Killsong

by Mark Mannock

  Greatrex lived in an apartment on the ground floor of an old gray two-story weatherboard beach house a few streets back from the beach between Venice and Santa Monica. He had the whole ground floor. It was space he needed, for his peace of mind and his work.

  I let myself in with my own key and walked to a door at the far end of the hall. This led to Jack Greatrex’s private sanctuary. While part of the darkened space featured a digital recording set-up we had both frequently used, the other side of the dimly lit room revealed two enormous wooden sliding doors.

  The doors were now wide open and Greatrex sat on a desk chair, focused on the equipment in front to him. The subject of his attention was a variety of audio and visual equipment most people would assume was some sort of digital editing suite. It was not; or rather, it could be, but that was not its main purpose. The equipment Greatrex now manipulated, with great skill and dexterity, was a highly sophisticated military-grade surveillance system.

  Greatrex was a tech-head; he always had been, he always would be. His skills had served him well in the military and very well as an in-demand tech in the music industry. I hoped they would serve him equally well now, as we desperately tried to locate an extremely dangerous man who held our two innocent friends hostage.

  I pulled up a chair and sat down next to my friend. His eyes were focused on a monitor that showed a Google Earth–style of display with a lone digital marker in the center of the screen.

  “That’s them.” He pointed at the marker on the screen. “Or at least it’s the tracker, hopefully still connected to the helicopter.”

  Of course, a big question was who “them” was. Was it Giles Winter, his henchman, and Leyla and Amira? Was it just Winter and his men? Was it just the helicopter? We couldn’t possibly know.

  “Where are they?” If there was an obvious question to ask, I was always the one to ask it.

  “Oregon, specifically a remote part of the Rogue Valley area.”

  “How appropriately named,” I responded.

  Greatrex continued. “The tracker has been stationary since I got back here.”

  It made a lot of sense to me. The chopper clearly had long-range capabilities. Slipping back over the state line to Oregon would have been simple. It also connected with the fact that Winter had kidnapped Leyla and Amira from their home in Portland, Oregon. He obviously felt no need to move them too far away at this point.

  Greatrex turned to me. “What now?”

  Strategy had usually been my end of the partnership. At this point, however, I was tired and frustrated; brilliant ideas were not appearing at the speed of light. There was a long silence between us as we were both lost in thought.

  An array of alternatives began to flash across my mind as my brain began to focus. The trouble was that the former military strategist in me dismissed each idea as useless almost as it formed. Maybe it was time for the other side of my brain to kick in, the creative side. There were some advantages to living in my conflicted head. It was time to start sorting through the obstacles.

  “We have no choice, we must try something.” I said.

  Greatrex nodded in agreement. “We were told to carry on as per normal,” said the big fella. “We know they’re watching us; any move we make out of our routine will endanger the girls.”

  “You’re right on both counts,” I answered. “However, there may be a way around that.” I thought a little longer before speaking again. “How often have we been booked into the studio to record, and the session has run all day and all through the night?”

  As I spoke, I saw a slight look of optimism on Greatrex’s worried face.

  “What if we arrange with Mac Silverman down at Platinum Sound to book us in for an all-nighter? He would need to set it up on his books and get some other players in to make a noise. We make a show of arriving though the front door and less of a show leaving out the back.”

  “It would need to look authentic to an outsider,” Greatrex said.

  “I could offer the session to Robbie as free recording time. Having his ‘celebrity’ name on it would make the recording look legitimate, and he’s always complaining his record company doesn’t provide him with enough studio time.”

  “It might work, but it could be risky.”

  “It will be risky,” I responded, “but I don’t see that we have a choice. Up to this point we’ve been reacting to everything with little or no pushback. We’ve never worked that way before; I don’t reckon it’s time to start now.” I paused for a few seconds to consider the impact of what I was suggesting. “Winter and his men will be tracking us visually and electronically. I’d bet they’re using our cell phones to monitor us when we’re out of sight. We will need to leave the phones at the studio. The downside is we’ll be out of contact if Leyla should have an opportunity to contact us. The upside is we’ll be able to work in the shadows.” I was really starting to think now, about goddamn time.

  Greatrex chipped in. “That will still only give us a twenty-four-hour window at best from arriving at the studio to get up to the Rogue Valley and try and get the girls out, if they are there.”

  “We also need to allow time to get back if Leyla and Amira aren’t there. If Winter discovers we’ve slipped under the radar for any length of time, I don’t think he’d hesitate to harm them.”

  “I have an old military friend,” said Greatrex. “He was a chopper pilot in Afghanistan and Iraq. These days he runs a helicopter charter service out of Burbank. If he’s available, he’ll get us there and back quickly, and off the books.”

  Jack Greatrex was one of the best-connected people on the planet. He never ceased to amaze me. People just seemed to like him and want to help him out.

  “You contact your friend, I’ll get hold of Robbie, and Mac at the studio. We have to make this happen fast to have any chance of success. Oh, and of course, we can’t use our phones.”

  Again, before my eyes the best-resourced man in the world conjured some extra magic. Greatrex reached into his pocket and brought out two prepaid cell phones, still in their packaging.

  “I bought these at the supermarket after I dropped you off. I thought we may find a need for them.”

  I stared at the two burners, grateful for my friend’s forethought.

  No more planning required, we went straight into action. It sounds good when you say it like that: “straight into action.” Both Greatrex and I were aware, however, that every action invites a reaction. That was our worry.

  8

  Things had gone smoothly down at Platinum Sound. Everybody had arrived at the Culver City studio on time. The musicians were a bit perplexed at the short notice for the session, although this wasn’t that unusual in our industry. Robbie West couldn’t really understand why I couldn’t stay and play. There was no way we could explain the circumstances to any of them, particularly Robbie, who was extremely likable but also very talkative.

  Greatrex and I made our exit out the side door of the loading bay at the rear of the building. So much gear was going in and out, no one noticed us leaving. We had used the studio credit card to book a hire car and have it delivered two streets away. We found it easily, climbed in, and headed north toward Burbank.

  The traffic on the 405 was light by LA standards, and we began to make good time. So far, so good, although one thing was for certain: we’d have a lot of explaining to do to our musical colleagues when this was over. Fifty minutes later, we were parking our hire car in the car park of the Hollywood Burbank Airport.

  We quickly located the hangar that was the base of Greatrex’s friend Eddie Small. Eddie was waiting at the front of the building. A short man with dark curly hair and a jovial smile, Eddie quickly ushered us around the back and into his sleek silver chopper.

  “The less people that see you, the less questions will be asked,” said Eddie as he shook my hand.

  “I’ve logged this flight as two investors looking for real estate in Northern California and Southern Oregon.” Eddie then ch
uckled as he said, “If anyone asks, your names are Bill Oates and Simon Hall.”

  Greatrex smiled. “You just couldn’t help yourself, could you, Eddie?” he said, referring to the musical connection. It was a welcome break from our stress. Passengers Hall and Oates lifted off five minutes later.

  As the sun was beginning to set, three and a half hours later, Jack Greatrex and I were hiking through tall ponderosa pines as we headed toward the Rogue River. Eddie Small had dropped us off in a vacant paddock near the Riverbanks Road just south of Shan Creek.

  It was an area full of small acreages and hobby farms. Enough people around for newcomers not to stand out, remote enough to lose yourself in, affluent enough so choppers flying in and out wouldn’t cause a fuss. Giles Winter had chosen a perfect location for his criminal retreat.

  We had used the coordinates provided by the tracker on Winter’s helicopter to establish our destination, and a portable GPS in Greatrex’s hand allowed us to find our way there. We avoided established roadways as and when we could.

  Fifteen minutes later and we were perched on a small hill looking down through thick scrub at a well-kept stone and wood lodge-style building. The place was rustic and seemed quite luxurious. A long, treed circular drive led from the road to the front door. The Rogue River ran one hundred yards distant from the main building. There were two machinery sheds behind the house, one large enough to house a helicopter. We knew this because the doors were open and inside the shed was a large black helicopter with no markings.

  “Bingo,” said Greatrex.

  The house lights were on in a couple of rooms, but we couldn’t see any movement.

  “We need to think this through carefully. If they’re all there, it will be Winter, the girls, and at least three very heavily armed men.” I needed to show that I could do the math.

  “There may be more,” said my friend, always the optimist.

  We were both as keen as all hell just to storm down the hill and take our chances, but that would put Leyla and Amira at great risk if we didn’t make it. It would put us at great risk either way.

  “We could wait and call the local police,” suggested Greatrex. I knew that wasn’t what he wanted to do, but we had to consider all possibilities.

  “By the time they got here, we explained ourselves, and any action was taken if the cops did believe us, Winter and the girls would be forewarned and long gone.”

  Greatrex seemed relieved at my response.

  “You skirt around the north side to the back and see what you can find,” I suggested. “I’ll recon the front and river side. We’ll meet back here in twenty minutes. No excitement until we have a plan.”

  Greatrex had disappeared into the scrub before I could say another word. He was like that.

  Fifteen minutes later I was back on top of the hill. I had seen nothing to indicate any human movement, but I had also seen nothing that indicated the property was vacant. There were lights on and what sounded like a television coming from inside. This made the scenario very uncertain. I didn’t like uncertain; uncertain was dangerous.

  I then spent a good five minutes just watching from the hill, looking for any sign of movement.

  In the silence and the waiting, my mind started working me over. Things were changing, beyond my control. I hadn’t been given a choice. I left the armed forces because I wanted to have choices. I wanted to be my own moral compass, not the instrument of someone else’s perspective. It suited me, being a musician, and it had turned out I was pretty good at it. It was not a life I sought to give up. It worried me that my old military skills had rebooted so quickly, like they were always there but just out of sight. It worried me that my sense of right and wrong had steered me back here. What worried me the most was the last thing I had said to Jack Greatrex before he set out on his recon: “no excitement.” The thing that was really eating away at me as I looked down on a potentially life-ending and dangerous situation was … I was excited.

  My self-examination finished abruptly when Greatrex appeared from the bushes behind me.

  “I couldn’t see anyone, but I couldn’t not see anyone,” he said.

  “You know there’s only one way we are going to find out, and the clock is ticking.” I didn’t even begin to like the words as they came out of my mouth.

  “We go in.”

  “We go in,” I repeated. “You take the back, I’ll go front. Coordinated entry. When you hear me go in the front door, you go through the back. There’s no point in stealth once we enter. We search each room quickly, take out whoever is standing.” Nicholas Sharp taking command.

  “And be careful of the girls,” I added. I looked down on the house one last time. It had been a long time since I’d been involved in events like this. Even then, I was more comfortable working at a sniper’s distance, not up close and intimate.

  I gave Greatrex five minutes to take up position. I then followed a line of pines down the south side of the hill, keeping in the shadows as much as possible. The distance from the last tree to the front door was a good fifty feet; I would be very exposed but there was nothing I could do about it. Once I was out of the shadows I moved as speedily as I could without making a lot of noise. The gravel driveway didn’t help. I seemed to reach the wooden railed veranda undetected. At least I hoped so.

  Thanks to Greatrex I had two handguns on me. I withdrew one from my pocket and held it in front of me. I had a long-range rifle up on the hill, but it would be useless to me here. Greatrex was similarly armed but also had a sawn-off shotgun. I didn’t know where he got it; I hadn’t asked. We weren’t in the military anymore, yet Greatrex still managed to procure things.

  I waited for a minute to listen for any sound that would indicate something. There was no sound. I took a deep breath and …

  In the stillness of the early evening the crack of the front door being kicked open sounded like a small explosion. Two seconds later the back door was kicked open; it was incredibly loud as well. Greatrex was also in. In the heat of the moment it took several seconds before I realized why both doors had sounded like explosions through the night. They were explosions—the doors were rigged to trigger detonations around the house, and the building was starting to burn.

  I moved through the entrance hall into the lounge, my gun arm leading the way. No one was there. I was relieved we weren’t walking straight into a firefight, but worried that I could see no sign of Leyla and Amira. I moved through the dining room into the large wooden and slate lodge-style kitchen. If I was an LA cop I would have been yelling “clear” in every room. I wasn’t, so I didn’t.

  As I left the kitchen another explosion echoed through the house. It came from the lounge room. Then there were two more in quick succession. The whole house was rigged.

  “Jack, are you all right?” I yelled above the cacophony of sound.

  “I’ll go upstairs, you stay down,” he yelled back. “I reckon we have less than two minutes before the whole place goes up.”

  I went from room to room, no longer caring about men with guns. I was only focusing on finding the girls before the house was destroyed. More explosions, more rooms, fire everywhere. Time was running out and the heat and the noise were unbearable.

  As I entered the final downstairs room, I could see that it was a bedroom. I could also see two sets of chains with shackles attached to the double bed in the center of the room. The bed was now on fire, and there was no one in the shackles. Leyla and Amira were here, but they had gone. We were too late.

  “Jack, get out,” I screamed up the stairs. “They aren’t here.”

  Greatrex came—almost falling, almost flying—down the stairs. For a big man he moved very quickly. We both burst out the back door at the same time. We were gasping for air, coughing, choking on smoke. Behind us, the house was fully ablaze. If anyone was in there now, they would have no chance.

  Greatrex looked at me, his blackened face confused.

  “Why?” he asked. He was having trouble getti
ng words out between coughs and gasps. “Why would they destroy this place?”

  “No trail,” I gasped, echoing Winter’s words. I was having the same trouble speaking and breathing.

  It took a good five minutes until we seemed in control of ourselves. Then a thought occurred to me. “The chopper. We might find something useful in the chopper.”

  We both turned and took a step toward where the black helicopter loomed among the darkness in its shed. The next thing I knew, I was flying backward through the air and flung mercilessly to the ground. This explosion was so loud it made the others sound like backyard fireworks. When I sat up and looked over to the shed, both Giles Winter’s helicopter and the shed had disappeared in an eruption of flame and smoke. Beside me, Greatrex was regaining his senses.

  We must have sat there on the ground forever, I didn’t know what Greatrex was thinking but I had a fair idea. I knew what I was thinking. If we had moved toward the helicopter shed thirty seconds earlier, I would be testing my theory of what it was like to meet God after shaking Paul McCartney’s hand.

  It also hit me like a stack of bricks that we had lost Leyla and Amira. We had lost the one chance we had of locating them. We may also have alerted Winter to our poorly attempted work in the shadows. I prayed that this was not the case. If it was … oh God, what had we done?

  9

  Everybody has a bar—well, it seems that way—a place where you go to drink, talk, feel comfortable, take refuge, celebrate, commiserate. Everybody has a bar, and mine was Medina’s. On Washington Boulevard, not far back from Venice Beach and walking distance from my apartment, Medina’s was a two-story painted stucco building typical of restaurants and bars in the area. Typical except for one thing: it had history; we had history.