DELIVERANCE: a gripping action thriller full of suspense (10 page)

Then Marshall breaks the silence.

‘I thought I killed you already?’ he says bluntly.

Quinn does not answer. She is still processing the information before her. What the hell are they playing at?

Then she suddenly realizes just what she is looking at.

‘That’s right,’ Marshall says. ‘To our rear is a nine thousand cubic centilitre propane tank. It’s the largest one they make. I notice you have an assault rifle and a high-velocity handgun. Whoops. Now I’m sure you can hit any one of us from there, but then of course half a second later, when the bullet continues on its way, everyone else dies too.’

Quinn begins shaking with rage.

‘Here’s the deal,’ Marshall continues, calmly. ‘You throw your weapons way over to the east, over there. Do that now.’

Suddenly Fleming raises his gun and aims it directly at Marshall. He tightens his finger on the trigger as he flips the safety off with his thumb. Then Quinn’s hand snakes out towards Fleming’s throat, and he falls to the floor choking on his own larynx.

‘If you pull any shit like that, you're dead too,’ Quinn says quietly to the pilot, without taking her eyes from Marshall.

‘Sir,’ Richards replies, with wide eyes.

‘Good girl,’ Marshall calls out to Quinn, who appears to be vibrating with fury. ‘Now throw the weapons,’ he adds.

Quinn removes the rifle from around her neck and is about to throw it under arm.

‘Stop,’ Marshall orders. ‘Eject the clip first. Throw the clip west.’

Quinn removes the clip from the rifle.

‘And make it a good solid overarm throw,’ Marshall advises.

Quinn sees that he has now raised the Sig, and is pointing it directly between herself and Richards. She throws the clip over arm as hard as she can to the west.

‘Very good,’ Marshall calls out. ‘Now the rifle to the east, as hard as you can.’

Quinn does so, and then repeats the same actions with the Desert Eagle. She glares at Richard’s until he begins to copy her actions with his weapon.

‘Stop,’ Marshall orders him. ‘Throw the Berretta to me.’

Richards tosses the clip and the gun under arm to Marshall, who throws them both to Charlie.

‘For later, bruv.’

‘It's only a matter of time until you die.’ Quinn says.

‘It's only a matter of time until we all die,’ Marshall calls back. ‘Now you seem like a smart girl, so I guess you know what we are doing next, don’t you?’

Quinn doesn’t answer. Her blood is boiling, but she affects calm pretty well.

‘I think you do, but I’ll tell you anyway. You seem to be good at following orders.’

Quinn’s rage steps up a further notch.

‘We will be traversing positions,’ Marshall calls out. ‘You two will go west, and we shall go east. You will maintain the same distance as now. Do you understand?’

‘Yes,’ Quinn answers. ‘But I really will enjoy killing you eventually.’

‘Great news,’ Marshall mocks. ‘I shall look forward to it. Now move, slowly. Walking pace only. I still have a gun, remember, and my ammunition will give no exit wound.’

Quinn and Richards begin to circle round to the west, while Marshall, Charlie and Sarah circle round to the east. Once they have switched positions, Marshall says something to Sarah, who then strides towards the back of the Puma that Quinn arrived in. Quinn’s eyes widen a few moments later as her helicopter’s engines whine into life.

‘Yep, that’s right,’ Marshall says. ‘We’re taking your ride.’

The dust on the ground begins to move from the force of the rotors.

‘All aboard, Charlie,’ Marshall calls out over the ascending sound of the Puma’s engines and rotors.

‘You’ll be along shortly, will you?’ Charlie asks.

‘You could always drop me a line.’

‘Roger that,’ Charlie confirms and runs to join Sarah in the helicopter.

Marshall keeps the gun trained dead centre between the two targets the way he has been trained to do, so that there is the least amount of movement to get to either one if they try something stupid.

‘Well, go on then,’ Quinn says suddenly.

‘Go on what?’ Marshall asks.

‘You aren’t going to leave us alive, so go on. Do it.’

‘What’s your name?’

‘Smith.’

‘Try again.’

‘Alright, it’s Quinn. But does it really matter? What is this? You like to know someone’s name before you execute them?’

‘Always.’

‘Perhaps I shouldn’t have told you then,’ she says with a radiant smile that very nearly, but not quite sucks Marshall in.

‘No sudden moves, Quinn,’ he orders.

The air begins to move around and the dust particles on the ground begin to dance in slow concentric circles as Sarah positions the Puma directly overhead. A moment later, the weighted line drops down next to Marshall. He notes how much of it is on the ground, and knows that Sarah must be very low indeed, but he doesn’t look up. This is the critical moment. If Quinn is going to try something, it will be now. But it isn’t Quinn who moves, it is Richards. He paces right and forward, placing himself between Marshall and Quinn. Quinn takes the cue and presses herself against the propane tank, making herself as small as possible.

‘Very noble,’ Marshall shouts to him above the noise of the rotors.

As Marshall wraps his free hand around the weighted line and grasps it with his feet, a mobile phone begins to vibrate in Quinn’s pocket.

Chapter Fifteen

Marshall has not done this kind of free ascent in quite some time, and he immediately wishes he had secured the line to himself. The muscles in his arms and legs are screaming at him to grab hold with both hands, but he keeps the gun roughly sighted on Richards as best he can. From this angle he can see Quinn talking quickly on her phone, with her free hand pressed hard over her other ear. There is no way Marshall can hear what she is saying, but he can clearly see her mouthing it loudly.

Repeat and confirm
.

Then she moves.

She bolts eastwards heading for the guns. Marshall has warned her once, so he opens fire. He empties the Sig’s short clip, but she doesn’t even slow down. He can’t believe he has missed with every shot. Even under these conditions, Marshall knows he can hit a target with one round out of ten at least. He takes comfort in the fact that the clip for the rifle is three hundred yards away in the opposite direction, but then he realises.

She would have chambered a round.

There will be a bullet in the rifle.

Marshall looks upwards to see that he is still eight feet from the lip of the door to the Puma. He is moving upwards at approximately five feet per minute. Quinn is still twenty-five feet from the rifle, but she is running flat out. He contemplates letting go. Charlie will understand what it means. The mission must come first. He decides it is the right thing to do. Besides, his muscles can’t hold out much longer, even though he has dropped the gun and is holding on with both hands. He counts in his head, deciding to let go after three.

One
,
two
...

Suddenly the line jerks upwards, and Marshall is so startled that he forgets to let go. He looks up to see Charlie hauling him upwards three feet at a time, and he is inside the Puma within sixty seconds.

‘Go!’ he shouts to Sarah. ‘Head south-west, and bank hard. Keep the tilt as long as you can to minimise the target. Quinn has a bullet in that rifle.’

Sarah banks hard, feeling for the stall point and riding it like a wave. Marshall looks down to see that Quinn has reached the rifle. She swings it immediately round and takes aim, but throws herself back as a bullet thuds into the ground at her feet. Marshall turns to see Charlie standing above his right shoulder holding the Berretta without a clip in it.

‘I guess there was a round chambered in this one too,’ he says calmly.

Marshall holds his breath for two more minutes, until he knows they are safe.

‘Sarah!’ he shouts out. ‘Please resume course for Adelaide. We need to get out of this fucking country!’

Back on the ground, Quinn stands over the body of Richards. She has broken his neck out of sheer rage.

She can’t believe they got away again.

She stamps down heavily on the pilot’s spine again and again in frustration, until the crunching sound ceases, and there is not much left to stamp on. She is breathing hard and her shoulders are moving up and down as her body vents the built-up adrenaline. If that phone call had come earlier, the target and her pathetic crew would all be dead now. Quinn is furious with herself. She should have taken one of the four chances she had during the encounter to strike, but she did not because of the gun that Marshall held.

Idiot
.

The phone call she received was from her commander, as soon as she reported the situation, he told her about the Sig Sauer P230 that Marshall possessed. It was a
plant
at the scene of Mason’s murder, and therefore was loaded with blanks.

Shit
.

If she had known that, she would have killed them all with her bare hands.

Quinn takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. She repeats several more times until her breathing returns to normal, and her head clears.

Then she begins to think. To plan.

She needs to get to Adelaide, and fast. She does not trust anyone else to neutralise the targets, and quite frankly, she feels she owes them a personal death. Apart from the girl, Sarah, that is – she has more in store for her.

Quinn takes a good look around. She sees the propane tank, and a tractor with some kind of winch device. There is also a long stretch of road, and an outbuilding. Nothing of any particular use. Then she stops and looks again. This time putting all of the things she can see together.

She smiles.

It’s not a stretch of road, it’s a runway. It’s not an outbuilding; it’s a hangar. It’s not a tractor with a winch either; it’s a launch point. She heads for the farmhouse to find the owner. Unfortunately she will need to take him with her because in all her years, she has never flown a glider.

High above Quinn, and nearer to Adelaide now, the atmosphere inside the helicopter has changed. Although Marshall, Charlie and Sarah have shared another victory over the enemy, nobody knows how long it will be until the next confrontation.

Sarah is left alone in the cockpit, whilst Charlie and Marshall talk in the back.

‘We’re still heading for Adelaide then?’ Charlie asks.

‘Yes,’ Marshall answers.

‘Think it’ll be Scott free?’

Marshall smirks. This is an old anecdote from their service days. He and Charlie served a spell in the Gulf as part of a tight unit with only one loose cannon.

Private Paul Scott.

If there was anything that it was at all possible to fuck up, you could rely on Paul Scott to do so. He once jeopardised the entire unit with a single inaccurate radio code.

He was an idiot.

Therefore, from then on,
getting away scot-free
meant not having to deal with people like Private Scott.

‘Yes,’ Marshall answers. ‘My guy is as solid as they come. If we can’t trust him, then we are stuck in this godforsaken place forever. Plus, he owes me.’

‘Your call, little brother,’ Charlie replies. ‘I’ve got your back whatever happens.’

‘I know, Charlie, and thank you.’ Marshall pauses for a moment and then a question he has been meaning to ask his brother floats to the top of his consciousness.

‘Anyway, what exactly were you doing in New Zealand?’

‘What do you mean?’ Charlie asks.

‘When I called you, and asked for your help with a situation in Australia, you said it was a coincidence because you were in New Zealand.’

‘I won tickets to see the All Blacks play.’

‘Rugby?’ Marshall asks sceptically.

‘Yes.’

‘Since when were you into rugby?’

Then Sarah interrupts them.

‘We are seventeen kilometres from Adelaide,’ she shouts loudly from the cockpit. She knows that neither Marshall nor Charlie are wearing headsets.

‘I’ll be there in a second to advise,’ Marshall responds.

Sarah nods, and resumes her forward glance with perfect posture for full control. Marshall remembers that he really must hear the rest of her story at some point.

He removes his windbreaker, which is now tattered and torn from his hellish static ascent, and throws it out of the helicopter’s side door. It flutters away into the morning sky as the sun edges upwards. Although he will no longer have the GPS device, he has already found a landing location and hopes he won’t need it any longer.

‘I have a few ideas, Charlie,’ Marshall says closing the side door once more.

‘I fucking hope you do,’ Charlie exclaims.

‘Let me get the landing organised. Then I’ll come back for a run through.’

‘Roger that.’

As Marshall joins Sarah back in the cockpit where he begins to relay landing instructions, Charlie pulls his mobile phone silently from his pocket and sends a quick text message. Twenty seconds later he receives a soundless reply:

I need 30 mins, stall them if you can.

Charlie grins and quickly puts the phone away just before Marshall returns.

‘Ready for the plan?’ Marshall asks.

‘Sure thing, little brother.’

‘Good. We are landing on a golf course. It’s the only decent spot near to the airport,’ Marshall states. ‘I don‘t want us to be out in the open for any longer than is necessary.’

‘Good thinking,’ Charlie responds.

‘Once we land,’ Marshall continues, ‘Sarah and I will walk into Richmond. There are two roads in, one more secluded than the other. I think we’ll take the direct route though. It’s a good mile, and we’ll take it easy so it should take us fifteen minutes or so.’

‘Sounds good so far,’ Charlie chimes in.

‘Meanwhile,’ Marshall resumes, ‘you will be picking us up some wheels.’

‘From where?’

‘That's
your
mission objective, Charlie.’

‘Right, got it; I’ll pick up the wheels. Then what?’

‘Then you come and find us,’ Marshall finishes.

‘Where?’

‘You were trained the same way I was, bruv. Either we will be heading towards the airport if things go right, or we’ll be where the fight is if things go bad.’

‘Sure. I’ll find you.’

‘Make it quick though,’ Marshall states in earnest. ‘If there’s trouble, I will need you there.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Will you quit it with the
yes sir
shit, Charlie?’

‘Yes, sir,’ Charlie repeats, throwing a salute also.

‘Prick,’ Marshall says grinning.

‘Who takes the gun?’ Charlie asks.

‘You do,’ Marshall answers. ‘If I run into trouble that I can’t handle, I need you to be armed when you get there.’

‘Roger that.’

As the Puma begins to descend towards the landing point, Marshall heads back to the cockpit to brief Sarah. Charlie silently pulls his phone from his pocket again, and sends another message.

Not far behind Marshall, Charlie and Sarah, the glider carrying Quinn continues its silent approach. Sat in the pilot seat is a very nervous looking old man in his pyjamas. He has a bad and bleeding cut just above his right eye where Quinn struck him with the handle of her knife the moment he opened his door. She is sat next to him with the knife held loosely at her side staring forwards out into the night sky.

The silence between them is suddenly broken as the old man finds some courage.

‘I could plunge us both into the ground you know,’ he exclaims in a trembling voice.

‘Do it, then,’ Quinn replies immediately.

‘What?’

‘I said do it. However, you should know that you will die before we hit the ground in a most excruciatingly painful way.’

The old man does not answer. He just continues to fly the glider onwards.

‘How long until we are in Adelaide?’ Quinn asks.

‘Impossible to say.’

‘Try, and I may let you live a little longer. You see, I have been watching you for the last twenty minutes. While landing it may be bumpy, I sure as hell don’t need you to fly this heap of shit.’

‘If the thermals are steady, we should be there in forty-five minutes,’ he answers.

Quinn does not reply.

‘When we get there, and I have safely landed,’ the old guy asks. ‘Will you let me go?’

‘If you get me there within thirty-seven minutes, you may live.’

‘That might be impossible,’ the old guy cries out. ‘I can’t decide the thermals.’

‘Then you might die.’

The old man’s face turns even more ashen, but he does not respond. He begins to pray silently instead. Quinn looks in the rear at the rifle and the Desert Eagle. She has ejected the ammunition clips and laid them next to the weapons in case the old guy gets the drop on her.

A few kilometres ahead of Quinn, a retired man named Stanley Bishop concentrates hard on teeing off for hole six on Adelaide golf course. It’s a semi-blind tee shot bordered by a water, so he has to get good placement and length to set up a short approach shot onto the green. He places his driver club back in the bag, and opts for a 3-wood for control. He takes two practice swings before hearing the wonderful chink of club against ball, and watches as the tiny projectile takes an almost perfect path. Stan looks round at his golf buddies, George and Tim for approval. To be honest, they aren’t buddies at all, in fact they hate each other. But they are the only three who will go golfing at the crack of dawn to avoid the humidity of late morning, so they are stuck with each other.

Stan is immediately annoyed to find that neither George nor Tim seem to have seen his excellent shot. Instead they are gawping at something behind him.

Probably girls out jogging in tiny little outfits; the perverts
! He thinks.

But as Stan is about to berate them for not paying attention, he notices the noise. He originally thought it was one of those ride on grass cutters that they are always using to mow the course and get in his way. Now though, it is getting louder. Much louder. He turns to look in the same direction as his two hated friends, and briefly wonders if he has lost is mind. About five hundred yards away, and maybe eight hundred yards up, is a helicopter.