Marked for Death

by Marked for Death (retail) (epub)

  ‘Done? You mean…’

  Before he could press for details, Cahill had a caveat. ‘It’s not all good news. We lost some men – Harris, Waller and Sierra – and Monk has a busted ankle.’

  Mikhail could not give a fuck for any of the mercenaries Cahill mentioned. They were as expendable as every other sack of meat on his payroll. But he understood there could be repercussions from losing those men if their bodies were traced back to him. Another thirty hours or so and it would not matter who the cops connected to him, but the premature deaths of some of Cahill’s crew was troubling at this early point. Miami Beach would be awash with investigators, and that could prove a hindrance to their main operation.

  ‘One man managed to kill three of your soldiers? Huh, maybe I did not show this Joe Hunter the respect he was due, after all?’

  ‘He proved himself a capable and wily opponent,’ Cahill said, with grudging respect of his own. ‘But it didn’t matter in the end.’

  ‘If he hadn’t sucker punched me earlier, things would’ve been different,’ Mikhail was quick to add.

  ‘He was tough and skilled,’ Cahill added, and Mikhail wasn’t sure exactly why – perhaps it was to convince Mikhail that there was no shame in being knocked on his ass by a worthy opponent.

  ‘It’s a shame we had to be enemies, then,’ Mikhail said, without an iota of sincerity. ‘Had we met under other circumstances he might have been a worthier addition to your team than the useless punks he killed.’

  Cahill changed the subject. He didn’t think of any of his men as useless, then? To him their lives had been wasted on soothing Mikhail’s bruised ego? Mikhail grinned snarkily at the thought.

  ‘Another man surprised us tonight,’ Cahill went on. ‘Greville-Jones.’

  ‘You said you’d have him silenced before the police could speak with him.’ Earlier, while following Hunter and Trey into Lummus Park, Cahill had appraised Mikhail of the connection with the failed hit on them, and the beers sent to the hotel by Greville-Jones, but he’d assured him that the security man would be silenced before the connection was made.

  ‘Don’t worry; he won’t be speaking to anyone. He’s dead. But not before he put up one hell of a fight. He knocked one guy out and threw the other off a balcony before succumbing to his wounds.’

  Mikhail breathed heavily into his cell phone. ‘I find that surprising indeed. I didn’t think Albert had it in him.’

  ‘Me neither, but there you are. Two more guys taken out of the picture.’

  ‘The police have them?’ Adrenaline trickled through Mikhail’s system, and he shivered at the sensation.

  ‘They’re both in hospital under police guard. Neither of them is in a fit state for interview at this time, but it’s inevitable that it will happen. But don’t worry, Mikhail, they have no direct connection to our main operation, and know nothing about you.’

  ‘I’m not worried. Not for me. They can lead the police to you?’

  ‘Perhaps.’

  ‘Then they require silencing.’

  ‘When does it end, Mikhail? There are only so many links in any chain… will we reach a point where I’m the one requiring silencing?’

  ‘Stop acting like a petulant child, Sean. I value you too much. I haven’t forgotten that you saved my life – more than once – and for that I’m eternally grateful.’

  ‘You saved my life first.’

  ‘Yes, I did, and I’ve never allowed you to forget it.’ Mikhail laughed too hard. ‘Would I now have you killed just because of your inability to handle a simple clean-up job like this?’

  Cahill’s silence said everything.

  Mikhail had saved his life, dragging him from the rubble of a bombed building and carrying him to safety. In return for his life he’d served Mikhail for fifteen years. His debt was repaid tenfold, most recently when he took the bullet intended for his boss, but he still got Mikhail to safety before he collapsed from blood loss. Mikhail’s debt to him was massive, and yet Cahill was no fool: if it came to it, Mikhail would sacrifice his closest friend to save his own ass. Back when they were guns for hire, things were very different. They were brothers reliant on the other to guard their backs. These days Mikhail was wealthy enough to command all the protection he needed, and Cahill as expendable as any other gunman on his payroll. Of late, he felt that Cahill had entertained delusions of grandeur, and it would serve as an important message to anyone who thought otherwise if Mikhail had him executed. But not until after the successful completion of their operation. Cahill was too integral a player in its success to have murdered yet.

  ‘You are too valuable to me, Sean,’ he repeated. ‘And I can forgive your mishandling of your other tasks now that you’ve achieved your prime objective. I hope you suitably punished Trey and her white knight before they died?’

  ‘They are dead, drowned at the bottom of Indian Creek, that’s the main thing.’

  ‘I wanted you to bring me Hunter’s balls in a jar…’

  ‘Didn’t get the opportunity, but trust me, before they died they both understood they’d fucked with the wrong man.’

  ‘Good,’ said Mikhail. ‘Now get yourself back here. Dawn is coming, and we have much to complete before tomorrow.’

  ‘I haven’t slept in twenty-four hours,’ Cahill began.

  ‘Have I slept?’ Mikhail responded harshly. ‘You’re not the only one who has made sacrifices for the completion of the operation. Do you think I’ve been idle while you have been taking your time chasing Trey and Hunter?’ He glimpsed back at the tousled sheets on the floor, and smiled to himself. ‘I have expended sweat too and am tired. But this is not the time to slow down. Now get back here. No argument.’

  Mikhail cut the call.

  19

  Cahill glanced at Dan StJohn, and caught his friend’s wry expression. They were a mile away from where they’d forced Hunter and Trey into Indian Creek, waiting for a fresh vehicle to arrive and collect them. Cahill’s driver had sped off in the Mercedes to make sure it was out of sight should any early bird witnesses have reported the high-speed pursuit to the police. While he had a moment to catch his breath, Cahill had decided to update Viskhan, and StJohn had overheard everything.

  ‘Mikhail’s his usual grateful self,’ Cahill said as he shoved away his cell phone.

  ‘He’s such a prick,’ said StJohn.

  ‘Yeah. But he’s the prick that’s paying us.’

  ‘I vote we shoot him in the head and find ourselves a new employer.’ StJohn sniffed, as though the idea wasn’t the worst one he’d ever had.

  ‘Not until after the money’s in our hands, Dan.’

  ‘Do you really think he’s still good for it?’

  Cahill wondered what the Englishman was hinting at. ‘Why wouldn’t he be?’

  ‘This fucking operation.’ He wasn’t talking about killing Hunter and Trey. ‘Viskhan has this town tied down, is pulling in cash left, right and centre, and the fucker’s grown minted off the proceeds: but he’s prepared to give it all up for the sake of some fucking raghead plot? You ask me, he has fucking lost it.’

  ‘Ours is not to reason why,’ Cahill quoted.

  ‘Fucked if I’m gonna die for some jihadi bullshite.’

  ‘But you don’t mind the doing part?’

  ‘You know me. Pay me enough, I don’t give a fuck who’s in my gun sights. But the emphasis is on “pay me”. Viskhan made the deal with the Syrians, but all we’ve heard are fucking promises to be delivered after the deed is done. Ever get the impression we’re being played like those fucking suicide bombers who are promised more virgins than they can handle when they reach paradise? Don’t know about you, mate, but if I were them, I’d like a go at those virgins before my bollocks got blown off.’

  ‘You think the Syrians won’t pay up afterwards? That’s for Mikhail to worry about. He’s the one who pays us, and trust me, I know he’s good for the cash.’ Cahill faced his old friend. ‘You can trust me, Dan.’

  ‘I wouldn’
t be here if it wasn’t for you.’ StJohn clapped a hand on Cahill’s shoulder. ‘After this, tell me you aren’t following that arsehole back to Chechnya? You know, mate, we could run a gig like Viskhan has going here ourselves. We could pick up where he left off once he’s out of here… but not if we’re tied to what the crazy bastard has planned for tomorrow.’

  ‘You want us to pull out at the eleventh hour?’ Cahill shook his head. ‘That’s one way of making certain you never get paid, Dan.’

  ‘Like I said: we shoot him in the head. Sink him out in the Atlantic and feed him to the fishes. Take what he has, and everything will be sweet. If he goes through with this bollocks tomorrow, the shit’s going to hit the fucking fan. Big time, mate. There’ll be Feds crawling all over the place for months. Miami will be off limits for us. We won’t be able to scratch our arses without it being jotted down in a file someplace, let alone move any of our merchandise. It’d be in our best interests if Viskhan doesn’t make it till tomorrow.’

  ‘If Mikhail heard what you’re saying he’d have you skinned alive.’

  ‘He won’t. It’s like you said, Sean, I can trust you. Viskhan only thinks you’re his pal, I know you’re mine.’

  Cahill rocked his head. ‘I still owe him.’

  StJohn grunted in scorn. ‘Do you bollocks! You’ve pulled him out of the fire more times than he can even remember. He only saved you once.’

  ‘I still wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for him.’

  ‘That’s true. You could be the king of your own kingdom instead of having to kiss his arse all the time.’

  ‘I enjoy my work.’

  ‘Aye, right. Bet you’d enjoy it more if you were your own boss.’

  Cahill concurred with a nod. ‘But you’d still be happy kissing my ass?’

  ‘I was thinking more along the lines of partners.’

  ‘I wish I could say yes, and who knows, after this there will be opportunities for us. But for now, we have a job to do. I gave my word to Mikhail that we’d see this operation through, and my word is my bond. Soon as it’s done and the money’s in our accounts, we can do whatever the hell we like.’ He held StJohn’s gaze. ‘You still with the programme, Dan?’

  ‘I’m with you. Just don’t expect me to strap on a fucking suicide vest like those other fuckwits we’re helping.’

  20

  Indian Creek is only one of several waterways intersecting the collection of smaller barrier islands forming Miami Beach. It was fed by the waters of Biscayne Bay and tidal. The water was deep enough even at low tide to moor a boat alongside any of the many private piers dotted along its length, and easily deep enough to submerge a van. It was high tide. We were about ten feet below the frothy surface, and that was more than enough water to drown in. If it had been broad daylight, Cahill could have peered down through the water and watched us perish, but thankfully – if that word was even apt – it was still dark out. To him we’d be invisible. That was our only saving grace. In hindsight I believe he came and checked that there was no coming back for either Trey or me, then fled the scene in the Mercedes before any emergency services responded to the scene of the crash, but while I was underwater I didn’t give him much thought. I was too involved in trying to keep us alive.

  Initially I’d been battered into confusion by the impact of the van plunging into the creek, and the deluge of water flooding in from all egress points of the van left me reeling as we sank deeper. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see, and my other senses were all overwhelmed by a tumult of competing stimuli. Only the fact that I’d sucked in a lungful of air in anticipation of slamming into unforgiving earth did I have any hope of survival at all. I hadn’t been wearing my seatbelt. I floated free, but who knew where? I forced my eyelids to open, but everything was a frothy blackness full of popping bubbles that sparked like phosphorus and added to my confusion. My palms slapped at metal, at jagged glass adhering to a rubber seal, and I twisted away, knowing I was heading the wrong direction. My hands groped around again, and I felt something slick and yielding: Trey’s shoulder. She wasn’t moving. Dead or unconscious, I didn’t know, but I grabbed at her to haul her… I didn’t know where. But I couldn’t move her. I recalled earlier warning her to strap in. I ran my hands down her body, found her thighs and retraced back to her waist. Undoing a seatbelt is such a simple task, but under the circumstances it almost thwarted me. But then the clip snapped out of the retainer and I hauled Trey into my arms. She flopped against me, buoyed by the water. I tugged her towards the shattered windscreen. Met a collapsing bank of sand that cascaded around us in a blinding cloud. The van had nosedived on its side into the water, and had buried its front end in the creek bed. It gave me hope that air had been forced into the rear cargo area, to hang there in a life-saving bubble I could draw from. I swam over the buckled seats into the cargo hold, fighting with floating paintbrushes and who knew what else as I dragged Trey through the gap. The back doors had been blown open by the force of the water, but because the van had come to rest on its side, one of them had fallen shut again. Any hope of finding an air pocket inside the shell of the van was slim, but I pulled along the uppermost side of the van to a point in the corner adjacent to the shut door.

  I screamed in grateful delight as my features broke the surface, and found oxygen. I sucked in deeply, then bobbed down, and pushed Trey’s head in my place. I heard her skin squeak as I forced her against the metal siding. She was inert. So I circled my arms around her body and yanked forcefully against her abdominals in a desperate Heimlich manoeuvre. What air had been compressed into her lungs was dispelled in a spluttering cry of alarm, but then Trey instinctively sucked in air. I could imagine her desperation and terror at that moment, so could forgive her for trying to fight free. Her nails clawed at my hands. Ignoring the discomfort, I squeezed her into the corner then pushed my head up alongside hers. My lips cleared the water but that was pretty much it. I sucked in air. Then spoke to her in a series of rapid commands. We couldn’t make for the surface yet: I was certain that Cahill would check we were dead before fleeing. If we broke for the surface then, we’d be shot to death. But Trey panicked, and began clawing for escape, this time her fingers pushing me down. I roughly got a hand under chin, pressed her tightly into the air bubble, all the while almost drowning myself.

  I held Trey there for what felt like an eternity, but must only have been a minute at best. Then I forced upward so I could replenish my breath. The air was stale and tasted bitter, but it was the most incredible air I’d ever breathed.

  Twice more I repeated the process until I felt Cahill must have given up on seeing us alive again.

  The final time I forced my lips out the water, I found there was nothing left to sustain either of our lives.

  ‘Hold your breath,’ I hollered, but all it sounded like was a garble of swarming bubbles.

  I wrapped an arm around Trey’s waist, pushed backwards, and found the closed door, though it was swinging loose on its hinges. It was lying crosswise across my shoulders. I backed, kicking at whatever foothold I could find, and we surged out of the gap. The door handle smacked me painfully on the nape of my neck, then gouged over my skull before I was free of it. Bubbles raced for the surface, and if I’d had any clear sense I could have discerned up from down. But my only thought was to get away from the van, so I dragged Trey with me, kicking like a frog, one arm swiping at the water. With no idea how much distance I’d put between the wreckage and us, I finally broke towards the surface, towing Trey with me. She kicked and squirmed in my grasp, and I’d little strength left to hold her. She broke free and clawed her way upward.

  Moments later it was her arms around me as she helped drag me from beneath the creek and onto a muddy sandbar that pulled and tugged at my limbs like quicksand. I think I must have blacked out – not fully gone unconscious, but lost all sense of reality – because for a moment after my face broke the surface, I wanted nothing more than to dip back under and give in to the inevitable. Trey smacked m
e, the full width of her palm across the side of my head. The blow was enough to kick-start my survival instinct, and I sucked in fresh air. Immediately Trey’s palm clamped down over my mouth, and my eyes must have been as large as golf balls as I stared at her.

  ‘You have to be silent,’ she whispered into my ear. She jabbed a hand towards the bank. From twenty feet away, but hidden from my line of sight, I heard voices dwindling as Cahill and another of our pursuers retreated from the creek’s bank, having seen all they needed to. If they heard me gasping like an asthmatic they’d return, and I was in no fit state to fight back.

  I nodded at Trey in understanding, and she reluctantly withdrew her hand. I shuddered and fought the urge to shout for joy that I could breathe again. Worming over on my back, I was less likely to sink, and was able to breathe normally. I had a brilliant view of the stormy sky – lightning still flashed to the north but the bad weather had passed.

  From some distance off I picked out the warbling strains of an approaching siren. Nearby a vehicle accelerated away, and I guessed it was the Mercedes putting distance between them and the responding cops. Though it was still early somebody must have heard the van’s chaotic progress through the construction site, and telephoned it in. Within minutes people would gather on the bank and observe the point where the van had gone in the creek. We had to be far away by then. At that place, the creek was about a hundred yards wide. We could swim across it, but not quickly enough to escape more observant witnesses. So I pointed upstream, urging Trey to get away.

  ‘We should wait for the police,’ she argued.

  ‘We’re not safe in jail,’ I told her.

  ‘We’re safe out here?’ She looked at me, eyes wide with incredulity.

  ‘It’s been a hell of a night but you’re still alive,’ I said. ‘I can’t guarantee you’ll survive another day behind bars. Viskhan and Cahill are determined fuckers, and they won’t let a few bars stop them getting at you. For now they think you’re dead. If we let them carry on believing that for now, it gives me a chance to get you somewhere safer.’