by Andy Lucas
If Doyle McEntire had been standing next to him, the little man would have doubtless explained that it was a system that worked, but one that had to operate covertly to prevent governments from being tainted with the legitimate truth that they were negotiating with terrorists.
Everyone was a winner, he would have argued; the criminals made money and the world paid a small financial cost to rid itself of large quantities of lethal material, albeit small only in relation to the cost that would be incurred cleaning up after a major nuclear or biological terrorist attack.
A quick inspection of the crates was helped by the convenient discovery of a small crowbar. He had to move carefully around them to avoid stepping into a sticky puddle of decaying bodily fluids being excreted from the corpse that lay on the floor right next to them.
Dead for a few weeks at least, the heat and humidity had already ravaged the body. Swollen and bloated with gases, several large splits in the exposed flesh of the calves pinpointed where the leaking fluids came from. Up close the stench was almost overpowering but he bit down on his lip and concentrated on the crates. The rather large woman was wearing knee-length khaki shorts and a long-sleeved, collared shirt, and she was beyond any earthly help.
The wooden crates held components and instructions; conveniently in English, for assembling small, six-foot miniature airships. Complete with powerful electric motors and remote control sets, there was nothing sinister about them on their own. You could probably buy this kind of thing at good model shops the world over, he thought.
Six airships, with batteries and helium bottles for filling the gas envelopes, were simply a variation on the toy radio-controlled aeroplanes that he’d used to fly as a child. These models even came with their own tiny crew gondola.
The plastic crates were opened by way of flip catches on one side. The first one he opened presented contents consisting of a large metal cylinder, with dozens of small holes in its exterior skin, resembling a cross between a large metal rolling pin without the handles and a cheese grater. A heavy screw-thread at one end meant that it could be opened and a welded metal hook centrally placed on the lid told him that they were designed to hang vertically.
As his mind raced, a sinister idea began to form in the shadows of his consciousness. It quickly grew teeth and barked for his attention. Though he tried to push it away, the terrier would not be silenced.
‘Oh my God,’ he breathed, his stomach suddenly lurching with a sickening realisation. ‘Utter madness.’
‘Not madness,’ came a voice from behind. ‘Genius, I would say.’ The noise of the rain on the roof, together with his own total concentration on the crates, had allowed unwelcome guests to sneak up undetected. Forcing himself to smile, he spun around neatly on his heels.
Cathera and Wolf stood just outside the open doors of the container. Cathera wore a sidearm in his belt holster but made no move to draw it. Wolf already held a stubby machine pistol, aimed low at Pace’s belly.
‘At this range,’ Wolf sneered, ‘I would cut you in half, so don’t think of trying to be clever.’
If Pace had not been totally drawn to something else, he would have noticed that both men were injured. Cathera had a huge gash down his left cheek that oozed blood, and he held his right arm in an improvised sling to cushion a fractured wrist as best he could. Wolf was a mass of cuts and bruises. Unfortunately he’d survived the crash with no broken bones, unlike the pilot who had sadly snapped his neck on impact with the trees.
He did not notice them, or the gun. She saw him at the same time and, as their eyes met, he seethed at her condition. Wet, battered and bleeding as well, with her stained, muddy clothing practically shredded by flying glass from the crash and by a thousand vicious thorns that had eagerly probed her soft flesh during the stumbling trek through thick jungle at night, she had been forced to cover several trudging miles with her hands bound tightly in front of her and with her mouth gagged.
‘A touching reunion,’ mocked Cathera nastily, ‘but one that will have to wait. There are things that need to be done and you, James, are going to help me.’
‘Like hell,’ Pace snapped furiously. ‘If you think I’m going to have anything to do with this lunacy, forget it.’ He knew what Cathera’s response would be and he was not surprised when the pistol left its holster and the barrel of the gun swung slowly; not towards him, but towards Sarah.
‘You will do as I say or she will die,’ he promised. ‘I have no time for games. I will shoot her, so decide quickly!’ His voice rose to a breathless squeak as he revelled in watching Pace’s resolve crumble. With Sarah there, the man would do as he was told.
‘Alright, alright,’ agreed Pace steadily. ‘Just don’t hurt her.’
‘A braver man would have let her die and stuck to his refusal,’ hissed Wolf. ‘You are pathetic.’
Pace noticed the assassin properly for the first time and eyed him curiously. ‘I really should have killed you when I had the chance.’
‘It was a mistake you will definitely live to regret,’ agreed Wolf unpleasantly. The gun never wavered and his finger rested on the hair trigger quite firmly.
‘It isn’t one I plan to repeat,’ warned Pace coldly.
‘Get your eyes off me,’ he snapped furiously, ‘or I’ll shoot you where you stand.’
Cathera watched the interplay with mild interest but he had to move things along. He ordered Wolf to start unpacking the crates, taking the machine pistol off of him just in case he did decide to drill Pace too soon. Then he moved Sarah into the dark container, roughly shoving her to the back and kicking her legs away from under her so that she landed heavily on her side, close to the dead woman. Pace cursed him violently but the machine pistol cocked at her head forced him back into silence.
He had little time to ponder the thought. Cathera ordered him to help Wolf assemble the model airships, one by one. As the hours dragged on into early afternoon, a heavy storm set in overhead, complete with massive flashes of lightning that stabbed brilliantly into the earth’s vitals, followed soon afterwards by angry rumbles of thunder that shook the breath from their bodies, seeming to suck the very oxygen from the heavy, humid air.
Sweating rivers, Pace focused on assembling the models while he considered his options. He ignored Cathera’s orders to stop talking to Sarah, knowing the man needed his help for the moment, and would not kill him unless he did something silly. Pace told her about all the great things they would do when they returned home and generally tried to bolster her spirits.
Cathera refused to remove her gag so the conversation was strictly one way.
A little after three o’clock, assembly of the final model airship was completed. They were too big to keep in the container once built and had been lined up outside in a row, as each was finished. As Wolf and Pace carried the sixth airship out and placed it down on the mud, Cathera’s stern features broke into a grin of relief.
Keeping the gun trained on Pace, he ordered Wolf to free Sarah from her bonds, including the gag, and watched with wry amusement as she flung herself at Pace, burying her face in his shoulder and sobbing with a mixture of sheer relief and frustration.
‘Both of you deserve a drink,’ Cathera said, still smiling. From a nearby bag he produced a bottle of water and tossed it to Pace, who caught it deftly. Throat parched and tongue beginning to swell with dehydration, he opened the screw cap and offered it to Sarah. Gratefully, she swallowed several large mouthfuls before handing the bottle back to him.
Planting a tender kiss on her cracked lips, he drained half of it without pause, enjoying the physical sensation of the liquid passing down his throat and pooling inside his stomach.
Revitalised, his mind still keenly sought out an opportunity to attack, deciding to try an old favourite. Groaning and suddenly sinking to the muddy ground, feigning exhaustion. Sarah knelt immediately by his side but Cathera was not easily fooled.
‘I warn you, Mr Pace. I am not someone to be toyed with. Please spare me the t
heatrics.’
‘I need a rest,’ he puffed, ‘that’s all. I’ll be fine in a minute.’ He added some panted breaths and a magically conjured wheeze for good measure, hoping Cathera might at least grow unsure about the ‘act’.
‘Have some more water,’ said Sarah, her eyes imploring him to get better. She’d already been through so much and she needed him to be strong; to give her hope. Pace hated that he could not somehow let her know he was pretending but her obvious panic did add to the sense of genuine illness.
Although Cathera said no more and just watched, Pace noted that the gun barrel dropped a fraction and swung ever so slightly away to one side as the man subconsciously relaxed.
Wolf had been standing off to one side, drinking a bottle of water, watching Pace grow ill with fatigue and enjoying the sight. ‘We need to execute your plan and get out of here. There is no telling when government troops, or McEntire’s people, might find us.’
‘All in good time,’ Cathera soothed. It was almost time to get rid of Pace once and for all but he planned to make the end as painful, in every aspect, as he could.
Suffering was required to make all the aggravation worthwhile and he knew just how to make the Englishman’s last few moments of life as agonising as possible.
Cathera instinctively glanced around, checking to see that there would be no witnesses to his crime, and this momentary lapse offered Pace a slim chance.
From a groaning, flaccid heap on the muddy ground, his body exploded into a frenzy of action. Before he could react, Cathera felt a heavy fist slam into his jaw.
Stunned and reeling, he fell heavily backwards and Pace easily snatched the machine gun from his flailing fingers, wheeling around and cocking the weapon in a fluid movement that even defied Wolf’s razor-sharp reflexes. Before Cathera hit the ground, Pace lined up the gun on the assassin’s chest and was hit by an uncanny sense of déjà vu again.
Same jungle, same enemy, same situation. He just had a different girl by his side this time and a heart that was much harder.
Although his instinct was to squeeze the trigger immediately, instead he twisted and targeted the line of model airships. They had not been loaded with their deadly cargoes yet and he planned to ensure none of them every got off the ground. Keeping one eye on Wolf, who appeared completely calm and relaxed despite the sudden turn of events, he squeezed the trigger.
Instead of the airships being instantly shredded and reduced to splinters by dozens of steel-jacketed bullets smacking into them at virtually point blank range, all that happened was the sound of a firing pin hitting an empty chamber. Unfamiliar with the weapon, Pace had not realised it was far lighter than it should have been.
‘Do you think me foolish enough to bring a loaded weapon in here?’ asked Wolf quietly. Turning back towards him, Pace’s heart sank as he found himself staring down the barrel of a squat little automatic handgun, which Wolf had pulled from his pocket. ‘This one, on the other hand, is loaded.’ Small yet quite lethal, the tables reverted back again. Having no choice, he allowed the empty gun to drop from his hands and he took a step back as Wolf moved in to collect it.
Angered by Pace’s predicable failure to behave, Wolf rammed the butt of his pistol hard against the side of his head, as he straightened up from retrieving his machine gun. He grunted with satisfaction as the man crumpled to his knees in the mud, swaying dangerously close to unconsciousness and only prevented from collapsing by Sarah’s supporting hands quickly thrust under his armpits.
As an ugly purple welter spread across his temple, she whirled on Wolf and screamed a string of abuse at him. When his smile broadened into a grin, she saw red and spat at him; luck more than aim being responsible for the gob of spittle striking him directly in the centre of his forehead.
Stunned with disbelief, Wolf’s brain could not begin to fathom what she had done. How dare she do that to him! Instantly furious, the grin changed into a thin-lipped snarl. Too late, Sarah tried to dodge out of his way but Wolf was too fast. He grabbed her around the throat with his left hand and applied crushing pressure to her throat, cutting off her air and choking any sound that she might have made.
With her own anger suddenly transformed into terror, she found herself lifted right off of the ground as he began to slowly throttle the life out of her.
With impending death filling her eyes with pitiful dread, Wolf’s grin returned and he squeezed even harder as he watched her legs kicking helplessly in the air. A warm thrill washed over him as he prepared a final squeeze that would crush her windpipe.
‘Enough!’ ordered Cathera urgently, picking himself up and shaking his head to clear his mind. ‘Release her.’
‘When she is dead,’ Wolf retorted coldly, his eyes burning with icy excitement.
‘She is no good to us dead. Not yet.’
Wolf did not care about her life but as Sarah’s twitching began to fade, a new thought sidled into his fevered brain. Flinging her down onto the ground, he could not contain a sense of psychotic satisfaction at what was to come. Lips blue, and more dead than alive, the dazed young woman lay sprawled helplessly at his feet, gasping for air to soothe her burning, oxygen-deprived lungs. Turning to Cathera, Wolf suggested that he make himself scarce for a while.
Without Sarah to hold him up, Pace had fallen face first into the mud and only the dread of hearing Wolf’s words through a muzzy head spurred him up onto shaky hands and knees. His vision remained blurry but he bit down on his lip hard enough to draw blood, forcing his sight back into focus. Seeing Sarah’s condition gave him the extra strength he needed to stagger back up onto his feet.
‘I thought it was me you wanted,’ Pace gasped, swallowing down a wave of dizziness and wiping mud from his eyes. ‘Some big, bad killer you turned out to be, eh? Tell me,’ he added harshly, ‘are all your victims helpless women?’
Cathera had always planned to rape Sarah in front of Pace; to see the agony on the man’s face before he killed him. Sure, he would play a game with McEntire first, but he would eventually kill Sarah too and return her to her meddling father in several pieces. In his mind, he had planned to do the deed himself but now, sensing Wolf’s furious urgency, it made more sense to allow his pet killer the pleasure.
‘If you don’t mind an audience,’ Cathera said, ‘I’d like to stay and James will stay as well. Will the show be a painful one?’
‘I always give my employer what they ask for,’ promised Wolf, with a mock bow. ‘Stay if you like, just don’t get in my way.’
‘We will not interfere,’ agreed Cathera, smiling cruelly.
‘Speak for yourself,’ snarled Pace dangerously. His head had cleared fully and he readied himself to protect Sarah. He took a deliberate step towards her, stopping only as the pistol cocked in his direction.
‘We don’t need to do this now,’ thought Cathera suddenly. ‘Before the show starts, we should get the airships hooked up to the delivery systems. When they’re on their way, we can come back to this.’
Unwilling to wait, Wolf cast a hungry look down at Sarah and imagined tearing her clothing off and hurting her, over and over. ‘I can make it quick,’ he suggested.
Cathera chuckled. ‘That’s just it, Wolf. I want it to last and I want James here,’ he waved a hand towards Pace, ‘to suffer for a long time. It will be better if we wait, then you can take your time with her. As much time as you can manage.’
‘I understand,’ Wolf agreed, obviously disappointed. ‘Let’s get them flying then. I plan a long, unpleasant performance.’
‘It will be the last thing you ever do,’ spat Pace.
‘We shall see.’
Cathera refused to allow Pace to get involved with the final stage of preparing his flying bombs. The simple, donkey work had been fine but Cathera knew he’d try to sabotage them if he got the chance. Instead he was walked at gunpoint back down the path that led out onto the main mining compound. Once there, his hands were tied above his head, to a tall piece of rusting pipe-work with som
e of the heavy nylon rope that seemed to litter the ground all over the mine. With her fate postponed, Sarah was also led down the path and tied to the same metalwork.
‘Enjoy the time you have left together,’ Wolf sneered, as he headed back up the path.
Pace had bitten back the urge to say something witty in reply. Wolf had tied them both expertly and there was nothing either of them could do to free their hands. With the large, ugly swelling on the side of his face, and the nasty, red hand marks around her neck, they looked a right mess.
‘You look beautiful,’ Pace said, meaning it. To him, she would have looked stunning if she’d been wearing an old sack and had just spent the last month digging ditches on a chain gang.
‘Thank you, liar,’ she said lightly. Fortunately she had been dazed when Wolf and Cathera had been discussing her abuse and was unaware of what was soon going to happen to her. Pace chose not to fill her in.
He had to find a way to overcome the gun, two men, save Sarah from the unthinkable and prevent an ecological disaster.
‘We have to get free. They’re planning to launch those bombs any minute now and we can’t let that happen,’ he explained quickly. ‘Can you move your hands at all?’ Sarah tried again, twisting and pulling as hard as she could, but succeeded only in rubbing away the skin on her wrists.
‘No, I can’t. Sorry,’ she puffed.
‘Me neither,’ he conceded. Sarah watched Pace test his own bonds until his wrists began to openly bleed, marvelling at the look of dogged determination on his face. In her heart, she felt a sense of hopelessness.
‘Are they really going to kill us?’ she asked suddenly.
Pace thought about lying but eventually nodded. ‘They might try to get some ransom money from your father first but then they will kill us. Men like that don’t leave witnesses alive.’
