On the Hunt

by Kerry J Donovan

  He understood? Őrült understood the curse? Viktor needed to hold his Hungarian tongue, at least until he had Lajos back and the Englishman in chains at his feet.

  “I am sorry. It not happen again,” Viktor mumbled, almost choking on the words.

  “Okay, I’ll let it pass this time.” Steel edged Őrült’s voice.

  “Where you want money?”

  “Down to business are we? That’s better. Are you familiar with the abandoned Gorski Warehouse near Dunaszeg?”

  Viktor paused for a moment to think.

  “Igen, yes.”

  “Good. You know what a dumpster is? A rubbish skip?”

  Viktor ground his teeth. Őrült spoke to him as though he were a simpleton. Of course he knew the word “dumpster”.

  “It is metal szemeteskukák!”

  “Yes, that’s right. Rubbish bins. Be there in ninety minutes. Midnight. Bring my money, in person. Drop the bags by the middle one of three yellow skips on the western side of the car park where I’ll place a sign. Open both bags and hold up some of the money so I can see it. Come alone.”

  No. That would not work. Wendt would be in no condition to drive after drinking in his courage.

  “Not possible,” Viktor said, thinking fast. “I not drive. Need driver. Okay?”

  Viktor held his breath. Everything depended on Őrült agreeing to this one little change in his plan.

  Another pause.

  “Okay, just you and your driver. I see anyone else, I disappear and Lajos dies.”

  “I give you money. You give me Lajos right away. That is deal, yes?”

  “No, not quite. I’ll collect the cash and count it. Make sure it’s all there. Then, I’ll phone to let you know where to collect your boy.”

  “You not trust Viktor?”

  Őrült laughed. “Trust you? Don’t be stupid. I trust no one.”

  “Lajos for cash, you said. Why I believe you?”

  The mocking laugh died away and became a sigh. “What alternative do you have? Now you only have eighty-eight minutes. See you soon, Viktor.”

  The telephone line clicked and the dialling tone burred. Viktor turned to Andris, who had replaced his handset. A frown wrinkled his dark face.

  “You know what to do Andris, my friend?”

  “Yes, főnök. Wendt is waiting in the kitchen, fortifying himself with wine.”

  “Is he drunk?”

  “Not so much that he cannot walk, főnök. I thought it best to allow him a glass or two to find his courage, as usual. The warehouse is less than twenty minutes away. I have plenty of time to get him ready.”

  “Good. Even though it may be his final appearance, he must play his role well.” Viktor nodded and turned to his other favoured man. “Balint, you will go now. Take three of your best men. That whole area is deserted most of the time. Deploy your men around the perimeter. They are good with rifles, yes?

  “The very best, főnök.”

  “Good. Kill anything that moves.”

  “Anything, főnök? You do not want us to identify the target first?”

  “No, kill anyone you find in the warehouse complex.”

  “But Lajos might be—”

  “You did not hear the őrült, Balint? He is keeping Lajos in another place. The Englishman will not have Lajos close for fear of him being taken and of losing his ace in the hole. And if Lajos does fall into the firing line, so be it. The English őrült killed Vadik, and he has insulted the family honour. He must die.”

  Balint dipped his head in acceptance of the instructions. He would obey. Balint always obeyed. It was how he had survived so long in the family although they shared no blood.

  “Go now. Move swiftly and silently. And keep me fully informed.”

  The two trusted men hurried from the room.

  Slowly, thoughtfully, Viktor crossed to his favourite window. The double row of floodlights illuminated the grounds, his grounds, and dispelled the black of the night.

  How had it come to this? Vadik had been despatched to the afterlife, and Lajos, crippled and held hostage for money, would likely follow him soon.

  Viktor should never have listened to the madcap proposal Vadik developed. He made it sound so simple, so profitable. Yet, the English adventure had ended as a total disaster for the family. He personally, the Giant of Győr, had lost so much face, it might take years to recover.

  Fifteen million euros! A mere drop in the ocean for the family finances, but what the ransom represented—weakness—meant so much more.

  Damn the English őrült. Damn him to the fires of Hell.

  For half a forint, he would lead the assault personally. Yes, he would take Őrült and drive him into the fiery pits of Hell.

  Oh how Viktor would love to have Őrült before him, begging for mercy. It would restore his credibility. It would restore the majesty of the Giant of Győr. But gone were the days when Viktor could leave the compound with impunity. Too many people knew what he looked like. The family members of too many victims wished him harm, and his delicately balanced arrangement with the authorities—paid for in euros and in violent coercion—would not stand if the police saw him walking the land. It was for that very reason he had allowed his sons to take the lead in England. And the result had been catastrophic.

  Viktor reached for the pálinka bottle and a glass and poured a full measure. One of the servants had replaced all the smashed tumblers without hi noticing. He glanced down at the plush new carpet. A replacement for the bloodied rug. The room had been restored to its former glory. Now, he needed to restore the balance of power.

  Guards patrolling the grounds cut dark holes in the floodlights. A show of strength, demonstrating the impregnability of his compound. Viktor drew strength from his lofty position, the master of all he surveyed.

  He knocked back half the glass of pálinka and allowed himself a satisfied smile.

  A wind blew through the trees running along the high walls and casting their shadows over the lawns. It bent branches and made the leaves dance. It would be cold at the Gorski Warehouse. Cold and dark. The perfect place for Balint to set up his ambush. The cold would not matter long to Őrült. He would find plenty of warmth awaiting him in Hell.

  Chapter Thirty

  Sunday 7th May – Overnight

  Gorski Warehouse, Near Dunaszeg, Hungary

  Kaine peeled back his sleeve and pressed the button to illuminate the dial of his wristwatch. 22:47.

  Any time now.

  He’d been lying in the same prone position for seven hours straight. Long enough to memorise the terrain, and to confirm the sightlines and the distances to all the potential targets—especially the prime one.

  Kaine’s chosen spot couldn’t have suited his requirements any better. He held the highest ground in the area—the flat roof of a six-storey warehouse—with a commanding, three-sixty-degree view of the surrounding terrain. He could see anyone approaching for kilometres around without having to stand or crane his neck too much.

  Plastic bags tied at irregular intervals to the rusted and broken chain link fence surrounding the disused industrial zone—tied by Rollo during his original scouting mission—had been fluttering all day. The bags showed him the strength and direction of the wind and allowed him to adjust the sights on his ’scope accordingly.

  After the sun had set fully, a largely clear sky provided enough starlight to make the view through his night vision binoculars almost as clear as day.

  Since sunset, the intermittent wind speed had increased to an average of around fifteen kph, occasionally gusting to twenty. It made the six-hundred-and-twenty-metre shot slightly more difficult than it would have been on a dead calm day, but well within his operating parameters. To hit the cola can under these conditions might take more than one shot, but the sound and flash suppressor on his AXMC would make it difficult for the opposition to locate his sniper’s nest quickly. It would give him enough time for two or three shots. Probably more than he needed.

&n
bsp; He peered through the rifle’s night ’scope and confirmed his target for the thousandth time that evening. The cola can showed monochrome at the foot of a yellow skip that hadn’t been emptied since the warehouse closed down. Black bin liners, stuffed and torn, spewed their rubbish in piles to be picked over by the local wildlife—dogs, cats, and rats. The perfect place for the Pataki family to drop the money to ransom a piece of filth like Lajos.

  Much earlier that day, Kaine had taped a white sign with a black, downward-pointing arrow to the side of the middle skip. The arrow pointed to a cleared area of concrete at the base of the skip, some three feet to the right of the carefully positioned cola can.

  Whoever placed the bag of cash at the foot of the skip would have a foul-smelling surprise in store. According to Kaine’s intel, it wouldn’t be Viktor, the Giant of Győr. Lajos Pataki’s Papa hadn’t left the safety of the Pataki Compound for over five years. Not since a particularly brutal run-in with a rival family who’d tried to muscle in on one of the Pataki family’s smuggling businesses.

  Blood had flowed through the streets of a village to the east of Győr, and many lives had been lost—some of them innocent civilians. Shortly thereafter, Viktor Pataki had reached an unofficial and highly illegal “accommodation” with the local police and the regional authorities. The accommodation had the tacit approval of the Hungarian Government, a notoriously corrupt institution that made the Russians look highly ethical and honest in comparison. The prime reasons the Magyars hadn’t reached the same notoriety on the international stage as the Russians, resulted from the size of the population—less than ten million—and the inherent weakness of the Hungarian economy.

  The deal required Viktor to remain inside the Pataki compound at all times. If he were to set foot outside, he would be liable to face imprisonment for the rest of his days. Lajos said his Papa considered the house arrest an insult and beneath him, but he adhered to the rules just as long as it suited his purposes.

  The conditions of Papa’s velvet incarceration were far from the only information Kaine had garnered from Lajos, who had been ever so forthcoming under Kaine’s gentle persuasion. It hadn’t taken much to prise the injured man’s tongue from the roof of his mouth. A threat to remove his remaining hand with a rusty hacksaw had done the trick.

  Kaine had found the hacksaw hanging in the garage and had ordered Lara from the bedroom. He didn’t want her to see him in his role as torturer, but needn’t have worried. Simply resting the blade on Lajos’ remaining wrist made the wretch dissolve into a babbling, screaming, pleading mess. A mess desperate to tell him everything he wanted to know—and more.

  Lajos took Kaine through the Pataki Compound’s layout and its fortifications. He almost boasted about the near-impregnable fortress in the middle of a valley so wide and open it would take an army to approach with all the equipment necessary to storm the place.

  Yes. Lajos Pataki had been ever so helpful, and his information had come in rather handy. With it, Kaine had developed a comprehensive two-part plan. The first part of which—the initial drop and sting—was currently in play. Kaine would launch part two a little later.

  A distant white light flickered on his retina.

  To the northeast, the direction of Győr, car headlights flared, dipped, and bobbed on an uneven surface. At less than two kilometres away and with the car closing fast, the lights snapped off, plunging the area into darkness once again. The driver had extinguished the headlights on a stretch of open road in the middle of nowhere.

  Kaine exhaled.

  Here they come.

  Showing lights in the gloom was a stupid move almost calculated to draw his attention. He trained the night glasses on the area. The driver had parked a big SUV—which stood out grey under the high-resolution night optics—on a grass verge at the side of the service road leading to the industrial estate. All four doors opened and the SUV disgorged four men, their silhouettes bulked out by full military body armour. Three wore helmets, and all carried weapons. He couldn’t be certain, but their outlines looked like AK-15 assault rifles. Russian made and, in the right hands, lethal.

  Kaine bared his teeth in a vicious smile.

  Bring it on!

  Viktor Pataki was playing dirty. A four-man assault team was hardly a “keeping to the rules” approach to ransom negotiations. Maybe Lajos was as expendable as he’d claimed, as far as Papa was concerned.

  Kaine adjusted the focus on his night glasses and studied the interlopers.

  A huge, gorilla of a man led the four-man team along the service road. At the main gates, some two hundred metres distant, they stopped, and Gorilla spoke briefly and quietly. Seconds later, the column crept through the open gates and split into two teams of two.

  The first pair turned north, hugged the inside of the fence, and made their way to the rear of the loading bay and the car park. Eventually, the two split up. One man dropped into hiding behind a bush, lying prone, facing the courtyard. He shouldered his weapon, taking careful aim at Kaine’s primary target—the central skip. The man’s AK-15 sported a bipod stand and a night vision ’scope as large as the one on Kaine’s Accuracy. A sniper.

  The second man crawled a further forty metres and took up a similar position at the side of a single-storey building, directly opposite Kaine’s position. Both men lay within one hundred and fifty metres of their target and had easy kill shots at anyone collecting the ransom money.

  Sneaky little ratbags.

  Kaine marked their positions on the internal map in his head and turned his attention on the other pair.

  Led by Gorilla, the second team waited at the gates until their mates were in position before heading straight for the main building, where Kaine hid.

  Kaine wriggled back and away from the Accuracy. He left it on its bipod stand, hidden under the camo tarp, primed and ready for action, and crawled to the far side of the roof.

  A waxing gibbous moon peeked out from behind a bar of dark clouds, making the night vision glasses redundant. Kaine popped his head over the roof’s edge.

  On the ground below, Gorilla and his much smaller buddy reached the metal fire escape bolted to the outside of the wall, the one Kaine had used to scale the building that afternoon.

  While Gorilla and his AK-15 shuffled around to the corner of the building, presumably to find a good vantage point for the ambush, Buddy started climbing. The fire escape creaked and groaned under his weight. It hadn’t complained anywhere near as loudly when Kaine used it. Buddy must have weighed more than Kaine, much more. He couldn’t have been that small, but standing next to Gorilla, he’d looked closer in size to Lajos.

  With little time to consider his options, Kaine squirmed away from the roof’s edge and crawled closer to the head of the fire escape. One thing in his favour, the four interlopers didn’t seem to be wearing night vision glasses or comms gear. None had spoken since forming a group at the gates. Such a weakness, he could exploit.

  As Buddy approached the halfway point, breathing hard, the metalwork pinged and scraped against the brickwork. The up and over handrails trembled and shuddered under the heavy load.

  Kaine pulled the hunting knife from the sheath strapped to his calf. Once Buddy’s eyes broke the line of the roof, he’d be able to spot Kaine’s sniper’s nest. Despite the grey tarp covering the Accuracy, Buddy had to recognise it for what it was and call a warning down to Gorilla.

  To take out all four men clean and fast, Kaine needed surprise and more than a little luck. Although slicing Buddy’s throat would keep him from screaming out, Kaine’s timing had to be perfect. He couldn’t strike until, in death, Buddy’s bodyweight pulled him forwards onto the roof, rather than throw him backwards into the air to land in a bloody mess at Gorilla’s feet.

  Knife drawn, Kaine waited.

  Buddy’s heavy breathing grew louder, his battle gear and the rifle strapped to his back taking its toll on a man unused to climbing ladders while wearing such a load—around thirty kilos, including the w
eapon. The task looked easy enough in the movies, but climbing in full body armour took training—continuous training—and lots of it. Two-thirds of the way up the climb, at the middle of the fifth floor, Buddy stopped for a much needed breather. A deep voice hissing up from below and Buddy’s breathless response confirmed a number of things. Gorilla was in command, impatient, and under the impression that he and his men were alone. He probably suspected that they’d beaten the kidnappers to the draw. Finally, and much more importantly, the shouted call and response confirmed they weren’t in radio contact.

  Amateurs.

  Not the time to relax, though. Under the correct circumstances, even amateurs could get lucky.

  Kaine almost felt pity for ending the life of such an underprepared man, but the memory of Danny’s final breaths drove the sympathy away. All that remained was cold, hard anger.

  Under Gorilla’s “gentle” encouragement, Buddy started climbing again. Twenty-three rungs later, his shaggy hair broke the roofline, head lowered, mouth open, sucking in great gasps of the chill night air. He continued climbing, hands sliding up the curved rails, paying no attention to his surroundings, concentrating on his footing on the slippery treads.

  Kaine needn’t have worried about Buddy spotting the Accuracy under its camouflage tarp. The man wouldn’t have noticed a troop of scantily clad cheerleaders dancing to The Star-Spangled Banner. He was plainly terrified of heights.

  Buddy placed one foot on the creosote-covered roof and levered himself between the handrails, grunting heavily from the effort. Once his second foot planted onto the flat surface, he took two paces forwards, clapped his hands to his knees, and drew in some more ragged breaths.

  Kaine crouched in the deep shadows, awaiting his moment.

  Gorilla called again from below. Buddy turned and grabbed the handrail before leaning over the edge, his face deathly pale in the moonlight.

  Kaine smirked. Gorilla had sent a man with vertigo up a corroded ladder to the rooftop of a six-storey building. These fools deserved everything coming to them.