by Oliver Tidy
Above the sounds of the gentle wash of the sea as it lapped the side of the boat and the ticking over of the outboard, he heard another engine – something tinny, high-pitched – a small two-stroke. He lifted his head. On the land he saw a youth astride a motocross motorcycle. The youth was staring at the beached boat. And then he looked across the water at Acer. Acer looked to see if he could still see the truck. He couldn’t, but he could see its dust trail and he knew what it looked like and that it was dark blue.
He ran the boat in, jumped out, reached into his pocket and brought out the wad of dollars. He waved it at the youth as he closed the gap between them, hoping that he didn’t just flick his wrist and leave.
The youth was more of a boy. He had a mop of curly, unruly hair. He looked poor. That was good. Acer smiled and showed how much money he had. Then he used his body language to indicate the trade he wanted to make. The boy hesitated. Acer waved the money again. He edged forward and flicked through the bills so that the boy could see. From the look of the boy’s face, he was interested.
The boy put out his hand. Acer shook his head and withdrew the money. He gestured the youth towards him. The youth shrugged, put down the foot stand and came on. Acer held out the money and a thought occurred to him. The boy had his hand on the money – a tight grip.
Acer said, ‘Telephone,’ and mimed it.
The boy took a phone from his pocket and handed it over – an old Nokia. He took a chance that it would work, have credit and wasn’t password locked. He had to. He stuffed it into his pocket and let go of the money. He took a pace towards the bike, stopped and turned back to the youth. Acer gestured to the keffiyeh that hung loosely around the lad’s neck. The boy unwound it and threw it across. He wrapped it quickly around his head, straddled the bike, kicked up the stand, and sped away after Zoe and her kidnappers.
***
53
With his head covered and now on two wheels, Acer believed he had a good chance of being dismissed as a non-threat by the men he was following, if he could catch up to them. There was always the chance that the one who had been on the ship would recognise his clothing but to Acer’s mind that was slim and there was nothing to be done about it.
There were boats of every shape and size, age, colour and design hauled up on the sand all along the shore. It was unlikely the truck had pulled in between any of them but he had to look. It slowed him down.
While he searched out signs of the vehicle’s progress he strained his ears to listen to the note of the bike’s engine. He gave it some throttle and it responded adequately. He guessed it was only a one-two-five at best, but in the terrain he was in or in heavy traffic it would come into its own, if the people he was chasing were not in too much of a hurry. If it came to a long open road that would be a different matter. A long pursuit could also be a problem. One-two-fives didn’t have long-range tanks. He could only hope that the youth kept a reasonable amount of fuel in it.
It was his second bike chase in as many months. The first had a life hanging on his ability to keep up and intervene effectively. He knew who he was up against then. He didn’t know who he was up against now, but he knew they were armed and they were prepared to shoot. At least this time his two wheels had an engine between them.
He rounded a bend in the track and saw the dust from the truck’s passing hanging in the hot air. Another couple of turns and it disappeared abruptly; he’d come to the tarmac of the main highway. He looked left and right. Traffic was light but he couldn’t see the truck. He went right, towards the city.
On the flatter surface he was able to open the throttle to its fullest extent. The bike wasn’t particularly quick but he was able to overtake. A kilometre along, he saw them, two vehicles in front of him, cruising comfortably, apparently secure in the knowledge that they’d got away with their prize. An easy job. He thought they’d be smiling. He settled in for the follow.
With them in view he could turn his mind to what he could possibly do to get Zoe back and them both away unharmed. Two men. One, at least, armed with an automatic weapon. Acer had the knife. He also had a phone. And he had the bike. That would do as a weapon if it came to it. A missile. The element of surprise could work in his favour. It had done before in London with professionals who should have known better and reacted faster. If he could keep them in sight until they reached wherever they were going then perhaps he would have a chance to rouse the cavalry and deal with the attention it got them all afterwards.
They were still well out of the city of Suez, hugging the shoreline on the highway. They passed refineries, chemical plants, factories, production operations, massive warehousing facilities and storage depots. Everything one would expect to find in the environment of a thriving and important port city. Everywhere there was evidence of the business of import and export.
A few kilometres on and the outlook changed abruptly. Commercial enterprise gave way to the residential suburbs of the city. The concrete apartment blocks typified every middle-eastern country’s twentieth century suburban building programme he’d ever seen. Featureless concrete boxes in the air. But there was more greenery: trees, parks and apartment block gardens.
Traffic became denser. It got hotter, noisier and dustier. The streets were busy and bustling. People were walking, riding two wheels, hanging about in small clusters. Others hurried about their business. Barrows of goods were pushed and pulled along the road by people and animals.
The unrelenting heat of the middle of the day hammered down on the road, the buildings, the vehicles and the people, and was bounced between them. Again, Acer used the headscarf he’d taken from the youth to wipe at his face. His mouth was dry and he could feel the skin on his face, bare forearms and hands burning with the effects of the sun. He was glad of his sunglasses.
From his place in the steady stream of vehicles he had a good view of the truck. Perhaps over the course of the last few kilometres they had noticed a bike behind them. Other traffic would be a good distraction from his presence.
He maintained a good distance as the truck left the main highway and weaved its way through the ever-narrowing streets. The wasp-like buzzing of his mount echoed along the enclosed spaces. Sometimes he found himself in a channel of shade and it was a welcome relief.
He rounded a corner to see the bright red brake lights of the stationary truck glowing back accusingly. He hit the brakes and pulled in behind a lorry that was being loaded with rubble from a building job.
The cruel doubt hit him that perhaps he’d been following the wrong vehicle. Maybe it was just similar to the one from the beach. Maybe he’d guessed the wrong direction to head from the beach. The driver and passenger stepped out into the street. Neither of them carried a rifle but one of them cradled a blonde-haired child.
The loathing he felt for these people swamped him. He allowed it. He welcomed it like a favourite drug. He made no effort to mop it up with logic, good sense and reason.
He kicked down the stand and left the bike. Keeping the headscarf on, he walked down the middle of the shaded street to the sound of a jackhammer breaking up concrete nearby. It rattled the air and reverberated around the buildings that lined the street. Every extremity tingled with the rush brought on by his intentions. As he walked, he had an idea. Simple, direct, effective. And the element of surprise could make it a good one. He felt empowered with a sense of righteousness. He felt special and strangely untouchable.
***
54
The men had gone through a peeling wooden door at the side of a two-storey building. Like all the others in the narrow quiet street, the structure looked residential. Acer stopped at the truck. There were some loose cobblestones nearby. He picked one up and put it through the passenger window. The noise, that he didn’t care about, was smothered by the passing of a large lorry with a damaged exhaust system. He opened the door and found the weapon behind the seats – an AKM: a variant of the Russian AK-47. It was clean and well oiled. It looked new. He checked the m
agazine, switched it to automatic fire and walked to the door.
He thought about simply shooting it off its hinges. He thought about thumping on it for attention. He looked up and was pleased to see that the front step was hidden from view from the windows above. He removed his sunglasses and tucked them into his shirt breast pocket. He took a step back and levelled a stiff flat kick at the lock. The door flew open and smashed into the wall behind with a loud bang. He went in. An enclosed flight of stairs rose up in front of him. He pointed the rifle at the top step and started to climb. The moment the sole of his shoe had connected with the rotten wood panelling of the door the clock on his precious element of surprise had started ticking.
He was half way up when a voice called out from above him. Acer understood nothing of what was said, but from the intonation he guessed it was a query. He froze and raised the rifle to run his eye down the sights. The barrel was fixed on a point just above the top stair – thigh level for an average man.
The voice called out again. Closer. Louder. Heavy footsteps approached across the wooden flooring directly above him. He flexed his trigger finger and waited. A window to the left of the top of the stairs cast good light on the landing. The man rounded the corner. Acer recognised him as the one who had been standing by the truck, the man who had shot at him.
As the man turned to run, Acer fired a short burst. The noise was deafening in the confined stairwell. The barrel rose a couple of degrees with every round it spewed out. The first few ripped through the man’s legs. The following rounds tore through his stomach and chest, throwing him back against the wall. He slid down it, leaving a wide smear of blood. His eyes were still open. Death had been instantaneous. Acer inhaled the stench of burning oil and gunpowder as it coloured the air and it was like a drug for him – something to add to the cocktail.
He bounded up the remaining treads, stepped over the dead man and went quickly around the turn. He saw the open door at the end of the hallway and rushed towards it. He went through the opening without stopping, the rifle jammed tightly into his shoulder and his finger taking up the slack of the trigger. He was in a small front room. Across the room the second man had Zoe off her feet with an arm across her throat. He held her like a shield in front of him, like a doll. Acer fixed the man’s head in the rifle’s sights. He met the man’s stare and while Acer felt sure his own gaze was confident and unwavering the man was clearly terrified. He could see the man had no weapon. No knife at Zoe’s throat. That was good. If he’d had a firearm Acer fancied he’d have seen it quickly.
Without taking his eyes off the man’s, Acer lowered the weapon and leaned it against the wall. The man’s eyes were wide and he blinked rapidly. Acer took a step towards him. The man shifted his grip on Zoe, pulling her tighter to him. Acer met her familiar wide-eyed engagement. She did not look frightened. She looked angry. Was she angry with him? he wondered.
Resuming eye contact with the man, Acer said, ‘Do you understand English?’
The man gabbled something hurried and incomprehensible.
‘I’ll take that as a no.’ Without taking his eyes from the man’s, he said to Zoe, ‘He doesn’t understand English, Zoe. Do you think that if I count to five you can bite him as hard as you can? One, two, three, four, five.’
Zoe twisted her head and sank her teeth into the man’s forearm. He howled and instinctively raised his free hand to strike her. Acer crossed the divide and was on him before he’d reached the top of his back-lift. In a text book close-quarters disarming move he grabbed the man’s wrist in his left hand, snaked his right hand under the man’s elbow and up to join his own left hand. He then wrenched downwards. A bone snapped. He felt tendons and ligaments tear. It was possible the shoulder had also been dislocated. The man’s knees gave out. He crumpled to the floor screaming in agony and Acer fell on top of him.
The man had released Zoe. She tumbled to the floor and scrambled away on her hands and knees. Acer put his hands around the man’s throat and wrung his neck like he was squeezing the water out of a thick, saturated towel. The man’s eyes bulged. His mouth opened wide but no sound came out, just his tongue. Acer felt the man bucking beneath him, his feet kicking and lashing out, connecting with furniture, sounding his death knell on the floorboards. The man was not big but he was wiry and strong and his movements reflected his desperation. But with only one good arm his attempts to prize Acer’s fingers from his throat were ineffectual.
Acer increased the pressure as he stared into the man’s eyes. He smelled his sweat and his breath and then he felt something give. The desperate thrashing ceased. His tongue lolled. His eyes, like the man’s on the landing, remained open.
Acer was breathing heavily, heaving the air in and out. Rivulets of perspiration ran down his face, his back, his flanks and his chest. He rolled off the dead man and pulled the scarf from his head. He used it to wipe his face and then his hands.
When his senses returned to him, he turned to find Zoe staring rigidly at him from the other side of the room. It was a stare to hang a coat from. She had blood under her bottom lip and it took him a moment to realise it was from the bite.
He’d taken two lives – two more lives – and yet the guilt he felt was for what he’d made her witness. He stared at her for long seconds, unable to know how it would go. And then she ran and flung herself at him. She hit him hard in the chest with her pathetic little body and it knocked some wind out of him. She wrapped her skinny little arms around his neck and squeezed with strength at odds with her appearance. She buried her face in his neck and he felt the hot wet tears mix with his perspiration.
He held her for a few long seconds and then he stood. She clung to him like a new-born monkey might cling to its mother. He kept one arm around her. Seeing the truck’s keys, he bent to pick them up. He took a step towards the exit and heard a vehicle stop quickly in the street below. Doors slammed. He heard male voices. He crossed to the window that overlooked the street. Three men stood by the truck. They were all looking at the broken glass on the ground. Any moment they were going to look up. And then they were going to come in. Acer’s brain sent his body flight messages. But there was something else, too. Something that rooted his attention to them. Something to delay him. Something to cause him great concern and confusion. When he was as sure as he could be, he turned away from the window. His legs were shaking, but it was not from the weight of Zoe or the after-effects of his latest killing spree.
***
55
He strode quickly from the room, turned right away from the stairs and started to run. At the end of the passageway was an unlocked door. It led outside to a short flight of metal stairs. He went through and closed it quietly behind him. He took the fourteen treads in seven strides and they were on the flat roof. He ran to the far side. There was a six-foot gap with a ten-foot drop between his and the next building. On his own it would have been easy – jump and roll. He ran on, Zoe still clinging to his front. He wondered if the men were up the stairs yet, and if they were would they hear his feet going across the roof above them.
The next building was a single step away. He crossed over and thought he heard noises behind him. He dodged behind a large air-conditioning unit. He waited seconds. Nothing. Keeping low, he moved to the door set into a wall at the far side. It, too, was unlocked and the number of cigarette butts on the floor around it explained why. They went through. He closed it behind them. He walked purposefully the length of the passageway in front of them. This was a floor of offices. He passed open doors. People at desks and on phones glanced up but said nothing.
He went down the stairs. The door to the street was unlocked by depressing a button that cut an electrical current. It buzzed briefly at his touch. Just before they went out he draped the headscarf over Zoe’s most distinctive feature, despite knowing that if they were spotted it would be a futile and ultimately-pointless attempt at concealment.
He slipped his sunglasses out of his pocket and put them on.
&nbs
p; ‘Think lucky thoughts, Zoe,’ he said.
He recognised the road he’d come in on. He turned left towards trouble. The bike was where he’d left it, across the street. He stepped into a shaded doorway and eased Zoe down. He knelt in front of her, sharing her eye level.
‘Stay here. I’ll be gone seconds. Have you ever been on the back of a motorbike?’
She shook her head. Progress. He smiled.
‘It’s easy. We might have to go fast. You just hang on to me and keep your feet out. Got that?’
She nodded. She hadn’t taken her eyes off his.
Gently, he took the headscarf from her and wrapped it round his own head. Any advantage.
He took the bike’s keys out of his pocket and started walking.
He didn’t look down the street until he was straddling the bike. Key in. He kicked it over. Nothing. He kicked again, harder. Nothing. He noticed that the construction noise had ceased. The street was quiet. He risked another quick look down the street. Two men came out of the building where he’d left dead bodies. He kicked the engine over. It rattled and whined like a chainsaw. He revved it, engaged first gear and started his turn. One of the men was looking in his direction, staring with great interest. He tilted his head slightly to one side. The man took a step towards him and was reaching beneath his jacket. Acer peeled away in a clatter of tingling noise, flinging little stones and street dirt up behind him.
He pulled up next to Zoe and beckoned to her. She ran across and instead of waiting for her to find her seat behind him, he quickly lifted her onto the tank facing him.
‘Hang on to me,’ he said. ‘Legs and arms.’
Again, she wrapped herself around him and he accelerated quickly away, tensed for the bullet in his back.
