Ruthless

by Chris Ryan

  There was a moment of stillness.

  Then, from outside, Max heard Guzman’s voice.

  It was shrill, almost excited. Max saw movement, and the dark outline of Guzman’s wild hair at the entrance. ‘What’s he saying?’ he whispered.

  ‘He’s shouting at the Jackal,’ Beatriz said. And as Guzman continued to shout, she stiffened. ‘He’s saying: tell your men to open fire.’

  Lili led the way over the rooftops of the favela. Sami supported Abby. Lukas stuck with Tommy at the rear. The British boy did not have the cadets’ level of fitness, or aptitude and was weak from his imprisonment. It struck Lili that perhaps Lukas was not the best person to be with him. He was the least patient of them all, and he glowered as he urged Tommy on.

  They had crossed several rickety rooftops and were at the top of a dilapidated external stone staircase when they heard, from behind, the brutal sound of a collision. They spun around. By the light of the moon, Lili saw that everybody’s face bore the same expression of alarm.

  ‘Max?’ Abby whispered. Her voice was hoarse and weak.

  ‘We have to keep going,’ Lili said. She was hyper-aware of how unconvinced she sounded. Saying they trusted Max was one thing. Leaving him on his own was quite another.

  ‘Come on,’ Lukas said. He led Tommy carefully down the staircase into the dark alleyway below. Sami and Abby went next, Sami sweating heavily from the exertion of keeping Abby upright. On the rooftop, Lili heard a second collision and then the unmistakable sound of Guzman’s high-pitched voice. She had to stop herself from running back towards the warehouse. She forced herself to descend the steps.

  The alleyway was narrow and dark and smelled foul. One end was blocked off by a high breezeblock wall. They moved, as fast as Abby would allow them, to the open end. It led to a slightly wider street. It was not busy, but Lili could see five or six people hurrying through the night, shoulders hunched, heads down, clearly aware that something was going on nearby.

  Sami pointed left. ‘That way,’ he whispered. The cadets nodded and Lili led them into the street.

  She had barely gone five paces when it happened. A pedestrian shouted in alarm. Everyone seemed to melt into doorways or side streets. From both ends of the road, figures appeared: police officers in balaclavas, heavily armed. Fifteen of them. Twenty. Maybe more. They all had their weapons aimed at the cadets and they were closing in on them.

  Lili twisted around, looking for an escape route. There was none. The houses on either side were dark and closed up. All other pedestrians had disappeared. There were no alleyways or other escape routes. And the BOPE, their weapons engaged, were advancing slowly but inexorably. Their weapons had laser sights. Red dots appeared on the bodies of the cadets, who stood in a ring, facing out, hands in the air.

  ‘Don’t fire!’ Lili called out in Portuguese. ‘We’re teenagers. We’re unarmed. Please don’t fire!’

  Nobody replied. The BOPE continued to advance. The little red dots didn’t move.

  ‘He’s saying, tell your men to open fire – no, wait, the other person is arguing. They can see the camera with the red light. He’s saying, they mustn’t do anything while we’re filming them …’

  Max licked his lips. If his plan was going to work, he had to move now.

  He lowered his weapon. Beatriz staggered back and crouched down under one of the trestle tables. She had wired up a switch there. Max was confident that the BOPE officers wouldn’t be able to see it.

  He was less confident about what he had to do next.

  He remembered, earlier that night, when the Jackal had stared at him across the deserted favela square. How he had raised his hand in a gun shape. The implication had been clear at the time. I’m going to kill you.

  Max was gambling everything on the Jackal still wanting to do just that.

  It was the biggest gamble of his life. No question.

  He threw his weapon away. It clattered across the floor of the warehouse as Max raised his hands. Then he took a couple of paces towards the line of BOPE officers. He could see Guzman just inside the door, and hear him screaming at a taller man to his left.

  Max edged towards the blinking camera, just as the taller man behind the BOPE officers came around the defensive line. He had a slow, arrogant gait. As he approached, Max clearly saw the silver insignia on his balaclava.

  And the murderous intent in his eyes.

  He was carrying a handgun in his right hand. He stopped in front of Max and raised it, so that the barrel was pointing at Max’s forehead.

  ‘Do you think I’m stupid, boy?’ he said. His English was hesitant and highly accented, but Max was surprised that he spoke any at all.

  Max swallowed hard and shook his head.

  ‘Then why do you think I would be stupid enough to fall for a childish trick with a video camera?’ He nodded at the camera next to Max.

  ‘I-I didn’t,’ Max stuttered. ‘I –’

  ‘I’m going to enjoy killing you,’ the Jackal said.

  ‘No, please …’

  Before Max could say anything else, the Jackal swung his gun arm to the right and fired into the camera lens. The camera exploded and flew backwards off its tripod.

  But Max had already struck.

  His unarmed-combat moves, instilled in him since day one in the cadets, were swift, strong and instinctive. With his left arm he grabbed the Jackal’s gun wrist. Simultaneously, he lifted his right foot and kicked him sharply in the groin. The Jackal doubled over in pain and Max used his free hand to grab his black balaclava and rip it off his head.

  ‘Now!’ he shouted at Beatriz. ‘DO IT! NOW!’

  There was the tiny sound of a switch being flicked. The warehouse flooded with light. The two enormous TV screens lit up. They showed the same image, relayed from the other cameras. Guzman, his eyes crazy, waving his submachine gun in the air. The Jackal, his face revealed, turning around, trying to understand what was happening.

  And Max, wearing the balaclava so his own face remained anonymous.

  Abby’s knees buckled. She collapsed to the ground.

  Lili shouted again. ‘We’re unarmed! Don’t fire!’

  But the only response was the ominous clicking of several weapons being cocked.

  ‘Don’t fire! Don’t.’

  Lili hesitated. She could hear … whistling?

  And the regular tapping of a ball bouncing on the ground …

  She looked past the BOPE officers nearest her. She could see, just beyond them, a kid. He was whistling a jaunty tune and bouncing his football with one hand.

  ‘Pepe?’ Lili whispered.

  Pepe stopped bouncing the ball. He raised one fist and shouted something in Portuguese. Lili didn’t quite catch it, but she suspected it wasn’t very polite. The young boy scrambled out of sight, but not before half the BOPE officers had turned to point their weapons at him.

  And Lili had recognised his performance for what it was: a distraction.

  ‘Cadets, get ready!’ she said quietly.

  As she spoke, there was the scream of a vehicle’s engine sharply accelerating. A couple of the BOPE guys shouted in alarm as a white SUV reversed fast towards them, scattering BOPE gunmen. It screeched to a halt in front of the cadets. A rear door opened and Woody jumped out. ‘Get in!’ he shouted.

  The cadets ran towards the car. Woody fired his weapon, holding back the BOPE single-handed.

  But he wouldn’t manage that for long. They had to move.

  Sami and Abby were right by Lili, Sami straining to keep Abby on her feet. Lili grabbed her and together they tugged Abby towards the open door, while Woody laid down more rounds, aiming them close enough to the BOPE to keep them scattered, but not so close that he risked hitting any of them. He was screaming at the cadets. ‘Get in! Get in the car!’

  And then, somehow, they were inside, huddled together, Abby on Lili’s lap and Pepe on Lukas’s, Tommy next to them. Angel was in the driving seat, one hand on the wheel, looking back over her shoul
der, her face tense with concentration. ‘You Tommy?’ she said.

  Tommy nodded mutely.

  ‘Do exactly what I say. No questions.’ She revved the engine heavily and shouted Woody’s name above the noise of the gunfire. Then she looked forward suddenly and shouted, ‘GET DOWN!’

  The cadets, Pepe and Tommy, cramped in the back seat, ducked as best they could. A bullet hit the front windscreen. The car shook and a web of cracks spread out from the impact point. A fraction of a second later, Woody was in the passenger seat. It was impossible to see through the glass so he raised his weapon and slammed it against the windscreen, which shattered into a thousand pieces. Angel let out the clutch and the vehicle catapulted forward. There was gunfire from behind as the car screeched to the end of the road and rounded the corner.

  ‘Where’s Max?’ Angel shouted.

  ‘Long story,’ Lili said. ‘But we can’t go back for him. Abby’s lost consciousness. She’s losing blood. She needs medical care. Now!’

  Angel and Woody looked at each other. They nodded. Angel increased their speed.

  As they burned down the favela street, the car bumping heavily over the potholes, something caught Lili’s eye. Through an open window, for a fraction of a second, she saw a TV. Unlike every other TV she’d seen since arriving in the favela, it was not blank. The screen showed a sharp image of a line of BOPE officers behind riot shields. Of a wild-haired man waving an Uzi in the air. Of a BOPE man, doubled over in pain, bare-faced.

  And of a teenager in a Brazilian football top, pulling a black mask with a silver insignia over his head …

  Then the TV was out of sight, and the tumbledown houses of the favela were whizzing past in a blur.

  A grim smile crossed Lili’s lips. She finally understood what Max was doing.

  ‘Get us to the pick-up point!’ she shouted. ‘Max and Beatriz will meet us there.’

  ‘How can you be so sure?’ Tommy asked.

  ‘Trust me,’ Lili said. ‘They’ll be there.’

  The BOPE guys behind the riot shields blinked in the sudden bright light. Guzman sneered. Close up, Max saw pockmarks on his face and his crooked yellow teeth. The Jackal was a picture of shock and anger. He had distinctive features: a flat nose and heavy eyebrows that met in the middle. A few days’ stubble. He raised his weapon so it pointed at Max’s chest.

  ‘Before you shoot me,’ Max said, as calmly as he could manage, ‘you might want to look over there.’

  He pointed at the two TV screens. They showed the same image. Max, in a balaclava. Guzman, toting his Uzi. And the Jackal, standing between them, his face on display.

  ‘Smile,’ Max said. ‘You’re on TV. Not just those TVs, by the way. Every TV in the favela, and probably a few more besides.’

  The Jackal took a sharp breath. He looked from the TV screens back to Max. ‘You’re lying,’ he said.

  Max stared back at him through the eye holes of the balaclava. ‘You reckon?’

  The Jackal hesitated.

  Max tapped the balaclava. ‘I know what you’re thinking,’ he said. ‘You’re thinking, if only I still had my balaclava on, maybe it wouldn’t matter that everyone in the favela who’s watching TV now knows that you and your men have the Blue Command leader at gunpoint. You’re thinking, if I don’t do the right thing now, my family and I will never be able to show our faces in the favela again. You’re thinking, there goes my cushy little arrangement, supporting Guzman and his thugs.’

  The Jackal stared at him.

  ‘So what are you going to do, Mr Jackal? Shoot a teenager on live TV? Or do what you should have done ages ago, and arrest Guzman?’

  The Jackal didn’t have a chance to answer. Guzman had fallen silent. He was looking between the screens and the conversation unfolding between his tame BOPE officer and Max. It wasn’t clear whether he understood what Max and the Jackal were saying. But he certainly appeared to have grasped what was going on.

  He looked sick.

  And when the Jackal lowered his weapon, Guzman lost control.

  He raised his Uzi and pointed it, his arm straight, towards Max and the Jackal. The Jackal had his back to him, and Guzman had a direct shot.

  He took it.

  The burst of 9mm rounds would have ripped into the Jackal’s back if Max hadn’t moved so fast. He hurled himself at the armed police officer, colliding heavily with him and knocking him off his feet. The bullets drilled harmlessly into the far wall of the warehouse. At the same time, the line of riot shields parted in the middle. The BOPE officer behind the gap had his weapon raised and primed, and he didn’t hesitate.

  A single shot hammered into Guzman’s back, between his shoulder blades.

  There was a sudden, shocked silence in the warehouse.

  Guzman dropped his Uzi. He looked down. Blood bloomed on his shirt. The exit wound was catastrophic. Guzman looked up again, then collapsed to his knees. His hands covered his chest and blood seeped between his fingers. He tried to say something, but all that came from his mouth was a feeble gurgle, then bloodstained foamy spittle. He fell forward. By the time his head hit the ground, he was dead.

  There was silence.

  Max stood, and so did the Jackal. If he felt any gratitude towards the person who had just saved his life, he didn’t show it. He wore a deep frown, and his expression was as flat as his nose. Max sensed that it was taking all his restraint not to attack him.

  Instead, the Jackal turned to his men and barked an order. They quickly exited the building. There was shouting outside. It sounded like they were dispersing the Blue Command personnel outside the warehouse. While that happened, Max hurried over to Beatriz. She still crouched beneath the trestle table, clutching the switch that had engaged the lights and the cameras. He allowed himself a smile. ‘You nailed it, Beatriz,’ he said.

  Beatriz stood slowly. ‘Why are you wearing his balaclava?’

  ‘Let’s say I’m camera-shy.’

  ‘I thought he was going to shoot you.’

  ‘Which one, Guzman or the Jackal?’

  ‘Both.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Max said. ‘It was touch and go.’

  Beatriz looked confused. She obviously didn’t understand the phrase. But Max had already turned away. The Jackal was standing in front of the entrance, his weapon by his side, looking at Max with hatred. Max walked over to him, past Guzman’s body.

  ‘I should kill you now,’ the Jackal said, barely moving his lips, speaking very quietly so the camera wouldn’t pick him up.

  ‘Yeah, about that,’ Max said. ‘Probably best you don’t, unless you want to be known far and wide as a kid-killer. Play your cards right, though, and you’ll be a hero of the favela. Everyone will know you were the guy who brought down Blue Command. They’ve seen it on telly. There’s not much money in being one of the good guys, of course, but we all have to make sacrifices.’

  ‘There will be other gangs,’ the Jackal growled.

  ‘Sure,’ Max said. ‘But it’ll be too risky for you to start working for them, don’t you think?’

  The Jackal gave him a flat look. ‘I’m just doing my job,’ he said.

  ‘Great. Then you’ve got two more tasks to do, as you’re feeling so professional.’ Max jabbed one thumb over his shoulder. ‘Release her. Then get your guys to take us both in your armoured vehicle to Escola Rodrigues Leandro.’

  The Jackal frowned. ‘Why do you want to go there?’

  ‘We’re getting a lift with some friends,’ Max said.

  20

  Escola

  Abby couldn’t feel the pain in her arm any more. She was so cold.

  Icy cold.

  Her eyes were closed. She could hear the revving of an engine and feel the warmth of someone’s hand on her brow.

  And voices. She could hear voices. Abby … Open your eyes … Stay with us …

  Part of her wanted to obey. But it was much – much – easier to let sleep come. That way, she wouldn’t be so cold any more.

  The vehic
le juddered. Something knocked her wound and the pain returned. She gasped.

  Abby … Wake up …

  The pain subsided again. The icy numbness returned. She was only half conscious now, in that pleasant shadow-world between wakefulness and sleep. Her head was a riot of images. Dead-eyed gang members in dark corners of the favela. Little Pepe, giggling in the safe house. Guzman, wild-eyed, waving his submachine gun in the air. Kissing Max.

  Max.

  She saw him in her mind’s eye. His calm, serious face. She saw the furrow in his brow as he prepared to abseil through the roof of the warehouse. Had he glanced at her before disappearing through the roof? Or had Abby imagined that?

  ‘Max,’ she whispered.

  He’s going to be okay. Abby, open your eyes …

  Her eyes flickered open. Everything was a blur. The faces of her fellow cadets came in and out of focus. She was sprawled over them, and their faces told her what bad shape she was in. She felt her eyes roll and everything went black again.

  ‘Abby, wake up!’

  Lili wanted to shake her friend back into consciousness, but she wasn’t sure if it would be safe to do so. Besides, the vehicle was shaking them enough. Angel was driving like a Formula One racer, swinging around sharp corners at high speed, tyres screeching, rubber burning. Pedestrians jumped out of their way.

  Lili put her hand on Abby’s brow. She had never known anyone to be so cold. She was about to shout at Angel to go even faster when the Watcher hit the brakes and they came to a sudden, noisy halt. They were at the foot of a hill, outside a concrete building with big, colourful flowers painted on the side and a large sign that bore the word Escola.

  School.

  Hovering above the school was a helicopter.

  ‘The pick-up point!’ Sami exclaimed. Woody and Angel were already out of the vehicle. Angel opened a rear passenger door while Woody stood in front of the school, holding his arms in the air at eleven and one o’clock: the helicopter marshalling position, indicating that the chopper should land there. As Sami and Angel carefully lifted the unconscious Abby out of the back of the car, the chopper rose a few metres, then hovered over Woody.