Back Track (42 page)

The moment he stepped through the doorway and into the garage, Bishop followed.

Bishop glanced both ways at the junction, saw it was clear and then sprinted all out for the door straight ahead, reaching it four seconds later.

He turned the handle and opened the door a crack. The lights were on inside: six industrial-sized fluorescent tubes running along the length of the garage. To his left, about fifty feet away, Grieco was walking towards the limo at the end, still playing with the key ring.

Bishop silently pulled the door shut behind him and ducked between the two vehicles directly ahead. When he reached the trunks, he raised his head and saw Grieco turn near the end and approach the driver’s side of the limo.

As soon as he opened the door, Bishop began moving at a half-crouch from car to car in that direction. He was four vehicles from the end when he heard the limo’s engine start up. He moved to the next vehicle. Then he heard the car door open again, accompanied by the
bing, bing, bing
of an electronic warning chime and the sound of footsteps. Bishop figured Grieco was under orders to turn off the interior lights before opening the garage doors.

He moved to the next car’s rear bumper. Stopped. Then on to the next. He was halfway along the second-from-last vehicle’s bumper when the lights went out. Good. Bishop liked the dark. Peering over the trunk, he saw the only illumination was coming from the limo’s interior. He kept his eye on the open door, listening to the man’s footsteps as he came back. Then he watched as Grieco got in the driver’s seat and reached for his seat belt.

As soon as he shut the door, Bishop turned into the space between the cars and crept up to the driver’s side. Behind him, he heard the sound of the garage doors opening and he placed the Sig back in his shoulder holster. Better to keep things quiet if he could.

He watched as the garage shutters arced up, placing his hand on the door latch. Before they reached the top, he stood up and yanked the door open.

The car’s interior light came on. Grieco looked up and gaped at Bishop at though he’d just seen the Rapture. Bishop pulled his right arm back and chopped at the man’s larynx with the hard edge of his palm. Grieco made a gagging noise and lurched forward as blood erupted from his mouth and onto his pants. Bishop reached in with both hands and finished him, using the same move he’d used on Baldwin.

Bringing down the odds, one at time. That’s the way to beat them.

Bishop pulled the lever to pop the trunk, placed Grieco’s baseball cap on his own head and clipped the man’s holster to his belt. This one held a Glock 23 with a full magazine of seventeen .40 S&W rounds. And another spare mag in the side pocket. In situations like this, you couldn’t have too many guns, or too much ammo.

Bishop dragged the body back and stuffed it in the trunk. Then he got behind the wheel and backed the limo out. There was a remote on the passenger seat and Bishop pressed the button that closed the shutters. He aimed the limo in the direction of the front gate and checked himself in the mirror as he drove. The cap and the tinted glass should help at the entrance. If not, he’d simply have to reduce the enemy’s ranks by one more. But he hoped it wouldn’t come to that just yet. Nice and quiet was how he wanted it. For now.

As he got closer to the gatehouse Bishop tried to make out Lane, the guard, but saw no sign of him. When he was within a hundred feet of the fence, the gates began to automatically open inwards. He looked to his right and saw Lane lean out of a window and wave him through. Bishop lowered the visor on his cap and waved back as he drove by.

Just business as usual.

Bishop hung a left as soon as he was through, refusing to dwell on how easy that had been. It wouldn’t last. He just kept the limo at a steady twenty, and when the perimeter fence turned left again, so did he. He pressed the button to lower the window and tried to discern the sound of a plane, but couldn’t hear anything yet.

Another thirty seconds and he was past the hangar. Movement over there caused Bishop to turn his head. But it was just the fuel tanker coming out of the annex at the rear. A six-wheeler with maybe a three or four thousand gallon load capacity. He’d almost forgotten about the refuelling. Now he was glad he hadn’t had to kill Lane.

Fifteen seconds more and he was past the perimeter fence. Ahead was just darkness and desert. Except he could now make out faint landing lights in the ground a half mile away, arranged in an east–west direction. Faint from his position, but probably as clear as day when seen from above. And he could also hear the distant sound of a prop plane coming from the east. Sounded like a single-engine, but he couldn’t be sure.

Bishop aimed for the most westerly part of the strip and spotted lights in the sky about half a mile away. When he was about a hundred feet from the landing strip Bishop stopped the limo, but kept the engine running.

1.06 a.m., according to the dashboard clock. Looked like they were right on time.

Less than a minute later, Bishop watched as the plane came in at a perfect angle. It touched down, decreased its speed and finally came to a stop with fifty feet to spare, perfectly placed in the centre of the airstrip. Bishop put the limo in gear and drove over to meet it.

The corporate jet was a single-engine turboprop, as he’d guessed. Most had twin propellers, one on each wing, but this only had the one. Possibly a Pilatus. Bishop remembered one of his old clients having owned something similar. He pulled up outside the passenger door on the port side. There were four small windows along the body and a cargo door at the rear. He didn’t have to wait long before somebody inside opened the passenger door and lowered it to the ground.

A large, shaven-headed, dark-skinned man in a sports jacket and slacks appeared in the entranceway and glared at the limo. Bishop leaned out and touched a finger against his cap visor. ‘How you doin’?’ he said.

The bodyguard disappeared for a moment and then came back out, taking the steps two at a time. He came up to Bishop and said, ‘Name.’

‘Mine or yours?’ Bishop said.

The bodyguard’s expression didn’t change.

‘Hey, I’m just screwing with you. I’m Grieco, your limo driver. Call Mr Hallaran if you don’t believe me.’ Bishop pulled the two-way from his belt and offered it to the man.

The bodyguard ignored it, turned to the plane and nodded to another steroid abuser waiting at the top of the steps. He had the exact same build and dress sense, but he had long hair tied back in a ponytail. Even in the darkness, Bishop saw facial similarities. Maybe they were brothers or something. Ponytail said something in Portuguese, then moved aside as a third man came down the steps. He wore an expensive-looking suit and looked to be in his mid-fifties. He had grey, receding hair. His face was heavily lined and his expression sombre. He looked like a man used to getting what he wanted. This had to be Poleina.

Shaved-head went back and opened the limo’s rear door. Poleina quickly ducked inside and sprawled out on the back seat like he owned it. Shaved-head followed him in, closed the door and took the jump seat opposite. Ponytail came round the front of the vehicle, opened the passenger door and sat next to Bishop. ‘Drive,’ he said.

‘Way ahead of you,’ Bishop said and started back the way he’d come. He looked in the rear-view. Poleina was looking out the right-hand window at the hangar in the distance.

‘Nice landing,’ Bishop said.

‘Thank you,’ said Poleina without turning from the window. ‘Gerardo?’

Ponytail turned to Bishop and said, ‘No more talk. Drive.’

Bishop shrugged and drove. Halfway back, they passed the fuel tanker coming the other way, also with its headlights off. Less than ninety seconds later, he reached the entrance gates and Lane opened them and waved the car through like before. Bishop didn’t wave back this time. He just kept going towards the hangar, passing the garage shutters and stopping outside a nondescript door a couple of hundred feet further along. Bishop was only guessing, but this had to be the entrance to the reception room.

‘Here we are,’ Bishop said. ‘Door to door service, as advertised.’

Without another word, all three men exited the car and approached the hangar door. He watched Gerardo open the door and go in first, followed by Poleina, then Shaved-head.

Bishop rolled his window back up and turned off the engine, hoping Vallejo and Patricia were making progress. He looked at his watch. 01.13. This was the worst part. Waiting for Poleina to deliver Selina to him. Neeson said it usually took half an hour to finalize everything. Once they were all inside the car, he could take care of Poleina and his men. Then it was a simple matter of taking out Lane at the gate and driving on through. Hallaran was a luxury he’d have to save for later.

Sure. Nothing easier
.

Except Bishop had been on countless missions during his eight years in uniform, and something invariably went wrong somewhere along the line. It was inevitable. Life wasn’t like the movies, and human error was just something you had to factor in right from the start. And right now, there was too much happening over which he had no control. Too many people. And the fact that it had been plain sailing thus far only added to his uneasiness.

Experience told him they were due for a slip-up. So Bishop sat back and tried to anticipate all the ways that could happen. The possibilities were almost limitless, but that didn’t stop him. He had nothing else to occupy his time.

He was still thinking on it at 01.26, when he heard gunfire coming from inside.

Bishop pulled the keys from the ignition and jumped out of the car. As he was locking it, the radio on his belt burst into life again.

‘
Grieco, Baldwin, Kiervan
,’ Hallaran yelled, ‘
get your asses to the south side of the hangar right now. We got a shooter in room 2. The dyke cop
.’ More gunshots. ‘
She’s got some of the women with her. Sullivan, cover the main entrance. Lane, you stay in position at the gate and make sure Poleina gets out okay. And keep your eyes peeled for a male intruder. He’ll be around here somewhere. Everybody report your positions now
.’

‘
This is Kiervan
,’ another voice said, sounding out of breath. ‘
Pilot’s still in the middle of refuelling. I’m running back now. Be there in four minutes or less. Lane, get ready to open that gate for me
.’

‘
Lane here. Copy that. Am waiting at the gate.
’

‘
Sullivan here. Making for the main entrance now.
’

Bishop pressed ‘Transmit’, rubbed the speaker back and forth over his cheek stubble to mask his voice and said in a baritone, ‘
Grieco here. Coming in now
.’ Then he clicked off.

He turned the volume down, ran over to the hangar and pressed himself against the wall a few feet from the door. He held the Sig Sauer to his chest and just stood there, waiting. With Grieco and Baldwin down, that left Hallaran and one more goon inside. Plus two more, Kiervan and Sullivan, on their way. As for the civilians, Ryan was out for the count and if the two hypnotherapists had any sense they’d have locked themselves in their rooms at the first sound of gunfire. One of them had probably been the fat man he’d spotted earlier.

Bishop saw movement at his left. A tiny human silhouette about two or three hundred yards away, running towards the hangar door. Bishop heard more gunshots coming from inside. He’d given Vallejo thirty rounds. How much did she have left? He needed to get to her fast. But first, he had to wait for this Sullivan to close the distance.
Come on, boy. Your boss is calling
.

The shape had halved the distance already. He was moving at a good clip. Bishop watched him get bigger and bigger. When he judged Sullivan was about twenty feet away, Bishop pushed away from the wall, raised the Sig and aimed it dead centre at the man’s chest area. He fired three times in quick succession and Sullivan went down soundlessly in heap, like the strings had been cut. Bishop ran over, gun aimed at the spot where he’d fallen. When he saw the body, he pointed the gun at the man’s head and fired again. The man’s left leg jerked once and then was still.

It was always best to be thorough. Bishop had learned that lesson the hard way a long time ago. He didn’t need any nasty surprises creeping up behind him.

Bishop knelt down and checked for the man’s gun, but the holster and both his hands were empty. He found his Maglite, played the beam around the body and still couldn’t see it. He knew it had to be here somewhere, but he didn’t have time. He ran back to the door and heard shouting from within. And it didn’t sound like English.

As he pulled the door open he also grabbed Grieco’s Glock from his hip holster. He re-entered the hangar with a gun in each hand, covering everything in front of him.

The ‘reception room’ was a vast open space resembling a modern loft conversion, with oak flooring, and white walls and ceiling. There were carefully designed nooks here and there, stocked with modern seating and tables. Fifty feet away, Poleina stood in one of these recesses, gripping the shoulder of a blonde woman in a white, spaghetti-strap dress.

It was Selina. Even from a distance Bishop could tell.

Finally, he was able to confirm she was alive with his own eyes. The sense of relief he felt was almost palpable. Because he knew that whatever happened next, history wouldn’t be repeating itself. He wouldn’t be finding Selina in the same state as he’d found Laurette Chounan all those years ago. That was what he’d been dreading the most. But he didn’t waste time with further reflection. That was all in the past. There was still too much to do in the here and now.

Poleina was shouting at Gerardo, who was busy tying a piece of bloody material around his associate’s wounded shoulder. In the light, they really looked like brothers. Which meant they probably were.

Then Poleina noticed Bishop and turned with the girl. Both bodyguards instantly raised their weapons in his direction. Bishop kept his guns pointed at the ground and jogged over. He was still one of Hallaran’s men as far as they were concerned. Not a threat. As long as Selina didn’t blow his cover.