by Avell Kro
floor. He shoved and got his knees up far enough to heave the thug off him. Hosea caught his
balance on his haunches and came again, throwing himself forward in an attempt to pin Archer
beneath him.
Archer rol ed again, kicking free of the ropes and the chair before scrambling to his feet. He spun
and delivered a punt to Hosea’s face. The thug fell back, clutching at his bloodied face. His knees
were splayed and Archer gave him a second kick, this time to the testicles.
Tracy cocked her foot and drove it down into Afa’s throat again. A murderous rage had descended
over her and she was functioning on auto-pilot.
Hosea folded at the waist and pulled his knees up. He rolled onto his side and vomited on the floor.
Archer stood over him and sucked in measured breaths through his nose. It looked like the thug
wasn’t getting up in a hurry.
As he started to turn to check on Tracy he caught movement from the corner of his eye and
snapped back around, instinctively moving to the side. Hosea had his shirtfront pulled up to
expose the handgrip of his revolver, and the fingers of his right hand were on it as he started to
pull it clear.
Archer dived forward with the knife outstretched, slamming his bodyweight into Hosea and
slapping his gun hand away, ramming the knife into the man’s neck with his other hand. The
stocky thug jerked beneath him and a jet of blood spurted across the room from his severed
carotid artery.
He left the knife in place and rolled aside, grabbing the revolver from Hosea’s grasp. Archer fired
two rounds at point blank range into Hosea’s face, pushed up and turned towards Tracy. Afa was
on his side, clearly dead. Tracy kicked him again and his head rolled loosely from a broken neck.
There was no sign of Solomon.
Archer saw the door swinging open and darted to it. The middle sized thug was limping towards
the ute, one hand clapped to his side, the other holding his machete. He heard Archer coming and
looked desperately over his shoulder.
‘No!’ he cried, nearly at the ute now.
Archer raised the Smith and shot him square in the back. Solomon fel forward against the side of
the ute and turned, blood frothing at his lips. Archer came closer and shot him again, this time in
the chest. Red speckled the white paintwork.
Looking down at the bleeding thug, he could see the terror in his eyes.
‘I warned you,’ Archer told him coldly. He thumbed the hammer back and squeezed, firing a third
shot to the heart.
Solomon was dead before he hit the ground, and Archer returned to the shack.
Tracy was sitting again, still tied to the chair. She was facing the lifeless form of the tall man, Afa.
Her face was expressionless and bloodied. Her left eye was almost fully closed and horribly swollen.
Her mouth was covered in blood.
Hosea lay still on the floor, the knife in his hand and a fast-expanding pool of blood around him.
‘Is he dead?’ Tracy whispered thickly.
Archer walked to her side and raised the Smith. He pointed it at Afa’s torso and squeezed the
trigger. The hammer fel on an empty chamber. Hosea had carried it with only five rounds in the
cylinder.
Archer shrugged. ‘I don’t think it matters,’ he said quietly.
He recovered the knife from Hosea’s dead fingers and cut Tracy free. She slowly covered herself but otherwise didn’t move. Archer searched the two bodies, found nothing of use, then wiped the
Smith and Wesson clean and placed it in Hosea’s hand, wrapping his fingers round the slick
wooden butt.
He wiped the handle of the knife clean too, and placed it near the other outstretched hand. It was a
basic attempt to confuse the crime scene, but it should buy them some time.
He quickly gathered the discarded pieces of rope and shoved them in his pocket, along with the
long nosed pliers, the extracted tooth and their passports, before helping Tracy up. She moved
slowly and painfully as they went outside to the thugs’ ute.
Archer helped her into the passenger’s seat, took the keys from Solomon’s pocket, and checked
the vehicle. Their guns and phones were on the floor, and Archer took possession of them. He
checked the load in his Beretta and re-holstered it. He also found a water bottle on the floor and
offered it to Tracy. She washed her mouth out and spat bloodied water out the window before
drinking half of the water and handing the bottle back.
He ripped a piece off his shirt and wet it before gingerly dabbing at the burn on his chest. It stung
and throbbed, and he wondered how bad it was. He left the compress on it and held it in place with
the seat belt, then drained the bottle and started the ute, manoeuvring round onto the bumpy
track and out to the main road.
They needed to get to safety, fast.
40
Half an hour later they entered Apia and dropped the ute in a side street.
The streets were deserted at this hour and the night porter was asleep in the back office, allowing
them to slip past quietly and get to their room undisturbed.
Archer locked the door behind them and drew the blinds, turned on plenty of lights and then the TV
to cover any noise they made.
Tracy seemed to have withdrawn into herself, so Archer took the lead and organised her. He sat
her at the table and fetched the small first aid kit from his suitcase. Kneeling in front of her, he
gently took her right hand and placed it on her thigh.
‘I’m sorry, this is going to hurt,’ he told her, ‘but it needs to be done. Bite on this.’
He handed her toothbrush to her and she placed it between her front teeth.
‘Breathe in,’ he told her, ‘be strong and it won’t-‘
He popped her little finger back into place and her face screwed up in pain as she bit down hard.
She was still sucking in her first breath when his fingers moved to the next dislocation and swiftly
popped it back into place as well.
A muted scream burst forth from her bloodied lips and tears flowed. Archer shushed her softly
and touched her head tenderly, drawing it to his shoulder and letting her cry.
Once she had calmed down, he filled a tea towel with ice cubes from the freezer tray and had her
hold it to her left eye. He gave her a glass of water to wash down some strong painkillers, then
fetched a flannel from the bathroom and filled a bowl with warm water. He gently dabbed at her
face and cleaned her as best he could without causing any more pain. She sat quietly and let him
work, whimpering occasionally when he hit a sore spot.
Finally, Archer stood up and brought her a glass of antiseptic mouthwash that he diluted with
warm water. He watched as she rinsed her mouth and spat into the sink, cleaning the dried blood
from the tooth injury as she did so.
He took her to the bathroom and turned the shower on. Tracy raised her head and looked at him,
questions in her eyes.
‘Don’t be embarrassed,’ he said gently, ‘you need help and I’m going to help you. It’s nothing more
than that.’ He nodded affirmatively. ‘You can trust me, Trace.’
She nodded and cradled her injured hand as he carefully undressed her. Once she was naked he
appraised her body, looking for other injuries. She was dirty and blood-stained and covered in
bumps and bruises and scratches.
‘Here.’
He
helped her into the shower and adjusted the heat. He stripped off and put his filthy clothes in a
pile with hers, then joined her in the shower. She flinched as he brushed against her and he moved
back, giving her space.
He spoke softly and soothingly as he ran his hands through her hair to wet it properly, comforting
her through a process he knew she wouldn’t be comfortable with but that was necessary
nonetheless. He washed her hair first and rinsed it out ful y, then took the soap and a flannel and
washed her back.
Turning her around, Archer held her by the shoulders and waited for her to look at him. Her eyes
were wet and dark, the left one still swollen and painful looking.
‘It’s okay now,’ he told her quietly, ‘you’re safe with me.’
Tracy nodded slightly and rested her head forward on his chest. She was warm and soft and
womanly in his arms.
‘I know.’ Her voice was barely audible over the running water. ‘Thank you.’
Archer finished washing her as quickly and unobtrusively as he could, feeling horribly self-
conscious. Once she was clean Archer helped her dress and strapped her fingers, then left her to
blow dry her hair while he showered himself.
His own body ached all over and he found new injuries as he washed. He soaped himself
thoroughly and scrubbed dried blood off with the flannel, which was now badly stained. The burn
was red and yellow and nasty looking, and he made sure he cleaned it out properly, using a small
bottle of antiseptic which made his eyes water when it touched the raw wound.
Stepping out and grabbing a towel, he peeked into the bedroom and saw Tracy on the bed, dead to
the world, ful y dressed. He dressed his wound and rubbed anti-inflammatory cream into his
bumps and bruises. He carefully dried himself and dressed in clean cargo pants, a T shirt and
boots. He checked his Beretta again and then Tracy’s, put the spare ammo in his pocket and then
checked the door and windows again.
Satisfied it was all secure, he made himself a strong sweet coffee and took some painkillers before
sitting at the table and getting out his cell phone. He badly wanted a real drink, but the coffee
would have to do for now. He needed to keep his wits about him.
It was time to make a call.
41
Jonty had sounded croaky when he answered the phone at 3am, but after a minute’s talking from
Archer he had become wide awake and switched on to what was needed.
Archer gave him precise instructions, told him to hurry, then disconnected and waited. He sat on
the sofa with his Beretta ready, Tracy’s pistol tucked into his waistband, and the cel phone in his
other hand. He had an armchair pulled across the door and felt as ready as he could be. He let sleep
take him and awoke with a start to the phone ringing in his hand.
‘I’ll pick you up in five minutes,’ Jonty told him by way of greeting, ‘there’s a plane waiting.’
He was so keyed in that he seemed like a different man, even dropping his habitual ‘y’know.’
Archer woke Tracy, gathered their luggage and led the way out to the front of the hotel. The night
porter was still sound asleep in the back of the Reception.
They were just descending the front steps when Jonty pul ed up in a red Mercedes SUV. He helped
Archer sling the luggage in the back, doing a noticeable double-take when he saw Tracy’s injuries,
then leaped back in and hit the gas.
As they raced towards the airport, Jonty explained that he had called a local contact and hired him
and his plane to make an emergency dash to Auckland. A military medical team would meet them
at Whenuapai air base and take them immediately for treatment.
‘Re-organise that,’ Archer told him, ‘I need to get back to London immediately.’
Jonty looked at him in the rear view mirror. After a moment’s pause, he nodded his understanding.
‘No problem, y’know.’
Jonty did the forty minute trip in twenty five minutes and flew past the terminal to a side gate. As
soon as he pulled up the gate swung open and they drove through. The gate clanged shut behind
them and a man climbed into the passenger’s seat. He was a weathered looking man in his sixties
with a white beard.
‘Gidday mate,’ he greeted Jonty, in a broad Aussie accent. He turned and nodded to the two back
seat passengers. ‘Alright?’
Archer nodded briefly in response.
‘Don’t worry mate,’ the pilot said cheerfully, ‘we’ve been doin’ this for years; you’re in safe hands.’
‘We?’ Archer inquired.
‘I’ve got a doc with me. He’ll patch you up a bit before we get there.’
Jonty saw Archer’s look and nodded reassuringly. ‘It’s okay, these guys are solid.’
Ten minutes later they were airborne in a Piper that had seen better days. Jonty had cleansed them-taking all evidence of weapons or equipment used in the assault-and they now just had to
wait to land before they could get on with it.
The doctor was an equally old man who Archer picked as the pilot’s brother. He was also equally
quiet, going about his business efficiently without asking unnecessary questions. He re-dressed
Archer’s burn before spending more time with Tracy, repeating most of what Archer had already
done but doing it better and with superior materials.
The plane was surprisingly well stocked and Archer laid claim to a pre-mixed bottle of bourbon
and cola. He would’ve preferred the alcohol straight but wasn’t complaining. The doctor produced
some American-issue MREs and prepared one for him. Without being entirely sure what he was
eating Archer wolfed it in less than a minute and sat back, nursing his drink and mentally
evaluating his injuries.
He wasn’t in great shape and he was certain the burn would require some kind of surgery, he was
exhausted, and his partner was in worse shape than him. But his mind wouldn’t stop buzzing. A
million thoughts ran through it, pestering him like mozzies in the jungle.
He felt out of his depth. Self doubt plagued him. This job was like trying to grab smoke What the
fuck am I doing here? This isn’t my game. I’m a soldier, not a bloody spook.
He smiled wryly. What was it that Moore had told him?
It’s all smoke and mirrors, mate.
He had that bloody right. He felt like he’d been chasing his tail since the start, always behind the
eight ball. Just when he thought he was on top of it the rug got pulled and he was playing catch up
again. The enemy were experienced and hard and ruthless, and they always seemed to be half a
step ahead.
This was a whole new playing field for Archer, and he felt like he didn’t know the rules and was
trying to play a traditional game against a team of innovators.
And how the hell did the enemy manage to stay ahead like they did? There was the debacle in
Auckland that left a team of cops dead, Boyle’s escape after the Cornwall ambush, and now their
own capture and torture in Samoa. And who killed Ruth and why? Ability and planning went a long
way on the battlefield, cunning and innovation were crucial. But information was the lifeblood of
any operation. Intelligence led to planning. Planning led to success. But where did the intel come
from? How did the enemy get it?
Was there a leak somewhere? Archer thought back to his discussion with the Director after the
Auckland
incident, what seemed an age ago. He’d challenged the man directly then, told him there
was a leak, but it had really been an accusation based on anger, not fact.
But now he had something to work with. They’d had their legs taken out again and although he
had nothing to base his suspicions on, Archer believed he knew where the leak was coming from.
The hard bit was going to be trying to prove it.
Maybe it was time to change, enforce his own rules on the game. Mix it up. Speed, Aggression,
Surprise; the real SAS.
Archer relaxed back in his seat and let his breath out. He ached all over and was mentally
exhausted. He slipped easily into sleep and the next thing he knew they were landing at
Whenuapai.
42
An ambulance met them on the tarmac and Tracy was escorted to it, despite her protestations that
she was fine. Archer walked her to the back doors and they paused there, neither wanting to take
the initiative.
Finally, Archer awkwardly pulled her close and hugged her.
‘You’re a good girl, Trace,’ he whispered in her ear. ‘You did wel .’
She squeezed him round the neck then kissed him firmly on the cheek and pulled away. Her eyes
were wet and tinged with sadness as she looked at him.
‘I thought it was all over,’ she rasped.
‘But it wasn’t. You did what you needed to do.’ He smiled reassuringly. ‘You’l be right as rain before
you know it.’
‘I gave Matthew up. You need to warn him.’
Archer smiled thinly. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it.’
She nodded awkwardly, then suddenly grabbed him by the neck and kissed him hard on the lips.
Archer blinked with surprise, and then she was gone, turning away and climbing in the back of the
ambulance without further ado.
Archer had the distinct feeling he would never see her again. As he watched the ambulance pul
away, he felt a twinge of sadness, maybe even regret. He shook his head abruptly and turned his
mind back to the job at hand. Subconsciously he was already planning the next move.
He knew exactly where he was going to start.
43
