates, it looked like five or six. He picked up the guns and the backpack and shoved the man forward. He put both rifles in the back and cocked the Ber
etta, aiming at the man’s head.
‘You drive,’ he said.
They got in and the man turned around slowly and headed back. He stopped at the edge of the circle. John dragged him out and pushed him into the line, just as the first cars reached them.
Chapter Twenty-Six
The Country Club had several function rooms, all in the residence wing, which was a grand, gleaming white five-storey Georgian looking building with massive windows and a flat roof. The finest room was called The Club, and had a curved sweeping wall of windows that overlooked the grounds and further out down the hill, the lights of the town could be seen.
Barlow was sitting in a comfortable armchair, rolling an unlit cigar between his thumb and forefinger, Abel was standing at the window staring into the night.
‘Sit down for Christ’s sakes,’ Barlow told him. ‘Jesus relax, will you? Have a cigar.’
‘Yeah, you know, I’m just keen for them to get back.’
‘They won’t be long, it will be a quick one tonight, and you know that, so stop worrying.’
Abel turned and Barlow slid a glass of brandy across the side table toward him.
‘Thanks.’
Abel drank it down and picked up a cigar from the box. Outside the skinny trees they had planted all along the driveway were bending sharply in the strong wind.
Barlow clipped the end off the cigar and with a chunky lighter sitting on the table lit it, and then puffed away in a thick cloud of blue smoke. It smelt good, so Abel lit his, and then poured himself another brandy. He didn’t know why he was so nervous, but it had been niggling away at him all night, in fact he admitted to himself that he had been uneasy all day. He would be very relieved when everyone was back and they could all go to bed. Tomorrow was another day, and then nobody could get in their way. He passed a hand over his face, he was tired. Once this was done he was going to take a vacation, Barlow would moan about it but he needed some time and space away.
Maybe he could visit southern Italy, or Spain. He sat down heavily and then sprang back up out the chair, as the first headlights could be seen at the top of the drive.
