THE FIX: SAS hero turns Manchester hitman (A Rick Fuller Thriller Book 1) (40 page)

He picked his nails absently.

“The visit to one of our estate agent properties was a mistake too. Your friend Desmond got tagged by one of Father’s oldest friends. Edward Madden, he’s MI5 you know? Father is building him a house in the Caymans. From then on we knew you would surface in Manchester again and you did.”

He stood and I detected a wince of pain.

“Trouble was, ‘old bean’, it was the Moston boys who found you not us. They, of course, blame you totally for that awful carnage in the cemetery over there. Now, rather than come to our organisation for help, they sent their own little ‘soljas’ innit?”

He made a ridiculous rap movement with his right hand, but it came out more like a heavy metal salute. Then dismissively he added, “I believe you had a little luck and shot them.”

Stephan broke into a smile and pushed his blond fringe to the side. There was an excitement to his voice, like a child on Christmas morning. “Then we found your little friend the Greek.”

I felt a pang of sorrow.

Stephan chewed his gum and looked me in the eye. Beaming.

“Spiro Makris, the olive oil guy. You remember him, don’t you, Rick? The fat untidy guy with the big family? He was a loyal friend to you, Rick. I can tell you that. For a man his age he could take a lot of pain. But then you know how I enjoy inflicting pain, don’t you, Rick? He was so… difficult. Stubborn. You know? I had to kill one of his grandchildren before he gave you up.”

He let his last comment hang as if waiting for the applause, then, brushed imaginary fluff from his lapels. His curt patronising tone excelled as he said, “My father and Colonel Williamson will see you for dinner in one hour. I hope you are well behaved in my father’s company, Rick. The consequences could be terrible for your friends if you aren’t. By the way, Susan is picking them up now.”

He closed the door and darkness came. I was grateful for it.

I had to have a plan. All this bullshit was sticking in my throat. Des and Lauren would be here in the hour. Stephan had said so much. Susan had told me that Williamson wanted to talk to us all.

I wondered if they would be cuffed or hooded. I hadn’t been, such was the arrogance of this private army. They were so self-important and sure of themselves that they might allow the three of us in this ridiculous bunker and not even bother to tie our hands.

More fool them.

Lauren North's Story:

“Can you steer a boat, hen?

As Des spoke we were clearing the enemy’s craft of bodies and obvious signs of carnage. The four guys who had come to collect us on the boat called ‘Susie Q’ had been dumped into the sea and we used buckets of seawater to wash off most of the blood from the deck and sides.

“I’ve been to the lake at Southport if that helps,” I replied, swilling more claret back into the ocean.

“Very fuckin’ funny.”

I held up my hand to Des.

“So long as I don’t have to reverse it into a space I reckon I’ll be okay. Why?”

Des studied the coastline with a pair of powerful binoculars found on Irish Eyes. I was grateful Susie Q hadn’t been carrying the same kit or we’d be floating in the straits as cold as our adversaries.

“I reckon that’s our welcome party on the jetty, you see?”

With the naked eye I couldn’t.

“Nope.”

I got back to my sloshing.

“Well I can, and I do.” He put the binos to one side.

I put my hands on my hips.

“Anyway I don’t need to drive Irish Eyes; she’s got autopilot.”

Des turned and gave me a grin. He was buzzing with excitement. I could see it. He loved every minute.

“You fuckin’ beauty! Of course!”

He scratched his head and looked around him.

“How much extra fuel have we got between the two boats?”

“Dunno, Des, there were four jerry cans on Irish Eyes. What are you thinking?”

“We need to get all our stuff onto Susie Q and make sure Jimmy boy there still looks pretty good in his captain’s chair. Then I want to move all the spare jerry cans into the cabin of Irish Eyes. Oh, and I’ll need a map of the coastline.”

The map was easy, both craft held them. Des jumped over to Jimmy’s boat, held a chart up to the light and pushed buttons in the cabin. He cursed modern technology as he found the Sat Nav on Irish Eyes lacking in the common sense he required to make the boat arrive at the Jetty at exactly at the time he wanted it to.

It took him all of four minutes.

“Fucking thing!” he cursed as he hit ‘enter’ for the final time. Des was a man who found anything modern annoying.

It took us twenty minutes to move all the kit to Susie Q and all the juice to Irish Eyes. We were both sweating but I was knackered. My injuries from the fight with Stephan were tiring me faster than I’d hoped and I noticed the odd enquiring glance from Des.

I ignored them.

At last we let Jimmy’s boat go on her way, her owner fixed firmly in his seat with fifty gallons of fuel for company.

Des set Susie Q a course just to the west of her. Close enough to make the guys on the jetty think we were being shadowed but far enough away for what we had in mind. We would hit the beach meters from the jetty, a minute before Jimmy reached home. I handled one of our M4 carbines and went through the drill of loading it and making it safe. Just like the Mac10, I’d never fired one and again it was important I got a feel for the thing. My shoulders ached and my breathing was laboured. To be honest, I felt like shit. I rooted for some more painkillers in my pocket and necked them before Des could see.

He was so preoccupied with sorting out his own kit, he never noticed. He loaded what looked like some kind of starting pistol, wrapped it in a plastic bag, and gave me a cheeky wink.

“Ye know, ye’re no a bad kisser for an Englishwoman like.”

God knows how, but with sweat pouring from every place you wouldn’t want to, a broken nose, and a banging head, he made me feel all girly.

I countered in the only way I could under the circumstances.

“Fuck off and get on with it.”

Des Cogan's Story:

I dropped over the side and the water felt good on my skin. The humidity of the night and the physical efforts of the last hour or so had me sweating. I felt refreshed, alert and ready for the task ahead.

I held the plastic bag with the flare gun and my Beretta in my right hand as I swam gently in the direction of the jetty.

I could see a white four by four parked at the ocean’s edge and two figures standing on the wooden structure looking out to sea.

To my right I could just about make out Irish Eyes burbling away on her exact heading.

The trap was set. All I needed was the prey to walk into it.

The tide was stronger than I had anticipated and I was breathing hard by the time I reached my point. With just my head protruding from the water and the moon doing her job, I could clearly see the two figures on the jetty.

There was a big muscular guy dressed in a dark suit. He held a machine pistol in his right hand and smoked with his left. The second figure was female and I had little difficulty in spotting who she was.

Susan Davies paced the wooden pier and spoke quickly into her mobile phone. The breeze didn’t allow me to hear all her conversation, but she wasn’t happy. I gathered it revolved around the fact that Jimmy hadn’t called in and they were all feeling a little nervous.

As Irish Eyes cut a spectacular dash through the last few meters of black rolling sea, Susan ended her call. I heard the revs drop on the boat and reverse engage. The craft really did what she was supposed to do and I moved myself to a depth where my feet could find bottom and I didn’t need to tread water.

Before the boat touched the jetty, the big guy jumped aboard, waving his gun around like a manic extra in some Rambo movie. I pulled the flare gun from the bag and checked the safety. This was a one shot deal. There was no margin for error.

Then the player started shouting to his boss. He’d found Jimmy and was waving for her to come aboard and look for herself.

Susan wasn’t so certain. She pulled a handgun of her own and scrutinized the sea left and right. I was sure she looked directly at me but I told myself she couldn’t possibly see.

Even in the cooling water I felt sweat on my brow.

Finally she joined the hulk and jumped aboard, walking across the deck toward the cabin.

I drove my feet into the sand beneath me, spreading my legs as wide as I dared for stability. Then, holding the flare-gun in both hands I made another triangle with my arms and took aim.

I’d fired flares before, but that had been straight up in the air. I knew that the cartridge would lose some height and aimed at the big guy, a head shot.

The thing went off like a cannon. It jerked in my hand and skewed off left of the target. I could see its trajectory as it fizzed through the night. For one horrible moment I thought I’d fucked up and missed.

Susan turned toward the noise and light. Her face was lit by the ferocious canister. I could see the surprise in her expression, and at that moment, I knew her face, along with the many before her, would stay with me all my life.

The flare struck the edge of the canopy covering the steering gear. It tumbled into the seating area where Jimmy was strapped to his chair, and where Lauren and I had placed the spare fuel cans.

It may only have been a split second, but it felt like an age before the first of the jerry cans ignited. The guy in the suit took the full force of the first explosion. He was blown backwards, screaming in agony. His massive frame lolled backwards over the stern of the boat as he waved his arms helplessly against the all-consuming fire.

Then I saw Susan.

She looked confused by the whole scenario, as if it wasn’t really happening to her. The left leg of her jeans were smouldering. She looked downward and patted them quizzically. Then, I swear she looked out to sea and, this time, straight into my eyes.

The next of the fuel cans ignited with a deep ‘
woomph
’ sound. There was a massive fireball which illuminated the night sky and framed my white shoulders in the flashing sea.

Susan’s clothes and hair were instantly ablaze. Like some bizarre scarecrow set alight to rid the ocean of unwanted gulls, she stood rooted to the deck. Somehow she managed to raise her weapon in my general direction. I was in a spotlight of my own making. She even fired a couple of rounds.

I lifted my feet, allowed the dark sea to swirl around my chest and watched as she was consumed by the fire.

It was an age before she fell.

She never made a sound.  

Lauren North's Story:

Des waded from the water as I dragged myself toward the four by four. We had planned on a driver, a hostage we might take, to point us in the direction of ‘The Centre,’ but there was none. The Cruiser was illuminated by the burning wreck that had been Irish Eyes, and stood immobile and probably useless. I was completely knackered from the effort of carrying all the kit from Suzie Q. The two carbines, three SLPs, grenades and ammunition were around the weight of a small adult and I wasn’t feeling my best.

I fell to my knees the last few feet, blowing like a marathon runner at the tape. Des stood at the vehicle and gave me a worried look.

“Get some fluids inside ye, hen, before ye keel over.”

He strode straight to the driver’s door, looked toward the ignition and gave me a ‘thumbs up’. We had keys at least, so we were in business. Susan had given us a chance.

I made it to my feet, yanked at the rear door, dumped everything on the seat and clambered into the front next to Des. I was sucking in as much air as I could and my muscles were complaining, so I did as instructed and found a water bottle and drank greedily.

I poured the last third of the bottle over my head and looked at Des who was playing with the Cruiser’s Sat Nav. The chilled liquid ran down my spine and it felt fine against my steaming skin.

I heard sirens in the distance and my whole body felt suddenly alive again. Adrenaline was a marvellous friend. I scanned the horizon for tell-tale blue lights. The explosions had not gone unnoticed and we were about to have company.

Des finished tapping away at the Sat Nav.

“There you go.”

He’d found exactly what he was looking for. The Cruiser was about to finish the job Irish Eyes had started and take us all the way to ‘The Centre’. The previous driver of the car had saved the location we needed in the memory of the device and even named it for us. I looked Des in the eye, we were riding our luck and we knew it, but sheer desire to get to Rick and finish the job drove us on.

I tapped the dashboard.

“The wonders of modern technology, mate.”

Des fired the car into life and we were on the move, headed up the Rock and away from the blazing wreckage.

I clambered over the seats and organised the weapons for our final battle.