by Arno Joubert
“So did I, dad. What’s that supposed to mean?”
“He killed a man in front of me, saved my life. He never extracted any enjoyment from the act, was upset for days.” He took Alexa’s shoulders, giving her a light shake. “Look at the body, Alexa. Someone went to work on her, a sadistic killer.”
Alexa frowned.
“Bis Latorre may have been many things, but he sure as hell wasn’t a sadist.”
CHAPTER NINE
Yesterday
Neil jogged along the pathway into the forest, heading back to the refinery, hellbent on finding Alexa. The sun was low on the horizon, casting long shadows among the trees as he peered through the foliage, trying to discern any movement between the buildings. Fitch’s brown Lincoln had been hastily parked at an angle in front of the refinery, the passenger door still open. Neil scanned the open fairway of the golf course and beyond, then the rooftops and the guard towers. The place was deserted, except for a solitary guard in one of the towers to his left. He heard no other sounds, the forest eerily quiet.
Neil shifted uncomfortably on his haunches. This could be a trap. He pursed his lips and made up his mind.
He would wait for the cover of darkness. He would be of no use to Alexa if he was shot or killed now. He leaned back against a tree and removed an energy bar and a bottle of water from his pack. He sat chewing and chasing the insoluble pieces of gunk with sips of water, then noticed a puff of smoke billow from the guard tower as the man inside lit a cigarette. A fine mist was steadily rolling in from the river, clinging to his hair and eyebrows, then trickling down his face in rivulets as he waited in silence. Twice he had to stop himself from making a wild dash for the refinery to embark on a frantic search for Alexa. He shook his head, trying to allay the drowsiness that was seeping into his body. He had to stay alive, for her sake, think clearly and stay focused.
Two hours later, he slipped on his backpack and decided to make his move. The mist now hung like a thick blanket above the green grass of the golf course, and a hazy moon had risen to a quarter of its ultimate trajectory into the starless evening sky. He wiped his face dry with his hand, then stealthily made his way across the fairway, toward the opening in the fence. He now realized why the golf course had been so strategically placed in front of the complex; it allowed the guards a bird’s eye-view of the surrounding area.
Neil heard the soft hiss of a two-way radio close by, then the clipped tones of a muted voice. A guard had been placed by the hole in the fence. He prayed that the man didn’t have a dog with him. He thought not, the animal would have caught his scent long ago. He creeped quietly to where he thought the voice had come from, then saw the man a couple of yards ahead, shrouded in mist, his back to Neil. He bolted forward and the guard struggled as Neil clamped a hand over his mouth and slipped the knife between his ribs, thrusting the blade and turning it as he jerked the guard’s head to the side until he heard the familiar crack of cartilage. He stood quiet for a second or two, listening, then gently lowered the dead man to the ground.
He squatted next to the body for a minute, trying to discern any shapes or sounds in the fog around him. Satisfied, he pushed through both fences and sneaked into the refinery. He ran to the back of the metal stairwell, then sprinted to the opposite side of the room, finding cover in a dark corner, trying to catch his breath.
Unsteady footsteps clanged down the metal rungs of the stairwell, and he almost called out when he saw Alexa limp down the stairs and head toward the exit, followed closely by Doctor Ryan, pushing her from behind, glancing nervously over his shoulder as they ran.
She looked like crap. He stood up, ready to jog up to them, but he heard the soft squish of sneakered footsteps on the smooth floor to his left. A tall, uniformed man had taken position behind a fifty gallon oil drum in front of him, clutching a pistol to his chest, oblivious of Neil’s presence.
Neil bolted toward the man as he raised his weapon at Alexa, closing the space between them in less than a second. The guard barely had time to register that he heard a noise from behind him before Neil sunk the blade of his knife deep into his neck, rendering him immobile and mute. The man dropped to the ground and twitched a couple of times, then went limp, his eyes staring up at the ceiling as a drop of blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. Neil grabbed the pistol from the guard’s hand and fumbled through the man’s pockets and along his belt. He found a two-way radio, set to silent, and three magazines of nine millimeter rounds on his belt, which he stashed into his backpack.
He bolted toward the door and peered outside. A man shouted gruffly as Alexa sprinted toward the fence and took him down, leaving him sprawling on the ground, clutching his neck. Three more men rushed around the corner and Neil’s pistol spat as he planted three neat holes between their eyes. His eyes shot up as rifle fire sputtered from one of the guard towers, stitching holes in the ground around Alexa and the Doctor as they ran for cover. He took careful aim and then emptied his magazine on the tower. A guard screamed and tumbled from the tower, landing on the damp soil with a sickening thud. Neil crouched low, listening attentively for any threats.
He spun around as two more guards appeared around the corner and released a guard dog. He barely had time to slap another cartridge into the chamber before the dog leapt toward him. He fired four times as he stumbled backwards, then swung toward the guards, killing both men as he emptied the second cartridge.
Shit, he had one cartridge left. Eleven bullets. He would have to make them count.
He spun around and dashed after Alexa. They were moving slowly, limping along, Alexa running with a wobbly gait, she looked seriously injured. Whoever had got hold of Alexa had worked her over pretty badly, and Neil couldn’t help chastising himself for not going in sooner. But she was still alive and she was making her escape. The radio in his pocket hissed, and he turned the volume control up a notch. “Block her off at the road, Pete and Vick, head North and we’ll herd them through the forest toward you guys,” a metallic voice ordered, and two voices answered, “Affirmative,” in unison.
Neil skidded to a halt, deciding on a course of action. Doors slammed nearby, and a red truck similar to the one they had seen at the accident scene in town sped away, heading toward the boom gates. Neil dashed to the Lincoln and found the keys still in the ignition. Small mercies.
The car cranked and roared to life as Neil pushed in the accelerator, the six-cylinder engine still powerful beneath the hood, despite its age. He gained on the red trucks, then honked, flashing his lights. They slowed down, Neil hoping that they would mistake him for Andy Fitch as he overtook them. He fired four times as Vick or Pete rolled down their window. The truck jerked sharply to the left as the driver slumped sideways, then slammed into a tree, smoke billowing from the crumpled hood and the horn blaring noisily.
Neil flicked the wheel and spun the vehicle around, tires screeching as he headed back to the golf course, plowing over it toward the forest. He saw torchlights beams in the forest waving from side-to-side. Neil hoped that they had lost Alexa and the good Doctor somewhere in the dense woodland.
Neil slid the car to a halt at the edge of the forest, jumped out and scampered toward the footpath beside the fence. He cautiously made his way forward, holding the gun in front of him, trying to discern any shapes in the gloomy pathway ahead of him. A dark figure sat crouching in the path, patting a dead dog laying on its side. Neil clicked his fingers.
“What the—?” the man grunted as he span around. Neil crunched a boot into the man’s face, and the man slumped down beside the animal as Neil pistol-whipped him over the skull.
Neil stood still, listening attentively, controlling his breathing. He heard a commotion in the foliage somewhere to his right, footsteps crunching through dead leaves and branches snapping. He plunged headlong into the forest, following the sound of the noise.
A man in front of him shouted, “Stop,” then fired a shot into the forest ahead of them. Neil’s heart pounded in his chest and he
swallowed, praying that it had missed. He rushed ahead and dispatched two men with bullets to the back of their heads, his pistol-shots reverberating through the forest. He had given up all thoughts of not attracting attention to himself; he had to make sure that Alexa was safe.
He leaped ahead and killed another unsuspecting guard twenty yards ahead; the man had turned around, searching for the location of the shooter behind him. Fury coursed through Neil’s body, he couldn’t believe that these people were hunting Alexa like a dog; as far as he was concerned, they all deserved to die. He scooped up a double-barrel shotgun that lay next to one of the dead guards and bolted forward, hot on the heels of men ahead of him.
The forest opened up, and the men stumbled out in front of him, frantically searching for cover. He fired as he ran, jumping over the body of the fourth man, and firing again as he reached the clearing, taking out two men as they turned around in a desperate final bid to face him.
He glanced up and down the main drag, searching for any signs of movement, listening for any sounds that may give away Alexa’s location. Three hundred yards to the North, Alexa and the doctor stumbled out of the forest. Alexa limping toward the road, then stood hunkered down, holding her hand up, shielding her face.
Then everything happened in a blur.
A car almost ran her over, and Neil saw someone jump out and dash toward Alexa. Another man ran toward the doctor, supporting him as he dragged him to a Humvee.
A US Military light armored vehicle. The good guys.
They bundled into the Hummer and sped off, Neil running behind them shouting and waving his arms.
“Get her to a doctor,” Neil screamed as the vehicle roared away from him.
Neil plodded through the forest, his arm covering his face to protect him from the backlash of the young spruces and green saplings. He slowed his pace and listened closely for any peculiar sounds, then stopped when he heard a low guttural growl close by. He scanned the area, trying to distinguish shapes and forms from the darkness that surrounded him. He decided that the risk of being found would be less than walking blindly into a trap and dug out a flashlight from his backpack. He crouched, then slowly panned the light to his left and right. The luminous reflection of a pair of yellow orbs in front of him caught his attention, and he pointed the beam straight at the cat.
It was a haggard looking Ocelot, it had a blue collar with a name tag around its neck. Its hair stood up at scruffy angles, the coat patchy and unkempt, as if it had been in a fight. It snarled again and leapt toward Neil, and he had to dodge as the animal swiped at him with a front paw. Neil pointed the gun, ready to fire.
The cat growled and hunkered back, then looked around, seemingly confused. It hissed a final time, a white, stringy liquid oozing from the corner of its mouth, then turned around and trotted stealthily away.
He holstered the weapon and jogged toward where he had parked Fitch’s classic sedan, shining the light in front of him. He made rapid progress, and was back at the Lincoln in less than a minute. He cranked the engine and tore wide gaping skid marks into the soft grassy earth as he headed back to the refinery. He had a playdate with Andy Fitch.
Neil glanced down at the seat as the two-way radio crackled. “Pete, Vick? You guys out there?”
It was Fitch. Neil frowned, then cupped his hand over the radio and spoke from the corner of his mouth, “Yes boss?”
“Where are you guys?”
“Uhm, in the forest, following the girl.”
“You get that bitch, you hear me?” Fitch shouted, panic in his voice. “It looks like a damn war zone down here.”
“Affirmative, boss,” Neil answered, glowering at the radio.
“I’m heading off to the ranch, you bring me the bitch when you find her,” he said and hesitated. “Where’s my damn car?”
“They used it to escape into the forest, boss. But they’re on foot now.”
Fitch grunted, then answered in an irritated voice. “Okay, I’ll take the truck.”
“Okay, boss.”
Neil slowed down and dimmed the lights, parking beside the neatly clipped hedge next to the road. A minute later the red truck roared past, heading for the exit. It slowed down slightly as Fitch probably ogled the damage caused by the crashed truck against the tree, then accelerated away loudly. Neil spun away and veered through the hedge, leaving a trail of broken branches and flittering foliage in his wake. He bumped off the sidewalk onto the blacktop, then allowed Fitch to build up a reasonable gap between them before tailing him discreetly, following him to the ranch.
He leaned back in the seat, feeling tired and excited at the same time. It had been an exhilarating evening, and he knew that Alexa would get the best medical treatment now that backup was in town. But he also knew that his job wasn’t yet complete. Anderson Fitch had to pay for what he had done.
Neil cut the engine as he approached the ranch, then rolled the Lincoln down a ditch on the right-hand side of the road. He jogged across the blacktop and scrambled over one of the entry gates which read ‘No Entry’.
The sun was starting to color the horizon a soft pink as Neil bolted through the short grassy fields toward a canopy of trees two hundred yards away. A cow lifted her head and glanced up at Neil, then shifted a couple of feet and continued grazing lazily, her tail flicking from side to side.
Neil crouched at the edge of the clump of trees, catching his breath and inspecting his surroundings. His joints cramped painfully as the cold morning air seeped through his T-shirt, reminding him why he loved a warm bath or shower so much. With Alexa.
After all of this was over, he was going to take a long and lazy holiday on a beach somewhere, sipping cocktails and indulging in some carnal fornication with the woman he loved. He wondered if she felt the same. He stood up and stretched, rolling his shoulders, some days, it felt difficult to keep up with her.
He heard the soft gurgling flow of water close by and walked past the trees to the edge of the river. It was much wider here; the muddy stream meandering slowly to the South. He pulled his binoculars from his backpack and scanned the banks.
Upriver, he saw a jetty with a twin-motored speedboat tied to it. The jetty led up to a wooden staircase, then onto a deck and finally to a large cabin on the grassy slopes. A man stood in front of the cabin, and Neil immediately recognized the distinctive gait of a soldier as he patrolled the area.
Neil waited for fifteen minutes, trying to ascertain whether there were any other soldiers around. The sentinel made a trip around the cabin every four minutes or so, but no-one else appeared. The man seemed alert, stopping and surveying the surroundings regularly, then continuing his march-around.
Neil trundled down the grassy slope toward the river, then jogged along the edge of the bank toward the jetty. He pulled himself onto the platform, glanced around and crawled to the edge and snuck onto the boat. The keys were still in the ignition and the outboard motors were trimmed down, ready to be used. Small mercies. He hoped the engines would start at the first crank.
He turned the key and the engines roared into life. He slammed the throttle-lever forward and bounced back onto the jetty, almost losing his balance as the boat surged forward. He watched it hurtle toward the far side of the riverbank, then hunkered down beneath the stairway.
Neil heard the distinctive bang of heavy footsteps on the wooden walkway as the guard came rushing down the stairs toward the jetty. He peered over his shoulder and caught a glimpse of the boat exit the water and bounce up the opposite riverbank, its propellor gouging a hole into the sand and the engine whining as the boat hurtled onto shore where boats were not supposed to go. The guard leapt down the final steps, landing with a thud, mouth agape as he watched the boat lilt to its side and come to a screaming halt, engines roaring and billowing white smoke in protest.
He turned around slowly as Neil stood up behind him and tapped him on the shoulder, a surprised look on his face as realization dawned that he had been set up. Neil connected him with a soli
d knee in the stomach and chopped his elbow down on the man’s neck as he doubled over. He finished him off with a kick to the face, then rolled him over onto his back with his foot. The guy was out stone-cold, front teeth missing.
Neil stood for a moment, listening, alert. His senses had been primed by another spurt of adrenaline, and he jogged up the steps toward the expansive deck in front of the cabin. The sliding doors stood open, and Neil slipped inside.
The place felt large and airy inside and was almost bare but for a comfortable leather sofa and a whitewashed dining room set. A watercolor painting hung on a wall, and Neil recognized the framed Wassily Kandinsky immediately. He examined the abstract painting; his mother used to buy etches of everything she thought was pretty, and this exact one had hung in their living room when he was a kid. Except for the fact that this was an original. It must have been worth a couple of thousand, at least. He slid the painting to the side, looking for a hidden safe, but there was nothing.
He ambled through the cabin and noticed some photos on a mantelpiece above the fireplace. He was surprised to see a very younger-looking Patsy, the waitress at the diner, standing behind a young, blond, teenaged boy, probably fourteen years old. Andy Fitch stood next to her, an arm slipped around her waist, a hand resting on the boy’s shoulder. Next to them stood Doctor Ryan with a grin on his face. Fitch had a thin smile on his lips and he was winking as the photo was taken.
Another photo showed Fitch, Harvey, Ryan and a bunch of other men he didn’t recognize look up from a table, their glasses raised in the air in a cheer. It was recently taken.
The rest were of Ryan, holding a large fish in his arms or posing next to a buck that he had probably shot somewhere in Africa. Neil scanned the room; it was functional but understated, exactly like Doctor Ryan was, Neil guessed.
He inspected the bedroom and rummaged through the drawers but found nothing that interested him. He exited the cottage, then removed his binoculars and looked up the gently sloping hill. Fitch’s palace sprawled forcefully at the crest of the hill, and men in dark uniforms scuttled across the lawn, dumping reams of what looked like computer printouts and cardboard boxes on the grass.
