by Matt Hilton
Having no need to goad him now, I lapsed into silence. My guardsmen took my silence as a sign of being chastised and Charters in particular looked pleased with the result. Let him gloat, while he had the opportunity.
The helicopter banked to the right, throwing the three of us together. Charters now experienced a little of the discomfort that I’d had to put up with. As the helicopter levelled out he pushed me away none too gently, with another dig in the ribs for good measure.
‘I think you’ve had all the practice you need.’
My words won me a grunt of laughter. The concept of one man’s misfortune being another man’s pleasure was often a by-product of the mercenary lifestyle these men followed. Someone like Charters was only happy when making another person’s life a misery. I’d met many of his type throughout my lifetime. The years I’d spent as a soldier ensured I made the acquaintance of such beasts. Except then I usually ended up killing the miserable bastards.
Baron twisted round and called back to us, ‘We’re going down. You might want to grab a hold of your seats.’
No sooner had he said it than the helicopter banked to the left. We appeared to be in a nose dive, rushing towards the unforgiving earth. At the last possible second the pilot adjusted the controls and the nose went up and the skids touched ground with hardly a bump.
Charters opened the door to show a wide expanse of verdant lawn. He climbed out, then lifting a handgun for emphasis, he said, ‘Out, Hunter.’
I clambered out, my feet sinking into the spongy lawn. Over my head swooped the whirling rotor blades. Behind me came the thud of the second guard stepping out the helicopter. He pressed a hand to my shoulder, ushering me before him. Baron brought up the rear. His mobile phone was ringing but he ignored it.
Charters was in the way, but he wasn’t big enough to block my view of the house we approached. It was a huge colonial edifice, the kind of house that often serves as a backdrop to glossy adverts for luxury cars, though you wouldn’t expect to see the trimmings on this house in GQ magazine.
On the balustrade at the top of the building’s façade there were men with guns, also searchlights and CCTV cameras. Behind bullet- and blast-proof windows guards stood as stoic as sentries at Buckingham Palace. Other men with machine guns patrolled the grounds. I wondered how likely it was that the lawn and perimeter walls were sown with heat- and motion-sensing devices. If they were, then nothing larger than a mouse would get inside the compound uninvited.
Sigmund Petoskey waited for us at the front door. He must have travelled via a different craft. He held a mobile phone in a loose grip, and I guessed it was him who’d been ringing Baron a moment ago, eager for our arrival.
‘Glad you could make it, Siggy. It’ll save me another trip to Little Rock to kill you.’
Charters’ slap to the back of my head sent flashes of silver across my vision. Giving him the evil eye, I made him a silent promise. He curled a lip.
Turning to Baron, I said, ‘I hate what you’re forcing me to do, but I’m gonna tell you where John is as soon as I know Rink’s safe.’ Then squaring my shoulders before Charters, I said, ‘But I swear to God, if this piece of shit lays one more hand on me, I’ll fucking break his arm.’
Charters laughed but behind his hard gaze I noted a worm of trepidation, like he’d just figured out that perhaps I wasn’t joking. He glanced at his superiors for direction. An insidious smile flicked at the corners of Baron’s mouth as if the threat was something he’d like to see enacted.
Maybe it was a sense of duty, maybe it was false bravado, or that Charters felt my challenge made him lose face before his superiors. Whatever motivated him, he said, ‘I don’t like your tone of voice, asshole.’ He prepared to backhand me across the face.
‘I’m warning you,’ I growled.
But he wouldn’t be told.
His curled fist whipped towards me.
My response wasn’t to take the blow stoically. Neither did I step back to avoid it. I came forward, pivoting so that both my palms accepted the blow. Fingers curling over his forearm, I pulled it with me as I pivoted a second time, taking his outstretched arm under my armpit. Pulling up on his wrist, and forcing down with my body, it was my entire weight versus the fragile make up of his elbow. I heard the twang of rupturing tendons. Not that the matter could end there. I’d promised I’d break his arm. Retaining his wrist, I rammed a knee hard against his hyper-extended elbow. It was like snapping a green stick. Not bad for a man in handcuffs.
In the telling it sounds a lot, but it was a moment’s work. Before Charters could even register that his arm was shattered, I’d already moved away from him. The other guard gave a strangled gasp, and he started after me before faltering and grabbing instead at the gun in his shoulder holster. If I’d desired to, I could have speared my stiffened fingers into his eyes, or grabbed his chin and twisted his head a hundred and eighty degrees on his spine, except I’d still to see Rink alive.
Instead I turned my gaze on Baron. Finally I’d got a rise out of the man, even if it was only a momentary widening of his eyes. He lifted a hand towards the guard. ‘That’s enough, Drummond. I think we’d all agree that Charters asked for what he got.’
Drummond swayed in place. His hand drifted from his gun. Charters was still down on one knee, cupping his broken elbow in his opposite hand, gasping and squeezing tears from his sphincter-tight eyes.
‘I did warn him.’
‘Are you finished?’ Baron asked.
‘For now.’ The way I said it must’ve reminded Baron that I’d promised to kill him first. His fingers tickled the butt of the gun wedged in his waistband: the SIG taken from me earlier. We were like gunfighters in Dodge City, facing off, awaiting the slightest twitch that’d herald imminent death for one of us.
It was Petoskey who ended the stand-off. He directed his words at Baron in an almost conspiratorial whisper. ‘Now who’s having a pissing competition? Let’s get inside, now. Hendrickson isn’t the most patient of men, remember.’
Baron slowly drew away from the gun and scratched an itch on his jaw. It was all for show, a touch of the disdain he felt for my skills. In the next instant his oily smile was back in place and his hand made a sweeping gesture indicating that I follow Petoskey up the steps and into the house.
From behind me, Charters swore loudly. I glanced over my shoulder at him and his face was a picture of hatred. Saliva stitched a pattern between his widely splayed lips. ‘You broke my fucking arm!’
‘Yes,’ I said, ensuring Baron heard my words. ‘I promised you I would.’
Chapter 19
Rink and I had been in many precarious situations over the years. But never had we faced a predicament like the one we’d gotten ourselves into this time.
Forget the fact that there were five armed men in the room with us. Or that I was cuffed, and Rink was strapped to an ‘Old Sparky’ type chair. We also happened to be in the basement of a fortified mansion with twenty or so armed mercenaries prowling the grounds overhead.
The odds of us surviving the next few minutes were about the same as falling out of an airplane, tumbling thousands of feet, then landing on your feet and walking away. Still, I’d heard urban legends about just such a miracle, so I wasn’t about to give up. Rink was relying on me, and so was my brother, John.
Despite my promise to the contrary, I would never give up my brother. Yes, I loved Rink like a brother. But Rink was also a soldier. Like me, he knew the risks. John was a civilian. A foolish, misguided civilian, who had allowed greed to get in the way of good sense, but he shouldn’t have to suffer the kind of enemies Rink and I had lived with all these years.
Petoskey and Baron were going to be pissed off when they found out I’d no idea where John was. I’d always been worried that a situation like this could present itself and for that reason hadn’t pushed to know where Walter had hidden him.
Rink was awake. He’d certainly taken a beating at some point, but he’d been cleaned up and a rudimen
tary dressing had been applied to the wound in his shoulder. His face carried a few scrapes and bruises that were in the final stages of swelling, but he didn’t look too bad, for all that.
‘How are you, Rink?’
‘Good to go.’ He smiled.
Giving him a slow smile of my own, I turned to our captors.
‘Release him. Rink walks out of here. Then I give you what you want.’
Petoskey shook his head slowly. He was like a dorm prefect denying a hall pass, smug and supercilious. ‘You give us Telfer first. Once we have him, then Rington will be released.’
‘No offence,’ I said to him. ‘But I don’t believe you.’
‘Then we’re on the same wavelength.’
There were four guns pointed at me. My hands were cuffed. Under the circumstances Petoskey was safe from me.
‘So what happens now?’ Purposefully, I turned to Baron. ‘You’re going to have to wait a little longer for your big pay day.’
‘We could always force Telfer’s whereabouts from you,’ he said. With a flick of his jacket tail, he showed me a Taser clipped to his belt.
My eyes went large, fear flaring. His smile flickered, telling me that he wasn’t buying the act. But that was OK. I’d made him pause. He was thinking. But I was already acting.
The obvious play was to go for Baron. The only thing was, as I went towards him, one of the others would shoot me dead. So, I stepped back. My cuffed hands were raised, as though to fend off a blast of his Taser. Then I shot forward at an oblique angle, and rammed the cuffs’ rigid spacer into Drummond’s face. His nose crunched, and blood spattered. His shout of alarm had the desired effect. Instead of anyone shooting at me, they reacted by recoiling in defensive reflex.
I slewed to one side, the penknife I’d dipped out of Charters’ pocket in my fist. My arms dropped over Petoskey’s head, and I squirmed behind him, using him as a shield before anyone in the room could make a move towards me. Next second, the blade was against his throat and I could feel his super-amplified pulse throbbing along the blade and into the handle.
‘Anyone moves and this piece of shit is dead!’
Petoskey stiffened, and I smelled a waft of fear rising off him.
There was a moment’s confusion as Baron, the two other guards and bloody-faced Drummond lifted their guns. I dragged Petoskey backwards, placing him between Rink and the others.
‘Do you want Petoskey to die?’
All four guns wavered. I’d have preferred to pull Petoskey’s gun free of his shoulder holster, but that meant giving up the advantage of the knife at his throat. While I tried to pull the gun out, one of them could easily put a round in my head.
Adding potency to my threat, I pushed the tip of the knife into Petoskey’s flesh. Blood beaded out. Petoskey screamed like I’d almost sawed his head off, yanking his face aside. As he did so, my own face made a momentary target for Baron. As fast a shot as anyone I’d seen, he lifted my SIG and fired.
The retort of the gun reverberated around the cellar, the sound amplified by the domed confines. Tatters of a paper wad sifted in the air, coming nowhere near their target. Uninjured, I smiled at Baron before tucking in behind Petoskey.
‘Fucking blanks?’ Baron shook his head in disbelief.
‘You didn’t think I’d risk firing real bullets with so many members of the public around?’
‘You had this planned from the start? You son of a bitch!’
‘Have to admit to winging it a bit,’ I confessed, ‘but I always intended killing this prick.’ I jabbed Petoskey with the blade and he howled. ‘You want me to do it now?’
Baron allowed the gun to drop, and he lifted his other hand, tried to wave me down. ‘Easy now, Hunter.’
‘You don’t get paid if he dies? Is that it, arsehole?’ I jabbed the knife a little deeper. ‘I’ll kill this murdering motherfucker in a heartbeat. You got that?’
Baron’s eyes pinched, and I swear, other than cruelty, it was the first genuine emotion I’d seen crossing his features. Greed was a strong motivating factor with the insipid bastard.
‘Now,’ I said, ‘this is how it’s going to play out. All of you put your guns on the floor. Do it now or I’ll take Petoskey’s head off.’
‘I don’t think so, Hunter,’ Baron said. ‘Or you and Rington will be dead in the next second.’
‘We were going to die anyway. At least we’ll have the satisfaction of seeing Petoskey die first.’
Petoskey was done waiting for Baron to take charge. ‘Just do as he says!’ he shrieked. ‘Baron! I swear to God, if I get injured . . .’
Baron placed my SIG on the ground. Both hands came up empty.
‘The Taser, as well,’ I said. ‘And don’t think you can use that thing to get me. I’ll likely stick Siggy with my first convulsion.’
Baron unclipped the blocky weapon, dropped it at his feet. Then he nodded at his companions to drop theirs.
‘Kick them away, boys,’ I said.
Reluctantly the three of them did so. ‘Good,’ I said. ‘Now, you . . . Drummond? Get over here and undo Rink.’
The bloody-faced man moved towards me, and I edged round so I could keep tabs on what he was doing. Just for effect I dragged the blade down Petoskey’s throat, smearing a trail of blood that began pooling in the hollow below his Adam’s apple.
Drummond glanced at Petoskey, and I could only assume he read dire threats in his boss’s eyes, because he quickly began pulling free the straps from Rink’s wrists. Rink swiped blood and sweat from his flesh, flexing his arms, promoting circulation. It was too early to move. So I waited. Drummond ducked down and undid the straps from around my friend’s ankles.
Rink booted Drummond in the chest, knocking him sprawling on his backside. ‘Stay down,’ Rink told him. ‘Get up before I say and I’ll snap your goddamn spine.’
Baron and the other two men were itching to do something, but indecision made them falter. So did Petoskey’s headshake. Rink stepped up beside me, his hand dipping beneath Petoskey’s jacket and coming out with a handful of semi-automatic, the same gun with which Petoskey had executed Louise Blake.
‘Which of you punks has the keys to Hunter’s cuffs?’
Baron indicated with a raised finger.
‘Sling them over here,’ Rink said.
The keys sailed through space and Rink snatched them out of the air with his free hand. Then, stepping towards the others, he passed them back to me. It was awkward undoing the cuffs. Luckily they’d been placed on me with the locks towards my hands or it would’ve been impossible. I freed my knife hand first, wriggling free of the metal hoop, but never taking the blade from Petoskey’s neck. I left the cuffs hanging from my left wrist.
Using him as a shield, I propelled Petoskey over to the nearest dropped gun. It was the SIG. I racked the slide, ejecting the next round. That was all the blanks I’d fed into the gun; the others were the real deal.
If I was that airplane passenger I mentioned, I was currently in freefall without a parachute. I was sailing on the breeze now, but still had to land on my feet and walk away. Falling isn’t the problem, it’s hitting the ground at speed that can test your mortality. The hardest part of our escape was yet to come.
Petoskey wasn’t a willing hostage, but what could he do? I had a gun under his chin, and Rink watching my back, as we fled up the steps from the basement and into the house. He cried out to his minders, yelling at them to give way, threatening them with instant death with more venom than I could have mustered.
There’s always one in the bunch who thinks they know better than their boss. One man, a swarthy-faced guy who reminded me of the last time I’d fought Hendrickson’s men, thought that I’d be intimidated by the Uzi sub-machine gun he lifted to halt our progress. Under those circumstances, it was a spray and pray gun. He wasn’t going to shoot his boss to get at us.
‘You were ordered to give way,’ I snarled over Petoskey’s shoulder. ‘Maybe he’s a complete prick but you should still
show more respect.’
I shot the man between his eyes and he crumpled on the hardwood floor.
‘You can’t get the staff these days,’ I said. Petoskey cried out, possibly at the realisation that I was indeed prepared to kill.
Out of the front door, we charged across the grounds. Men milled around us, shouting in confusion. Above them all Petoskey’s strident screams demanded obedience. Up on the roof, a would-be sniper swung his sights on Rink. Rink fired first, and blood sifted like cherry blossom on the wind.
I’d lost track of the time, but by now it had to be the early hours of the morning. It was still dark but the spotlights on the roof made the grounds stark. Beyond the spill of light the shadows were dense. Through the darkness, the helicopter looked like a giant-sized hornet crouching on the lawn.
Harvey Lucas had piloted choppers during Desert Storm.
He hadn’t come to my assistance back in Little Rock, but had stayed back as we had planned. My hope was that the tracking device from Harvey secreted in the waistband of my jeans had done its job, and that Harvey was in position now. Just in case our plan had gone to pot, I said to Rink, ‘You think you can handle that thing?’
I didn’t doubt his ability, because Rink had also piloted a chopper or two in his day. My concern was that Rink had suffered torture for the past two days, and had a wound in one shoulder, so I didn’t know how he was holding up. It was one thing running around and killing snipers when the adrenalin was shrieking through your body, quite another to be at the controls of a highly technical flying machine.
‘Not a problem, Hunter.’
There were beads of perspiration coursing down his forehead but they had nothing to do with the sudden bout of exertion.
‘You sure?’
‘We won’t be in the air long,’ Rink said. ‘Just long enough to get us the fuck outa here.’
I jerked a nod at him, and swung Petoskey between us as we backed towards the helicopter. From the front of the house, Baron and the others came at a run. Petoskey was a big man, but he wasn’t enough for the two of us to hide behind. I angled him so that his body blocked most of Rink’s. I hadn’t come all this way to let my friend perish now. We continued to back-pedal, but I doubted that we could make it to the chopper intact.
