Robhurst nodded. ‘Yes, ma’am. You well know that I place my country above all. I will not let you down. Her finger. Understood. What should I do with the girl after that?’
Haddock shrugged. ‘I only need the finger, sergeant; the rest is superfluous to our needs. Dispose of it as you will.’
The soldier saluted her ‘Ma’am.’
Debra patted his cheek. ‘Thank you, sergeant Robhurst,’ she said. ‘I can tell that you and I will work well together. I see a great future for you in the new order. Stick with me and you will not regret it.’
Then she turned and left, taking out her cell and dialing as she did. ‘Commander, give me some good news. Have you tracked them down? Oh, well done Jarvis. Great work, forward the video footage to me and I shall inform the Custodians at once.’
As she left the building, the SAS sergeant shook his head. ‘Fuck me,’ he said to himself. ‘That is one serious fucking woman. When she’s in charge then we can finally kick those jihadist’s asses for good.’
And he grinned to himself, looking forward to some payback for the friends that he had lost in both Iraq and Afghanistan.
Chapter 19
The Happy Butcher had received the CCTV footage from Debra via Commander Hastings. Haddock and had sent for the three Watchmen so that they could view it with him.
They were using the small boardroom for the viewing and Happy’s Apple lap top sat on the table, connected wirelessly to a seventy two inch LED TV screen.
The Curator waited until all three of the Watchmen were seated.
‘Gentlemen,’ he started. ‘We have some CCTV footage of our targets. I warn you that it’s a little grainy and, ultimately, it’s not much to go on, but it’s a start. Our principle has sent it so that we are kept in the loop and all subsequent info will be imparted on a similar basis.’
Happy turned on the laptop and the huge TV lit up...we see a typical upper middle class London residential road. A mix of Victorian and Georgian housing. White plaster and red face-brick. Cast iron railings, mature trees line the sidewalks. Bux hedges.
A Land Rover drives slowly down the road and then pulls in to park. Two men climb out. One is black, the other white. It looks as though there may be a third person on the back seat. Small. A woman., maybe a child. The light is bad so it is hard to see properly.
The men set off down the road, they move like athletes, walking on the balls of their feet. But unlike athletes, their heads are constantly moving, scanning from side to side.
Like predators.
The white man stops just before they take a right turn into someone’s back yard. He revolves slowly, taking in the entire street. Giving the area a last once over.
Daisy drew in a sharp breath. ‘Wait,’ he said. ‘Can you rewind that?’
Happy did so without questioning.
‘Pause it.’
The image pauses. The man is staring almost directly into the CCTV camera.
‘Is there any way that you can zoom in? Asked Daisy.
‘There is,’ answered Happy. ‘But it will blur the image even more.’
‘Please try.’
Happy fiddled with his lap top and the image on the TV grew larger, centered on the man’s face.
‘I don’t fucking believe it,’ gasped Daisy. ‘No way, it can’t be.’
‘Can’t be what?’ Asked Happy.
Daisy shuddered. ‘It is Popobawa. It is...The Beast.’
All three men turned to look at Daisy.
As always, they saw a huge man, scarred face, large broken nose, pale blue eyes that seemed always to look through you. The proverbial thousand yard stare. But for the first time since any of them have known him they saw something else...they saw a man who was afraid. And he was not even attempting to hide the fact.
Daisy started to talk, his voice quiet, remote. Dead. Almost as if he was reading from a list.
‘Back in the day, after my time in the South African bush war, I became a mercenary. Stuck to Africa. I knew the place, spoke a few of the languages and there were, actually still are, plenty of wars to fight. Long story short, I was hired by an American outfit that was working for president Kabbah of Sierra Leone. Ended up being seconded to a small reaction force group. A sort of roving Special Forces. Shit happened, we were sent to sort it out.’
The big man lit a cigarette, inhaled and thought for a bit. No one rushed him. They had all been there; they knew that the retelling of certain things could be difficult. Incidents that the mind kept filed away. Hidden from view. Sealed up in order to keep the thin veneer of sanity that any long term combat soldier lives under.
‘Look,’ Daisy continued. ‘I’m not going to go into the whole thing, let’s just say, things got seriously out of hand very quickly. Our captain,’ Daisy pointed at the screen. ‘His name was…is, Garrett. Garrett, something Scottish. Can’t remember, actually, I’m not even sure if I ever really knew. Just called him Captain, or Boss.
Anyhow, we drove into a village one day, see all these kids, little fuckers. As innocent as the day that they were born, maybe six, seven years old...some as young as four. Some are alive. Some dead. Many dying. The rebels had taken them and,’ he drew on his cigarette again and shook his head as if he still couldn’t believe it. ‘They had taken them and chopped their fucking hands off. Alll of them. Left a little pile of kiddie’s hands in the middle of the village.’ Tears started to glaze the big man’s eyes over. ‘I swear to you, that was the saddest, most pathetic thing that I’ve ever seen. That little pile of hands.’ Daisy shook his head like a dog. ‘Garrett went mad. I mean...something inside him snapped...that thing, whatever it is, it’s what keeps you human. It broke. We went after the people that did that to the kids. We chased them for days. He pushed us harder than I’ve ever been pushed in my life. Beyond exhaustion. No rest, no sleep. When we found them he made us chop off their hands and their feet. But he kept them alive. Said that they didn’t deserve to die. He made the villagers swear that they would keep those men alive, crawling on the earth like worms. But it didn’t end there. He kept us going...until, eventually there was no one left to hunt.’
Daisy shuddered. ‘Man...he used to howl when he fought. Like a fucking animal. Like a beast. The locals called him Popobawa...The Demon. Others…The Beast.
Then one day – he left. We don’t know where he went. Or why. He just left us in that shithole of a country. Eventually we fought our way to the border. A few years later I joined this mob.
Never thought that I’d see that face again.’
Daisy looked at the butt of his cigarette, a scowl on his face.
Then he spoke again. ‘Happy.’
‘Yes.’
‘We’ll need more men. Three of us aren’t enough. I swear to you.’
Happy nodded. He knew Daisy Van Staden well enough to know that the huge Afrikaner was being very serious. He also knew that he didn’t exaggerate, in fact, normally quite the opposite.
‘How many then, Daisy?’ He asked.
Van Staden shook his head. He looked like a child that had just been woken up from a nightmare.
‘We don’t have enough,’ he whispered.
Chapter 20
Debra entered the lab with sergeant Robhurst.
Professor Parker was asleep in his chair, his face lying on his work bench, his hair a grease encrusted tangle and his clothes now almost brittle with dirt and sweat. His captors allowed him to leave the lab twice a day for bathroom breaks only. The rest of the time they drove him mercilessly.
But he still was running days behind their expected schedule.
‘Get him up,’ commanded Debra. ‘And hold his arms.’
The sergeant complied, dragging the professor upright and grasping his shoulders.
Debra Haddock stood close to Parker and, when she was sure that the man was fully awake, she took a cloth wrapped object from her purse, unrolled it and held it in front of Bradley Parker’s face.
It was the right hand forefinger from
a child.
‘Do you see what your attitude has led to?’ Asked Debra, her voice strident. Harsh. ‘Now do you see what you have done to your daughter?’
Bradley stared at the dismembered finger for a few seconds, his face expressionless and his eyes blank as he tried to take in the enormity of what Debra was showing him.
And then his expression changed to one of absolute horror.
He snarled like an animal and lunged forward with such strength that sergeant Robhurst lost grip. As he broke free he swung an awkward punch at the minister.
It was an untrained blow, thrown by a peaceable man. But it was powered by a vast well of hatred.
The blow landed squarely on Debra’s nose with a satisfying crunch as the cartilage split and the delicate bones broke. Blood gushed from the wound and the minister fell to the floor with a pig-like squeal of agony.
But the professor wasn’t finished. He started screaming incoherently, his voice a guttural, broken cacophony. And at the same time he launched a massive soccer-kick into the minister’s ribs. Again he was rewarded with the crunch of bone breaking as Debra’s right hand false-rib snapped under the assault.
Bradley pulled his foot back, readying himself for another kick but before he could, sergeant Robhurst rabbit-punched him in the back of his head and he fell to the floor, unconscious.
Robhurst grabbed a pile of paper towels from the work bench and knelt next to the prostrate form of the minister. ‘Ma’am, are you alright?’ He asked as he handed her the paper towels so that she could staunch the flow of blood coming from her broken nose.
‘No I am not,’ yelled Debra. ‘What the hell? How did that happen?’
‘I’m sorry, ma’am,’ answered Robhurst. ‘The strength that he pulled away with, it took me by surprise. I think that we need to get you to a doctor, ma’am.’
‘I’m fine,’ said Debra. ‘Where’s the finger?’ she started scrabbling on the floor. ‘The finger, sergeant.’
Robhurst saw the severed digit on the floor under the work bench. He retrieved it and handed it to the minister.
‘I don’t want it,’ she snapped. ‘We need to keep it as a reminder. Keep him motivated. Put it in the fridge or something.’
Debra’s cell stated to ring. She glanced at the screen.
‘Oh for fuck’s sake,’ she cursed. ‘I’m going to have to take this. You, sergeant, wake this prick up and get him working. Do it.’ She raised the phone to her ear. ‘Yes….oh, excellent. At least something is going right. No, I’m fine. Blocked nose is all. Thank you for the information, commander. I wonder if you could text me the address and then I can forward the info to the Custodians. Thank you.’
Chapter 21
The Happy Butcher smiled to himself. The Elephant and Castle. Debra Haddock had supplied him with an address and given the go ahead. His three targets were last seen entering a large Victorian house and, if it was up to Happy, they would not be exiting it.
Taking Daisy’s advice into account, Happy had put together a six man kill team. He had included Malkovitz and Visser in the team but had left out Daisy. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust the big man to do his job, it was simply that the look of undisguised fear on his face had been unsettling to say the least. Happy thought it better to simply leave the big man on the sidelines for a while until he had recovered.
***
Scarlet frowned in annoyance. Someone was hammering aggressively on his front door. As insistent as a drunken sailor at a whore house.
He glanced at his watch and frowned. It couldn’t be Garrett again, he had everything that he needed and he had left over an hour ago.
The rooms were not fully booked at the moment but Scarlet was not expecting any more clients and his establishment wasn’t the sort of place that encouraged walk-in clientele. He looked at the CCTV screen and saw a man dressed in a black tight t-shirt, long black combat trousers and desert boots.
Scarlet manipulated the camera using the keypad next to the screen, lifting it up and getting as wide a shot as possible. Just visible at the edge of the screen he could see at least another three men. They were dressed in a similar fashion, but they were carrying weapons.
Skorpion sub machine guns, chambered for .32 ACP rounds. Vicious little weapons designed for a pray and spray as opposed to accurate work. So they were obviously prepared for extremely wet work.
Scarlet smiled. It was obvious why they were there. One thing about Garrett, thought Scarlet to himself, he keeps one’s life interesting. The opium dealer shook his head, annoyed with himself. He should have been more prepared - ever since he had known the soldier, Garrett had attracted trouble, like a pile of shit attracts flies.
Scarlet thought that it had something to do with the soldier’s overblown sense of right and wrong. He felt that he was fated to solve the wrongs of the world and, as a result, he spent the majority of his life being disappointed.
He adjusted the camera again zooming in slightly and bringing into focus a man with a pistol grip shotgun, on the end of the barrel was a serrated extension, specifically for ballistic breaching. The man rammed the end against the top hinges and pulled the trigger. There was a solid thump and then he moved to the bottom hinge and repeated the process, blowing the door off its hinges.
Before the door hit the floor Scarlet was already pushing the filing cabinet aside and opening his gun shelves. He pulled out a shelf and grabbed a Mossberg high capacity pump action shotgun loaded with ten rounds of 12 gauge buckshot.
He heard the men run into the building, combat boots hammering on the carpeted wooden floors. He peeked around the corner, stealing a quick glance.
There are at least six of them.
Two went into the first opium room, there were clients there, lounging on silk cushions, embalmed with shadow and sedated by a haze of opium fumes.
The prolonged burp of the silenced Skorpions brought an abrupt end to life, like pair of insane typewriters hammering a row of periods onto a page. Life’s full stops.
The killers ran out of the room, changing their magazines as they did so.
‘Clear,’ shouted the one. ‘They’re not there.’
They ran into the next room, kicking the door open as they did. The same ripping sound of death stuttered from the room as they murdered the occupants.
It was now utterly obvious that the kill team were looking for Garrett and his friend. And the little girl.
‘Screw them,’ said Scarlet to himself. ‘Coming in here and treating me with such disrespect. Killing my clients, trying to kill my friends. Time to die.’
The tall man stepped out into the corridor and slammed off eight rounds, filling the air with lead shot. Each double O shell contains 9 lead balls of shot. Scarlet moved the shotgun from left to right racking and firing as fast as he could, filling the corridor with over seventy high velocity lead slugs. Three of the intruders were literally torn to shreds as the lead smashed into them.
The noise was absolutely deafening.
The two other men came out of a client room and opened fire at him.
Scarlet ducked down and returned fire, pumping the shotgun twice, shouting out his anger and defiance and rage, then dropping the empty weapon as he ran at them.
A bullet hit him in the center of his torso, knocking the wind out of him as his sternum cracked and the air was driven from his lungs. He struggled to take a shuddering breath. It felt like someone had struck him in the chest with a burning sledge hammer.
But he kept running forward, barreling into the one assassin, hitting him like a Mack truck. Almost three hundred pounds of pissed off.
Scarlet flicked out his right arm and, like magic, a long slim stiletto blade appeared in his hand. He rammed it into the attacker’s solar plexus, driving it upward into his heart.
Behind him the other man fired point blank into the tall man’s back. Scarlet felt his ribs shatter as the small, high velocity rounds hammered into him. He spun and slashed out with the stiletto; it sliced throug
h the man’s throat with ease, but as it hit the murderer’s neck vertebrae, the thin blade snapped off.
Blood squirted out, painting the walls in deep red blood, like the devil’s fire extinguisher.
‘And that’s why they call me Scarlet,’ shouted the tall man with a smile.
A final attacker ran out of the last client room and sprayed the corridor with bullets as he did so. Two of the rounds struck Scarlet in the stomach, tearing flesh and severing internal organs.
He bellowed like a gut shot buffalo and charged again. The man frantically tried to change his magazine for a fresh one but Scarlet was on him before he could. Two massive, ham sized hands, one ochre, one corpse white wrapped around the man’s neck and he squeezed.
The assassin slapped and punched at Scarlet but it was like fighting against a glacier. Slow and inexorable. Bones ground together, cartridge popped as it was crushed and, finally, nerves were severed.
The man did an obscene little jig and then went still.
Scarlet dropped the body to the floor.
A tsunami of pain crashed over him and he fell to his knees. Then he slowly crawled into a client room. There were two dead people in there.
‘What a waste,’ he said to no one in particular. ‘Why kill everyone?’ He picked up a full Opium pipe and lay down on a large silk pillow. Then he held the pipe over a small lit oil lamp, waited for it to heat through and dragged in a lungful. It made him cough and pain tore through him. He forced himself to take another draw. This time it was easier.
After the third hit most of the pain had receded to manageable level.
As the opium relaxed him he remained aware of the pain while, at the same time, it no longer bothered him.
With a shock he realized that he had better warn Garrett that some seriously heavy hitters were looking for him. He struggled to get his cell phone out but, by the time he had, he realized that he didn’t have his number. In fact he never had.
Garrett & Petrus- The Complete Series Page 68
