by Angus McLean
Stephenson’s jaw dropped open and Terry saw Mitchell push the door open behind him. In walked two grizzled looking bikers, both big men in black jeans with Southern Vikings patches on over T shirts.
Terry eyed them curiously. Jonah Jones and his buddy Kruger. At Mitchell’s word they added their weapons to the growing pile on the floor. Terry noted that Kruger’s was a huge AutoMag .44. Obviously got a small cock, he mused.
Once they were seated on Chambers’ other side, Mitchell opened the door again and disappeared. He was back a few seconds later, holding the door open to let four men walk in. Each of them had an AK front slung.
Terry heard Stephenson give an involuntary gasp as he laid eyes on Kablan, the half-blind sidekick to Ashkir. Kablan leered at him across the room.
‘We meet again, Mr Stephenson,’ he grinned. ‘Mr Ashkir will be most pleased, I dare say.’
‘Weapons,’ Mitchell said calmly, ‘on the ground.’
Kablan glanced at him and gave a sneer. ‘I surrender my weapon for no man. Especially,’ he stepped into Mitchell’s personal space, ‘an American pig dog.’
Mitchell’s expression did not change. ‘All your weapons on the ground,’ he said quietly, gently raising the barrel of the Uzi. ‘Now.’
Kablan didn’t flinch. His thick lips curled back to reveal yellowed teeth.
Terry felt the atmosphere tighten. It was like the air was getting sucked out of the room. All eyes were on the two men. Even Chambers seemed lost for words.
But no, as Terry looked down the table at him, Chambers was not lost for words at all; he was grinning with anticipation. He was loving every second of it, the psycho bastard.
Mitchell took a slow breath in through his nose, started to exhale, and squeezed the trigger.
The Uzi chattered and six rounds blasted through Kablan’s gut, one of the rounds knocking the man behind him into a spin. As the leader started to fall his two remaining men grabbed for their weapons. Gobey got both hands on his AK and started to turn before Mitchell put a burst through his rib cage then another into the man beside him. Both men fell and Mitchell blasted the next burst into the first man he’d wounded, now struggling to hold himself up against the wall. He slid down it, leaving a large bloody smear. Terry noticed that his left eye was dangling from the socket onto his cheek.
Ricochets pinged off surfaces all around the room.
Mitchell moved from man to man, putting a short burst into the head of each of them. He stood over the four bodies and automatically changed magazines, racking a fresh round into the chamber.
Gun smoke hung in the still air, mixed with the pungent metallic odour of blood.
Terry stayed perfectly still. He was both shocked and impressed. This guy was a fucking killing machine. No sympathy for those dirty black bastards though, they could go to hell. He flicked his eyes to Chambers.
The pink-cheeked Englishman was glowing, his eyes bright. If Terry was a betting man, he’d bet the sick fuck had just shot his bolt. Everybody else looked stunned.
‘Well,’ Chambers said finally, ‘I guess that evens up the odds somewhat, doesn’t it?’
He looked around the assembled faces again, grinning widely.
Kruger shifted slightly in his chair. ‘Mean,’ he grunted.
‘That, gentlemen,’ Chambers said, ‘is what happens when people cross me.’ His expression turned serious again. ‘I recommend you do not make the same mistake.’
‘So what exactly is it you want from us then, Richard?’ Dang asked. ‘If you looking for people with influence,’ he gestured towards his team, ‘this is us here.’
Chambers smiled at him like a kindly uncle.
‘We will see,’ he said, ‘we will see.’
‘That was a lot of shooting,’ Travis noted, standing at the cell bars and trying to see up the stairs.
‘What the fuck are these clowns doing?’ Brad growled.
The door opened at the head of the stairs and footsteps descended.
‘Whatever it is,’ Travis remarked, ‘it’s happening now.’
Johnny Mitchell appeared with five Thai cops trailing behind him. Brad stepped up to the bars, recognising Decha as the one who had tasered him. A scowl settled on his face.
Decha scowled back, holding Brad’s gaze as the five men were led to the adjoining cell.
‘Wait here,’ Mitchell said, locking the door behind them.
He went back upstairs, leaving the two groups to glare at each other through the bars.
‘I get my hands on you, you little fuck,’ Brad snarled, ‘I’ll break your scrawny neck.’
Decha snarled a reply, the words in Thai but his meaning clear.
‘I have a very bad feeling about this,’ Susie whispered to Travis, holding his arm.
‘I have to admit,’ he said drily, ‘things aren’t really looking up.’
Travis watched Mitchell carefully as the American moved to the door across from them and unlocked it with a large old fashioned key. The door opened and beyond it he saw what looked like a dirt pit.
Mitchell turned and gave a cocky smirk as he headed back to the stairs.
Travis turned to his two companions.
‘Brace yourselves,’ he said, ‘this is gunna be game on.’
Chapter Thirty One
Mitchell made his way back towards the main building, his mind buzzing. The bush sounds were loud around him, the night pitch black. He didn’t need the NVGs on his head though, having followed this track many times.
Just twenty yards from the main building, he spotted a flicker of movement at the corner of the building. He paused, the Uzi coming up in his grip. He watched as a man slipped round the corner of the building and headed towards him, glancing over his shoulder but unaware of the threat ahead of him.
‘Hey buddy,’ Mitchell said, flicking his torch on, ‘goin’ somewhere?’
Terry froze in the torch beam, his hands up to shield his eyes. ‘You scared me half to death, man. I’m just…ahh…’
Mitchell nodded, even though the other man couldn’t see it. ‘Getting the hell outta Dodge?’
‘Na man, I was just…ahh…’ Terry shook his head in exasperation and put his hands up. ‘Okay man, you got me. I was getting the hell outta here. This is some crazy shit going down, you know?’
He tried to squint past the light and Mitchell cut it, taking a careful step sideways in case the old timer tried to rush where he’d last seen him.
‘Anyone else coming with you?’
‘Na man, I just said I was goin’ for a piss and ran. I don’t know what those dumb shits are doing man, but I ain’t stickin’ around.’ He stared at Mitchell’s faint outline in the darkness. ‘That guy, your boss? Man, he is off his goddamn rocker. He’s talking all this shit about competing to add value to his operation,’ he gave a snort of disgust, ‘but what a crock of shit, man. If anybody gets off this island alive, I’ll eat my bloody hat mate.’
Mitchell half smiled to himself. The man wasn’t wrong. Chambers had four mil now to assist his escape and resettlement plans, and the rest was just for his own entertainment.
‘Go on,’ the American said softly. ‘Get going. I won’t stop you.’
‘Come with me man,’ Terry urged him. ‘I know your background, we could be a good team. Leave this shit behind.’
‘Thanks buddy,’ Mitchell replied, ‘but this is me. This is what I do now.’
He paused for a second, common sense tugging at him. He shook it off. More than anything right now, he wanted to wipe that smug look off Jack Travis’ face. He was a fucken Navy SEAL, goddamnit. Nobody dissed the Navy SEALs.
‘Take the boat with the white seats. I got a bag stashed in it with some things you’ll need. Kind of an insurance policy for me, but I guess I won’t be cashing it tonight. He jerked his head towards the dock. ‘Get going before they come looking.’
Terry didn’t hesitate, just hurried off into the darkness without a backwards glance. Dawn was not far off and he needed
to make tracks fast.
Mitchell headed towards the main building.
Chambers was not impressed that Terry had escaped, but in the bigger scheme of his plans for the night it was really inconsequential.
He couldn’t shake the nagging doubt that Mitchell had lied to him, but it didn’t matter right now. The grizzled old mercenary was just one man; there were plenty more still there and blood would be spilt. Looking at Stephenson and his side kick, Prasong, Chambers was confident they had known nothing of their comrade’s escape plan. If anything, Stephenson seemed more anxious than before. That was good.
First on the agenda was Major Dang and Sergeant Mookjai, up against Jonah Jones and Kruger. When Chambers broke the news to them both pairs of men stiffened and quizzical looks were exchanged.
‘I thought we were fighting those other arseholes,’ Jonah said, jerking a thumb over his shoulder.
‘All in good time, my friend, all in good time,’ Chambers replied. ‘Maybe.’ He smiled and indicated the two Thai cops. ‘You need to get through these two men first.’
Kruger grunted. It seemed about the extent of his vocabulary tonight.
Jonah frowned then shrugged. ‘No problem.’
Dang licked his lips cautiously as he eyed the two large bikies. Although Mookjai was fit and strong, he was painfully aware of his own physical abilities.
‘It would seem to be a good idea for us maybe not to fight among ourselves,’ he suggested, in what he hoped was a wise tone. He held Chambers’ gaze across the table. ‘We are on the same side, are we not?’
‘No.’ Chambers’ right hand moved and he produced a Browning High Power from underneath his robes. He pointed it at Dang’s face. ‘I think you’re missing the point, Major Dang.’
The shot was loud and sharp and Dang’s brains splattered across the wall behind him. Mookjai reacted instantly, grabbing at a pistol concealed beneath his clothing. Mitchell took one step forward as he fluidly drew his Beretta, and pumped a round through the sergeant’s right ear. The body collapsed against his dead commander.
Chambers closed his eyes and delicately sniffed the blue-grey smoke curling from the barrel of his Browning. He inhaled it and let out a satisfied sigh, before tucking the pistol away again. Mitchell holstered his Beretta and stepped back, impassive.
‘Does anybody else have anything they would like to contribute?’ Chambers looked each of the four remaining men in the eye. ‘No, I thought not.’ He pushed up from his chair. ‘Let us move over to the arena.’
Mitchell waited until the four men had stepped outside into the darkness before stopping Chambers and taking him aside.
‘The other five cops, boss?’ he asked. ‘You want them in the ring too?’
Chambers checked his watch and pursed his lips for a moment. ‘No, I think not. They are superfluous to requirements now.’
‘So?’ Mitchell raised his eyebrows questioningly.
Chambers gave an almost imperceptible shrug. ‘Kill them,’ he said.
Travis, Brad and Susie had a plan formulated when Mitchell reappeared at the stairs. He walked to their cell door and inserted a key in the lock, then stepped back and aimed the Uzi at them through the bars.
‘The girl comes out,’ he said, ‘any tricks and I’ll just start shooting.’
‘If you’re going to do that anyway,’ Travis replied, ‘what have we got to lose?’
Mitchell shifted the Uzi barrel and fired a short burst into the cell next door. One of the Thai cops took all the rounds in the gut and collapsed to the floor, rapidly leaking blood.
‘You want more blood on your hands?’ Mitchell asked.
‘You gutless fucken shithead,’ Travis snarled, ‘put it down and come in here!’
The remaining four Thais were in shock, huddled over their fallen colleague.
Susie stepped forward and reached for the key.
‘No,’ Travis said.
‘He’s going to just keep killing people,’ Susie said firmly. ‘I don’t want other peoples’ deaths on my conscience.’
‘He’ll kill you,’ Travis told her as she pushed the cell door open.
Mitchell saw a shift in Brad’s posture as he readied himself, and the American moved the Uzi towards Susie.
‘I wouldn’t,’ he said softly.
Susie stepped out and closed the door behind her, locking it. Travis could see her eyes were wet and her chin was trembling, but she put on a brave face.
‘It’ll be okay,’ she said shakily to him. ‘They just want me as a bargaining chip.’ A tear broke free and rolled down the side of her nose. ‘You do what you do best.’
Travis felt helpless with impotent rage as he watched Mitchell escort her upstairs. Five minutes later the American was back, tossing handcuffs to the four remaining Thais and getting them to cuff themselves together, back to back. He then escorted them up the stairs and silence fell again.
Travis and Brad looked at each other in the semi-darkness.
‘This is it, boy,’ Travis said. ‘This is balls to the wall.’
Brad nodded.
They both heard a far off popping of shots, at least twenty in all. They looked at each other again, both men wearing grim expressions. An understanding passed between them.
Nothing needed to be said.
Chapter Thirty Two
Chambers sat on his throne and clapped his hands with delight.
‘Bring in the Christians!’ he chortled, his face the excited pink of a child.
The door opened and Brad stepped through, scanning around him. Kruger glared at him from across the pit. He was bare-chested and wore black jeans with his motorcycle boots.
Brad was surprised at how huge he was, and immediately assessed him for strengths and weaknesses. Probably a ‘roid user, undoubtedly a drug user, unquestionably a killer. But also carrying weight round his gut and probably out of condition.
Brad met his gaze and held it, jaw jutting and game face on. He rolled his shoulders and shook his arms out.
Kruger eyed him across the gap, and cracked his knuckles. Brad took deep breaths in through his nose, oxygenating his blood and getting ready. Any second now, he would be fighting for his life.
Above them, Chambers clapped his hands again, the slap of skin on skin cracking loudly in the arena.
‘Let the games,’ he hollered, ‘begin!’
With that, Kruger began to move forward, arms wide and a snarl on his face. Brad shifted, keeping his feet wide for balance and his hands loose, reading his opponent’s body language and planning his moves. Kruger was a monster, no doubt about that, and if Brad let him get his hands on him he’d be in trouble.
The circle they were creating was getting gradually smaller, and Kruger made a sudden rush at him, arms wide and roaring like a bull.
Brad stepped left, brushed the right hand aside and slammed a jab into the big man’s side ribs. He’d hit other guys with that shot before and put them down. Kruger grunted and swung a back hand that glanced off Brad’s skull and sent him off-balance.
The big bikie turned and brought his fists up in a boxing stance. They were like Christmas hams and each knuckle bore a death’s head tattoo. Brad continued to circle him, assessing and manoeuvring.
Kruger came in another rush, more refined this time and without the roaring. He edged close enough to start throwing big meaty jabs, which Brad could easily dodge, then tried a surprise front kick to the knee.
Brad saw it coming a mile off and stayed low, weaved and blocked the big boot with both hands, keeping it down. He seized the boot and yanked it round, twisting the foot and turning the leg with it. Kruger had no option but to turn and save his ankle from being broken.
He took air and came down hard on his front, his right leg still locked behind him. He went to push up, but they both knew he was in serious trouble now.
Brad kept the leg locked straight and high and drove his foot down between Kruger’s legs, slamming into his genitals. The man let out a whoof of air and st
arted to fold. Brad braced the boot between both hands and snapped it round viciously, hearing a dull crack muffled by the heavy boot. Kruger let out a shriek of pain. Brad twisted harder, hearing the bones crunch, and flipped the monster bikie onto his back.
Kruger reached up for his wounded ankle and shrieked again when Brad threw the leg down and stepped back. Kruger rolled onto his other knee and swung wildly at him. Brad easily avoided the swings and circled him, knowing he had the upper hand now and taking a moment to size up his options. Kruger struggled to turn with him but couldn’t keep up, whipping round from side to side with his wounded leg stuck out in front of him.
Brad moved in quickly, landing a resounding double slap to Kruger’s ears and following it through with a driving knee to the right side of his head as he went off balance. Kruger was thrown to the left and caught himself on one hand, his head ringing as he saw Brad appear in front of him.
The stiff fingers of Brad’s left hand jabbed into his eyes and as Kruger reeled back in agony he never saw the strike that killed him. With his full power behind it, and no thought of mercy, Brad drove his big right straight into Kruger’s throat. The blow crushed his larynx and cut off the air.
Kruger clutched at his throat, blood already trickling from his left eye, and collapsed backwards. He gasped and flopped and Brad turned his back on him, breathing hard. In seconds the Sergeant-at-Arms, the enforcer, was dead.
A long slow clap sounded from above. Brad glanced up to see Chambers on his throne, a smile of admiration on his face.
‘Bravo, young man, bravo.’
Brad sucked in air and shook his arms out.
The door opened and Prasong and Mitchell appeared. They grabbed Kruger’s arms and dragged his lifeless form out of the pit.
‘That is not the end, of course,’ Chambers called out.
Brad spat. ‘Bring it on,’ he growled.
Before the door closed, Jonah Jones stepped through. He wore his Southern Bandits patch vest over a bare chest, and like Kruger, still had his jeans and motorcycle boots on. His fists were already clenched and the pupils of his eyes were pinpoint tight and locked on Brad.
