Honorable Assassin (43 page)

Terry Kingston had been working toward this
for years. At first, without help, he would have achieved his
objective but would probably have died in doing so. Some of the
Dark Knights were down in the street, a couple of them were not
moving. Terry had no time to weigh the trade off, the helicopter
was rising from the smoke.

The surface-to-air missile was one of the
ballistic innovations dictated by the helicopter warfare first used
extensively in the Vietnam War. Their accuracy depended on being
heat seekers. Terry had never fired one before, but they seemed
simple enough. As the helicopter rose above the battle, it rose
right into Terry’s sights. There were five men inside, including
the pilot. That almost ensured that both men were inside the
machine. It was too hard to tell with all the smoke but there was
no time for second thought and no time for verifying the
target.

Terry pulled the trigger and the rocket
shooshed from the shoulder held tube. He knew in his mind that this
was one of the finest moments of his short life. This was the final
step, the culmination of his revenge. Then he saw his mistake.

The rocket was a heat seeker and the fires
that had been started in the yard were hotter than the engine. The
SAM’s exhaust drew a smoke line out from the launcher, directly
toward the rising chopper, and then it arced downward into the
flames. The resulting concussion was impressive and dramatic, but
it had missed its target and the helicopter was quickly out of
range of the next rocket. It was not out of range for the
Barrett.

Gordon MacMaster squeezed the trigger
smoothly and the armor piercing incendiary round blew a hole
through the clear canopy. MacMaster had wanted to hit the fuel
tank, but missed. While a regular round might not ignite the tank,
an incendiary round was guaranteed to. The fuel tank was spared,
but the pilot was not. The .50 caliber round took him through the
side of the chest and out through the other side of the canopy. The
stench of burning flesh filled the enclosure. The pilot did not
have enough time to feel the pain. He stared stupidly at his chest
for a moment and then slumped forward.

The Israeli guard reacted with precision and
speed. He was not an experienced helicopter pilot but he was
knowledgeable enough to grab the stick from the dead man’s hand and
slowly guide it to a stop on a lawn. When the canopy had been
punctured, the sound of the rotors filled the interior. Adam had
started screaming like a child. Abel had begun yelling instructions
and Barlow had begun cursing and yelling that they needed to land.
Smoke was still rising from the corpse of the pilot, gagging the
guard and blinding him. It was almost pure luck that the vehicle
could be landed at all.

The cockpit door was thrown open and the
four men piled out and ran for the house. The door to the domicile
was open and they rushed inside. Inside the house, a woman was
yelling at them. She was screaming that they had to leave, that
this was her house and that she would call the police. When she
reached for the telephone, the Israeli guard shot her through the
face with a 9-mm pistol.

Theodore Barlow could not believe the
situation he had found himself in. He had gone to the house to
foment suspicion and discord and had been caught in a catastrophic
crossfire. He was a clear and level-headed man, but he was also an
agent of the law. When the guard shot the woman, he reacted as any
good cop would have and shot the man repeatedly. He almost signed
his death warrant in so doing. Abel Troy turned and pulled his own
pistol from inside his jacket. The .45 thundered and the round blew
a hole in the door jamb next to Barlow’s head. Theodore dove as
best he could into the next room. He was not a young man any more
but fear and adrenaline absorbed the pain of age and allowed him to
move like an athlete.

Ginger Kingston had taken a relatively safe
position on the far side of Wolli Creek. Wolli Creek bordered the
Troy Estate on the south and there was a stand of trees on the far
side that made for good cover when the bullets started flying. His
position left him closer to the chopper when it landed than anyone
else. He was already moving toward it before it touched down.

“What the fuck are you doing?” screamed Adam
Troy. “That’s the bloody super of the coppers. You can’t shoot
him.”

“Shut up. Can’t you see what’s gong on? Find
some bloody keys and let’s move. There’s got to be an auto
here.”

Adam dumped out the woman’s purse and found
a set of keys. He tossed them to Abel who charged out the side door
and into the garage. The electric garage door was just beginning to
open when the first of the rounds pounded through it. Abel dove to
the floor and Adam jumped back into the house. Ginger Kingston was
in the driveway with his Thompson machine gun. The automobile
within was devastated by the hail of lead, destroying that
escape.

As the door rose, Ginger could not see Abel
Troy lying on the garage floor. He did see the flash of the .45 in
the dim interior, however and he felt the bite of the bullet as it
cut a furrow through his calf. He screamed like a madman and
emptied the drum as he fell to the side.

Adam was screaming like a child again and
covering his ears. He had completely lost control finally. Abel
grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and shook him, screaming
that they needed to move or they were dead. The bedroom door opened
and Abel fired twice in that direction. The door closed again.

Abel started moving, dragging Adam behind
him. Adam was still screaming. They were headed back toward the
chopper. The engine was still running and the rotors were still
spinning but both men with any expertise were dead. It would be a
hell of a gamble.

Abel was hauling the corpse of the pilot out
of the cockpit when he saw the motorcycle coming down the street.
The powerfully-built blond man riding the bike was pulling a
revolver from the inside of his vest. Abel grabbed Adam and spun
him around between himself and the new threat. The .45 blasted
twice and then clicked. The rider went down, but not before blowing
a large hole in Adam Troy’s head.

“Sorry, Brother,” was all Abel said as his
brother’s corpse slipped to the grass. Then he was in the cockpit
and speeding up the engine. He had never flown the helicopter
before, but he had seen it done enough times that he had a good
idea what all the controls were. The bird began to rise as Gordon
MacMaster drove the van over the bridge. He squealed to a stop,
hauled the sniper rifle from the back and braced it against the lip
of the open window. Again, he wanted the fuel tank but did not have
a shot at it so he went for the pilot. The huge burning round hit
Abel Troy in the elbow and blew his forearm off his body. The hand
was still gripping the stick, still controlling the helicopter, but
Abel was no longer in control of the hand. The machine canted
wildly to the side and caught a power line. There was a blinding
flash as the transformer exploded. The helicopter tilted wildly and
the tips of the rotors began plowing up the ground.

Theodore Barlow was watching from the window
of the bedroom. His pistol was in his hand but his target was not
clear. Before he had a clear shot, the helicopter leaned over and
began chopping its way across the lawn at him. He felt exactly like
a toad as the lawn mower passes over it. The chopper did not stop
at the house, it sliced into it, exploding the wood around it,
destroying the structure and sending the debris flying about. It
chopped through the living room and the kitchen where it tore the
stove from its mooring and wrenched the gas line from the floor.
The pilot lights were out but the arc created as the wires were
severed provided enough spark to ignite the gas. A column of fire
shot upward and a now ruptured fuel tank stood right in its way.
The explosion was legendary. Burning fuel splattered all around. It
was a scene from Ragnarok.

Barlow had jumped under the bed when he saw
the chopper blades gouging their way across the lawn. It would not
have saved him from the blades but it did save him from the
detonation. The mattress was his shield against the explosion but
the concussion of it knocked him momentarily senseless. When he
regained consciousness, Terry Kingston was pulling him from the
wreckage of the building.

The sirens were wailing as the police and
fire departments raced to the scenes on either side of Wolli Creek.
They gave Barlow courage and resolve. He stood and stumbled as he
was being pulled across what was left of the lawn. He threw his
hand underneath Terry’s vest and pulled out a .38 revolver.

Terry was momentarily stunned as he saw the
business end of his own pistol. “Ted,” he said, “this is a bad
idea.”

“I’m sorry, Terry, I know what you have been
up to. I can’t let you go. You’re under arrest.”

“No, Inspector Barlow, I’m not. You’ll need
to shoot me and I don’t think you have the stupidity to do that.
Look behind me, at the open window of that van.”

The barrel of the .50 caliber sniper rifle
was protruding from the window and it was pointing directly at him.
Superintendent Barlow did not move, nor did he drop his aim.

“I might be able to convince the man holding
that rifle to spare you if you drop the gun. If not, he will blow
you in half with it.”

Theodore Barlow was caught in a Mexican
standoff. All he needed to do was wait until the rapidly
approaching sirens reached him, but he knew he did not have that
much time. The other fuel tank finally erupted in a delayed
reaction and burning fuel and wood once again shot all over the
neighborhood. A large piece of window frame caught Barlow in the
back of the head and he went down again.

~~~

Chapter Eighteen: Exiled

Ramni Mirza Ali Gupta could not be called
Doctor because he had lost his license to practice medicine. He had
been too free with the prescriptions and had become too fond of
pharmaceuticals himself. These days he was more likely to be seen
in a bottle of gin. The law required that any doctor who treated a
bullet wound report it to the police but Ramni was not a doctor any
more, so the Dark Knights retained his services for days like
today.

Once the helicopter had lifted from the
mansion there was no more need for an assault. It was unfortunate
that the operation had not gone as planned, but once the helicopter
cleared the creek, the bikies packed up their casualties and moved
off. The guards honored the white flag but had no idea what was
going on. They had never had to defend the grounds against anything
more pressing than a Girl Scout troop. The Knights were gone before
the fire department and police arrived and they were not identified
since they had not worn their colors.

Ramni still had connections within the
medical community and could get pain killers and local anesthetics
in limited supply. The prescriptions were written to fictitious
workers at a small video store and insured under those names.
Ramni’s sister owned the video store and the paychecks went into a
fund for her sons’ education. He no longer dispensed the drugs the
way he once had but they were still there when absolutely
necessary.

Some of the men were beyond repair when the
arrived at the compound. They had taken too much lead. Some were in
need of a still drink and a cigarette. Others required surgery and
Ramni Gupta provided this. The conditions were not sterile, but
they were clean. The instruments were sterilized with bleach and
gin. The ex-doctor was assisted by his former nurse, who was still
quite in love with him, and his sister whom he had trained. The
Dark Knights and some of the other bike clubs in Sydney paid very
well for keeping the news of their wounds out of official
channels.

The bullet that had struck Ginger’s leg had
missed the bone. In fact, it had just cut a channel in the flesh of
his calf. It was bleeding a great deal and very painful but was by
no means life threatening.

Terry pulled the van into the compound with
his uncle in the passenger seat and a damaged motorcycle in the
back of the van. Gordon MacMaster was nowhere to be seen.

Evan McCormick strode up to Terry as he
exited the van and laughed explosively. The police radio scanner
had told the tale of the exploding helicopter, it also told the
tale of an all points bulletin for Terry Kingston AKA Thompson
Barber. “Tommy, lets have a drink and you can tell me all about
it,” Evan roared.

“I’ve got to get my uhh, this man taken care
of. He was instrumental in taking down the chopper but he took one
in the leg and I need the doc.”

“Boys, we got one more. Get this man in the
trailer so the doc can have a look at him. You can find me in the
bar. I’ve been there all day. Drinks are on the house today. It’s
my birthday.” The bikies almost forgot to move Ginger into the
trailer where Ramni was stitching up the wounded. The prospect of
free drinks was a powerful lure. It was not long before the men in
the bar looked as though they really had been drinking there all
day.

Caution dictated that Terry not get too
drunk for his own good. A drink or two would be fine but any more
than that and his judgment would be impaired. He could not help but
notice that Evan was trying to get him drunk. He excused himself
and went back through the back door to check on Uncle Ginger. Ramni
Mirza Ali Gupta had not reached Ginger yet and it looked as though
it might take some time. A combination of pain killers and alcohol
had sedated most of the injured bikies. A leather-bound bikie with
a full beard who had been a medic in the UN forces at Sarejevo was
cleaning their wounds and evaluating the level of threat. Ginger
was near the bottom of the list.

Terry stood around for a moment and realized
he could do nothing productive. When he got back to the bar, he was
surprised to see Gordon MacMaster sitting in a corner with a beer
in front of him. It simultaneously made him nervous and relieved.
It leaped to his mind that the Troy’s had retained Gordon for a
job, but once the job was over, it was no impediment to his being
hired to kill them. Terry sat at the bar and stuck to beer. Evan
was pushing the hard liquor from behind the bar but Terry had
second thoughts. The whole situation was becoming tense. Questions
passed through his mind: why was Gordon in the bar? Why was Evan
trying to get him drunk? Why was Evan not drinking, himself?