DELIVERANCE: a gripping action thriller full of suspense (11 page)

And it looks to be coming in to land on the green of hole four.

The three men watch with astonishment as the aircraft is expertly brought to the ground, crushing the flag of hole four. Then two men and a woman exit the helicopter, and one of the men hurries over.

‘Good morning, Gentlemen!’ Charlie says brightly.

Stan, George and Tim nod back slowly.

‘I just wanted to come over and tell you something,’ Charlie says directly to Stan. ‘I realise that we distracted your friends here, and I apologise for that. However, I thought I should tell you that it was a cracking shot you made off the tee.’

‘Um, thank you.’ Stan stutters.

‘And believe me,’ Charlie continues. ‘I had a proper bird’s eye view.’

With that, Charlie salutes, turns, and heads back to Marshall and Sarah.

After a few moments of silence, George says, ‘What do you make of that then, Stan?’

Stan looks at the helicopter for a little while longer before answering.

‘How soon can we get to the nineteenth hole?’

Once Charlie returns, Marshall runs through the plan one more time.

‘And you better be quick, Charlie,’ he warns when he’s finished.

‘Will do, little brother.’

‘Ready?’ Marshall asks, turning to Sarah.

‘I don’t see why we have to hold hands,’ she replies testily.

‘Because two people ambling towards town hand in hand will look normal, whereas two people stalking toward town side by side will stand out. Simple psychology.’

‘Fine,’ she says.

As Marshall takes Sarah’s hand, it sends a brief tingle up his spine. A memory from when they were lovers.

‘One more thing,’ Charlie adds. ‘I think you should stay off the main road on your way to Richmond. It may slow you down by a half hour or so, but you’ll feel safer for sure. It’s just a suggestion though.’

‘A good one too,’ Marshall states. ‘We need minimum exposure. Thanks Charlie.’

‘Anytime,’ Charlie says.

‘All ready?’ Marshall asks, although it’s more of a statement made to sound like a question.

‘Yes,’ Charlie responds.

Sarah does not respond at all. She just walks off in the direction of town. After a long pause, Marshall follows her. He turns back once to see that Charlie has already vanished from sight, before catching up with Sarah. He wonders if she will be in a talkative mood. He hopes so. With any luck, he will know the full story, or the majority of it, by the time they reach town. As he catches her up, he slips his hand back into hers. She does not react, but just continues walking.

‘Sarah?’ he says softly.

‘Yes Marshall?’ she replies.

‘Would you like to continue your story now?’

She stops dead in her tracks and very nearly pulls Marshall off balance.

‘Story?’ she asks him angrily. ‘You think it’s a fucking
story
Marshall? This has been my
life,
my
fucking hell of a life!
Story
really doesn’t give it credit!’

‘Sarah, listen to me,’ Marshall soothes. ‘I don’t know the full extent of the shit you’ve been through, but I need to hear it. So please, will you continue telling me what has happened?’

She is quiet awhile, and Marshall’s mind tries to race ahead.

Then she begins to talk.

Chapter Sixteen

In a shabby and otherwise deserted office on a quiet street in Richmond, Adelaide, Daniel Groth sits behind a desk. He is waiting for the call from Quinn. Whilst he waits, he is contemplating the nature of the word
pimp.
It’s a word that is often used to describe him, although he feels it is not really accurate. Sure, he collects the girls from the airport. He drugs them and secures them. He oversees the fitting of the device in their arms. It is a clever device too. Loosely based upon the implant used for the birth control pill, it delivers an ongoing low-dose of methadone: enough to keep the girls compliant and dreamy, but not enough to knock them out completely. He then arranges their “training,” which is his own more pleasant term for what is basically a few hours of gang-rape. However, then the girls are sold on. Groth doesn’t deal with them afterwards. So, no,
pimp
is not the right term at all, as far as Groth is concerned. Groth likes to think of himself as a typical businessman, and after all, like with any other business, if he didn’t do it then someone else would.

Some of the girls do stay in the area, however. And when Groth sees one of his girls out on the street, he feels a sense of fatherly pride. He doesn’t recall all of their faces, even though he is involved in almost every “training” session. His girls are easy to spot though. The majority of prostitutes in Adelaide are addicted to cigarettes only, unlike Groth’s girls.

He stares at the phone on the table, as he often finds himself doing, and whilst he waits he thinks about his new recruits; the ones that Quinn has told him to handover for their training. They will be ready for sale about now; he’s just sad he didn’t get to try them himself this time. Still, he knows there will be others soon, and he did acquire a keep-sake from one of them. A father’s gift to his daughter.

Breaking him from his train of thought, Groth’s phone begins to vibrate. He sighs and then picks it up.

‘Go for Groth,’ he says.

Groth, it’s Quinn. It’s time to get ready.

‘I’m already waiting.’

Recon only, remember
, Quinn orders.
Find out which direction they are heading and report back only. Do not engage.

Groth does not reply.

Did you hear me, Groth
?

‘Yes.’

Good
.
And remember,
this kill is mine
, Quinn adds, before disconnecting.

Groth stares at the phone for a moment before putting it away. He has heard a lot of things about Marshall. Anyone would think that he is some kind of immortal killing machine. Not Groth though, he believes Marshall to be just a normal man who has been built up with a few bullshit stories and legends. So what if he was in the SAS? It doesn’t mean he’s bulletproof. Quinn may have ordered him not to engage Marshall, but how many times will he get a shot at a legend? Probably never again.

Groth smiles. Recon only indeed. That would be a waste of an excellent trap.

A short while later, Groth is sat in the doorway of a closed down jewellers shop wearing a beat-up leather jacket, grey t-shirt, tatty jeans and dirty trainers full of holes. He looks like a bum, as if he is just part of the scenery.

He waits, whilst occasionally peeling the labels from the empty bottles next to him. He has not drunk anything though; the bottles are just there as part of his cover.

As he takes another fake swig from an empty bottle of cheap lager, he studies the point where two roads meet. They are the only two roads into town, so it will certainly be the point where the targets will present themselves. Groth is counting in his head, which he has come to accept is something of a habit for him. Whenever he is nervous he counts, and he is nervous now. Not because of the targets, though. The problem is handling the whole thing in a public place at 09:30am. He may not be able to pull his gun immediately. Or the cops may get involved, which would complicate matters, to say the least.

Then an idea strikes him. He reverses the bottle in his hand so that he is holding it by the neck. Then he strikes it hard against the ground. The body of the bottle shatters from the force, but the neck remains in his hand with a dangerously sharp and jagged edge.

Groth looks down at it with a broad grin.

Perfect
.

He then picks up one of the empty bottles at his side and holds it loosely in his hand while he lays back in the doorway in a mock sleep pose. He keeps one eye half open however, watching as the street begins to populate.

***

Marshall and Sarah walk a short way along the path into Richmond in silence, whilst Marshall digests the information Sarah has just told him.

Following the rape, when she had only just arrived in Australia, Sarah was introduced to a man who called himself Artoli. He told her that she belonged to him and he would do with her as he wished. Sarah was too tired, and in too much pain to do anything other than nod. She was also in self-denial about what just happened to her for the last few hours. Artoli went on to say that she would be a guest in his house, that she would be well looked after, waited upon and given anything she needed. But then he told her that if she tried to leave she would die, and that what was happening to her was because of Marshall.

Marshall holds up a finger to stop her talking, and they continue in silence for a few paces. They are no longer holding hands, which is not surprising. However Marshall has been highly trained and his mind works almost dolphin-like. Whilst one part of his mind has been absorbing Sarah’s every word, another part has been surveying the scene. Charlie was correct; staying off the main road did mean they encountered less people, but the two men up ahead, about 100 meters off still, are clearly not just there by chance. They are loading a van outside a corner shop, but something about them caught Marshall’s eye.

Was that a gun in the one guy’s hand, and was that a person they just put into the van?

Marshall cannot be sure because of the distance. He picks up his pace a little to get a closer look. He reaches the van just as the back doors are being closed, and both men turn to look at him.

‘Good morning,’ Marshall says.

Both men just stand and stare at him. Marshall cannot see a gun now, but one of them is wearing a large overcoat which could easily conceal it. Marshall tries to look through the rear windows of the van, but they are blacked out. He cannot hear any noise or movement from inside.

‘Can we help you?’ the guy on the left asks.

Marshall checks the van for any distinguishing marks and looks at the number plate before answering. The only distinguishing mark is a small picture of a camera with legs and arms on the back door.

‘Early start?’ he asks.

‘Got to pay the bills, right?’ the second man replies.

Marshall listens some more, but there is still no noise from inside the van. Maybe he imagined the whole thing? Pure paranoia perhaps.

‘Can we get going?’ Sarah asks as she catches him up.

‘I guess so,’ Marshall says.

He watches the two men climb into the van.

‘What was that about?’ Sarah asks as the van pulls away.

‘Maybe nothing,’ Marshall admits. ‘Let’s go.’

He tries to take Sarah’s hand once more, but she ignores him and walks a few steps ahead as they continue on towards town.

Local Adelaide Police Officer James Avens has had a relatively stress free morning, but not a great night’s sleep. He only came off duty at 22:00 hours, and an afternoon shift following a late shift is never a good thing. He has just cut himself shaving and is administering the universal first aid of a tiny piece of toilet paper which he is holding to his chin. He is not concentrating very well though, which is why the blood is still running down his neck.

The girl
.

Avens scolds himself. She is a witness and he has absolutely no place thinking of her in the way he is doing, but he just can’t help it. She has occupied his thoughts ever since he helped her through her court case. She was struggling, and he was there to support her, protect her and serve her. Just like it says on his badge. But then, following the failure of the justice system and the case being thrown out due to inadmissible evidence, he found himself desperately trying to think of a way to keep her in his life. He scolds himself for this also. He knows he has been acting like a lovesick child, but he really just can’t help it. The girl, Jasmine, has seized both his heart and his mind.

So he blurted out an offer to her right there on the steps of the courthouse. In fear of losing her, he offered to teach her self-defence, and then he immediately felt like an idiot for doing so. But she didn’t laugh at him, she smiled at him with her beautiful smile, and without hesitation agreed.

But what does that mean?

Maybe she just saw him as a helpful town cop, like so many other people who never see past the uniform. They forget there is a person inside with emotions and needs, too. But Avens felt that it was different with this girl. He thought there was something special about her the moment they first met, and that feeling remains with him.

He also knows, however, that he is due at work in twenty minutes, and that he will be late. But he just can’t face going straight to work as he knows he should. Not this morning. He can’t just get into the car and drive directly to the station, and then sign in and carry on with his day as normal. He would go crazy.

Avens dresses quickly into his pristine uniform and then he heads for the car. He opens the door and sits inside breathing in the smell of leather from the seats and the faint smell of fast food. He secures his gun in the glovebox and starts the engine.

Then he kills the engine.

He is going to have to do something.

He radios Control and tells them he has just seen a suspicious looking character and he is going to tail him on foot. Then he advises the suspect is heading for North Street.

Where the flower shop is
, he thinks.

Control advises that it is noted, but that Avens needs to get in to the station as soon as he is finished. Avens grins as he listens to them. He will get in as soon as he has dropped the flowers off, perhaps. He wonders if he can pluck up the courage to ask her for a date too. Maybe, but he’ll have to read her reaction to the flowers first.

He is still lost in his thoughts about the girl as he strides in the direction of North Street.

Where Groth is waiting.

Marshall and Sarah reach the end of the road they have been walking down. They are now at an intersection. They stand for a moment as Marshall looks around, but he spots nothing out of the ordinary. There are some shops that have not opened up yet, a few people ambling along the sidewalks, but still hardly anyone about. A drunken homeless guy in a doorway, and an old dog limping across the road.

Clear
.

Now he needs to envisage where Jefferson will be, and that means firing up some neurons he hasn’t used in a while.

‘Shall we get coffee?’ he asks Sarah.

‘Coffee instead of sleep? Brilliant!’

‘Is that a yes?’

Sarah sighs. ‘Yes, I suppose so.’

‘There’s a coffee shop over the road there.’

As he takes Sarah’s hand, and they cross the street something is niggling at the back of his mind, but he can’t quite put his finger on it.

Don’t force it
,
it’ll come
.
Think of something else
.

He checks behind them as they step onto the opposing curb. They pass a closed estate agent and then a flower shop, where the owner is setting up an outside rack with an array of colourful posies. Then Marshall casually glances into the doorway of a closed down jewellers where a homeless guy is sleeping, surrounded by empty beer bottles.

It hits him as they walk three paces further on.

The hair.

The homeless man in the doorway has styled hair. Everything else about him fits the profile of a down and out bum, but his hair – although dirty – has been styled to look that way; Marshall is suddenly sure of it. He spins round, but a second to slowly. The guy is already on his feet and reaching for Sarah. Time seems to slow down and Marshall feels like he is trying to move through syrup. The guy grabs Sarah and pulls her off balance. Then he puts a broken bottle neck to her throat.

‘You move,’ Groth says bluntly, ‘she dies.’

Stalemate.

‘Follow us. Nice and slowly,’ Groth whispers to him, before beginning to shuffle slowly backwards with Sarah, keeping his back to the wall.

Then he pulls her into an alleyway with him. Marshall follows them whilst his brain races to find a solution.

Once they are in the alleyway Groth relaxes slightly, which Marshall notes as his first error; hopefully he will make more. Then, without warning, Groth spins Sarah behind him whilst punching her solidly in the temple. She goes down in a heap and Groth sneers as Marshall’s eyes widen.