Warrior in the Shadows (24 page)

3.11

Alfie double-tied the laces of his low-cut chukka boots and tugged his socks up. He replaced his shirt with one the same color of his battered and worn khaki pants. A light bush jacket went over the shirt. Then Alfie opened up his weapons locker and took a look at what he had handy. He took up, then replaced a H&KPDW with a suppressor, then took it out again and laid it on the bed. He took out two magazines and several boxes of 9mm ammunition, and loaded the magazines with twenty-nine rounds each, pressing down on the last round to check the springs. He quickly stripped down the miniscule submachine gun and checked the parts, lightly oiling them with Break Free before reassembling the weapon. He took out a canvas sling for the weapon and attached it, then removed it and replaced it with a simple bungee cord. With his Leatherman tool, he crimped the ends of the bungee cord fitting round the folded stock of the weapon and the forearm grip. He took a roll of black gaffer tape and carefully wrapped the metal fittings where the bungee cord was attached and made sure that when it flexed and moved it made no noise with the metal parts all covered in layers of black tape.

That would do as his main arm.

One last thing was needed before the weapon was ready. He took a brass catcher bag fitted with a metal frame that held the bag close, but not too close, to the ejection port of the submachine gun. It would catch all the ejected cases and not leave anything for the cops to work with other than the hollow points in his target. The customized attachments with the silencer made the miniscule submachine gun a bit awkward to carry with the stock folded, but when the stock was extended it was a handy weapon for an assassination.

Which was the whole purpose of this night's operation.

He took out a .38 caliber revolver, a four-inch Smith & Wesson, and loaded it with fresh shells. That he tucked into his waistband, with two speed loaders bristling with hollow point Federal Nyclad bullets tucked into the strong side pocket of his bush jacket. In the front right pocket of his pants he clipped an Emerson Commander, the big folding fighter he favored over most other knives, and in his left pocket he shoved the Leatherman tool.

Alfie stood in front of the mirror in his bathroom and inspected himself. He flexed up and down on the balls of his feet, listening to see if any of the metal on him clicked or made noise. He was satisfied that he was dressed for silence. He took a moment, and let his brain settle and sort out the quiet in the house. He could hear stirrings in the next room, the metallic clack of a bolt being retracted and then let forward on a firearm, murmuring voices. Jay was sending one other man with Alfie to deal with the American. The other man was to be the wheel-man on a Toyota minivan. The minivan reminded Alfie of the matutu buses in Africa, except this one had no windows.

There was a tap at the door.

"Come," Alfie said.

Jay opened the door and stuck only his head into the room. "You ready to go?"

"Yes," Alfie said. "I am. Who's the driver?"

"Stevie. He'll keep his mouth shut and do what you tell him."

"That will be something to see."

"If you can do it elsewhere than the hotel, that would be good."

"I don't like working with someone else."

"If you and Roy can get him into the van, take him away out bush. That would be best."

"I'll have a look around, see what we can do."

"Don't look around. Get the job done."

Alfie tugged gently on the door handle, pulling Jay slowly into the room. "Don't use that tone with me, Jay. I told you, I'll take care of it. And this is the last time. No more of this. I don't need it."

Jay stepped back into the hall. "You like the money too much."

"Not this much," Alfie said. He stepped into the hallway and brushed past Jay. "Let's go."

A short, squat, and heavily muscled man with sandy blond hair came into the hallway from the room next door to Alfie's. He had on a long black leather car coat that came to his fingertips, a white T-shirt and black Levi's and heavy boots.

Alfie looked him up and down.

"Nice outfit," he said. "What are you carrying?"

The blond man held open his jacket. Slung round his shoulder beneath the coat was a sawed-off Remington 1100 automatic shotgun. The barrel had been removed forward of the tubular magazine and the butt of the shotgun was missing after the pistol grip. Tucked into the right side of his waistband was some kind of large caliber revolver.

"Got the Remy for heavy and the Python for light," Stevie said.

"Nice," Alfie said. "Did you wipe off the brass in the Remy before you loaded it?"

Stevie looked chagrined. "No, mate, I didn't."

Alfie grinned at Jay and said, "Well, get to it, Stevie my lad, because we don't want to leave the hallways littered with shotgun shells with your prints on them, now do we?"

Alfie watched the other shooter empty the magazine of the shotgun, carefully working the action, then put on thin surgical gloves and wipe each brass shell with a handkerchief before reinserting them into the magazine.

"That's better, isn't it?" Alfie said. "Now we can go, Stevie."

Alfie brushed past his big backup and led the way toward the minivan parked outside the kitchen door. Stevie followed in his wake.

"Do as he says," Jay said to Stevie's back.

Stevie turned back and dropped a wink to Jay as Alfie went out the kitchen door.

"I got it all covered," Stevie said.

"We'll see," Jay said.

He watched the two men get into the van, Stevie in the driver's seat, and he hoped that Stevie did have it all covered. He didn't want any comeback from this, and he hoped the shotgun and the element of surprise would be enough to take Alfie off the books forever.

3.12

It was late, and Charley, lying beside Kativa in the big bed, felt restless. He'd lain down beside her to rest but couldn't sleep. Kativa stirred, then turned away from him, one hand flung over her head. She'd been sleeping since they'd returned while Charley, still abuzz with his emotions since his exploration of the cave, hadn't slept at all. He slipped out of the bed, careful not to wake her. He stood in the moonlight filtering in through the curtains and let the air-conditioning raise goose pimples on him. Outside he saw boats harbored in the hotel marina and watched the running lights of boats come and go in the harbor. Charley quietly lifted an armchair into place before the window and sat in it, propping his feet up on the windowsill. He wished for a cigar, or even a cigarette, and settled for a small bottle of Courvoisier cognac from the minibar poured into a water glass. He enjoyed the drink; it served to put his mind at rest for a short time and let his unconscious sort through his options and formulate some kind of plan.

The glowing face of the clock radio showed it to be almost 11:00 P.M.

He set his empty glass down and enjoyed the mild buzz he got from drinking on an empty stomach. He looked at Kativa, still deep in sleep, and considered calling room service but decided to wait despite the pang in his stomach. From the hallway outside his door he heard the rattle of a trolley cart. He got up and went to the door and opened it and saw a maid pushing a cart down the hall.

"Excuse me," he said. "Is room service still working?"

"Yes, sir," she said. "All night. The menu changes at eleven, though. You can get sandwiches and salads all night. There's a menu in your dresser drawer. Would you like me to…"

"No, thank you," Charley said. "I'll take a look at it. Thanks."

She smiled and nodded and continued pushing her cart down the hallway. Charley shut the door and went into the bathroom. He studied his face in the mirror. There were new lines there. He sluiced cold water from the sink over his face till he lifted the fog in his mind.

There was a knock at the door.

Charley reached for a towel and ran it quickly over his face and hands. "Just a minute," he called from the bathroom.

They entered hard. A sharp kick to the door, just under the door-knob, cracked and shattered the doorjamb and a heavy shoulder crashed the door open. The point man entered, stumbling, his short shotgun caught for just an instant on a piece of the broken jamb.

That was all Charley needed.

He let his startled jump of surprise transmute itself into a leap of anger, and he went for the shotgun, gripping the barrel and the pistol grip and levering it up toward the ceiling, tying the first man up with his own weapon. The shotgun went off as the muzzle went past Charley's head and blew a sizable hole in the ceiling, dazzling Charley with the flash and the sound. Plaster descended like fog. There was another figure behind the point man and Charley continued to maneuver the first man's body so that he was between the second man and Charley.

Charley drove a bare foot hard against the first man's lead knee, buckling his stance, and then drove his own knee hard into the man's groin and midsection, driving and driving with the knee to get him to loosen one hand. When the attacker's hand came off the forearm of the shotgun, Charley levered it round on the short strap so it was pointed backward at the head of the attacker, who saw what was coming and began to strike with his free hand at Charley. Charley struggled to put the shotgun muzzle onto the big man's body. The man was strong; he pushed as though in a rugby scrum and drove Charley back into the room. The second attacker was nowhere to be seen. For an instant the muzzle crossed the big man's shoulder and that was close enough for Charley; he pressed the trigger and a charge of buckshot tore a massive wound into the man's shoulder. The point man screamed and bucked away, pulling the shotgun with him. Charley levered the shotgun into the soft part of the man's throat and pulled the trigger. The shot blew the front of the man's skull away, and he dropped cross-legged in a heap on the floor.

Kativa screamed as the nearly headless man dropped near the bed where she sat bolt upright. Charley spun around, shotgun at the ready, expecting the second man. There was no one at the door. Charley went to the broken door and chanced a quick peek out, shotgun at the ready. There was no one there.

"Get up!" he snapped at Kativa.

He heard voices in the hallway and when he peeked out again he saw other guests peering cautiously from their doors.

"Call the police!" Charley shouted. "There's been a robbery and one of them is still loose."

"Too right," came a shout from down the hall. "We've just called."

Charley backed away from the door and stepped sockless into his shoes, leaving the short laces untied. He shouted out the door, "Everyone stay in your room! One of those men is still running around with a gun!"

He heard doors slamming shut. Then he grabbed Kativa's hand and tugged her quickly from the room and down the hallway to the exit at the end, one hand holding the sawed-off shotgun. At the end of the hallway, Charley peeked quickly into the stairwell, then pushed Kativa inside and eased the door shut behind them.

"What are we doing?" Kativa said.

"We need to be clear of that room," Charley said. "There's one more around here. I don't know if he's run off… he could be waiting for us. If we meet the police down here that should put him off. I'm not letting go of this gun till that happens."

They went down two flights of stairs, their footsteps soft and cautious as Charley led the way, carefully working each corner in the turning stairs till they came to the ground floor. He paused for a moment, listening. In the distance he could hear the distinctive rise and fall of the police sirens. He pressed the door open and looked out into the parking garage where the pickup truck sat.

No one there.

He took Kativa's hand and led her quickly across the open space of the driveway to the cover of the rows of parked cars. He began to stalk cautiously toward the pickup, his eyes scanning every shadow and niche in the parking lot.

"Wonk! Wonk!"

Charley froze at the strange sound. He kept the sawed-off shotgun at the ready. He pushed Kativa down behind a car as he crouched, searching for the source of the sound.

"Wonk! Wonk!"

The echoes of the sound whispered back and forth in the confusing acoustics of the garage. Charley hesitated, then led Kativa forward again quickly, closing the gap to the truck.

"Wonk! Wonk!"

Charley stopped between two cars and slid prone, looking beneath the row of cars they were in. He saw no feet, no signs of anyone crouching behind a car. He stood up carefully, took Kativa's hand, and they rushed the short distance to the cover of the truck.

"What do you want me to do?" Kativa said.

"Be quiet," Charley whispered. He slowly opened the driver's side door, peered inside, then told Kativa, "Get in. Slide all the way over."

She got in and stayed crouched below the level of the window. Charley slid in behind the wheel with the shotgun resting on the right-hand window.

Ting!
A single bullet cracked the windshield.

A silenced weapon.

"Stay down!" Charley said, turning the ignition key. The truck rumbled into life and Charley worked the clutch and gearshift with his free hand, steadying the wheel with his knee, then gripping the wheel with his left hand and steering it sharply out of the parking space. He hit the gas and the truck sputtered as it accelerated.

He had only an instant to glimpse the figure that sprang from between two cars and landed on the truck's running board before he felt the hot silencer, still smoking from the last shot, dig into the soft skin behind the hinge of his jaw.

"Hey, mate," Alfie said. "Let up the gas, will you?"

The shotgun was forward of Alfie in the window; Charley couldn't lever it back to bring it to bear on him. So he eased up on the gas, slowing the truck. Everything seemed unnaturally slow and his consciousness shrank to a tight focus on the pressure of the hot muzzle against his neck and nothing else.

"Take it easy," Charley said. Kativa shrank against her door in fear.

Charley eased up on the gas even more, then pulled the shotgun trigger at the same time he stomped the brake. The blast of the shotgun at the same instant of the sudden stop caused Alfie to pull the muzzle of his machine pistol off line and his resulting shot creased Charley's jaw instead of burying itself in his neck. Alfie scrabbled on the running board for balance, then fell off, rolling neatly in a judo roll and coming up with his weapon leveled at the truck. The back window and right-hand mirror shattered in a spray of suppressed fire, the only sounds the shattering of glass and the faint
click click click
of the silenced submachine gun.

Charley felt another round crease his shoulder, another pluck at the hair on the side of his head. He kept the truck going fast, and took the first sharp curve on the exit ramp without touching the brakes. The truck teetered and sideswiped the wall, breaking off the other exterior mirror. Charley chanced a quick look back and saw nothing. He raced the truck through the next level of the parking garage to the street level. The attendant booth was empty but the crossbar was down. It was a heavy metal-reinforced job and Charley didn't think he could drive through it. He stomped on the brakes, looked round quickly, and then leaped from the truck and ran for the attendant's booth.

"Stop right there!" someone shouted.

Charley whirled around and saw two police officers aiming their pistols at him. He froze, slowly lifted his hands with the shotgun still in his right hand, and said, "There's another one here in the parking garage. He's armed with a silenced machine gun and he's coming this way."

"You're the man with the gun, mate. Down to your knees," the taller of the two policemen said. "Don't you do anything with that shotgun or I'll shoot you."

The other officer moved forward and Charley saw the sudden hole that appeared in his forehead, first black, then red as he stopped and fell forward with a look of utter surprise. Charley threw himself to one side and smashed the door of the attendant's booth open with his shoulder. He hit the lever that controlled the access arm. There were more shots; the other police officer was emptying his revolver.

Then there was silence.

Charley rolled forward out the door and came up behind the concrete pillar that held the parking arm motor and counterweight. The other police officer was down; he had a neat array of red and bleeding holes in his chest. He wore no protective vest.

Kativa sat behind the wheel in the truck. Standing on the driver's side running board and peering out from behind her, Alfie held the muzzle of his machine pistol firm against her head.

"Stay where you are, Charley," he said.

Charley pointed the shotgun at the two of them. From where he stood it was ten yards and he was on the left side of the truck; the two of them were pressed against the driver's side of the right-hand drive pickup truck.

"I know what you're thinking, Charley," Alfie said. "There's no way you're going to get a shot with that shotgun. You only have a few left… you're not going to try for a head shot with a sawed-off shotgun, are you? Be real, mate."

"Let her go," Charley said.

"Oh, that would be smart, wouldn't it?" Alfie said. "Just like in the bloody movies. Let the girl go, do the chivalric thing."

"If you hurt her, I'll kill you," Charley said.

"Oh, I think you'd kill me no matter what I did," Alfie said. "Where you going to go, SAS man? If you move out from cover I'll tag you and you can't hit me from there. If I move from my lovely cover here, you'll tag me. And I haven't grown old in this skin by being stupid. We'll meet again soon, Charley, and in the meantime this lovely lady will be going with me. Maybe you can catch me before I do something reprehensible, eh, mate? You know how I like to work, don't you, Charley? A little of this, a little of that, a little bit of her body fat? You know where the best parts are on a woman's body? Hips and breasts, Charley. Hips and breasts."

"Leave her be!" Charley shouted. His very being trembled with the desire to dash forward and empty his shotgun into the man taunting him from behind Kativa's fearful face.

"Not today, Charley… not unless you move fast. We're driving away, Charley," Alfie said.

The vehicle inched forward, Kativa working the clutch with her foot. Charley trembled with rage from behind the pillar, unable to move. The killer's words almost had the desired effect; he almost lurched out from behind cover to strike Alfie down.

"Not tonight!" Alfie shouted as the distance between them grew. "Not tonight!"

The truck turned into the street and Charley saw Alfie push Kativa over into the passenger side of the cab and take over the wheel. The truck accelerated away.

Charley had no chance of hitting him with the shotgun at thirty yards; no chance without endangering Kativa. He heard more sirens coming and knew that in moments the garage and the surrounding streets would be swarming with police. He had no time to waste explaining his circumstances. He knelt over the dead police officer and took his revolver and two reloads from his belt. He tucked the revolver inside his waistband and held the shotgun close beneath his jacket. He checked the chamber. Two shells left. Everything else had gone with the truck.