Gorilla shouted again, this time with more force and anger.
Keeping his eyes tight shut, Buddy nodded and called out, “Igen, igen. Jó vagyok!” before jerking his head away from what, to him, must have appeared like the precipice into Hell itself.
Buddy puffed out his cheeks and turned away from Kaine to face the centre of the roof. His head jerked to his left, towards the Accuracy and Kaine’s nest. He stiffened, unshipped his rifle, and brought it up. He sucked in a breath in preparation for shouting.
Knife raised, Kaine leapt up from his hiding spot. He clamped his left hand over Buddy’s mouth and jerked up and back, exposing his throat to the razor-sharp edge of Kaine’s blade.
One cut, left to right, ear to ear. He sliced through tendons, blood vessels, and cartilage.
Blood spurted, steaming in the cold air. It warmed Kaine’s gloved hand and painted his knife dark.
Buddy gurgled, fighting for breath. He dropped the AK-15, and it clattered to the bitumen-covered surface.
Kaine took Buddy’s full weight, holding him tight while the gurgling, kicking, and arm-flailing slowed and weakened. Finally, it stopped.
“That’s for Danny,” he whispered into the dead man’s ear.
Slowly, quietly, Kaine lowered the corpse to the surface and left it lying face-down in the pool of its own steaming blood.
He checked his watch. 23:28. Time was flying. Who next, Gorilla or the snipers?
Gorilla’s insistent call from below made Kaine’s decision for him. He picked up Buddy’s rifle, checked the load, and flipped the selector to “semi”. Time for a calculated gamble. The snipers hiding on the far side of the carpark were more than three hundred metres upwind. He doubted they would hear a single rifle shot.
With the AK-15’s sound suppressor secured and the rifle raised, Kaine strode to the edge of the roof and coughed.
Below, at the corner of the building, the pale oval of a bearded face looked up. It scowled and the mouth opened in preparation to shout.
Kaine aimed and squeezed the trigger once. As usual for an AK-15, it pulled slightly to the left. Gorilla’s right eye doubled in size, and the back of his head exploded. His huge body crumpled and fell in slow motion.
No more Gorilla.
Kaine removed the mag and the bolt, cleared the chamber, and dropped the AK-15 over the edge. It landed, tail-end first, and the wooden butt shattered. No way to treat a decent weapon, but no one else would be able to use it against him—or against anyone else for that matter.
Keeping low, Kaine scurried back to his nest, peeled away the tarp, and dropped into position. He chose his first target—the sniper from the first pair—and slowed his breathing and his heartrate.
Sniper One’s nest stood some one hundred and fifty metres closer than the cola can. Rather than adjust the sights, Kaine used dead reckoning and lined up the four-hundred-metre shot to allow for the wind direction and speed and the slightly reduced elevation.
The first man had set up his shot but, rather than maintain his firing position as any half-decent sniper would have done, he lay stretched out with his head lowered, chin resting on his folded arms. The man was relaxing, maybe even trying to sleep.
Pathetic.
Kaine centred the mil-dot reticle on Sniper One’s ring finger, six centimetres below the crown of his head, to allow for the reduced distance to the target. On the fence above and behind the sniper, one of Rollo’s plastic bags danced and fluttered.
Kaine waited.
The bag’s billowing movements slackened.
Kaine filled and then emptied his lungs to slow his heartrate even further. He took up the trigger’s half-centimetre slack.
The plastic bag stilled.
Smoothly and gently, Kaine squeezed the trigger. The AXMC bucked and cracked as the NATO cartridge exploded into deadly life. The bullet punched a hole through the top of Sniper One’s peaked cap and the muffled retort echoed throughout the courtyard.
Kaine worked the bolt, ejected the empty shell, reloaded a fresh round, and prepared his next shot.
Sniper Two’s head jerked up and turned towards his friend, confusion written clearly on his grizzled face. He shouted something in a stage whisper. Did he think Sniper One had prematurely discharged his weapon?
No matter.
Kaine’s second shot smashed though Sniper Two’s jaw and erupted out the side of his neck. His body slumped and fell still. The man wouldn’t have felt a thing.
Kaine breathed again. The other four men in the abandoned warehouse complex didn’t.
He took no joy in ending their lives, but wouldn’t mourn their deaths either. If the Giant of Győr’s advance team hadn’t been so inept, they might have killed Kaine instead, as was their clear intention. They were in the wrong game and their ending would cause him no lost sleep.
His watch read 23:41.
The cloud bar rolled in front of the moon. Darkness descended once again. Kaine returned the AXMC to its active position and lined up the sights on the primary target. He released the locking nut on the adjustable footrest to drop the muzzle by a couple of degrees. Information from the Sniper Two kill shot made the adjustment necessary. The cola can centred in the reticle once more, and he was good to go.
Breathing slowly and easily, Kaine loosened the stiffness from his neck and shoulders and counted down the minutes.
Chapter Thirty-One
Sunday 7th May – Overnight
Near Győr, Hungary
Another pair of headlights brightened the darkness behind him. Kaine turned onto his side. He followed the brilliant white cones as they drew closer, slowed, and turned onto the access road.
23:54.
Six minutes early.
The Drop Team was keen to spring the trap.
Good luck with that, guys.
Their vehicle passed the first car without slowing and smashed through the part-open gates. An oversized set of bull bars protected the grill and bonnet of a dark Mitsubishi Shogun. The driver pulled to a sideways stop in the middle of the car park. Dust billowed, and the roar of the Shogun’s powerful engine dropped to idle.
Before the SUV’s suspension had stopped bouncing, the front passenger door flew open, and a shortish man with a barrel for a chest and long, dark hair stepped down. The wind whipped strands of hair around his head, partially covering his bearded face. The Shogun’s tailgate rose and the long-haired man turned towards it, stumbling slightly as though infirm—or drunk.
The driver jumped out and joined the first man at the back. Together they heaved a large canvas bag from the rear and carried it towards the drop point, leaving it in exactly the right position, close to the foot of the middle skip.
They repeated the process with two more bags. Fifteen million euros in notes no larger than hundreds would weigh around one hundred and sixty kilos, not easy for one staggering old man to carry. Whoever the man with the long hair was—definitely not Viktor Pataki—needed the driver’s help.
“Viktor” knelt in front of the first bag, and took his time doing it. Either he had bad knees and a dodgy back, or he was feigning the infirmities.
He pulled back the zip, rummaged around, and pulled out a couple of bundles of what certainly looked like banknotes. He raised the bundles over his head, replaced them, and did the same thing with bags two and three. The third time, he split one of the bundles and fanned them out to show whoever was watching that the money was real, not simply stacks of paper.
That’s a surprise.
“Viktor” zipped up the moneybags, said something, and held out his hand for the driver to help him up. When standing, the two men glanced around before hurrying back to the Shogun.
Kaine gave them enough time to reach the car but not enough to climb in. Since their arrival, the wind had dropped to the lightest of zephyrs.
He took his shot.
The first bullet missed—low, two centimetres to the right—and ricocheted into the night.
“Viktor” and h
is driver yelped. Panicked, they scrambled for the safety of the Shogun. Doors opened.
Kaine adjusted the aim, fired again.
The second bullet hit the can dead centre. It exploded into a fireball of orange and yellow. Black binbags erupted, throwing foetid rubbish high and wide, covering the Shogun and its fleeing passengers in kilos of indescribable, well-rotted filth. The explosion ignited the jerrycans of petrol Kaine had buried in the rubbish to act as the accelerant, and the canvas money bags disappeared behind the flames. Along with the rubbish, the cash burned fierce and bright. At least, it appeared to.
Kaine would have loved to sit and watch the slapstick fun, but he had other things to do. He pocketed the four empty but still warm NATO shells, jumped up, and hefted the Accuracy. After a quick visual search to confirm he’d left nothing to assist a police investigation, he turned and headed towards the fire escape. He sidestepped around Buddy’s cooling corpse, hung the Accuracy across his back by its strap, and descended.
By the time he reached firm ground, the filth-covered Shogun had screamed through the gates, and was bouncing along the access road, paying scant attention to the niceties of safe driving. It sideswiped the parked car but continued without stopping.
The driver and the false Viktor probably couldn’t understand why Gorilla’s team hadn’t opened up on the sniper who’d covered them in grime and had apparently destroyed all that lovely cash.
For the first time since losing Danny, Kaine laughed.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Sunday 7th May – Overnight
Near Győr, Hungary
During the four-kilometre yomp from the warehouse complex to where he’d hidden his car—off the road and behind a low hedge—Kaine stopped once to watch the flames that lit the sky slowly die. He allowed a grim smile to form and tapped his earpiece.
“Alpha One to Alpha Two. Are you receiving? Over.”
Rollo’s response was instant. “Alpha Two here. Receiving you, strength five. Foxtrot One has ears, too. Sitrep, please. Over.”
Kaine didn’t need Rollo to tell him Lara would also be listening. He’d have been shocked to learn she wasn’t.
“Situation green, Alpha Two. Repeat, situation green. Four interlopers neutralised at scene. Two others left to report home to Papa. Please tell Foxtrot One to relax. Over.”
“Did the can work as expected? Over.”
“That’s an affirmative, Alpha Two. Couldn’t have gone better. Over.”
“Really? It actually worked? Over.”
“It did, Alpha Two. The paperwork will be ready for collection in about an hour or so. You’ll need to wait for the temperature to drop a little first. Over.”
“Will do, Alpha One. Is the other package ready for delivery? Over.”
“Hope so, Alpha Two. On my way to check it’s still warm. Over.”
“Any additional instructions? Over.”
“Just make sure the area is secure before you collect the paperwork. Although the ‘picnic area’ was deserted when I left it, there’s no telling who the firework display might have attracted. Wouldn’t want you to run into a reception committee just to pick up a few sheets of paper. Over.”
Kaine allowed his wry smile to grow. If Rollo could deliver unnecessary information, so could he.
“Thank you, Alpha One.” Rollo snapped. “I do know how to suck eggs. Foxtrot One says ‘take care’. I don’t. Alpha Two, out!”
Kaine tapped the earpiece inactive and resumed his easy yomp, using the inbuilt compass in his diver’s watch to guide him. No rush. The money would be safe behind the hinged lid of the skip, which the explosion had dislodged and now covered the delivery bags. Rollo and Lara would retrieve it in an hour or so, once the area had cooled enough to raise the lid.
The money would come in handy. No way would he willingly destroy the wherewithal to deliver Marian Prentiss and her baby a safe future.
Thirty minutes later, after he’d watched his hidden Range Rover from a safe distance for ten of them, Kaine pulled open its tailgate and took in the sorry sight of his trussed and gagged prisoner. Lajos Pataki’s purple face and blue lips showed early signs of asphyxia. When the courtesy lights popped on, Lajos’ eyes bulged in fear.
“Hello Lajos, old friend. Surprised but happy to see you’re still in the land of the living.”
The bound man whimpered and struggled weakly at his bonds.
“Take it easy, son. I’ll set you free in a minute. Just need to tidy up first.”
After breaking down the Accuracy and stowing it carefully in its rugged carrycase—watched the whole time by his captive—Kaine removed his knife and polished the blade on Lajos’ jacket, whistling as he did so. He held up the knife and allowed its honed edge to catch the limited light source. Lajos’ whimpering started up again and he shook his head.
“Easy, son. Now isn’t the time to panic. You’ll do yourself a mischief.”
Kaine leaned further into the luggage area and pushed out the knife. Lajos squealed and tried to back away but, lashed as he was to the anchor points in the floor by his wrist and ankle, he had nowhere to go. Kaine grabbed him by the hair and pulled his head forwards. The blade cut through the knot holding the gag in place, and Kaine yanked away the sodden band. Lajos spat out the cloth wadding and gulped in air as though he’d been starved of it for hours—which happened to be the case.
“Did you catch sight of the firework show?” Kaine asked as soon as Lajos’ breathing quietened enough for him to take notice.
Kaine giggled to maintain the show of madness.
“What … what was it?” Lajos asked, still gasping. Tears filled his eyes and rolled down his cheeks.
His skin colour had returned to normal for him—a pale, almost translucent white—but his remaining hand still showed red beneath the restrictive zip tie.
“That, dear Lajos, was the sight and sound of fifteen million euros going up in flames.”
Lajos gasped again, this time in shock rather than for air.
“You burned it?”
“I did.”
“On purpose?”
Kaine slapped Lajos’ cheek hard enough to sting, but not enough to damage.
“Everything I do is intentional, son.”
The stunned man shook his head.
“But why?”
“I did it to make a point. Money means nothing to me. You people killed my friend and Robert Prentiss. In exchange, I killed Vadik and burned the cash, but I also spared your life. In my book, Papa and I are now even.”
“Even?”
Kaine nodded.
“You will not kill me?”
“Nope. I promised to send you back after receiving the ransom, and I always honour my commitments. Even though Papa tried to double-cross me, I’m happy to return you to him.”
“Double-cross? How?”
Kaine scuttled out of the luggage area and leaned against the side column. He described Gorilla and Buddy and explained what he did to them and the would-be snipers. He also described what happened to the money—after a fashion. Lajos listened in slack-jawed and silent horror.
“They are dead? All dead?”
“You recognised the men?” Kaine asked.
“Y-Yes, some of them. The one you call Gorilla sounds like Balint … Balint Sarkozy, one of Papa’s men from the old days. The days when he started out. Papa will not be happy. Neither will Andris, who was a cousin to Balint.”
“Andris?”
“The man who drove Wendt and the money.”
Kaine sniffed. “Wendt is Papa’s body double?”
“Yes. He is older than Papa, but the same size and build. The stumbling showed he was drunk. Wendt no longer has the stomach for danger.”
“Standing in for the Giant of Győr can’t be an easy gig.”
“No,” Lajos said, lowering his tearful eyes. “Wendt is the third, and the longest serving. The other two died in service to Papa.”
Kaine rubbed his hands together and reached up
to the tailgate’s handhold. “I’d love to stay and chat, but it’s time to go home, Lajos.”
“R-Really? You are taking me home?”
“Man of my word, remember,” he said, adding a wink.
Kaine lowered the tailgate and made his way to the driver’s seat.
Yep, a man of my word.
Kaine drove the twenty-seven kilometres to the Pataki compound slowly and in silence. Andris and Wendt needed plenty of time to reach Viktor and tell the Giant of Győr what had happened. Who knew, they might even have wanted to wash down the Shogun, and shower and change their clothes first. Arriving in front of the Giant of Győr covered in rotting filth might not have been the best way to ensure their longevity.
A low, wide valley opened up around them, dark, but lit by stars, the moon, and the Range Rover’s headlights. The road they took, a two-lane badly metalled blacktop, ran parallel to the Rába, a lazy and minor tributary of the Danube.
Five kilometres from Pataki land, their quiet road turned sharply to cross the river. Kaine stopped on the near side of the bridge. He pressed the button to raise the tailgate and pushed open his door.
“Please!” Lajos wailed.
Kaine stepped out of the cab and headed around to the back. “Please what?”
“Please, don’t kill me.”
Kaine sighed. “What part of ‘I honour my commitments’ don’t you understand?”
“I-I …”
Kaine cut Lajos free of the zip ties and drag-carried him, screaming in pain, from the back compartment and deposited him in the dust and gravel at the side of the road.
“You are leaving me here?”
“Why not?”
Lajos held up his trembling hand, reddened from being so tightly bound for hours. He pointed to the calf-length plaster cast covering his injured ankle. “My leg is broken. I cannot walk. Out here, I will freeze to death before morning.”
Kaine sneered. “Don’t be so damned pitiful. It’s not that cold and you have that lovely, expensive jacket to keep you warm.”
On the Hunt Page 25
