DELIVERANCE: a gripping action thriller full of suspense (15 page)

‘What is the other thing?’ Sarah asks Avens.

‘What?’ he responds, still lost in memories of a movie.

‘You said there was another thing?’

‘Oh, yes,’ Avens answers. ‘Once I realised that there could be links with similar companies, I asked our forensic accountant to look into it.’

‘And?’

‘He found out two things you should know about. Firstly, a global computer company called Pro I.T. peers.’

‘I see,’ Marshall says wearily. ‘Tell me about this company’.

‘They run everything from online banking security to online airport transactions. In fact, they seem to have a hand in most types of online activity. They also do a large amount of data processing for online social networking sites. To be honest, Marshall, they have their fingers in all the pies. There isn’t a lot that we do that they can’t track one way or another.’

‘Well, that may account for how they have always been one step ahead. Now what was the other thing this guy found out that you reckon I should know about?’

‘Well, he found some evidence of a business structure of sorts,’ Avens continues. ‘It would seem that there are three separate enterprises. One based here, one based in Germany, and one based in England.’

‘What information did he find exactly?’

‘Not very much on the English business. Margaret Quinn is listed as the owner, and it is listed as a travel agent with the name Profit-here. The German enterprise is owned by Jacob Quinn, and is listed as a distribution company with the name Proofies.’

‘And what’s the third enterprise?’

‘That’s the company here in Australia. In fact, it is based right here in Adelaide, with the head office on the outskirts of Richmond. It’s actually set up as a modelling agency…’

Marshall holds up a hand to stop Avens as everything slots into place.

Modelling agency. Pimp. Groth.

Groth’s ring.

Marshall knew it looked familiar, and the place he had seen it before was around the neck of the pretty girl at Heathrow airport.

‘Portfoliotiers.’ Marshall says quietly.

‘How the hell did you know that?’ Avens asks, looking at him astonished.

‘Let me guess,’ Marshall sighs. ‘Daniel Groth is listed as the owner?’

‘No… our accountant couldn’t access the owner’s name. But there was a Groth listed as a general manager. And it was the only one with a company logo, too – a camera with arms and legs.’

The van
, Marshall thinks.
I walked right past them
.

‘I need you to run a vehicle plate for me Avens.’

Avens nods and Marshall tells him the number on the van’s number plate that he has memorized. Avens raises his radio and calls the plate into Control. He then turns back to Marshall.

‘They should have an ID or location soon.’

‘I see you’re taking this all a little more seriously now.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Your gun. You weren’t wearing it earlier.’

‘I thought it best to go back and get it.’

‘Good move.’

At that point a car screeches around the corner a hundred yards away ahead of them, fishtails, and then straightens up. Marshall looks through the tint of the windscreen and can just about make out a familiar silhouette: Charlie is behind the wheel. The car looks a lot like the black vehicle that pulled up outside Sarah’s house loaded with men sent to kill her. Marshall assumes that Charlie has run into some trouble, but then, as he is driving their car, he must have also dealt with it.

Charlie pulls up to the curb next to them, and Avens begins to walk across the front of the car to the driver’s door.

Then all hell breaks loose.

Quinn had watched with dismay as the one they call Charlie emerged from the house with the two females and drove off in
her own
car. A car that she had let the Beta team drive to the Jefferson house. Her dismay had quickly escalated into a violent rage.

The Beta team were obviously dead too, but she was far more upset about the car.

Then an idea occurred to her and her rage was transformed into a gleeful excitement. All she had to do was follow them, and they would then lead her straight to Marshall and Sarah. If they were in the barber shop, then it would be a dead end for all of them. All Quinn would need to do is follow them and be ready to start shooting.

She looked down at the passenger seat where she had the H&K SL8-4 sporting rifle. Not her weapon of choice, but all the clean-up crew brought with them when they came to take care of the Jefferson situation. The semi-automatic rifle was fully cleaned down and loaded, with a round chambered.

As she followed Charlie, careful to always have two or three cars between them, she dialled the clean-up crew and instructed them on the situation with the Beta team. But then another thought occurs to her.

Escape routes.

She calls the Gamma team leader and instructs her to head for the airport and begin questioning anyone who may be trying to help them escape. Then, ahead in the distance, she sees something that simultaneously disgusts and delights her. Marshall and Sarah were right there up ahead, 120 meters away, right out in the open. As Charlie drew nearer to them, Quinn overtook the two cars she was using for cover and sped up. As she reaches a distance of forty meters, she is moving at forty miles per hour. She slows a little to thirty, and then steers towards the rear of the car that Charlie had now pulled up to the curb next to Marshall and Sarah. She accelerates a little at the last moment and hits the rear quarter with precision.

She knows her own car well.

It has taken her over many miles to many missions, and she knows one of the safety features is an anti-carjacking security system. Following a rear end collision, the doors will automatically lock.

So Charlie and his bitches are now secured inside the car.

As Quinn jumps immediately from the driver’s door with the H&K SL8-4 in her hands, she is delighted to see that she has also taken out the interfering local cop. She has knocked the car directly into him with the force of the impact as he walked in front.

Perfect.

Only Marshall and Sarah to take care of now.

Quinn butts the rifle tight into her shoulder and then walks cautiously around the car with Charlie and the females trapped inside. She stops briefly and flashes a broad smile at Charlie who is trying in vain to kick out the driver’s window. He is making a valiant effort, kicking at the top of the glass where it will be weakened over time, but the glass is reinforced with Kevlar strands. It’s not quite bullet proof, but two bullets would need to follow the exact same path in order to penetrate it.

I’ll be back for you shortly
, she mouths to Charlie through the window as she moves on.

Then as she gets to the front of the vehicle, lying there on the road is the local cop. He is badly messed up, but still breathing. Possibly a fractured pelvis and broken leg from the impact of the front end of the car, Quinn surmises. He is unconscious and poses no threat, so Quinn decides that he can wait. She will deal with Marshall and Sarah first. She walks on, but can’t resist stepping down hard on the cop’s shattered leg as she passes. She rounds the near side of the car with her gun set to fire.

But there is nobody there.

Chapter Twenty

Quinn immediately returns to the rear of her car, in which Charlie and his bitches are trapped inside. She presses the catch on the hatchback boot, reaches in and grabs Phoebe by the hair. She drags her out of the boot, and then slams the lid back down. She takes a second to reflect on the lunacy of the safety feature: if you were trapped inside the vehicle, you would be unable to open the boot from the outside, but the people carjacking you would.

Quinn has been counting the seconds since the impact of the vehicles. She knows the carjacking auto-locks are on a timer and will reset after ten minutes.

She has nine minutes left.

‘I’m not much for hide and seek,’ she shouts. ‘So I will count down from five, and then I will shoot young Fiona in the stomach.’ She pauses briefly to slap the little girl hard across the face to make her cry, but Phoebe simply glares back at her with deep contempt.

‘My name is Phoebe,’ she tells Quinn.

Charlie’s daughter through and through.

‘Five!’ Quinn calls out, attempting to work out what Marshall is planning.

‘Four!’ she shouts, as she runs the entire encounter back through her mind.

‘Three!’ she shouts even louder, still running things through in her mind and calculating possible outcomes.

She is about to fire on two when her mistake suddenly occurs to her. As she rounded the front of the vehicle she looked down at the inert body of the local cop with amusement, but only now does she recall the vital thing she had missed.

His holster was empty.

This thought strikes her only a second before the bullet strikes her left shoulder.

Marshall aimed high so that he does not hit his niece.

Now Marshall is moving in giant strides towards Quinn, who is revolving slightly from the impact of the bullet and releasing her grip on both her weapon, and his niece. Marshall is there in three seconds, and immediately kicks Quinn fully in the solar plexus.

Once Quinn is down, his first instinct is to move his niece to safety.

‘My name is Marshall, I am Charlie’s brother,’ he tells her. ‘Did I hear your name is Fiona?’

‘She got it wrong,’ Phoebe responds immediately, totally devoid of any emotional connection to what is currently happening. ‘My name is Phoebe.’

Charlie’s child for sure.

‘Will you go and wait with my friend whilst I get your mummy? My friend’s name is Sarah.’

‘Yes,’ she responds immediately. ‘Get my daddy too please.’

‘I certainly will, sweetie,’ Marshall answers. ‘Just run to Sarah for me, and wait there. And don’t come back, do you understand?’

She nods her head and runs across to Sarah.

Marshall looks down at Quinn who is still rolling around on the floor as her body spasms from the blow. She needs to be dealt with, but he needs to make sure Charlie is okay first. So he goes directly to the rear of the car and lifts the boot, freeing Charlie and Jane. Charlie pushes Jane out first and then follows himself.

‘Marshall, listen…’ Charlie begins.

‘Not now,’ Marshall orders. ‘We have this to deal with,’ he states pointing down at Quinn.

‘What about the girls?’ Charlie says. ‘I don’t really want Phoebe to watch.’

‘Ladies,’ Marshall calls out to the girls. ‘Head for the airport right this second. Do not look back. Go to the rear personnel gate and ask to see Stephen immediately. We will meet you there shortly, I promise.’

‘Are you going to hurt that lady?’ Phoebe asks Charlie.

‘What do you think we should do with her sweetheart?’ Charlie responds.

‘I think you should hurt her, daddy,’ she answers. ‘She pulled my hair too.’

‘We shall do what we need to, angel, no more and no less.’

With that, Sarah, Jane and Phoebe head off down the street in the direction of the airport, whilst Marshall and Charlie close in on Quinn.

‘Nine lives,’ Charlie mutters.

‘We must be getting close to the last of ‘em,’ Marshall states.

‘Are we interrogating?’ Charlie asks.

‘Do you think it's worth it? Marshall replies wearily. ‘How much information would you give up if you were the one lying there?’

‘Fuck all.’

‘Exactly.’

‘So, are we just going to shoot her then?’

‘Too loud. Remember, we have an officer down now, so the last thing we need is the cops showing up.’

‘What then?’

‘I’m going to strangle her. But I want you to hold her down. She’s been trained just like us it seems.’

‘Right then,’ Charlie says with relish, and sits down heavily on Quinn’s torso. He then grabs hold of her arms with his hands and pins her legs down with his own.

‘Ready?’ Marshall asks.

‘Ready,’ Charlie confirms.

Marshall reaches down and places his hands tightly around Quinn’s neck and begins to press in.

Real strangulation is not at all like it looks in the movies. You do not simply grip someone’s throat and they die. There is a specific art to it. A trained individual can asphyxiate someone within approximately five minutes alone, or three minutes if they are assisted.

Marshall is highly trained of course.

He begins to press in on the jugular and work his fingers forward. This is the part that takes extra time if working alone. You would then have to keep your fingers folded inwards and strangulate with your knuckles alone to stops the person you are strangling from reaching up and breaking your fingers. Marshall works his fingers across to Quinn’s windpipe and presses. She begins to buck and bend her body as she realises what is happening. Of course, he could pinch out her jugular to knock her out, but he wants her to know what’s coming.

Marshall has counted to a hundred and thirty seconds in his head when a car screeches around the corner. A black Sudan, similar to the one Charlie was driving just two hundred yards away.

‘Fuck it, let’s move, Charlie.’

‘But it’s only about a minute more!’

‘No time, bruv. Let’s go.’

With that Marshall releases Quinn's neck and stands up. He has a moment of panic as he feels a wave of cramp begin in his ankle and work upwards towards his shin, but he straightens his leg quick enough to dispel it. He then turns and fires five rounds at the approaching car, which immediately brakes and stops at an awkward angle. The rounds are deflected, but still shatter the windscreen.

‘Now!’ Marshall shouts and the brothers run to the front of Quinn’s car and out of sight. They pause for a second whilst Marshall collects Avens’ radio and leaves Quinn’s rifle under the car, and next to Avens’ hand. Then they continue on towards South Street, and the airport beyond.

As they round the corner on to South Street, Marshall raises the radio to his mouth and calls in a 10-108:
Officer down
. He advises that it is officer Avens and gives the location as best he can. Then he stows the radio in his pocket.

‘Rugby eh?’ Marshall asks as they jog side by side, whilst keeping a careful lookout.

‘What?’ Charlie responds.

‘When I asked you why you were in New Zealand, you said you were there for the rugby.’

‘I was going to tell you eventually, bruv, but it’s been a little manic lately!’

‘But why weren’t you here in Australia?’

‘Long story. I didn’t even know about Phoebe for the first five years of her life. I’m not even sure if Jane knew that she was mine. Then she had to have some blood tests, and it all came out. As you can imagine, Jefferson went ballistic.’

‘I bet.’

‘He had the whole place locked up pretty tight, I can tell you. He seemed to have eyes everywhere. I guess I know how now. He had APBs out on me for assault charges against him. I couldn’t go anywhere near the girls without running a huge risk of getting put inside.’

‘So what did you do to him?’

‘Absolutely nothing, little brother. Unfortunately though, with my history, it would be his word against mine, and he’s been here a long time. So I’ve been hiding in New Zealand. I ran into some people there who are helping Army deserters get to Canada. Since then I’ve been helping people to disappear.’

‘But you still came here when I asked?’

‘We are family, John. Family outranks anything.’

‘Thank you, Charlie. I mean it. I’m not sure I could have done this alone.’

‘Besides, I wasn’t planning on seeing the girls whilst I was here. It was only when I realised that we were heading for Adelaide that I sent Jane a text to ask if I could see them.’

‘I understand. So, do I need to buy a hat?’

‘Easy, little brother,’ Charlie whispers. ‘Let’s not tempt fate.’

‘At least your life will be a little easier with Jefferson out of the way.’

Charlie suddenly stops running. ‘What the hell do you mean, John?’

Marshall stops then too, and turns to face him. ‘Jefferson’s dead, Charlie.’

‘How?’ Charlie asks.

‘Well I assumed that you did it.’

‘No, it must have been Quinn. She almost got the drop on me outside the café. I put them both down and then left them there. But she had no ammunition!’

‘Well, I guess she found some from somewhere.’

‘Shit! I can’t believe she killed him!’

‘I’m afraid we saw it with our own eyes. Same MO as Mason.’

‘Shit!’

‘Say, bro, any idea what a group of kangaroos is called?’

‘Should I?’

'Never mind, look sharp. We’re nearly there.’

They have come to a halt at the southern corner of the enormous wall that encircles the airport. Marshall can see the personnel gate four hundred yards away on the corner of the west wall.

‘Keep them peeled,’ he says.

‘I’ve got your six,’ Charlie responds.

Marshall edges along the south wall staying as close as he dares without attracting too much attention. It’s a difficult balance to maintain though. Every cell in his body is telling him to press right up against the wall, but that would look out of place, so he maintains a half-concealed approach. Charlie follows in exactly the same fashion.

They are two hundred yards along when Marshall sees his worst fear: Sarah, Jane and Phoebe are being forcibly escorted into a black Sudan. No guns visible, but Marshall knows what to look for, and these people are all armed.

‘Shit,’ he whispers.

‘Plan, little brother?’

‘We have about four minutes before they drive away and we are back to square one. You get to the personnel gate and find Avens’ brother. I’ve had enough of these motherfuckers.’

‘Meet me at the gate when you are done,’ Charlie says. ‘And one more thing.’

‘Yes?’ Marshall asks impatiently.

‘Look after them for me, okay?’

‘You have my word,’ Marshall assures him. ‘Now go.’

As Charlie continues to nonchalantly edge along the south wall, Marshall checks the pistol in his hand.

A twelve shooter, six rounds left.

Plenty.

He begins to sprint towards the black car, and the inevitable fight. An Olympic sprinter could cover the distance in thirty seconds. But whilst very fit, Marshall is no Olympic sprinter. He is halfway within twenty seconds, which is when he is noticed. A tall guy of at least six foot five who is stood next to the car looks directly at him. It takes the guy no more than a second to realise the threat, and it would have taken him a further three seconds to draw his weapon and fire.

But he never gets the chance.

The second his eyes lock on Marshall, Marshall raises Avens’ pistol and fires twice. He is running across uneven ground so the shots are not perfect. Perfect would have been centre of the forehead and centre of the chest. Instead, the first bullet trails low and enters the guy’s chest cavity, and then with unexpected luck, it ricochets off the Kevlar glass and re-enters the guy’s head from behind. The second bullet hits him dead centre of the chest.

Marshall speeds up.

Now he has been noticed, the clock is really ticking for the girls in the car.

Marshall hears a bullet zip past his head, looks for the source, and finds it. Another guy is stood on the passenger doorsill and sighting across the roof from the other side of the vehicle. Without a clear shot, he has no choice but to keep on running.

Twenty seconds later, he reaches the car without drawing any more fire. He calls up what he knows about the situation.

It’s probably a team of four: one dead. One outside the vehicle on the other side. Two inside the vehicle.

Marshall is not concerned about the two hostiles inside the car. Only an idiot would fire a weapon inside a car with Kevlar enforced windows. The bullet could go anywhere, and they would blow their own ear drums. To remain hidden from the windows, he stays low and crouches behind the rear wheel. Then he slices through the laces of his left boot with his knife, removes it, and places it four inches in from the rear tyre.

Then he waits.