DELIVERANCE: a gripping action thriller full of suspense (13 page)

Marshall unscrews the top from the bottle and tips a quarter of the bottle onto Sarah’s upturned face.

‘Shit,’ she says as her eyes snap open.

‘Don’t try to sit up just yet,’ Marshall says softly. He tips the bottle against a napkin and gently wipes it across Sarah’s brow.

‘I’ll be fine,’ she says, and begins to sit up slowly.

She has a moment of vertigo, but manages to stop herself from passing out or throwing up. Within a minute she is sat in the chair to Marshall’s right sipping the water.

‘Who is this guy?’ Sarah asks, pointing a shaky finger at Avens.

‘This guy just saved our lives,’ Marshall says.

‘Lucky us,’ Sarah says, with mock enthusiasm.

They sit in silence for a moment as Avens tries to figure out where to start.

‘We don’t have long,’ Marshall says pointedly to Avens.

‘Alright then,’ Avens says. ‘Where is the guy?’

‘In the alley still, I guess,’ Marshall says.

‘Dead?’

‘Not that I know of.’

‘And what will I find if I go and take a look?’ Avens asks.

‘Depends on how long you wait.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Because these people are professionals and they don’t fuck around. If you get there first, you will find a guy with a broken back. But if
they
get there first, you will probably find a badly mangled corpse, if you find anything at all.’

Avens thinks for a moment, prioritising his questions in his mind before speaking.

‘Who the hell are you?’ he asks.

Marshall does not reply straight away, but first takes a sip of water. Then he says, ‘you first.’

‘I’m Officer James Avens. I’m just a cop.’

‘Ok then. My name is Marshall. I’m ex-SAS from Britain. This is Sarah, and she is in a lot of trouble. I came to Australia to help her get out of a bad situation, but since I got here we have been attacked more times than you’ve had shrimps on a barbie.’

‘That’s a common misconception, y’know,’ Avens states with a crooked smile. ‘I’m not even sure I’ve ever had shrimps on a barbie, come to think of it.’

‘I know,’ Marshall admits, ‘but it can’t all be doom and gloom. By the way, what is a group of kangaroos called?’

'No idea,’ Avens says.

‘Damn.’

‘Look, how about you cut the crap, Marshall? Where are you heading next?’

‘Depends. Are you helping?’ Marshall asks, raising an eyebrow.

‘Let’s just say I am doing my duty as a cop and keeping an eye on undesirables.’

‘Them or us?’ Marshall asks.

‘Maybe I haven’t decided yet.’

Sarah excuses herself to go to the ladies.

The men observe each other cautiously for a few moments. Then Marshall says, ‘We aren’t here to harm anyone, Avens. I am just trying to get everyone back to England safely, and there is only one way that I know of now. We need to find a guy I served with called Jefferson. He is our ticket home, I hope.’

‘Not Michael Jefferson?’

Marshall is stunned. ‘You know Jefferson?’

‘Everyone knows him ‘round here’,’ Avens proclaims. ‘He’s the insurance guy.’

Marshall laughs. Yes, that would make sense. Jefferson was always the risk calculator on missions. Calculating insurance risks without all of the real-time stress and problems of a mission in progress would be easy enough for Jefferson.

‘Where can we find him?’

‘Well, his office is on South Street, not far from here. But it doesn’t open until 10:00am.’

‘But you know where he lives,’ Marshall says. Not a question, a statement.

‘Yes,’ Avens answers before he can stop himself, ‘but there is no way I can take you there. I don’t even know who you are!’

‘I can find him on my own if I need to,’ Marshall says, ‘but I would rather not waste the time if you will help.’

Avens looks down at his hands, empty of the flowers he had set out to buy. And now he has this mad situation on his hands instead. He also thinks about how he should really get to work and clock in, but he can’t just walk out and leave Marshall behind; he has become a part of it now. He doesn’t know why, but he trusts Marshall.

When he lifts his face back up he sees that Marshall is looking towards the door. Avens turns his head round to see what has caught his attention, but can’t see anything unusual: just two ordinary guys stood outside the café entrance. Then, as the door opens and the first man walks in, Avens realises it’s Jefferson. Following him closely behind is Charlie, who has a gun pressed high up against Jefferson’s back. Close enough to hide it from the other customers, but Marshall and Avens spot it easily enough. Charlie smiles a broad smile at Marshall, and then pulls Jefferson back outside. Once away from the large glass window, he then spins Jefferson round, and punches him hard in the stomach, knocking the wind out of him.

‘Weren’t expecting me, were you?’ Charlie says, grimacing down at him. ’Well surprise, surprise, motherfucker!’

Marshall asks Avens to wait for Sarah to return from the ladies. Then he heads outside.

‘What the hell is going on, Charlie?’

‘Is this who you were looking for?’ Charlie asks whilst pointing down at Jefferson, who is on his knees whimpering.

‘Yes,’ Marshall responds, ‘but how did you know that? I never mentioned his name to you! How did you find him?’

‘He found me,’ Charlie states.

Marshall looks down at Jefferson who is wheezing and waving his arms in Marshall’s direction.

‘What happened, Charlie?’ Marshall asks.

‘I was on East Street looking for a car when I saw him heading in this direction. I realised he must be your contact, because the chances of bumping into more than one person we both served with are pretty slim. But what I didn’t notice was the black car with the tinted windows crawling along twenty yards behind him. As soon as I got close to Jefferson, it sped towards me. Then four guys jumped out.’

‘He set us up?’ Marshall exclaims.

‘I can’t be sure about that, but he obviously knew something.’

‘Passive assistance,’ Marshall states. ‘Then what?’

‘Then they rushed me, and our friend here took off along the road.’

‘Maybe he was coming to warn us?’

‘That isn’t how I read it.’

‘Well where are the four guys now?’

But he already knows the answer: if you rush at Charlie, you need to be a team of ten, and even then you need to be lucky.

‘They are dead,’ Charlie says flatly. ‘They weren’t trained like the woman. In fact, they were hardly trained at all. They had knives instead of guns. One of them grabbed me and got his arm broken, and it was all over four triple taps later. Then I ran like hell after Jefferson. I fired four shots into the air to slow him down, and then I caught him just before he got to the end of the road. He didn’t fight me, he just stood there looking despondent. Then I dragged him to the café. I couldn’t hear gun fire, so I came to the nearest meeting point. And that brings us to now.’

‘Okay,’ Marshall says calmly. ‘Now we stick together.’

Jefferson, who is still on his knees, has been listening to the exchange intently, and suddenly holds his hand up.

‘Yes?’ Marshall says looking down at him.

‘He-he-he…’ Jefferson stutters whilst pointing at Charlie.

Charlie kicks him in the head, knocking him out cold.

Marshall looks at Charlie with a frown and raises an eyebrow.

‘He nearly got me killed!’ Charlie explains.

‘But we still may be able to use him, Charlie, and he’s no good if he can’t talk.’

‘I’ll stay here with him then,’ Charlie says. ‘You go and get Sarah and come back out.’

‘Okay. Stay right here; I’ll be right back.’

With that, Marshall stalks back towards the café door.

Charlie glares back down at the inert body of Jefferson.

‘Can’t let you talk to my brother,’ Charlie tells him, although he can’t hear. ‘You might tell him the truth, and that could ruin everything.’

Marshall enters the café again to find Avens and Sarah sitting at the same table as before. Sarah is sitting there calmly, eating a hot pork roll.

‘I’m not leaving until I finish this,’ she warns.

Marshall sighs and turns to Avens. ‘We need to move. It would seem that Jefferson was yet another set up. That was my brother who was with him. He says he found Jefferson by chance, but then he was jumped by four men. They were expecting him; in fact, they were probably expecting Sarah and me to be there also.’

‘Shit. It’s my lucky day, I reckon, bumping into you lot. How did your brother get away from them?’

‘My brother is ex-SAS, like me. It’s probably best you don’t know what he did. You are still a policeman, after all.’

‘So what’s your plan now?’

‘We get back out to Jefferson. Once he comes round, we can lean on him to get us out of here.’

‘How will he get you out of here?’

‘Jefferson works at the airport.’

‘He doesn’t work at the airport,’ Avens states flatly.

‘How do you know? Are you certain? The airport is part military: maybe he does risk calculation on their side of things?’

‘I’m one hundred percent certain he does not work there, because my brother does, and I’m sure I would have heard about it through him,’ Avens replies. ‘My brother works both sides as a skydiving instructor, and he knows everyone there.’

‘Shit,’ Marshall says. Another lie. Who can they trust? ‘Well, I need to talk to him,’ he continues. ‘I need to find out who got to him and how.’ He turns to Sarah. ‘Let’s go, Sarah.’

‘Wait,’ Avens calls a little louder than he intends to.

‘I'm sorry, Avens,’ Marshall says quickly. ‘I'm sure you have questions, but we don’t have the time.’

‘Fuck the questions,’ Avens says. ‘I was going to ask you to meet me at the airport in forty-five minutes.’

‘Why?’

‘Because my brother works there, like I said, and I don’t want you to leave our beautiful country with only bad memories. If I can help, I will.’

Marshall loudly exhales. ‘Thank you.’ He feels a weight lift from him. He has found one person he can trust, at least. An ally.

‘Whereabouts at the airport, Avens?’

‘Circle around to the rear and wait for me at the personnel gate. If they ask anything, tell them you are waiting for a lesson with Stephen.’

‘Okay,’ Marshall says, rising from his chair. ‘Sarah, let’s go.’

‘But I haven’t finished my roll,’ she says petulantly.

Suddenly there is a loud series of crashing noises from the kitchen as the waitress knocks over a lot of brittle crockery. Marshall watches the owner take a deep breath once the sound dies away, getting ready to shout at the girl. He looks at Marshall who shakes his head. The owner decides to go and help clean up instead.

A minute or so later, once Sarah has finished eating, Marshall holds out his hand to her. She ignores it, and pushes past him. He looks once more at Avens, who smiles at him sympathetically.

‘Thirty-five minutes, rear personnel gate.’

‘Right. Thank you.’

Marshall overtakes Sarah and walks towards the door. He looks out through the large glass window as best he can.

‘Keep your eyes wide open, Sarah,’ he advises, as he pushes the door open.

They step out into the bright daylight and it takes Marshall’s eyes a moment to adjust from the dim halogen lights of the café. He blinks once, and then his eyes focus on Jefferson. He is lying on the pavement with a bullet wound in the centre of his forehead.

Charlie is nowhere in sight.

Marshall presses himself and Sarah against the café wall, well away from the window, and wonders what the hell to do next.

Chapter Eighteen

Quinn was in the alleyway carving up Groth’s body when she heard Charlie’s gun shots. Twelve shots, then a pause, then four more shots somewhere nearer by. She immediately jammed the knife forcefully into Groth’s thigh, and then got to her feet. Then she went to the corner, peered round, and could hardly believe her eyes: the one called Charlie was standing over Michael Jefferson. She quickly returned to Groth, whose last pint of blood was pumping out from his femoral artery, to reclaim her knife.

‘I told you not to engage,’ Quinn told him sarcastically. ‘You only have yourself to blame.’

She wiped both sides of the blade on Groth’s clothing, then headed back to the corner of the alleyway and peered out once more. Charlie was bent down over Jefferson now, presumably feeling for a pulse. Without hesitation, Quinn ran at full speed along the sidewalk with the knife reversed in her right hand. She covered the distance in forty seconds, but Charlie didn’t hear her until she was only four strides away. He quickly turned around, but not quickly enough, and as Quinn raised the knife, intending to bring it down into Charlie’s back, he swung his leg out in desperation. Luckily for Charlie, the sweep worked. It took Quinn’s legs out from under her, and as she fell down she dropped her knife, sending it spinning out into the middle of the road. But she was back on her feet within half a second. Charlie reached round to his back for the Beretta, but Quinn threw a fast, solid left punch into the centre of his chest as he raised the gun. Charlie was knocked backwards, but managed to stay upright as the gun dropped from his hand and hit the floor.

Stalemate.

Both Quinn and Charlie understood that they are pretty equally matched in unarmed combat, and it would cause quite a scene in broad daylight.

Then Jefferson picked up the gun and changed everything.

‘Kill him,’ Quinn ordered, but Jefferson did not move.

‘Remember what he did to you!’ Quinn yelled. ‘Remember how he destroyed your family!’

Jefferson swung the gun towards Charlie, and aimed for the centre of his chest.

‘For my family,’ he said, and then he pulled the trigger.

There was an audible click as the gun dry fired. A sound that filled Charlie’s entire universe.

Nobody moved. Quinn did not take her eyes from Charlie.

‘The safety is on,’ she screamed at Jefferson. ‘Now take the safety off, and kill him.’

‘But Marshall…’ Jefferson began.

‘I’ll deal with him,’ Quinn yelled. ‘Now do it.’

Jefferson switched the safety to the off position, and re-aimed the gun at Charlie’s chest. Quinn looked over to check that the safety was off this time. It was.

‘At least have the decency to look me in the eye whilst this happens,’ Charlie said to Quinn.

‘I will enjoy it,’ she replied, holding his gaze.

‘I'll take a head shot please,’ Charlie told Jefferson coolly, whilst not taking his eyes from Quinn.

Jefferson moved the pistol upwards a further ten degrees and took aim for the front and centre of Charlie’s forehead.

‘Much better,’ Charlie said. ‘Thanks.’

Quinn did not move, and did not take her eyes from Charlie for a second. She was aware that if he was going to make a move, it would be soon.

I’ve got you then
, Charlie thought.

‘Where are the others?’ Quinn said.

‘I believe their itinerary for today included the Great Barrier Reef, Ayers rock, and avoiding your fuck-ugly face,’ Charlie replied, sneering.

‘Kill him,’ Quinn ordered again.

As Jefferson squeezed the trigger, Charlie thought of ammunition clips and hoped that his mental arithmetic was right.

There was another click as the gun dry fired for the second and final time.

Charlie’s arithmetic was correct.

He previously fired four triple shots at the hostiles from the car, and then he fired four warning shots into the air to slow Jefferson down.

The Beretta holds sixteen rounds in total. Fifteen in the clip, and one in the pipe. The gun was now empty.

Quinn’s head snapped round in surprise as Charlie knew it would, and Charlie was moving before she had fully turned. By the time she looked at Jefferson, the flat of Charlie’s right elbow was connecting with her left temple. Then, as her body was shoved violently by the blow, Charlie twisted at the waist and smashed the flat of his left elbow into her right temple. With her body moving one direction while her head moved in the other, Quinn buckled to the floor. She was unconscious before her legs were fully bent.

Then Jefferson made a big mistake.

He immediately pointed the gun at Charlie’s face and dry fired a further five times.

Charlie remained still and listened to each consecutive click. Then he brought his right knee up with tremendous force and punched its full weight into Jefferson’s stomach. As Jefferson doubled over, Charlie brought his right elbow straight down onto the back of his neck.

Jefferson collapsed on top of Quinn.

Charlie spent a second or two wondering if he had killed them, but it was more important that he get moving: time was running short.

He briefly considered going and getting Marshall first, but realised the situation would take too long to explain.

No. He would have to go right away, and come back later for Marshall. Marshall would understand.

Maybe.

He ran at full speed back the way he came, all the way along East Street. Back to save the life of a woman and a child.

Pressed against the glass front of the coffee shop, with Sarah held close at his side, Marshall considers his options.

There aren’t a great many.

He knows that they are far too exposed where they are, and must move to cover quickly. He looks around and immediately spots a bright red and white barber shop pole across the street. Its large glass window would make an excellent vantage point, and it seems to be one of the only open places.

‘Move,’ he says to Sarah, whilst placing the flat of his hand on her back and urging her onwards. This time, regardless of his leaving out the niceties, she does as she is told.

Marshall keeps his eyes moving as they cross what feels like the widest and most dangerous street in the world, but he sees nothing to threaten them.

He breathes slightly easier once he hears the jangle of the bell on the barbershop door as they step inside. The light inside is low and the air is dusty. It takes Marshall’s eyes a moment to adjust from the brightness outside. The room is very basic, with two barber chairs, one sink, and one door leading to a room out the back. There is also a man standing behind an old fashioned cash register watching them cautiously. Marshall swiftly assesses him: he is about five feet five inches tall, one hundred and forty pounds, approximately sixty-five years old. He looks harmless enough. Just an old guy who can’t quite face – or perhaps can’t afford – to retire.

‘Help you folks?’ the old guy says.

‘Is there anyone else here?’ Marshall says. Then he turns and peers out through the yellowing window blinds.

‘Just me,’ the old guy replies.

Then Marshall realises.

The guy is not Australian. He has an English accent.

‘I detect an English accent. What are you doing here in Adelaide?’ Marshall asks, looking directly into the old guys eyes.

‘I just cut peoples hair.’

‘Why here? Why Adelaide?’

‘The same reason as you I guess. I hated the weather.’

Sarah shoots Marshall a stern glance, and Marshall realizes he’s perhaps getting a little carried away.

‘Sorry old-timer, we’ve had nothing but trouble from English people since we got here. Say, any idea what a group of kangaroos is called?’

‘None I’m afraid.’

‘Never mind. We’ll both take a cut please.’

‘That’ll make it a busy day for me then,’ the old man answers, sounding relieved. ‘Come on then, into the chairs with you.’

Then as they both begin to move the old man stops them.

‘You know I was just about to make myself a coffee. Would either of you like a cup of tea or coffee yourselves while I’m about it?’

‘Coffee for me please,’ Marshall requests. ‘Sarah?’

‘Coffee too please,’ she adds.

‘No worries. Just wait here a moment.’

‘One more thing,’ Marshall adds quickly. ‘It seems very quiet in town today. Is there any particular reason?’

A crease appears on the old man’s face for a moment, as if he isn’t sure how to answer.

‘Almost everywhere shuts down on auction day,’ he finally states cryptically.

Then he shuffles out of the door to the back room quickly, before Marshall can ask him what he means.

Sarah begins to ask a question, but Marshall holds up his hand and she stops talking. Marshall listens intently. He wants to make sure there is nobody in the back room waiting to ambush them. Once he’s satisfied, he turns to Sarah.

‘Sorry, just wanted to check. What's up?’ he asks.

‘Why are we getting a haircut?’

‘I want to see what happens next.’

‘I’ll tell you what happens next,’ Sarah says sarcastically. ‘Shit loads of police turn up.’

‘Good,’ Marshall adds.

‘How is that good?’

‘Because we need a crowd to get lost in. Also, not too many people are psychotic enough to start shooting when there are police present.’

‘So we’re just going to get a haircut?’ Sarah asks.

‘And a coffee, yes. I reckon we could use one, don’t you?’

‘Fantastic plan,’ she scoffs.

The old guy returns a few minutes later with two hot steaming mugs.

‘Brew up,’ he says as he hands out the drinks. ‘They may be hot, so give them a blow.’

Marshall blows into his drink as something nags at his mind. He downs his coffee within a few minutes and looks over to see that Sarah has done the same.

‘Ready then?’ the old guy asks.

‘Sure,’ Marshall says sitting back in the chair.

He turns to look across the street to see if he can see Jefferson’s body out there, but his vision is blurred by the dirty window.

Except the window isn’t dirty.

He looks across at Sarah to see that her head is lolling on one side.

Marshall manages to lift his head with all his strength and look into the old guys face.

‘Sorry, son,’ the old man whispers. ‘She told me she would kill my family if I didn’t help.’

Marshall feels the most helpless he has ever felt in his life as his vision fades further. The last thing he sees before the darkness envelopes him is that the old guy, who is now leaning over him and securing straps across his arms, also has a cut throat razor tucked into his waistband. Marshall presumes that Quinn will be here soon, and that will be it – game over. And even if she doesn’t arrive, the old guy has his razor – that will do the job.

Charlie is running full speed along East Street. His body is tilted forward and he is breathing steadily in through his nose and out through his mouth.

Then suddenly he stops.

He crouches behind a wall and looks towards a large white house, holding his breath and listening. The house is twenty feet away, and appears to be quiet.

Then a large black car pulls up.

Four men get out of the four car doors simultaneously. They are all carrying large service issue knives in their hands; the two that have emerged from the side of the car nearest Charlie have their knives in their left hands, and the two that appear from the other side are holding their knives in their right hands. They close the doors simultaneously and all look towards the house.

Charlie is breathing hard now, his eyes focused completely on the four men. They are dressed in identical black outfits, and are all wearing balaclavas.

Charlie starts running again, towards the car.

He heads directly for the guy nearest to him, the one who got out of the car from the off-side passenger door. The guy is looking at the house and does not see Charlie approach, he simply feels Charlie’s knee connect with his lower spine. There is an audible crack, and his knife is dropped, along with the guy who was holding it. Charlie picks up the knife and jams it through the fallen man’s left eye socket.

One down, three to go.

The guy who is stood alongside him reacts immediately, but then so does Charlie. As the knife is brought around in an arc that would end in Charlie’s neck, Charlie drops, spins, and takes the guys legs from under him. As he begins to fall, he releases the knife and feels Charlie’s foot land heavily on his windpipe.

Two down, two to go.

Charlie collects both knives from the floor and holds one in his left hand point down, with the other in his right hand point up. He remains crouched down, listening. He knows what will happen next; he just needs to hear the sound for confirmation. Two seconds later, he hears it: a click, the sound of the driver’s door being opened. Charlie rolls onto his back and curls his knees up to his chest with his toes pointing towards the passenger door. Half a second later the passenger door bursts open, but before it has opened fully, Charlie kicks both feet out at full force, slamming the door shut again, and hears the crack of the third man’s legs breaking against the impact, as well as the sound of him screaming in agony. Then Charlie gets up and pulls the passenger door open. Lying full length across the driver and passenger seats is the driver. He did exactly as Charlie knew he would. Rather than move around the vehicle, he tried to dupe Charlie by coming straight through the car, hidden by the tinted windows. Effective, if not anticipated. Charlie drives one of the knives into his windpipe.