To Kill a Grey Man (9 page)

The Assassin flew down the stairs and looked out the side
window.
 
He could see the big man crouched
on the other side of the hedge pretending to tie up his shoe lace but actually
bringing out a fully automatic machine gun from under his coat, poking the
barrel through the hedge which he was trying to thin out with a large knife.

The postman parked his bike, walked past the man as if he
did not exist and started to walk up the path carrying a parcel, whistling
softly, trying to appear nonchalant.
 
His
job was obviously to bring Collins to the door where the shooter would open up.
 
But Collins beat him to it.
 
As the postman was half way up the drive and
before the shooter was properly in position Collins threw open the front door.
 
With his gun still in its holster out of
sight and his arms by his side, the shocked postman did not know whether to
abort the mission or carry on.
 
The old man
in front of him looked ordinary and vulnerable but most of all weaponless, so
he did the worse thing possible, he went for his gun which was in a holster on
his belt, nestled against his spine.
 
The
big man, seeing what was going down, threw himself through the hedge, head and
shoulders getting caught up in the bramble, trying to get down on the ground behind
the machine gun.

The Assassin’s expression did not change.
 
His right arm came up and swept his jacket aside.
 
He drew the
Glock
in a smooth and relaxed move, to an outsider it might even have looked slow but
he was far faster than the two gun men.
 
He shot the postman once between the eyes, the bullet travelling through
his brain and out the back of his skull taking gore and bone with it.
 
The power jerked his head back viciously and
he fell down flat on his back, dead before he hit the ground.

Then The Assassin turned, walked forward firing as the big
man scrambled around trying to get through the hedge.
 
He put three bullets into him with incredible
precision, the head, neck and spine, smashing all three, the body jerking each
time the bullets hit.
 
He
lay
still, blood already starting to flow as the heart
continued to beat after death.

Collins took out his phone quickly and phoned Jonathan.

“Jonathan.
 
It’s Dad.
 
Are you in the shop?” Collins said without
any preamble.

 
“Yes,” said Jonathan.

“Go to the window.
 
What
do you see?”

“Two big guys getting out of a black
merc
.
 
The driver is still inside.
 
They have parked on a double yellow line and
I can see from the exhaust that the engine is still running.
 
They are walking towards the shop!”

“Have they seen you?” asked Collins.

“No,” said Jonathan.
 
“Not yet.”

“Right, grab Olivia and get upstairs as quick as possible.”

Jonathan started to argue.
 

“Look,” said Collins.
 
“They know where I am, I have just had a visit.
 
This means they are after you.
 
Now move!”

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.

Surge was again operational and it felt good.
 
He thought about how he should protect
himself.
 
Not used to being hunted, it
was a strange experience. He reckoned that if they had wanted to kill him it
would have been done by now, a shot from the woods or a passing car, so it must
be a
snatch,
it was the only thing that made sense.
 
But if they wanted to kidnap him they had to
get close and if that happened they entered his world.

He opened the locked chest he kept in the corner of his
garage.
 
Inside under various clothes
were weapons.
 
Surge had studied martial
arts all his life becoming a master of unarmed combat.
 
To achieve that he had trained in weapons defense,
learnt how someone used and moved with a weapon and devised ways to combat them.
 
He rarely used any weapon himself but as he
got older he knew he needed an edge.
 
At the bottom of the chest he found
what he was looking for, an expandable baton much favored by the Japanese
police.
 
It was around eight inches long
and looked like a handle with a flattened round piece of lead on the end.
 
When flicked down the telescopic arm shot out
and the baton extended to seventeen inches long.
 
The telescopic arm was made of a similar
material to a car aerial and had significant whip with the lead end piece moving
at an arc and smashing into any target with incredible force.
 
When used well it could break bones but in
the hands of someone like Surge who knew all the vulnerable parts of the body,
it could be devastating.

To run that day he chose shorts and a T-shirt.
 
He strapped the baton in its special holster
underneath his right forearm then pulled a loose sweatshirt over the top.
 
He dropped his arm quickly and the baton
dropped into his open hand perfectly.
 
He
flicked and swung it and the lead piece whistled through the air exactly where
Surge wanted it to go.

He did his stretches and started his run.
 
There was a breeze and light rain was falling
as he loped up the country roads then down past the drug dealers flats where
the music, as normal, was pumping out.
 
He continued into the village and up the High Street.
 
He saw them at once.
 
Two huge men, almost seven feet tall and
nearly as wide, wearing long, brown leather coats and close cropped hair.
 
Between them was a small man in his mid-forties
with greasy hair wearing a cheap blue striped suit that had seen better
days.
 
They walked
towards Surge as he jogged up the hill.

As they got closer the small man opened his jacket so Surge
could see the handgun in its holster.

“In the alley way if you please sir.
 
My companions and I would like to have a
friendly word,” he said in his lilting Scottish voice, smiling at Surge.

Surge stopped and followed the little man down the alley to
a dead end, a space behind the small bakery which was big enough to park two
medium sized cars.
 
The Russians blocked
the exit with their huge frames.

Little Billy, the Scotsman,
was
loving
this.
 
It
had been a beautiful pick up.
 
No one had
noticed.
 
No waving guns around, no one
looking, no one interested.
 

“Highly professional,” he thought.
 
“Even if I say so himself.”

“Look mister,” he said pointing his gun at Surge’s stomach.
 
“This is not personal.
 
My friends here are going to mug you and
unfortunately it appears you are going to die in the process.
 
Now be a good boy and put up a bit of a fight
for my entertainment.”

“Oh,” said Surge taking a half pace forward, “You are not going to
kidnap me then?”

“Nothing could be further from my mind,” said Little Billy smiling.
 
He let the mark come another half pace
forward.
 
They were quite close now and Little
Billy hoped Surge would go for the gun so he could shoot him.
 
Keith Poole would go mad as he had been told
to make it look like a mugging and muggings in England did not normally have
guns involved but Little Billy didn’t care.
 
This was the best part.
 
He had had
hundreds of such encounters over the years, normally to give punters a good
hiding for not paying bills and whilst he was allowed to show the gun, he was
not allowed to use it.
 
This was the
first killing and he fancied the job.
 
The
only hint of concern he had was normally by now the mark had realized what was
going on and had started to sweat and plead, a few even cried, very satisfying
for a little man like Little Billy, but this one seemed a bit too calm and
composed.
 
Very strange and quite
unsettling, spoiling Little Billy’s pleasure.

Once Surge had got the distance perfect, he shot his right arm
straight down.
 
The baton appeared before
anyone could react and Surge flicked it at Little Billy’s hand breaking two bones
in the back of it and the gun flew off into a corner of the alley.
 
The back swing caught Little Billy just above
the heart with tremendous force.
 
His
hands went up to his chest, the gun forgotten in his pain and he collapsed.

Surge stepped to the right and turned round to see the huge Russians
moving towards him.
 
Both looked warily
at the baton which Surge had bought into the guard position.
 
Little Billy had sunk to his knees, his face
bright red, his head bent with the pain, trying to nurse his broken hand.

“Now boys,” said Surge pleasantly.
 
“Are either of you armed?”

They both shook their heads and opened their leather overcoats to
show there were no concealed weapons.
 
“Right,”
said Surge smiling.
 
“Well this is a
little unfair.”
 
To the Russians surprise
and pleasure Surge dropped the telescopic baton to the ground.

Both Russians charged at Surge.
 
They had worked together all their lives and knew each other moves, one attacked
the head, the other attacked the body, swinging right and left handed punches.
 
No one had ever been able to stand up against
them
before,
most did not even get one hit in as the
onslaught overwhelmed them.

Surge moved like the master he was.
 
Both Russians were all brute force and no style.
 
He slipped the right cross to the head and
blocked the punch to the stomach then blocked both their left hands high and
low whilst grabbing and moving one brother into the path of the other.

Punching into the throat of one, the spleen of the other, then
spinning on his heel he smashed his elbow into the back of the head of the one
on his right, destroying the nerves into the central cortex and as the Russian dropped,
Surge caught the chin of the one on his left, bent his back over the falling
man and deftly broke his neck.
 
Both
Russians fell to the ground in a muddle, sprawling in an untidy heap.

Meanwhile Little Billy had got to the gun, picked it up with his
left hand and pointed it at Surge.
 
Surge,
not normally showy, performed a spin kick with the heel connecting on Little
Billy’s temple.
 
He dropped dead.
 
In all, just a few seconds had gone by.

Then Surge’s phone started to ring.

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Jonathan grabbed Olivia by the arm
.“
Quick,”
he said dragging her up the stairs.

“What do you want?” she asked.

“Help, please” said Jonathan.
 
Olivia could feel his panic.

“Go into the spare bedroom,” said Collins over the phone.
 
“In the corner you will see a run of coat
hooks.
 
Turn the furthest one to the left
and the nearest one to the right.
 
As
Jonathan did this a panel came away from the wall six foot across and two feet
deep.
 
Inside was wall to walls guns, all
sorts and sizes.
 
There were boxes of
ammunition on the floor.
 
Jonathan was
amazed.

He could hear the men in the shop calling out.
 
He turned to Olivia and whispered, “Will you
help?” and she nodded.

He stepped inside the alcove pulling the section of wall behind him
and maneuvered into a tiny space.
 
Olivia
put the hooks back into position.
 
The little
room was hot, pitch black and claustrophobic.
 
Jonathan could hardly move, pushed up against the false wall, standing
on a case of ammunition with guns pressing into his back.