The Outsider (James Bishop 4)

by Dean, Jason

  SEVENTY-EIGHT

  Bishop was very conscious of the arsenal aimed at the back of his head, but he kept his pace deliberately steady and casual like it was just another day at the office. As though this kind of thing happened all the time. Be damned if he’d give Callaway the satisfaction.

  He finally reached the large triangular gap in the front wall he’d exited by, and stepped through and immediately took cover behind a still-complete section of the wall. He waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness of the room.

  ‘Is Barn okay?’ Strickland asked from somewhere in front of him.

  ‘He’s fine,’ Bishop said. ‘Shivering a little from the cold, but that’s all. Fortunately, we came prepared.’

  As his eyes adjusted, Bishop saw Strickland was only a few feet away, standing by the stone pillar Bishop had been standing next to before. In his left hand he held the small flight jacket that Nelson had brought along with him. It was Barney’s size, or close to it.

  ‘It’s time,’ Bishop said. ‘Are you ready?’

  Strickland exhaled loudly. ‘As I’ll ever be. It’s weird. I feel pretty calm now, not jittery at all. It’s like my whole life’s been leading up to this moment, you know?’

  ‘I can understand that.’ In a slightly louder voice, he said, ‘Nels?’

  ‘Right here,’ another voice said above them. Bishop glanced up at the huge ragged hole in the ceiling and saw Nelson’s face peering down at them. He was dressed all in black, with a black beanie covering the top half of his head.

  ‘Perfect shot,’ Bishop said. ‘I couldn’t have asked for a better demonstration.’

  Nelson smiled. ‘Nice to know I still got it. What next?’

  ‘Just stay in position and be ready to move fast when the time comes.’

  ‘I’ll be ready,’ Nelson said, and immediately disappeared from view.

  ‘Okay,’ Bishop said, turning back to Strickland, ‘this is what’ll happen. You and Barney will walk towards each other then continue on until you reach your respective goals. Now when you meet in the middle I realize you’ll each have things to say to each other, but try and keep it as short as you can. I know it’ll be hard, but the sooner we can get Barney out of the danger zone, the better.’

  ‘I’ll try.’

  ‘Also, emphasize to Barney how important it is that he keep walking at the same pace. As he gets closer to me his natural inclination will be to speed up, and the last thing we want is Callaway panicking and putting one in his back. Slow and steady at all times.’

  ‘I’ll convince him.’

  ‘I know you will.’ Bishop paused. ‘Well, that’s it. I can’t think of anything else.’

  ‘Me either.’

  Bishop studied Strickland for a few moments, then extended his right hand. He hadn’t planned to. It just happened. And it felt right after everything they’d both been through. Strickland looked down at the hand for a second, then clasped it in his own. They shook once. Bishop gave a single nod of respect, and Strickland nodded back, smiling a little. They each released their grip at the same time.

  Further talk was unnecessary. They each knew what had to be done.

  Bishop turned and went over to Nelson’s large gym bag, still lying on the floor a few feet away. He crouched down, unzipped the bag and opened it up. He knew that, in addition to the wealth of extra ammo inside, the bag also contained various useful items such as M67 grenades, M84 flash bangs, a Mossberg 12-gauge pump, night-vision sights, reflex sights, thermal sights, sound suppressors, and more besides. Much more.

  He rifled around inside until he found a matt-black Leupold telescope sight and pulled it out. He knew Nelson would have packed a spare. He always did. Maybe that’s why he and Bishop had always gotten along so well.

  Hope for the best, prepare for the worst. Words to live by.

  Bishop walked back to the triangular gap in the wall and stepped outside again. He checked the Glock was still in his rear waistband where it should be. It was. If things went to hell it wouldn’t be much good at this distance, but it was still better than the shotgun.

  Two hundred feet away, Callaway was standing in the same position, more or less. He was watching the building and talking on his cell, no doubt updating his lord and master on the whole situation. Next to him stood Simons, still with his gun at Barney’s temple. The others had spread out a little, although at least half of them were still using the two vehicles for cover. Bishop raised the rifle sight and panned around. He saw one of the two remaining snipers was using the hood of the SUV to support his rifle, which was currently aimed right at him, but he couldn’t find the other one.

  He pulled the walkie-talkie from his pocket and pressed the transmit button. ‘I don’t see sniper number two.’

  There was an electronic beep, and Nelson’s voice came back, ‘He’s there. I saw him position himself under the sedan earlier.’

  Bishop repositioned the scope until he was looking at the car’s underside, but all he saw was darkness. ‘I’ll take your word for it,’ he said. He lowered the walkie-talkie and called out, ‘All right, Strickland, you can come on out.’

  After a few moments, Strickland’s head emerged from the opening and he stepped out of the building. He stood a few inches to Bishop’s right, still holding onto the flight jacket as he stared straight ahead at his boy. Bishop looked down and saw his knuckles were almost white with tension.

  Strickland noticed him noticing and gave an embarrassed shrug. But as far as Bishop was concerned the guy had nothing to be embarrassed about. Nothing at all. He was doing just fine.

  Bishop raised his right arm straight up in the air. A hundred feet away, Callaway turned to Simons and said something before raising his own arm.

  They were ready. Bishop dropped his arm, and Callaway lowered his. Simons removed the gun from the boy’s head and Barney started walking slowly towards them.

  ‘Good luck,’ Bishop said.

  Strickland’s gaze was focused entirely on his son. ‘Goodbye,’ he said, and began walking.

  SEVENTY-NINE

  Bishop kept his eyes on the man’s back as he walked towards his fate. It was a hell of a thing knowing you were heading towards almost certain death, but Strickland was managing to hold it together somehow. He kept his pace slow and deliberate like he’d been told. So did Barney across the way. No doubt he’d been given strict warnings by Callaway not to run under any circumstances. But Barney was a smart kid. He knew what was at stake better than anyone.

  Strickland had covered about twenty feet when the walkie-talkie in Bishop’s hand emitted another electronic beep. Nelson’s voice: ‘He isn’t exactly what I expected.’

  Bishop pressed the transmit button, said. ‘I know what you mean.’

  ‘Man’s got a lot of intestinal fortitude. Rare for a civvy.’

  Bishop said nothing, but Nelson was right. The guy had guts in spades. More than he realized. The seconds ticked by as Strickland and Barney continued walking towards each other, each keeping to the same regular pace. Bishop felt his heart beating with each step they took, while overshadowing everything was the constant, pulsating sound of heavy machinery at work in the far distance. He saw Callaway hadn’t moved from his position. None of them over there had moved.

  The gap between father and son had now been reduced to a hundred feet. Less.

  ‘You still think they’ll try a cross?’ Nelson asked over the radio.

  Bishop pressed Transmit and said, ‘I know they will. It’s part of Callaway’s MO. We just have to be ready for it when it comes.’

  ‘I hear you. Just like that gig in Somalia, huh?’

  ‘Christ, I hope not,’ Bishop said. He preferred not to think about that particular episode from his past. Especially not now.

  He raised the scope to his left eye. He estimated Strickland and Barney had each covered about seventy feet now, leaving about fifty feet still between them.

  The seconds ticked away in Bishop’s mind. The gap between them wa
s reduced to forty feet. Thirty. Twenty. Then father and son just decided enough was enough and rushed towards each other, closing the distance in less than a second. As they made contact, Strickland dropped the jacket and wrapped his arms around his son, while Barney clasped his father tightly around the waist. After a few moments, Strickland carefully backed away and pried the boy’s arms away from him as he spoke. Bishop couldn’t hear anything from this distance, but he could see they were both pretty emotional.

  He watched Strickland pick up the jacket he’d dropped and hand it to Barney, still talking to the boy. Barney started crying as he slipped his arms through the sleeves and zipped the jacket up. Then he hugged his old man again, around the chest this time, and Strickland hugged him back. They stood that way for a few moments, then Strickland gently pushed Barney away and held him by the shoulders and spoke to him some more. Barney, no longer crying, just listened while nodding occasionally, sometimes shaking his head.

  Bishop began to wish he’d taken the time to learn how to lip-read, but quickly brushed the thought aside. Whatever they were saying was really none of his business anyway. It was nobody’s business but their own.

  He estimated they’d been together for about sixty seconds already. The conversation continued for a little longer, then Strickland and Barney hugged each other again, the boy burying his face in the man’s chest. Bishop had a feeling this was the final farewell. After about twenty seconds of this, Strickland gently removed the boy’s arms, ruffled his hair, then placed a palm against his cheek. He was trying to smile and not making a very good job of it. He took his hand away. Barney wiped his own eyes with the crook of his arm and watched as his father slowly turned away from him.

  Then, without a backward glance, Strickland began walking towards Callaway at the same pace as before. To Bishop’s dismay, Barney just stood there and watched him go.

  ‘Move,’ Bishop said under his breath, gripping the scope tightly. ‘Come on, move.’

  Finally, after three more painful seconds of inaction, Barney turned in Bishop’s direction and resumed walking. Bishop breathed out again.

  ‘Strickland’s closer to them than the boy is to us,’ Nelson said over the line.

  Bishop pressed Transmit. ‘I know.’

  ‘Unless he slows down he’ll reach them a few seconds before Barney gets to us. Might make all the difference.’

  ‘I know.’

  Pocketing the walkie-talkie, Bishop lowered the scope as the boy continued walking towards him, his eyes now locked onto his. He was still keeping to the same pace as before and Bishop couldn’t very well motion for him to speed up a little. Not yet. He’d only get the wrong idea and start running, which would be the absolute worst thing he could do. He’d just have to wait until Barney was within hearing distance, that’s all.

  Both parties continued walking towards their respective goals. Bishop’s senses were on high alert now. He was waiting for the double cross. Expecting it. He knew it was coming, but from where?

  He estimated the boy was still about fifty feet away when he saw Callaway pull an automatic from a holster under his jacket and aim it at Strickland. He said something Bishop didn’t catch, and Strickland, still walking, raised his arms in the air.

  The hairs at the back of Bishop’s neck stood on end. This was it. The start of whatever little scheme Callaway had in mind. Bishop had known the bastard wouldn’t be satisfied with just having Strickland in his hands. He wanted the boy too. And if he couldn’t have the boy, he’d make sure nobody else could have him either. At this moment Bishop felt worse than helpless. All those guns over there aimed at Barney’s back and he was currently powerless to do anything about it.

  Barney, unaware of what was happening behind him, just kept on walking. He was almost home. Not far now. He closed the distance to forty feet. Then thirty-five feet. Thirty.

  Then it happened.

  Without any kind of warning, Callaway suddenly dropped his shoulders and ran straight for Strickland, who immediately halted mid-step and began lowering his arms.

  Bishop had no choice now. It was on. And Barney was still too far away. Tossing the scope, Bishop grabbed the Glock in his waistband and shouted, ‘Run, Barney! Fast as you can. Don’t think. Run!’

  The boy didn’t even hesitate. He simply lowered his head and began running towards Bishop, arms and legs pumping away in unison. In his peripheral vision, Bishop could see Callaway already had an arm round the struggling Strickland’s neck and was using him as a shield as he dragged him back towards the SUV.

  Bishop heard the crack of a rifle shot, the one sound he didn’t want to hear. And it sounded close. Nelson? Possibly. He didn’t know. All his attention was on Barney, who’d already halved the distance and was still running full pelt towards him. He could actually hear the boy’s rapid breathing as he got closer.

  ‘Keep going,’ Bishop shouted. ‘You’re almost home.’

  Barney was still only ten feet away when there was another shot, and the boy arched his back and his face went slack, all power in his legs suddenly gone.

  Bishop watched in horror as the boy quickly sagged to his knees. The boy had enough time to give Bishop a look of complete astonishment, and then with his arms outstretched he pitched forward, face down, onto the ground.

  Unmoving.

  EIGHTY

  As Bishop raced towards the fallen boy the sounds of distant gunfire started up all around him, but he was barely conscious of it. All that mattered was reaching the boy. Nothing else.

  He covered the distance in no time at all and crouched down and grabbed the collar of the boy’s flight jacket. He noticed the large ragged bullet-hole in the boy’s back, around the lower spine area, but paid it no mind. Get the boy out of the crossfire first, worry about the rest later. Keeping as low as possible, Bishop began dragging the boy along the ground, back to the safety of the building behind them.

  Something ricocheted on the ground a few feet to his right. Bishop ignored it. Then came another to his left, inches from his foot. And another. Stray bullets were whizzing all around them like mosquitoes, but none of them hit Barney. Or Bishop. He wasn’t worried too much about small arms fire, not from two hundred feet away. It was practically impossible to get any kind of accuracy from that distance. Even the sub-machine guns would be useless at that range. The real danger came from the two snipers still left. He was sure it was one of them who’d got Barney.

  Without slowing his pace, Bishop raised the Glock, aimed in the direction of the two vehicles in the distance and fired off a dozen shots. Purely as a distraction. He had no idea if he hit anything.

  Sounds of rifle shots were also coming from above. Nelson was doing his thing up there, laying down what little cover he could. Knocking the enemy down whenever he could. Nelson was a good man. One of the best.

  Bishop kept backing up, dragging the boy with him. Then, before he knew it, he felt the wall of the office building at his back. He turned and saw that beautiful triangular gap was just to his right. Reaching down, he quickly hefted Barney up into his arms and jumped with him through the gap and into the safety of the shadows. He moved a few feet to the left, away from the light, then dropped to his knees and laid Barney gently down onto the ground.

  The boy’s eyes were closed. Bishop unzipped the heavy flight jacket and quickly reached round the boy’s waist and carefully moved his fingers along his lower back. He felt no wetness. No blood. Removing his hand, he turned the boy over and inspected the bullet hole in the jacket. He saw the glint of something metallic and inserted a finger and enlarged the hole.

  Bishop breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of the .223 slug embedded in the thick body armour.

  The bulletproof jacket had done its job perfectly. Nelson had assured him the thirty layers of Gold Flex ballistic fibre sewn into the lining would be enough to stop most high-calibre rounds, and he’d been right as usual. The man knew his equipment.

  Barney was all right. The poor kid would have some l
ower back pain for a while, but that would pass. He was alive, and that’s what counted.

  He turned the boy onto his back again and patted his cheek in an effort to bring him round. Outside, the sounds of gunfire had already died down to almost nothing. Bishop kept on patting the boy’s cheeks until Barney’s eyelids started flickering.

  From upstairs, Nelson shouted, ‘Bishop, give me a sit-rep.’

  ‘We’re both okay,’ he shouted back. ‘What’s happening out there?’

  Barney’s eyes opened at that point, and he looked up at Bishop, blinking rapidly.

  ‘They’re getting ready to take off,’ Nelson shouted back. There was the sharp crack of a rifle shot from upstairs. Then another. ‘Managed to drop some of ’em and I killed the car, but Callaway’s just gotten in the SUV with Strickland. I shot out two tyres on the sucker, but that won’t stop ’em.’

  Bishop turned back to Barney, who was blinking as he took in his surroundings.

  ‘You’re in the old office building,’ Bishop said.

  ‘Yeah, I recognize it,’ Barney said, staring up at the ceiling, or what was left of it. ‘What happened? Something hit me in the back, but I don’t—’

  ‘You got shot,’ Bishop said. ‘The jacket stopped the bullet, though. You’re all right now. You’re safe.’

  Barney just stared at him for a moment, and then his eyes got wide. He shouted, ‘Dad!’ and struggled to get up, wincing at the sudden pain in his back. Bishop quickly got to his own feet and pulled Barney up with him. But before Bishop could stop him, Barney slipped from his grip and ran over to the gap in the wall and looked out. Bishop ran over and grabbed his arm, ready to pull him back out of harm’s way, but paused when he realized nobody was shooting at them.

  Standing next to the boy, Bishop studied the distant scene. There was a small column of smoke rising from the hood of the sedan, so Nelson had clearly made a mess of something in there. He saw three bodies lying on the ground around the car. They weren’t moving. The SUV was, though. Lop-sided from the two flat tyres on the driver’s side, it had just completed a U-turn and was now pointing away from them. Then the vehicle began to slowly move off, making jerky movements each time the wheel rims hit a bump. Further back, the two remaining vehicles were already facing the other way, apparently waiting for the SUV to reach them before taking off.