CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN
The safe house
Cautiously Harry slowly approached Thirty Barrett Street and observed from the other side of the road, before entering the so-called safe house.
Blake dismounted first and removed her helmet. “What do you think?”
Hesitantly Harry removed his, did a quick scan of the immediate area and returned with the comment, “only one way to find out.” “I’ll park down the end of the driveway. Here take this,” Harry added as he reached into one of the saddle bags and pulled out a semi-automatic and handed it to Blake.
“No worries, I’ll meet you at the front door,” Blake responded with a nervous tone.
Harry watched Blake glance swiftly in both directions before striding across the quiet street. He then did a quick U-turn, steadily rode down the long drive-way and parked the bike just behind a small garden shed.
The Weatherboard Fibro house looked just like any other house in the street. The forty-something year old was a little run down, but the rest of the estate appeared to be the same. It was quiet. There was no traffic in the street. No sight of anyone else. Not even a dog barking. There was an unnerving eeriness to the place. It was too deserted Harry felt. But trust… was the key, he thought as his mind tried to justify the reason he was there in the first place. Could he trust Edgar? Yet again, can he trust O’Neal? There was no way of knowing for sure.
With a Glock 22 in one hand, a fully loaded Beretta placed in its holster around his waist, he cautiously moved with a rapid pace toward the front of the house and around the corner to the front entrance.
Relived to see a friendly face, Harry found Blake waiting patiently at the front door and looked as if she was ready for an old fashioned gun fight.
Carefully Harry backed up to the side of the house and asked, “Ready?”
“Ready as I’m ever going to be!” she responded.
The camera placed over the front door way didn’t move, Harry noticed. He counted three all up, one at the far corner, over the front window and one at the end of the driveway where he parked the Ducati.
He sucked in one last deep breath, placed his knuckles on the large timber single door and tapped quietly.
Nervously they waited for a few seconds and then he knocked again. “Something’s wrong. I can feel it.”
Harry noticed the corner of Blake’s mouth turn up to respond when finally the front door slowly opened.
A tall handsome man with short cropped fair hair peered out around the door.
“State your identification code.”
“Delta 192,” Harry responded robotically.
“King… it’s a pleasure to finally meet you,” the double agent stated with an extended hand. “Please come in.”
“You must be Tate O’Neal?” Harry responded as he entered first and shook O’Neal’s hand.
Without confirming Harry’s question, the agent asked with sarcasm in his tone, “and this must be Blake Forbes? I’ve heard a lot about you.”
Harry gave the agent a sweeping glance, then back at Blake and noticed the evil look in his dark grey eyes as he glared intensely at Blake like a cat would with its prey.
Instantly it put Harry’s already tattered nerves on edge as he clutched the Glock tightly around his fingers, ready to make a move if needed to.
The agent must have noticed his tense reaction and threw his hands up in defence. “Hey… it’s all good here. Sorry, yes Tate O’Neal’s the name. How long do you think you’ll be staying?” He asked, obviously to change the conversation.
“As long as it takes,” Harry replied irritably.
O’Neal gave a short grunt before closing the door behind them and then with a fast pace, headed to the row of monitors along the far wall as if he had something more impressing to do.
With a look of unease displayed across Blake’s face, she was notably quiet, Harry observed as she scanned the large living area and every now and then glanced back in his direction.
Without Harry’s consent O’Neal quickly typed in a few words on his keyboard. “I’ve just checked you in. Edgar’s sent a message back and said to just stay put,” he confessed.
Harry still had the uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach that O’Neal couldn’t be trusted. He just couldn’t put his finger on it. And in this profession he only knew too well that instincts played a large part of survival.
And only seconds later a gas grenade smashed through the front window, hurtled through the living room and landed in the middle of the floor.
CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT
“Blake… move,” Harry yelled.
All of a sudden the room filled with smoke and tear gas. The sound of gun fire was heard from above as Harry dropped low to the ground and began to search through the haze for an exit.
More shots were heard close by. “Blake, he yelled once more, but had no reply.
Quickly he crawled toward where Blake was last standing. His eyes stung and lungs burnt in pain, but he had to find her.
His mind raced in every direction when he found Blake lying face up on the floor. “O’Neal, you traitor,” Harry yelled, but was nowhere to be seen.
Blake had been shot in the chest. Blood stained her shirt and she didn’t look in good shape he detected. “Hang on baby…
His eyes began to fill with tears. Not just from the gas, but from the fear of losing his best friend.
Blood spat from her lips as she tried to speak. “Go… baby. Leave me. It’s your only chance.”
His heart hit the floor. He couldn’t breathe. He knew she was right, but he couldn’t leave her.
Blake was drowning in her own blood. The timber floor boards were now stained in a pool around her. And with all his might he kept pressure on her chest, with the hope she’ll still make it.
Her glazed over eyes looked up at him in despair. And he watched as the life slowly left her body.
Now surrounded with the enemy, Harry had no time to waste. He’d have to leave her.
He sucked in a long breath knowing it was going to be the last time he was ever going to see her again. “I’ll see you in the afterlife my love.” And with all the energy he could muster, he ran.
Left to his own devises and no allies for backup, Harry stood up and let off a round of fire in a full circle before leaping toward the nearest wall for cover.
Suddenly all hell let loose. And what seemed like every direction, he was set upon.
The entire room was shot up. Bullets flew from the left and from the right. The walls were beginning to look like Swiss cheese he thought and knew it was time to find an escape route fast.
He ducked and weaved in and out. Shattered glass and plaster sprayed in every direction as he moved quickly toward a back window.
A quick check in the chamber and the Glock was empty. And with one last ditch for safety, Harry let off a round from the Beretta, leaped up and jumped through the glass window.
Feet first, followed by a commando roll there was no time to check for cuts and bruises, he was alive. Only barely out of danger he moved toward a side gate where the Ducati was hopefully on the other side.
As it was luck wasn’t on his side. The gate was locked and he’d have to scale the six foot thing.
Unfortunately his enemies were still on pursuit and a shot was fired from behind, just scarcely missing his left ear.
With one huge leap he wedged his boot onto the gates beam and threw himself over it.
Of course the large timber fence wasn’t bullet proof and a round was fired from the other side, sending him ducking for cover once more.
Harry heaved a sigh of relief when he noticed his only form of transport was still in one piece and hadn’t been discovered yet.
Just as the whole fence was about to tumble down from the extreme fire power he quickly pressed the button for ignition, mounted the bike and flew out of the driveway as fast as he could.
It didn’t take long to realize from the amount of heavy artillery and veh
icles out front that they were going to take him out and didn’t care how much it cost or casualty’s would suffer. He was in trouble, alone and on the run. And with the amount of blood that was weeping from his side torso, he noticed it wasn’t going to take long before he needed medical attention as well.
Who was he going to turn to? With a bounty on his head from the FBI, the CIA, the mob and goodness knows who else. It was going to take a miracle to get out of this bloody mess Harry thought as he just kept riding and didn’t dare look back.
CHAPTER THIRTY NINE
Harry had been riding for a couple of hours west along a deserted highway toward his old family farm house, deserted a long time ago when his mother died. No one knew about it and he had no doubt he could stay there for a while without being detected.
The dry weeds and odd flowers or two were a reminder of the dry weather this uninhabited landscape has had to endure the past few years. No rain. No water and no life. The long stretch of the country side had been shunned by the rest of the world it seemed and no cloud in sight from here to the horizon was unforseen for its pitiable salvation.
Still another five hours away, he needed to find somewhere to rest for the night, stitch himself up, fill up and get some supplies before heading there tomorrow, when he came across a rundown service station to the left with a sign that displayed accommodation.
Only a handful of cars had passed in that time and the thought of been stuck out there gave him the creeps. And… felt a tad hesitant as he approached the rundown structure, but knew he had no choice, but to stop.
The broken concreted driveway and peeling paint on the exterior fibro walls were strange and looked just like something out of a horror movie, he thought as he pulled up to the fuel pump.
With a quick glanced to his side, Harry could see he was still bleeding badly. And as uncomfortable as the pain was, he zipped up his leather jacket to cover up the blood stains.
After filling up, he replaced the nozzle back into the pump holder and approached the front entrance, where he saw a rack with newspapers sitting near the doorway.
Slowly Harry reached down to pick one up and splashed across the front page was his face. The headlines read. A DANGEROUS FUGITIVE ON THE RUN. A REWARD GIVEN TO ANYONE WHO KNEW THE WHEREABOUTS OF HARRISON KING... And so on.
Bloody hell… that’s all I need, Harry thought as he nervously entered the front glass door which dinged with a bell as he moved through it.
Without hesitation Harry searched the isles for supplies. He grabbed a sewing kit, water and Antiseptic for any infections. With caution he approached the front desk. “I’d like to pay for the petrol, all this and I need a room for one night thanks.”
Thankfully the elderly gentleman was too distracted as he watched a game of football on his portable TV at the back corner of the room to take any notice.
Still with his eyes peeled to the game he utters, “Twenty for the petrol, Sixty—Five for the room per night. Anything else I can do for you?” And then handed him a key.
“Ugh… yes thanks. That sowing kit you’ve got hanging there,” Harry replied. He quickly grabbed the key, scurried out of there and returned to his bike.
The short ride to his room was the last at the end of the old building and he could only imagine what the place looked like inside. And his imagination didn’t give the room justice he thought as the stale air hit his nostrils and nearly made him heave when he opened the door.
Reluctant to enter all Harry wanted to do was close the door and run in the opposite direction, but with no choice he sucked in a breath and went in.
Exhausted Harry didn’t care about how disgusting the place was. Now throbbing in pain he let out a moan as he stripped off and proceeded to stitch up the large gash. And with the amount of blood loss, he thought it was a bloody miracle he hadn’t passed out up til now.
Finally all patched up for now it was time to sleep and not even the huge Cockroach that just scampered up the far wall was going to keep him from slumber, he so desperately craved for.
CHAPTER FORTY
Harry’s eyes popped open suddenly to find himself alone in the bed. His heart began to sink when he realized Blake was never going to be by his side again, and now the comprehension of what happened yesterday, he felt it was all about tumbling down on top of him.
Shaking and sick to the stomach, Harry knew he had to pull himself together. The pain and grief was hard to endure, but one he now had to accept. With everything he could muster, he wrenched himself up and crawled out of bed.
It was quiet. There was no noise, other than what sounded like a truck just passing along the deserted highway when all of a sudden; he heard a noise at the front door.
Quickly Harry reached for the Beretta and checked for ammo. “Shit— it’s empty,” he mumbled quietly.
The door lock rattled, and Harry knew that he only had seconds before whoever it was picking the lock, was about to burst in.
Normally his mind would have been in gear and ready to take on the creep, but he was still giddy. For some reason his legs could hardly move and he tried desperately to stay focused.
Infection had set in he thought, but now wasn’t the time to have a break down. Harry’s mind raced and for the first time in his life he felt a real fear of defeat.
Desperate he searched the room for some kind of weapon and grabbed the closest lamp shade. No… that wasn’t going to do, so he then grabbed his bike helmet and sluggishly shuffled toward the door and hid behind it. Uncertain what he was going to do next, Harry stood there soundless and waited.
For a brief moment it went quiet and he wondered if his attacker had left, or was he just playing games with his mind?
Is this it? Is this the way it’s going to end for me in some run down hotel? Well… be buggered if I’m going to let that happen. So shake yourself off man and fight to the end.
And without warning, the door flung open, sending a blinding beam of light in, with an unknown man standing in the doorway.
There was a foggy familiarity about him, but his face and one side of his head was so hideous, Harry could hardly recognise him.
Without any expression at all and dressed in leathers the guy stepped closer, but didn’t say a word.
Harry stepped back. Confusion filled his head with a pounding ache that bounced from side to side in his skull.
As the stranger slowly moved toward him, panic set in. He couldn’t move and really thought he was about to face plant the carpet at any moment.
The stranger stopped and stood in front of him close enough to touch and displayed a look of fury as he glared down at Harry, baring his brown decaying teeth.
“Oh… far out” Harry murmured when the creep reached behind his back and drew out a machete.
Sick, but not defeated yet Harry watched as he raised the gleaming razor sharp blade above his head, ready to strike him down.
With every ounce of strength Harry had left he swung the helmet fair up the side of his enemies head, sending the creep smashing into the hotel door.
With one hell of an angry gaze his enemy bounced back and retaliated with a quick strike with the machete.
But Like a limbo dancer in a split second, Harry bent backwards and the machete narrowly missed cutting his head right off.
Harry once more attacked with the helmet this time ramming it up into the man’s jaw, snapping his head backwards.
This guy was tuff. With the hard hit he just took he should have hit the ground by now, but returned with a quick right jab and this one connected fair between Harry’s eyes.
Dizzy, but still standing.
Well… so he thought.
The last thing Harry saw was the dirty carpet flash past as he face planted the floor.
CHAPTER FORTY ONE
Unexpectedly when Harry thought his life was over a friendly voice was heard and brought Harry back from the depths of his mind to the hotel room where reality was waiting.
Not only has one of his ex-t
eam members come back from the grave and attempt to execute him, but now standing before him was another ghost from the past.
With fury in his gaze, Black Scorpion appeared in the door way and loaded with a weapon in each hand.
Ace must have felt the burning stare in the back of his skull Harry thought when he spun around to see his commanding officer standing before him.
And with just as much surprise plastered across Ace’s face, he didn’t look as if it was going to be much of a friendly reunion.
Without warning a hail of bullets soared above Harry’s head and tore apart anything in its way. Splinters of wood and shattered glass sailed across the room, leaving a ray of carnage in its aftermath.
Ace dived for cover, but noticeably the bastard still managed to crawl away unscathed, bar a little nick to the left arm.
“Not so fast you asshole,” Black Scorpion screeched while he stepped through the doorway and beared down at Ace with an intense look on his face.
At this stage Harry had managed to get back to his feet and thankful he had at least one ally left in this bloody world.
Still sprawled out on the floor; Ace gazed back, wide and angry. “I couldn’t knock back the offer. They just didn’t pay enough to trek through the jungle day and night. Man… you know it King…?”
Black Scorpion had the look of a wild beast as he pointed the rifle right between Ace’s eyes. “Not any amount of money would I betray my mates or country,” he hissed.
Harry could see the anger welling in his mates eyes, so he gently grabbed the weapon out of Black Scorpion’s hand and persuaded him to lower the other one.
Harry knew there couldn’t be much time left before the cops showed up from the amount of noise that was just made. And he needed answers before Black Scorpion lost his stuff and executed the asshole.
With an expressionless face he anticipated his rival’s next move.
As the contempt for the man that knelt before him rose like a bad lunch in his gut, there was no way in hell he was going to show even a hint of empathy for the evil bastard.
The Eternal Defiance Page 11
