Bank (A Tim Burr Thriller Book 2)

by Nicholas E Watkins

  Not until mid afternoon did activity commence in the outside area. Food and drink was laid out. Sun umbrellas opened and about twenty totally naked girls appeared and scattered themselves decoratively around the patio. Rojas certainly knew how to throw a party and please his guests. The mariachi band began to play as the guests emerged into the Sunlight. The naked girls flocked to the men and encouraged them to start shedding their clothing.

  Annubis and Trist settled into their firing positions. They looked through scope sights on the sniper rifles and began to seek out their respective targets. Rojas was an easy target standing to one side and watching the building orgy. Rodriguez was proving a harder target for Annubis as he was surrounded by three young women who kept coming between him and the clean headshot he wanted.

  Trist announced that he had acquired his target and was ready to take the shot. Annubis waited patiently controlling his breathing. His time would come and he knew patience was everything and he had learned to have plenty of it.

  Finally “I have shot,” declared Annubis

  “Fire,” said Trist.

  Annubis slowly squeezed the trigger and a brief instant later the full metal jacket bullet exploded in Rodriguez’s head and sprayed blood and brains all over the naked blonde girl who was sucking on his penis.

  Annubis looked at Rojas and was staggered to see that he was unarmed. He then felt the barrel of Trist’s rifle pressed against the base of his skull. “Don’t move.” Trist kicked the Annubis’s rifle out of his reach and stood in silence with his gun pointing at him as he lay face down on the roof.

  There was confusion at the party and the all the drug lords ran for cover into the villa. Rojas could not help feeling slightly amused as he watched a load of, in the main flabby arsed, middle aged men running with the trousers round their ankles. Rojas’s men jumped into a couple of jeeps and headed to the building where Trist awaited their arrival. They would bring Annubis to Rojas where he would be exposed as a CIA assassin. Trist would be given a lift to his vehicle and get his payoff. Rojas had his revenge for his Father’s murder and he had the added bonus of getting rid of Rodriquez.

  Chapter 37

  Tim remembered seeing the petrol station and the Lidl opposite when Stiles and he had been heading for their rendezvous the previous evening. He slowed the jeep down and waited at the lights for an opportunity to turn left into the supermarket. They changed to green and he entered the car park and parked in a space under one of the Sun awnings that provided shade for the vehicles.

  He realised he did not have the requisite Euro to release the shopping cart, but found the baskets as he entered the doors to the shop. To his surprise they stocked all the ingredients for the good old British fry up. Having grabbed the eggs, bacon and some Greek sausages, he decided that he ought to consider a healthier option as an alternative. The healthier option consisted of some croissants, jam and orange juice. Satisfied with his selection Tim headed for the check out.

  Passing up the aisles he came across the bargain of the month section. All types of odd items were piled in baskets at what were at, apparently, very low prices. Tim was drawn to the random collection of items for sale. There were drills, zillion watt flashlights and even some crampons. Tim decided they would probably not be doing any mountaineering that day but was drawn to the toys. He thought of Daniel. They had bought souvenirs in Egypt but they had all been lost in their sudden and unforeseen mode of departure.

  “Super Extreme Soaker,” proclaimed the packaging, “fires a high pressure jet of water up to twenty metres.” Tim had to have two. He pictured Daniel and him spraying and chasing each other in the back garden, before turning their soakers on an unsuspecting Jackie. He would be glad to get all of them home safe and back as a family again.

  Carrying the carrier bag and the two large boxed super extreme soakers back to the Jeep proved somewhat more challenging than he envisaged. After dropping a few things, fortunately not the eggs, he managed to dump the fruits of his expedition into the rear of the vehicle. He started the engine and turned right onto the main road. The lights turned green at the junction and he crossed to the far lane and began accelerating up the hill.

  As he approached the crest, a bus came hurtling towards him on his side of the road. His brain froze as the bus raced towards him, lights flashing and horn blaring. Finally, he reacted and pulled the jeep from the road. He bounced across the gravel that bordered the highway and after a bumpy ride came to rest in a grove of olive trees. His heart was racing and he sat stunned breathing heavily. He had stopped inches from an old gnarly tree. A few feet further and a little more speed and he would have been another casualty on the notorious Greek roads.

  “How could I be so fucking stupid,” he said aloud to himself. Having calmed down he realised while daydreaming about returning home to Daniel he had let his concentration slip. The layout of the junction had not helped but it was his own fault that he had driven on the left. Stupid, stupid, how could he be so stupid? After all they had been through he had nearly killed himself by driving on the British side of the road, left, while most of the rest of the World drove on the right.

  He composed himself and his drive back to the Golf resort was far more sedate then it had been on his leaving. He found a place in the main car park and began his walk back towards their apartment. He left the soakers and decided they could be parked in the diplomatic box with the other weaponry. He was soon joined by the inevitable cat, who was also interested in what there was for breakfast in the plastic bag.

  He managed to open the door and enter the apartment without the cat joining him inside. He looked through, past the dining area, past the seating area and could see through the open terrace doors and flapping curtains a glimpse of Stiles’ arm resting on a chair arm as he sat on the patio. Jackie and he were relaxing and enjoying the Sun and the spectacular views to the mountains across the rear garden area.

  “Stay where you are. I shall make you both a gourmet fry up and bring it out to you.” He turned to his left and entered the kitchen area. After pulling out every draw and opening every cupboard, he eventually assembled the necessary pans, crockery and cutlery to complete the process. Randomly pressing buttons on the hob he managed to get the hot plates to do what they were designed to do, get hot.

  “Can you stop the cats getting in,” he shouted after he drove another stray out of the kitchen.

  He received no response and feeling slightly irritated he made his way out of the kitchen to ask them to pull the french doors to a bit, in order to cut the feline incursions into the apartment. He noticed that the envelope that he had left on the dining table the previous night had been removed. He called again to Stiles and Jackie who he could see with their backs to him on the patio.

  They were surround by six or seven strays licking at something that was pooling on the terrace. He walked through the lounge and past the sofa and chairs. As he came to the window he saw that the liquid was red and viscous.

  “No,” he screamed. It was a whale of agony, tortured pain, a cry of total despair.

  They liquid being gratefully lapped up by the cats was blood, the blood of his wife and his best friend. They were slumped back in the chairs. Both had been shot neatly in the middle of the forehead. Both had died instantly. Their killer had then climbed over the low trellis surrounding the terrace, walked in and left with the envelope that had been on the dining table.

  He slumped to his knees, tears rolling down his cheeks and gradually curled up into a ball.

  Chapter 38

  Annubis knew that this was the end. He knew that it was always bound to come to a conclusion in this manner. He had judged men and killed men. He had spent his life seeking revenge for the death of his family and his brother. His own soul had been forfeit many years ago when he had committed the murder of the pig in charge of the Children’s home in Turkey, where he and his brother had suffered so much. He had gloried in revenge and the blood of those who had killed his Father in Iraq. He
had released all his anger on the murderers of his innocent younger brother, torturing them and hacking them to pieces.

  Now, as he stood wracked in pain before his tormentor Rojas, he realised he had been destined from the inception to deal in death. Fate had laid the path out ahead and he had embraced it, followed it without even considering deviating from his calling.

  He knew he had no need to be in this position. He had more wealth than he could ever spend. The murder of Rojas for money was what he did and he had no way of stopping. No brake he could apply. He had no other purpose but to continue killing and profiting by the bodies he piled up. Now, at the end, he wondered if he should fear remorse or regret. He felt what he had always felt, isolation and hatred.

  Rojas had him beaten. The pain was there but it made him feel elated, almost in a state of euphoria as they punched, kicked, cut, slashed and used clubs to break bone and mangle flesh. He had risen to a higher state, absorbing the pain and entering a half dead state where clarity came to him. It was his punishment and his cleansing. He needed this punishment and the destruction of his body.

  The picture of his brother being taken from the orphanage that night played in his head on a continuous loop, Mehmet and the car, his brother being led by the hand, the car leaving. Through the pain and the blood he saw it again and again.

  It was he. He had stood and watched and done nothing as the little, trusting boy with big olive shaped eyes, skipped, excited, holding the hand of his abuser. Innocent and unaware of what was to happen to him, unknowing. Happy to hold the hand of the man that would have him used, to satisfy the perverted sexual cravings of the privileged men that waited to use him for an evening’s entertainment. A small boy excited at having a ride in a shiny car. A boy whose parents had been murdered, a boy with nothing left but his tiny small, gentle life.

  He did nothing, He did not warn him. He just watched. But worse, far worse, he had been the ultimate betrayer. He had saved himself. He had supposed to go that night. He had been before to the parties. He had felt the pain, the humiliation and he knew what awaited him. He had heard the orphanage pig of a manager talking on the phone and knew they were coming to collect boys for their party.

  He had abandoned his brother and climbed out of the building and hid. That left the manager short on his delivery of young boys. His brother was too small to take the abuse, but the pig in charge wanted his money and sent him anyway.

  He had felt relief as he hid. Relief of all things as the tiny boy was taken to be abused and killed. He had sacrificed his brother. His hatred of himself had always far outweighed the hatred he held for the scum that had actually killed his brother.

  Now stood there in Mexico, a shredded, bloody, half conscious, and twisted dying man he at last felt peace. He had deserved this punishment. He had craved this all his life. He felt cleansed and reborn.

  “I have the confession from the bastard who murdered our colleague,” Rojas was addressing the drug lords on the terrace. In one fell swoop he had enjoyed the taste of vengeance as he tortured his Father’s killer and had his biggest rival killed. “Rodriguez was the rat and the CIA sent this man to kill him to cover it up.”

  “Why would they kill their own informant?”

  “He was becoming an embarrassment to them. He was threatening them with exposure to Congress. He wanted more than power and money here. He wanted immunity from prosecution in the US. He was just too greedy.” Rojas knew that the link was tenuous but it fitted the facts and the other Cartel members were too weak to challenge him in any event.

  “Come let’s visit the animals.” They made their way to the waiting offroaders. Rojas had the jeeps painted in black and white zebra strips. They were off on safari in the middle of Mexico. Annubis was dumped on a flat bed and the party set off.

  The Sun was beginning to descend and the sky was turning a beautiful shade of orange. They stood at the edge of the lake, the calm reflected in the flickering orange and red of the evening sky. Annubis was dragged into the shallow bottomed boat and a life jacket put on to ensure he would float. Two of Rojas’s men slowly rowed to the centre of the lake.

  The body was carefully and silently lowered into the calm waters of the lake and the men hastened to the shore. Annubis could be seen floundering, moving erratically and splashing far from shore. He became still and seemed to lay twitching on the surface.

  Without warning the huge mouth, wide open broke through the surface. The hippopotamus enraged by the intrusion into its territory attacked the half dying man. Almost majestically its jaws snapped shut around the body and ground down on it. The body exploded in mass of raw meat and blood. The hippo opened its mouth wide a second time before the crushing power of its jaws cut the body almost in half. It sank slowly down into the lake.

  All was calm. The assembled group watched as the surface bubbled and the air trapped in the body forced bits of it to bob to the surface. They Sun set as the crushed and mangled remains of Annubis finally sank from view.

  Chapter 39

  Elaine, the head of MI5, sat looking out from the window. It was a very overcast day, grey with clouds that hung low casting a deep shadow across the landscape. Never had she known such bleak times. She wore a black suit and black shoes. For once her foot wear held no pleasure for her. This was the second day in a row she was dressed in black. Yesterday she had buried her deputy Jeff Stiles, today she would attend the funeral of Jacqueline Burr.

  She looked over at her husband, wheelchair bound now. She remembered them as a young couple full of hope but ten years ago. The disease had taken hold and day on day his condition worsened. His full time nurse entered the room and cleaned the saliva from around his mouth and changed the wet bib that was now a constant feature of what remained of his life.

  MI5 was now all to her. She felt like she was doing some good and that mostly she had a purpose. Today and yesterday she was not so sure that she did have a purpose. She took a deep breath and checked her watch. Her son would be here soon. He was always on time.

  Her son, her only child would drive her to Jackie’s funeral. She had done all in her power and using the CD passports, she had expedited the return of Jackie’s and Stiles’ bodies to the UK. It was not much but it was something.

  Stile’s funeral had been hard to bear. His widow and his bemused two year old daughter had just stood in shocked silence as the coffin was lowered into the ground. Tim had stood alone. He had no words of consolation for the grieving widow. He was himself so cloaked in grief that he had no sympathy to offer and was incapable of receiving any consolation either. Neither could afford the other any solace. The tragedy of it was too much for the human heart to comprehend.

  Today the whole pantomime would be replayed. Nothing could be done to bring comfort to those that survived.

  The doorbell rang and Elaine picked up her handbag, kissed her husband in the forehead and made her way to her son’s waiting Bentley. He had put to good use the expensive private education and used his contacts and talent to become exceedingly wealthy. He was dressed in a Saville Row tailored sombre suit and wore a back tie. He looked the part of the successful millionaire businessman he was. Elaine felt a justified Motherly pride as he opened the door to the rear of the car. She sat in the back as he played chauffeur to her in the front. They pulled away and the two special branch officers, who acted as her security, followed behind in the high powered BMW.

  Tim felt sick to the pit of his stomach as he sat alone in the Daimler following the hearse. Jackie’s Mother, Father and Daniel were in taxi behind. Her Father was in a wheelchair and the only way to transport him had been the use of the black cab fitted with a disabled access ramp. There had been little conversation between them on his return and Daniel had refused to engage with him at all. So he sat alone on his way to bury his wife.

  The progress was slow and he felt claustrophobic in the rear of the oversized car. The walls of the vehicle seemed to be pressing down on him and sucking the air from him. He knew he
was in shock but that did not help in anyway to prevent his brain giving him a panic attack. He just kept replaying the same morning in Crete. Why had he gone alone to shop for breakfast? They could easily have found a place to eat breakfast. She would not have been there and the killer would merely have broken in and taken the file. They would be alive now. So many permutations kept going through his head. That one decision to leave his wife sat on the terrace had resulted in this outcome. Two people dead and two orphaned children.

  They reached Finchley Crematorium and turned into the sweeping drive leading to the Chapel. The car pulled up and he sat numbed in the car. The driver had to rouse him. His legs were like lead as he stepped from the car. He was aware of the mourners, Jackie’s Mother crying, her Dad crying and the small forlorn figure of Daniel grasping at his grandmother’s hand desperately, as though she might also be snatched from him.

  The coffin was lifted from the hearse and shouldered by the hired bearers. He followed the slow moving procession and watched, dazed as the coffin was placed on the trestle in the middle of the raised dais.

  After that it all became words, a hymn, a reading. His eulogy was just words, words that conveyed nothing. He felt nothing of the woman he loved. It was futile and totally failed to give comfort. It merely increased his sense of loss and isolation.

  Finally the coffin disappeared behind the curtains on the conveyor that would incinerate her body. Now only memories would remain, so few memories, but such precious ones that they would have to sustain him for a lifetime.

  He walked out into the damp, grey afternoon air. The World seemed to reflect his mood and became a darker, colder lonelier place. He walked to Daniel and extended his arms to pull him close. At least one small part of her lived, a tangible part that he could still hold and comfort.