DELIVERANCE: a gripping action thriller full of suspense (7 page)

Despite the situation, Marshall is impressed.

But he still shoots her with a triple-tap. Two shots to the chest, a single shot to the head.

Before Quinn’s body has fully settled, Marshall grabs Sarah and bundles her into the four-by-four. Charlie collects three of the four Berretta-92’s and tosses them into the boot. The fourth has been under the wheels of the four-by-four twice by now and is unusable.

Marshall lies Sarah down in the back as Charlie hops into the passenger seat.

‘Let’s go,’ he calls.

Marshall climbs into the driver’s side and wonders where the hell they are going to go. They can’t return to the house, and he doesn’t know the area. He flips open his sleeve cover and powers up the GPS unit. It takes a second or two before the screen lights up, and then he searches for three minutes before finding what he is looking for: a military base, 500 km due south. He starts the engine and heads towards the base, whilst Sarah closes her eyes in the back, shaking noticeably.

‘What's the plan, little brother?’ Charlie asks.

Marshall winds his window down slightly to let some air in.

‘There is a military installation 500 km south of here, near a place called Ghan. We will head that direction,’ he states.

‘Think they will help us?’ Charlie asks.

‘No.’

‘Even better,’ Charlie exclaims.

They drive on in silence for ten minutes whilst Marshall wonders what the hell he is going to say when they reach the base. It’s a destination though, and that’s what they need right now. He drives on for another five kilometres in silence and is just about to turn on the radio when he realizes that he can hear the distant yet distinct sound of a helicopter.

Chapter Eleven

Charlie and Marshall exchange glances. They can now hear the distinct booming bass beat of the helicopter rotor blades.

‘Friendly?’ he asks Marshall.

‘Unlikely.’

Army rules:
Assume hostility until proven otherwise
, and having a semi-automatic pistol pointed at him in the last fifteen minutes has really honed that particular rule for Marshall.

‘New plan?’ Charlie asks.

‘We didn’t have an old plan,’ Marshall responds.

‘Good point.’

Sarah sits up in the back and taps Marshall on the shoulder.

‘I guess it isn’t over yet?’ she asks sadly.

‘Not quite,’ Marshall responds. ‘Just lay back down out of sight please Sarah. I’ll think of something.’

The rhythm of the rotor blades begin to sound ever louder and more distinct. Marshall figures he can now distinguish between each completed turn of the blades. It’s pretty damn close now; maybe 250ft up, and only a 100ft behind.

‘Charlie, take the wheel,’ Marshall shouts above the noise.

‘Roger,’ Charlie calls back, and immediately grabs the wheel from the passenger seat.

Marshall bends down and unties one of his boots. They are big heavy army regulation boots designed for all terrains. He jams the boot below the clutch pedal and wraps the laces around the feed pipe for the accelerator. Next, he tugs the laces until they pull tight, and then he looks up to judge the speed as he pulls the laces tighter. Once he is satisfied they are moving at a good pace again he ties the laces off around the feed pipe so as to maintain the speed.

‘Plenty of warning if we need to slow down, Charlie,’ he advises.

‘Roger,’ Charlie confirms.

‘Stop calling me Roger,’ Marshall says, grinning.

Marshall removes his night scope from his belt and cranks the window all the way down. Then he seats himself on the door ledge with his legs stabilised on the driver’s seat and looks through the lens into the darkness.

He sights the helicopter within twenty seconds, and then uses the zoom to clear the image. It’s a Puma like the one he rode in on. He can also see the side-mounted gun. It’s a 7.62-millimetre M60 machine gun, which is not a welcome sight.

At that moment the chopper lights up a halogen beam on their position.

‘Fuck!’ Marshall shouts as the light hits the lens of the night scope and a sharp pain explodes in his eye. He nearly drops his gun, and very nearly falls completely out of the four-by-four too, but manages to scrabble blindly for the door sill at the last moment.

‘Bruv?’ Charlie calls over.

‘I’m fucking blind Charlie! I can’t see shit!’ Marshall cries. He feels like his eyeball is on fire.

Stop your vehicle immediately!
a voice booms out through a megaphone from the helicopter.

‘Plan?’ Charlie asks sounding a little uneasy.

‘Keep going. What else can we do?’

I repeat
, the voice booms again.
Stop your vehicle immediately
,
or you will be fired upon!

Charlie looks over at Marshall who is re-tying his boot lace and taking back control of the vehicle whilst blinking away bright yellow blotches in front of his eyes.

‘Are they armed or bluffing?’ he asks.

‘Just a fucking bit,’ Marshall replies. ‘Side-mounted 7.62-millimetre M60 machine gun.’

‘Shit.’

‘Yes,’ Marshall agrees. ‘Shit loads of shit.’

‘Are we stopping?’ Charlie asks.

Marshall responds by pushing the accelerator down further.

He also realises in that moment that Charlie would die for him. That he even asks the question confirms it, for if they do keep going, they will surely get shot to shit. 600 rounds per minute will tear up the four-by-four and kill all of them inside of two minutes. Even if it takes longer, Marshall is sure they have a lot more than 1,200 rounds of ammunition aboard the chopper.

They drive on a few moments longer. Then the booming voice from the helicopter comes again. Just as they knew it would.

This is your final warning
, it states.
You have thirty seconds to begin to bring your vehicle to a halt before we open fire
.

Marshall begins a count in his head. He knows that Charlie will have done the same. Then when he has counted to twenty-four, he hits the brakes and spins the wheel of the four-by-four until it’s fully locked. Then he hits the gas, centres the wheel, and drives a straight forty feet before bringing the four-by-four to a complete stand still.

‘Ready?’ He asks Charlie.

‘For what?’

‘Anything.’

‘Here they come,’ Charlie announces two minutes later.

Four men have jumped down from the now landed helicopter and are heading for the four-by-four. They are assuming the same V-shaped pattern that Quinn’s team adopted earlier. All four men are carrying automatic rifles, M16’s by the looks of it. Marshall watches the way they move as a team. He is disappointed, but not surprised to see that they look like a capable unit.

‘Hands on the dashboard, Charlie,’ Marshall orders.

‘Yes, sir,’ Charlie says whilst saluting him, before placing both hands face upwards on the dashboard.

Hands facing downwards can still conceal items.

Marshall copies Charlie, placing his hands just above the steering column.

Within thirty seconds there is a guy at every window of the vehicle.

‘Everyone put their hands…’ begins the guy in charge before he realises that Marshall and Charlie have already done so.

Marshall looks at him through the open window.

He is 5'9'', 200lbs.

Not normally a problem.

But he has an M16 pointed directly at Marshall’s chest through the open window.

‘Where is the girl?’ he asks.

‘Barbados I think,’ Charlie says.

Marshall looks straight into the guy’s eyes.

‘At ease, Corporal. We were on our way to find you.’

‘Sir?’ the guy responds.

‘I presume you are from Fort Baldwin?’

‘Yes, sir,’ the soldier replies.

‘That is where we were heading. And the girl is in the back.’

‘I’m a little confused as to why you think you would find Fort Baldwin, sir?’ the soldier asks.

‘Lower your weapon and I will show you,’ Marshall suggests.

‘I can’t do that, sir.’

‘You have three other men stationed at each window,’ Marshall reasons. ‘I am not going to reach for my pockets, I am going to reach for my wrist.’

‘I cannot lower my weapon, sir.’

Marshall exhales noisily.
Fucking grunts
he thinks to himself.

‘Just don’t fucking shoot me then, okay?’

Then with very slow and careful movements, Marshall reaches across and reveals the GPS device on his wrist.

The Corporal moves one hand to his comms device.

‘We have a definite ID on Marshall,’ the Corporal says into his throat mike. ‘There are two further civilians also. One man, one woman.’

He paused to listen to a response through his ear piece.

‘Unconfirmed, sir. But Marshall states that she is alive.’

He pauses again.

‘Yes, sir. Understood,’ he responds, to whatever order he has just received.

Nothing further happens for a moment. Then the Corporal goes to the rear door, opens it and drags Sarah out by her hair. She begins to scream immediately from the sudden pain, as the soldier pulls a knife from his belt and raises it high above Sarah’s head.

Marshall is moving before he contemplates the consequences.
Fuck it
,
he thinks,
who dares
,
wins
,
right
? He barrel rolls across the door as he opens it and rebounds off like a pinball. He cannons into the Corporal who immediately drops the knife and hits the ground, with Marshall landing on top of him. Marshall figures he has another three or four seconds before he hears a gun shot, so he pulls his fist back to land the hardest punch of his life to the Corporal’s throat.

But one of the other soldiers fires immediately.

Marshall hears the shot and feels the pain in his upper back. He is unconscious before he hits the ground.

Quinn waits a full three minutes after she hears the four-by-four’s engine fade into the distance before she moves.

God, her chest hurts.

She stands up slowly, removes her Kevlar vest, and checks her ribs. Badly bruised, but not broken. Marshall’s aim was accurate with every shot.

Quinn knows how the SAS work, as her training was almost identical. They kill with a triple tap: two bullets in the chest, one in the head. But that’s not how her team handle things. They don’t like instant deaths. They prefer to draw things out for as long as possible.

A Berretta-92 clip holds ten rounds, and Quinn ensures that every one of her team carry their weapon the same way. Two live rounds, followed by a single rubber bullet, repeated three times in the clip, then a final live round for good measure. The two live rounds are for treatable wounds. Shoulder shots, leg wounds and the like. The rubber bullet is to be used to knock out a target, as it did to her. They are then moved to a secure location for torture.

If only Marshall knew. He only needed to fire once more to finish her off.

Quinn smirks briefly.

Then she opens her mobile phone and hits speed dial one.

Report
, the gruff voice on the line orders instantly.

‘Ambushed. Foster, Smith and Malloy dead,’ Quinn replies.

How far ahead are they
?

‘Hard to tell. Maybe one kilometre. But I am on foot.’

Then you’re no fucking use to me
, the gruff voice answers and disconnects.

Quinn was expecting no less.

Chapter Twelve

Marshall wakes up, leaving behind a dream. He was at Sarah’s funeral and at the last moment, just before the coffin was closed, someone pushed him inside it with her.

‘About fucking time you woke up you lazy little shit,’ a familiar voice says.

‘Mason?’ Marshall whispers hoarsely.

‘Yes, Marshall.’

‘I don’t understand,’ Marshall says, still feeling quite disorientated. He looks at his watch. He’s been out for a while.

‘I followed you out here son,’ Mason begins. ‘I left a few hours behind you on a slightly more direct flight. I arrived here about two hours ago.’

‘Where are we?’

‘Fort Baldwin,’ Mason answers. ‘I flew here because I figured it would be the first place you would go if you got into shit.’

‘You were right,’ Marshall replies. ‘We did get into shit.’

Then his memory begins to return properly.

‘There was a fucking helicopter!’ Marshall shouts. ‘And the Corporal was going to kill Sarah. Where the fuck is Sarah, Mason?’

‘At ease, Marshall,’ Mason replies in his cool gruff voice, ‘Sarah is fine. She is sleeping in one of the bunk rooms. Charlie too.’

Marshall knows army bases, and wonders exactly how safe a woman would be on her own. Mason seems to detect this and adds, ‘She has a guard stationed outside her room.’

‘He pulled a knife on her, Mason, a fucking knife.’

‘He was ordered to,’ Mason replies, casually. ‘We needed to be sure that it was you in the car. So I told the Corporal to make like he was going to kill her. Your reaction proved that it was you.’

Marshall just sits and stares.

‘You would have been told, Marshall, but then you winded the Corporal when you landed on him. The other grunt that was near you said it looked like you were pulling back for a serious punch. So as another soldier fired a warning shot into the air, he butted you with his rifle.’

‘Airport security my fucking ass,’ Marshall exclaims.

‘What?’ Mason answers as if slapped.

‘You sat me on a military plane across the globe, and then you followed me straight here. You’re ordering Corporals around on an army base. You’re still active, aren’t you?’

‘Even if that were the case,’ Mason replies, ‘I couldn’t discuss it. You know that.’

‘I need to see Sarah.’

‘Sarah is asleep.’

‘I wasn’t asking permission.’

Mason breathes out a heavy sigh.

‘43c,’ he says. ‘Two corridors over.’

Three minutes later Marshall is standing in front of the Sergeant guarding the door to Sarah’s bunk room.

‘At ease, Sergeant,’ Marshall says.

‘Sorry, sir,’ The Sergeant responds. ‘No one enters.’

‘Except?’ Marshall asks.

‘There are to be no exceptions, sir.’

The Sergeant is holding an M16 across his chest.

‘I came in with her, Sergeant,’ Marshall explains.

‘I’m aware of that, sir.’

‘Do you have a radio?’ Marshall enquires.

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Then call Mason. He will authorise my entry.’

‘General Mason is not to be disturbed, sir.’

General Mason?
Marshall thinks to himself. When Marshall mustered out of the services Mason was a Colonel. There’s no way he could have achieved four ranks in such a short time.

‘I’m not leaving until I have seen Sarah,’ Marshall says.

‘You are not entering this room, sir.’

Stalemate.

Marshall considers taking him down, but then what? He would spend a few moments inside Sarah’s room before it fills up with grunts all wanting a shot at the SAS title.

‘Sergeant,’ Marshall begins again, wearily. ‘I have come directly from Mason’s office. Call him now and you will not disturb him. Please do it, before I do something we both regret.’

‘Are you threatening me, sir?’

That does it for Marshall. What a stupid fucking question. Marshall is all for trying to talk people down before acting, but he doesn’t waste time with idiots.

The Sergeant crumples to the floor.

Except it’s not Marshall who hits him, it’s Charlie.

Charlie sneaked out of his room two doors along from Sarah’s and moved along the wall of the corridor. Then he took two quick steps forward, and hit the Sergeant across the head.

‘Did you just hit him with a fucking lamp?’ Marshall asks.

‘It was all that was in the room,’ Charlie exclaims.

‘Good work,’ Marshall says with one hand on Charlie’s shoulder. ‘Are you okay?’

‘Yeah, just get in there little brother.’

Marshall turns the old brass handle to Sarah’s room and steps inside. As he enters, he realises two things simultaneously. Firstly, Sarah is not on the bed. Secondly, her room must be identical to Charlie’s. It is completely bare except for a bed. There isn’t even a lamp. He manages to raise his right arm as the door closes behind him, just as Sarah swings the lamp towards him with some force, and hits him on the his elbow.

‘Jesus!’ she cries as she realises it is him. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘It’s okay,’ he replies, rubbing his elbow reflectively. She has one hell of a swing on her, that’s for sure.

‘I thought you were one of
them!
’

Marshall thinks to ask who
they
are exactly, but then decides that can wait for later when things have settled down.

‘Are you okay?’ he asks, realising it’s a stupid question. She has nearly been killed several times in the last few hours. The last thing she will be is okay. But Sarah is smiling at him. The warm smile he remembers from their past together.

‘I’m glad you came,’ she says softly, ‘Thank you.’

Marshall nearly tells her how long it took him to realise there was a message at all, but decides against it. He needs her to believe in him. He needs her to believe he can protect her.

‘I’m glad I’m here too,’ he tells her. ‘Now let’s regroup with Charlie and talk about our next move.’

‘I’m not comfortable around Charlie,’ Sarah says in a flat tone.

‘He has saved your life at least twice in the last few hours, Sarah. The past is the past. I understand how you must feel, but we only have each other in this now. The three of us.’

‘You have no idea how I feel about it!’ Sarah almost spits. ‘He killed my father!’

But Charlie never knew.

Sarah’s mother had kept her maiden name – Whittaker – when she married. Sarah shared the name because when she was born her father was not in the country to sign the birth certificate. Therefore Charlie did not recognise the last name of the man he killed. Marshall never told him either, and he had sworn Sarah to secrecy.

It caused their first ever big argument, and possibly the beginning of the end of their relationship. Things were certainly never the same afterwards.

So now Marshall finds himself reunited with his brother and his former lover. One has killed the other’s father but is unaware of the fact, whilst the other still harbours a deep hatred towards him for it.

Not a great dynamic in a team of three, but at least Mason has their backs.

‘Sarah, we have to focus on what’s happening right now, okay? Let’s regroup, discuss and plan,’ Marshall says.

She just shrugs. ‘Good luck with that.’

Marshall ignores her and turns towards the door.

Only then does he understand what she means. There is no handle on the inside. Just a Yale style keyhole.

It’s not a room: it’s a prison.

He makes a mental note to ask Charlie if his room had been the same, and if so, how the hell did he get out?

Marshall studies the door momentarily. Steel construction, half a foot thick.

Not great.

Then he has a thought. He reaches into his pocket and retrieves the mobile phone he took from the four-by-four’s glovebox earlier and enters Charlie’s number from memory. The phone rings three times, and Marshall fears it will go to voicemail, which will piss him off immensely, but then Charlie answers halfway through the fourth ring.

Domino’s Pizza
, he says in a clear and helpful manner.

‘Open the door, Charlie.’

Ah
,
Sarah’s locked in too, is she?
Charlie says. It sounds like he’s smirking.

‘Yes,’ Marshall responds. ‘How exactly did you get out of your room?’

I always carry a paperclip and pen with me, little brother. I picked the lock
.

Marshall thinks about enquiring more, but time is short.

‘Just open the fucking door Charlie.’

Your wish is my command
, Charlie responds and disconnects the call.

A second later the door swings open. Marshall immediately steps through the door, and then almost trips over the inert soldier still on the floor in the corridor.

‘I’d forgotten about him,’ he remarks.

‘I didn’t,’ Charlie responds. ‘He’s woken up twice.’

Marshall is surprised that Sarah shows no signs of shock at the fact that there is an unconscious soldier just outside the door as she exits the room to join them. She simply steps over him as if he were a sleeping dog.

‘Plan?’ Charlie asks.

‘Let’s get back to Mason’s office and talk there.’

Charlie nods in agreement and follows Marshall and Sarah as they make their way back along the corridor. Once there, Marshall opens the door and stops.

Mason is slumped in his chair.

There are two clear bullet wounds to his chest, and a bullet wound to his head. His pistol is lying on the floor where it appears to have fallen from his right hand.

Fast, Mason
, Marshall thinks,
but not fast enough
.

He collects the gun from the floor. A Sig Sauer-P226, still warm from Mason’s hand. Then he ushers Charlie and Sarah back into the corridor.

‘Shit,’ Charlie exclaims. ‘That was our ticket out of here, right?’

‘Worse,’ Marshall explains. ‘Now we know there are hostiles in the building.’

He orders Sarah and Charlie to the end of the corridor and out of the exit door.

‘Charlie to lead,’ Marshall says quietly. ‘I’ve got your six.’

Charlie moves swiftly along the passageway until he reaches the door, then he turns with his hands held out. Marshall takes one last look behind them and throws the Sig underarm to Charlie who catches it left-handed as he shoulders the exit door open. Charlie exits fast with the gun held low until he is through the door. Once in the open, he immediately brings the Sig up and sweeps it through a full three hundred and sixty degrees.

‘Clear,’ he calls back.

Marshall pushes Sarah through the door and follows her, closing it behind them. They fall in step with Charlie who is heading for the nearest cover, which is a helicopter positioned thirty-five feet from the door. With the sun still rising there is limited light, but Marshall feels too exposed. Once hidden behind the large aircraft, Charlie turns to him.

‘Next move, little brother?’

Marshall thinks for half a second.

‘We’ll take the chopper.’

‘I can't fly a helicopter,’ Charlie states.

‘Fuck,’ Marshall says under his breath. ‘I thought you did a full advanced avionics course?’

‘Planes only, I’m afraid. Helicopters are different.’

Marshall’s mind begins to work in overdrive. He knows where they need to get to. He only has one other contact in the whole of Australia and he promised he wouldn’t compromise them unless absolutely necessary. But he now deems the situation to be just that.

2,910 kilometres.

Two days driving.

Not good.

‘We need to get moving then,’ Marshall says, clearly annoyed. ‘We are going to lose any head start we have driving, but I guess we have no choice.’

Suddenly the Puma helicopter’s engines begins to whine as it initiates its pre-motor warm up. The noise startles Marshall, who had been deep in thought about how the hell they could possibly get out of there. It also startles Charlie, who has been surveying the area for any possible hostile targets. They both look round to see Sarah sat in the Pumas pilot seat.

‘Get in!’ she shouts over the noise of the warm up sequence. ‘I can fly it!’

Charlie raises an eyebrow at Marshall, but Marshall simply shrugs.

They quickly join Sarah on board the Puma. Marshall takes the rear bay whilst Charlie takes the co-pilot seat, straps himself in and puts a headset on. Marshall notices Sarah’s unease at being so close to Charlie, but the simple fact is that Charlie has avionics experience, and Marshall does not. She will just have to put up with him for now. She turns in her seat and with simple hand signals asks Marshall where they are heading. Marshall boots up his GPS and dons his headset. He relays co-ordinates to Charlie, who feeds them into the on-board GPS navigation system.