by Andy Lucas
Their house backed onto the beach but the front entrance led the taxi up a brick drive, through lush landscaped gardens, infused with carefully placed lamps and water features, until it pulled to a stop in front of a beautiful set of carved oak double doors.
Bethany paid the driver, tipped him well, and led her sozzled husband up three stone steps, where she propped him against the brickwork while she rummaged in her purse for the door key. Her mother would be upstairs, reading a story to the children and there was no sense disturbing her as she got them settled for the night.
Sliding the key into the lock she turned it and pushed the door, which opened smoothly into a gorgeous, marble-floored hallway. Leaving the door open she turned back to David, who by now was smiling blankly at her, like all men tended to do when the worst of the alcohol had fried their brains.
‘Come on honey. Let’s get you to bed.’
‘Now you’re talking,’ he said, attempting a knowing wink.
Once inside, Bethany turned and closed the door. She heard a thump and was about to turn back to her drunken husband, who she guessed had just fallen over, when something cold and hard pressed against the base of her neck. She froze.
‘If you don’t want to lose your head, I’d be very quiet and very co-operative, understand?’ The voice was low but blatantly female in nature. ‘I wouldn’t want to spray your brains all over such a beautiful floor, so be nice. Any tricks and I will kill you, then your husband, followed by your children and their babysitter. Believe me.’
‘Okay. No tricks,’ Bethany cried softly, terror gripping her heart.
‘Now turn around slowly.’
She did as she was told, turning on the spot very slowly until she was facing a slight figured female, dressed head to toe in a dark running suit and wearing a black, woollen balaclava helmet, with eye holes cut in the right spots. The intruder wore black leather gloves and was pointing an ugly black handgun, complete with a smoothly-machined silencer, directly between her eyes.
On the floor, David was laid out, rendered unconscious by a vicious pistol whip to the side of his head. The wound was open and blood pooled onto the white marble floor; vivid red.
‘What have you done!’ she cried out, kneeling down and applying pressure to the wound with her hand.
‘I would worry more about what I might do to you,’ the intruder said nastily. ‘A bump on the head is nothing.’
Like her brother, Jasmine Maluse was a cold-hearted killer. Known in the professional only by her tag, Puma, her reputation for cruelty was well deserved. For her, murdering an entire family was just another assignment. She had done it several times before and never gave a thought to who the terrified people were, or why anybody would want them dead.
As far as she was concerned, she was simply a tool others used to get their dirty jobs done quickly and efficiently. This family was no different, except she knew this job would be directly helping her brother.
He was working a troublesome job in the Amazon, which should have been finished long ago but the mark was refusing to allow himself to be killed. The client had offered him a further sum of money; very large, if he could arrange for an assassin to fly down to Australia and kill the mark’s brother, and his brother’s family.
Naturally, when it came to choosing a second killer to send, he had only one in mind. His sister, after him, was the most ruthless killer he knew.
Dragging Bethany Pace up off the floor by her hair, causing her to shriek with pain, Puma jammed the silenced gun back against her neck and ordered her up the wide, sweeping staircase. David was left on the floor; Puma planned to kill him later on if he didn’t bleed to death first.
Having no choice, Bethany walked up the stairs, fearful of what she might find when she got up there. Her mother would have heard the commotion downstairs, as would the children. They hadn’t come to see what was going on and Bethany correctly guessed that the intruder had already discovered them. Her stomach knotted and she felt faint as she reached the top stair and was pushed roughly into the family bathroom.
Inside, bound hand and foot, and with mouths taped shut, her mother and her two children lay piled into the empty bathtub. Her mother was bleeding from a cut under one eye and she had an ugly bruise on her hairline, directly above her nose.
Her eyes fluttered as she swam in and out of consciousness. Ethan was trying to be brave but his eyes spoke of terror, and his little sister had tears spilling from her eyes. At seeing their mother the two children grew excited and Ethan tried to stand up, only to be pushed roughly back down again by Puma.
‘Stay there and be still. You won’t be told again,’ she hissed.
Fury welled up inside Bethany at seeing her son mistreated and she made up her mind to try and overpower the intruder. Seeing how callously she treated a child told Bethany that none of them were going to be allowed to live – the woman beneath the mask was a monster.
‘Why us?’ she asked, summoning all of her strength for her children. ‘If it’s money you want, I’ll open the safe. We have a few thousand dollars in cash and you can take my jewellery,’ she pleaded. ‘Take it all, please, and leave my family alone.’
‘I am touched,’ Puma lied easily. ‘Unfortunately your husband is related to a thorn in my side. This is nothing you’ve done, not at all. But I have to send him a message that he will finally understand.’
‘Related? David?’ That could only mean his brother, James. But James was in the jungle, running that crazy charity race. Bethany had heard press reports that some kind of armed militia had attempted to hijack some of Brazil’s government buildings but an information black-out meant she knew little more.
Rumours flying around the globe spoke of the athletes somehow being caught up in the bloodshed but David had been unable to find out more, despite hours on the telephone to the British Consulate and the Australian media networks. It was the last thing he’d needed, after his sister’s death, and with the company poised for a take-over.
‘That’s right. James Pace, hero to the masses,’ she scoffed. ‘He should have learned how to die, like his sister, but…’
‘Amanda? What do you mean?’
‘Just what you think I mean,’ Puma grinned under her mask. ‘Aunty Amanda was a good woman,’ she told the frightened children, who huddled together, ‘but your Uncle James wouldn’t take a hint so she had to go.’
‘You killed her? But that’s not true,’ snapped Bethany. ‘She was attacked by a burglar.’ She looked at her children as she chose her words carefully. ‘She was killed by a man. It can’t have been you!’
‘No, that honour goes to my brother,’ Puma agreed.
‘You are sick!’ Bethany trembled as she raged. ‘Just go away and leave us alone!’
Puma cocked the hammer on her gun and delved inside a pocket, pulling out a mobile telephone. A quick touch dial and she soon heard her brother’s familiar tones on the other end of the line.
‘I am here, with the family,’ she said excitedly, her heart racing with the expectation of bloodshed to come. ‘Everything went well. I am ready to retire them.’
On the other end, Wolf nodded with satisfaction. Not only would this mean more money but it was a way of directly hurting that fool, Pace. The man already knew his sister was dead but had chosen to run the race anyway. Soon he would learn that the remainder of his family were gone too.
‘Don’t waste time talking to me,’ he ordered. ‘Get it done and get back home. We have spent more than enough time on this one already.’
‘I look forward to it,’ she giggled, her eyes rolling wildly. ‘Do you want to listen while I do it?’
Wolf was angry. The simple job of hunting down civilians had been hampered by one of McEntire’s rescue teams. They had failed to get the job done. Standing in the middle of the jungle, surrounded by hard-eyed mercenaries, he was waiting for Cathera to ring him on his satellite phone with new instructions. Wolf welcomed the chance of some murderous relief.
‘I
’d love to,’ he said. ‘Leave the phone open and work your magic.’
Back in the bathroom, Puma squealed with psychotic delight. She put the telephone down on top of a nearby toilet seat and swung around to face Bethany. Like any mother, she had moved over to the bath and was standing in front of her children and their grandmother with her own body.
‘Please don’t do this,’ she pleaded. ‘Please. I’ll do anything but don’t hurt my babies!’
‘Can you hear this brother?’ Puma chirped towards the telephone. ‘Ready for some fun?’
‘Please no! No!’
Wolf heard the shot and was surprised it was so loud. He’d assumed his sister would use a silenced weapon. He heard a faint thud as a body hit the floor and he licked his lips as he anticipated the next shot. He waited, and he waited, but no second shot came.
David Pace had been roused by his wife’s screams and pleading. He never knew what hit him but he saw the blood all over the floor and realised he was badly injured. Pain throbbed in his head as he staggered to the hall cupboard, yanking open the doors.
A steel box inside was secured with a coded lock. Somehow, despite suffering from the effects of concussion and alcohol, his fingers flew over the keypad and sprung the lock. Inside, he pulled out the single-barrelled shotgun that he used for clay pigeon shooting at a local gun club.
Up the stairs he had gone, his heart pounding as he shook his head; splashing blood all over the wall as he moved, desperately trying to make the world stand still instead of spinning and reeling as it was. Reaching the top, he’d stumbled and fallen flat on his face into the deep, fawn-coloured carpet. Looking up, he focused blearily on a scene of horror; framed through the open door of the bathroom to his right.
A black-clad figure was standing, pointing a gun towards the bath that he knew was there but could not see from where he lay. All he could see was the figure. Not knowing if his family were alive or dead, he brought the gun to his shoulder, sighted down the barrel, and pulled hair-trigger.
One minute the intruder was pointing a gun at Bethany’s throat, ready to murder her. The next, the balaclava vanished as Puma’s head was completely blown off her shoulders. It was a complete surprise to David because he knew the minute he’d pulled the trigger that the gun was empty. In his daze, he forgot that he never kept it loaded. The gun clicked impotently in his hands.
Confused, he blinked hard to try to clear his increasingly foggy vision. As he did so, a pair of black-clad legs appeared from behind him, heading towards the bathroom door. As the figure moved further away from him, it grew into that of a man, also dressed in black from head to toe. For a second he thought the man was Puma’s companion but he wasn’t wearing a balaclava and his .45 calibre automatic pistol was still smoking from its recently delivered killing shot. He was also completely bald.
Dragging himself into the bathroom, leaving a trail of fresh blood staining the light carpet, David saw his family alive and being helped by the stranger, before he slipped into unconsciousness.
Leaving their grandmother to take the children out of the carnage, Bethany rushed to cradle her husband in her arms and tried to staunch the fresh flow of blood that now gushed from his head.
‘Don’t you bloody die on me, baby,’ she scolded tearfully. ‘I need you.’
‘He won’t die,’ said a friendly voice from behind her. ‘Help is on the way.’
‘You killed her.’ The man nodded once. ‘Thank you. She was going to kill all of us, she said so.’ Again he nodded. ‘Who are you?’ Bethany asked finally, giving up her attempts to stop sniffling and shaking.
Returning the weapon to a visible holster beneath his left armpit, the man knelt down and quickly checked on her husband. Satisfied that the man was stable, and breathing easily, he patted her softly on one shoulder.
‘My name is Hammond. Glad I could help.’
16
The afternoon passed in almost holiday mood. The weather stayed hot and fine. Sarah moved a couple of canvas chairs outside, still shielded from view overhead by the thick canopy of trees above the tent.
There was nothing in the way of a breeze so they both stripped down to their underwear to spend a few carefree hours soaking up the warmth of the day.
Together they talked about the past, about each other’s family life and history. It was relaxed and Pace found out a great deal more about her than he already knew. Nobody came around the tent to disturb them that afternoon. It was almost as if they were in their own little Eden.
They did not talk about Sarah’s letter, or her husband. She had asked him to wait until she was ready to explain.
Monkeys and exotic birds screeched and called to each other, hidden from view above them. If Pace hadn’t known there was a small military camp hidden in the surrounding jungle, he could have believed them to be totally alone; the last two people on earth even.
Sarah looked wonderful, sitting relaxed in matching white bra and briefs. It was sports underwear, a perfect substitute for a bikini, and left very little to the imagination. Her long hair was piled up in a loose bunch on top of her head, tied with a simple black band. It accentuated the slimness and grace of her long neck, the feminine curve of her slightly reddening shoulders and the delicacy of her collarbone. .
The McEntire Corporation had taken a great deal of time, effort and financial genius to ascend to its current heady heights. Sarah’s father had started the business off his own back, with financial support gleaned from a mixture of family, friends and a small bank loan.
It took the best part of ten years of solid work before he’d begun reaping any rewards from his labours, though since then the company had grown remarkably and miraculously avoided market crashes and national hiccups that had sunk many others.
During the lean times, Doyle McEntire had met a girl and married. There was no money spare in those hard years and no children could be afforded. Sarah was pretty sure this was why her father’s first wife eventually left him, married again quickly and proceeded to start a family.
Newly-divorced, McEntire continued building up his business. He had a string of love affairs before finally meeting Sarah’s mother. By then he was thirty-five years old and ready to be a father. His business was everything to him but he loved his daughter when she came along, in his mind providing well for her being the best way he knew to show affection.
There was a hint of sadness behind Sarah’s eyes when she told him about the private nannies and of the boarding schools she’d come to see as home during her childhood. She would only get to see her father occasionally, no more than three times a year for over a decade. She always went home on school holidays but her father was rarely there.
A soldier interrupted them briefly to hand over a plate of cheese sandwiches and they brewed some more tea to wash it down. A long time into the future, Pace had sharp, fond memories of those precious few hours together.
Barely five hours after his last bite of sandwich, he again found himself crouched in the dark, Sten in hand, squinting through the rivulets of cold rainwater that ran down his face. He was keen to see a waving hand because if it didn’t come, it meant they were in real trouble.
In the darkness, his thoughts briefly wandered back over the events of the past few hours.
The same soldier had returned later, just as they were packing away for the evening. Dusk had arrived and the coming evening air had cooled slightly, accompanied by rain. The soldier’s manner was calm and his face expressionless but the request to attend a meeting in the operations tent was delivered in such a way as to be urgent. Pace had pulled on his military clothing while Sarah slipped on a pair of knee-length cotton shorts and a dark blue, cropped top.
A sense of sudden unease made him retrieve the Sten gun, which he slipped over one shoulder on its strap. Sarah noticed the weapon but she chose not to comment as they hurried around the clearing to the command tent, getting fairly drenched on the way.
Baker was already addressing the meeting whe
n they arrived. This time, there was an air of expectation about the tent; a tense, barely contained sense of excitement from the men beneath the canvas. He wasted no time in spelling out the issue.
‘We will be pulling out in about thirty minutes,’ he explained. ‘We have one more patrol still to return, then we can pull the plug.’ He looked grave. ‘There is a lot of radio chatter flying about, close by, from the Brazilian airforce. For some reason, they are focusing on this area, looking for anything out of the ordinary, especially anything that looks like an armed force. If they spot us, we’re in serious trouble.’
As if on cue, a succession of concussions from high explosive ordinance flattened all the tents in the camp, a vicious blast wave lifting bodies high into the air before casting them back onto the ground. In a split second, the command tent was ripped from the fabric of existence by a thousand jagged pieces of shrapnel that tore into canvas and flesh alike, leaving its human occupants struggling to recover their senses beneath open, pouring skies.
Pace’s overriding instinct was to protect Sarah but his vision was blurred and his heart wanted to explode out of his ears, so violent were the exploding munitions. It was all he could do to stagger back to his feet. His nose itched and he reached a hand up to scratch it, pulling it away to stare dazed at a palm smeared bright crimson with blood. Acrid smoke stung at his eyes and scalded its way down his throat, burning cruelly.
Under normal circumstances he would have understood that the pressure blast was to blame but his brain was totally confused by the blast and he couldn’t string together any cohesive thoughts. He found himself shaking his head furiously, desperate to clear the haze. Cries of pain filled the air from every direction, heard in snatches between massive explosions. Hands suddenly grabbed hold of him and he felt himself slung over a broad shoulder as he was carried out of danger.
Pace wasn’t aware of it at the time but it was Baker who’d pulled him out and dragged him deeper into the forest. Dumped unceremoniously on the ground, he found himself surrounded by bloodied and bruised soldiers.
