by James Hilton
The four-man team had only been together for the past seven weeks, but in that short time Matthew had realised that the less he told them and the more he barked, the better they operated.
“All report,” he grunted into the walkie-talkie affixed to the front of his chest webbing.
“Mark… nuttin’ yet.”
“Luke, negative.”
“John… I’ve got a dead dog and a bike wheel but no female.”
Matthew shook his head in frustration. This was the first operation Topcat had given him to lead. He knew he’d suffer if it wasn’t a success. “Stick with it. We need to be out of here before sun-up.”
“’Fermative.” Mark’s thick Georgia accent grated on Matthew as much as the man’s lack of attention to detail. Mark seemed to think it was enough to just fire multiple rounds in the required direction. No finesse and no apparent desire to learn higher skills either. As soon as he was in charge of his own fire-team, Matthew would be free of shit-kickers like Mark. They were good for shooting squirrels and not much else.
The other two, Luke and John, were better. They had both been around the block enough to get the job done. Luke sported an odd accent, maybe French-Canadian, maybe Creole. None of the team were too forthcoming with their pedigree and Matthew wasn’t exactly the prying kind. John was unmistakably an Afrikaner. The militant-sounding accent was curious yet familiar to Matthew’s ear. He’d heard plenty of it when he’d worked in the shithole known as Jo’burg. South Africa was one place he’d dotted on his map and had no burning desire to ever see again.
A buzz of static from his radio made him refocus.
“Luke… Nothing down here, she’s gone.”
Swearing again under his breath, Matthew pressed the most prominent button on the handset. “Regroup at the bikes.”
“Wait, I’ve found something…” Luke again.
“Report.” Matthew waited a few seconds.
“Blood smear on a rock.”
“Any sign of the woman?”
“No. She may have climbed back up as we were coming down…”
“Shit. You and Mark get back up top and see if she’s there.” Matthew again found himself shaking his head in frustration. How much trouble could one woman be?
Within ten minutes Matthew was watching as the operative known as Luke followed an intermittent blood trail from one spatter to the next. The distance between each smear varied. Some were only a few inches apart, others separated by a good many feet. But they were constant. Luke’s compact flashlight bobbed in the darkness as he moved from one to the next. The remaining three men moved the quad bikes in a wide loop to intercept his path. Luke pointed out a path that ran on a rough parallel course with the rutted main track.
“She went this way. She’s got a good half-hour lead on us now.”
Matthew rubbed his chin as he calculated possibilities. He swung one leg over the seat of the ATV so he was sitting side-saddle. The average walking speed for a healthy adult was around three miles per hour. So with a thirty-minute lead the woman could be a mile and a half away. If she had been running, which she would have been, if fearing for her life… if she had averaged seven or eight miles per hour… Shit; she could be up to four miles away. How badly was she injured? He considered the blood she’d left behind on the rocky slope. She’d been shot. Even just a flesh wound would slow her down. Then she’d taken the tumble down the hillside. Maybe picked up a concussion. Too many possibilities. Time to move and end this.
“Come on, back down the trail. Stop when we get to the main turn-off. Luke, when we get down there, do your thing again.”
Luke tapped two fingers to his head in acquiescence. Again, the Kawasaki quad bikes sped down the hillside. Mark and Luke reversed positions so now Mark steered the vehicle while Luke rode pillion. As soon as they reached the T-junction, Luke dismounted and began searching the nearby ground. By tracing a slow loop fifty metres wide, it took him less than four minutes to pick up her trail.
“She came this way, sure enough. She was fairly movin’ as well. Long strides. She was running with a steady gait.” He pointed to regular depressions in the loose dirt spaced roughly thirty inches apart. The rest of the team looked into the arcs of light provided by the bike headlamps. The depressions they saw told them none of the details that Luke seemed to intuit. “She joined the road here. She probably followed it back toward the main 375.”
“Good work. Let’s see if we can manage to catch up with an injured woman on foot, seeing as we have the small advantage of these motherfucking monster quad bikes.”
The men looked at Matthew, unaccustomed to hearing him curse. Usually he was Mr Cool. John gave a minuscule nod, then revved his bike and sped along the road at full speed.
Luke vaulted onto the back of the other ATV and Mark sent the vehicle rocketing after the vanishing taillights.
Five minutes later, the two ATVs pulled over. Almost immediately Luke pointed out another series of scuffs and depressions in the sand at the side of the road where the asphalt met dirt. “Looks like she fell down here.” He pointed further along the road. “There’s an old building just another few minutes down there. She might be hiding.”
“Let’s go,” barked Matthew. The bitch wasn’t free and clear just yet. He would personally add the final bullet in return for the trouble she’d caused him. Once they had the package.
John powered the vehicle forward, the rapid acceleration making the tyres spin momentarily on the cracked road surface. As they reached their destination, John applied the brakes and pointed to a large recreational vehicle that was pulling away from the ramshackle structure.
“What do you think?” asked John over his shoulder.
“She could be in there, all right.”
The second ATV parked level with Matthew’s.
Matthew stabbed the air with his finger twice. “You two search the building, we’ll follow the Winnebago.”
“What are the chances of her still being in there? She’d be stupid not to have made a beeline for that camper van,” asked Mark. Matthew could tell that he would much rather be chasing down the RV.
“Just do it. We’d look even more stupid if we scooted off after some pensioners in their crusty bus and she was sitting in there watching us.”
Mark clicked his tongue in annoyance but set to his allotted task. As he and Luke moved towards the remains of the casino, John and Matthew began their pursuit.
8
Andrea awoke with a start. A deep stinging throb had taken up residence in her thigh. When she looked down, a tight bandage encircled her leg. Spots of blood had seeped through in a number of places. A raw burning sensation also nipped at her ribs. Damn, she hurt all over.
“How long have I been out?”
The man called Danny emerged from the front of the vehicle. “Just a couple of minutes. We’re heading for a town called Rachel. We’ll get you some help there.”
She nodded. She’d read about the town in the UFO guidebook. The alien café was there. A lot of the sky-watchers had mentioned it earlier. Was that just today? Time seemed distended, unreal.
“Are you up to talking a bit more?” asked Danny. “How are you feeling? You looked kind of dizzy as you sat up.”
The vehicle slowed slightly as Clay looked back from the driver’s seat.
“I feel sick,” replied Andrea, holding her stomach. “Can I have another drink?” Seconds later, a glass of orange juice was in her hands.
“Take your time. Try to take small sips. How did you find us? The overlook is quite a few miles from the old casino car park.”
“Pure luck, really. I fell down the hill and banged my head really hard on the way down. I didn’t know where I was going but I heard engines—motorbikes, I think—coming after me. They must have assumed I’d fallen all the way down to the bottom, but I probably only went down twenty or thirty feet. When I stopped rolling I couldn’t see the top of the hill, so I don’t think they could see me either.”
&
nbsp; “Go on.”
“As I heard the engines, I climbed halfway back up and then found a narrow track. I just kept running as fast as I could. I’m not sure how long I was out there. I thought I was going to die.” Harrowing images of Greg and Bruce flashed before her eyes. She took a breath. “I just ended up crashing into your van by accident.”
“It’s a good thing you did. There’s a lot of barren ground out here. If you’d taken another direction you’d be just another statistic.”
“My brother and his partner are dead, they’re not statistics!”
“That’s not what I meant.” Danny spread his hands in an open, placating gesture.
“I know, I know. It’s just so hard to believe. Why would anyone want to harm us? We’ve never done anything…”
Danny steepled his fingers, his chin resting on the uppermost digits. “Well, I think that whoever was responsible did it for a definite reason. The guys you described don’t sound like yahoos out looking for random victims. Whoever they are, they probably came after your party specifically or they were under orders to kill anyone on the overlook.”
“That doesn’t make sense,” said Clay. “The overlook is a popular place with the sky-watchers. There’re people up there all the time. And besides, the Area 51 guards don’t go anywhere near there. That’s public land, unrestricted. The guards are there to keep trespassers from government land. There’s never been a fatality—you’d have to be a clear and present threat to the base for them to challenge you.”
“Governments are good at not talking about their dirty laundry, especially where the forces are concerned,” said Danny raising an eyebrow. “Remember what happened in Belize.”
Clay considered a moment then shrugged. “This is different. This is America.”
* * *
They had not been driving long when Clay saw vivid blue and red flashing lights ahead from a stationary vehicle parked across the road. Cop cars the world over were more similar than different and the programmed response was also the same. Clay applied the brakes. He heard Danny coming up from the back of the RV and spoke under his breath. “Cops. We can report it all to the state trooper up ahead.” He raised his voice to reach Andrea. “It’s going to be all right now, hon.”
As the RV came to a halt, a man’s silhouette approached, casting a long, distorted shadow as he cut through the halogen beams of his dark-blue squad car. The state trooper wore his hat low on his head and walked with a confident swagger. His right hand rested lightly on the butt of his service weapon; his left balanced a flashlight on his shoulder.
Clay pressed one of the many buttons on the driver’s door console and the window slid down with a muted whirr. Cold night air invaded the cabin. The hairs on Clay’s arm prickled with the sudden temperature change.
The trooper leant an arm against the door panel. His badge read RYBACK and his face was deeply lined, telling of long hours spent in the harsh Nevada sun. A neat, bristling moustache remained static even while he spoke. “Sorry fella, the road ahead is closed. Tourist in an RV managed to crash into a cow half a mile up ahead.” He shook his head as if he’d delivered this message many times before. “You need to turn yourselves around and head on back the way you came.”
Clay leant out of the window. “Officer, we need your help. We picked up a woman at the old casino—says she’s been attacked in the hills. Her brother and friend were killed.”
The cop gave Clay the flat eye. Then he spoke again, in a different tone. “Sir, how many people are in your vehicle?”
“Three. Me, my brother and the woman.”
“Sir, licence and registration please.” Officer Ryback held out his hand. To Clay, the cop didn’t look like he would be the sort to underestimate any potential threat.
Clay fished out the documents from a utility pouch on the side of his seat. He did so slow and easy, so as not to spook Ryback. He knew the trooper’s instincts would be buzzing at the mention of murder.
Ryback took the documents and took a step backwards. He directed the beam from his flashlight into the RV, studying the interior for long seconds, then turned on his heel and began to walk back to his patrol car.
The distance between the vehicles was roughly thirty feet and illuminated by both sets of headlights. All was pitch darkness beyond the meagre radius of the beams. Clay’s eyes followed the cop back towards his patrol car. He knew that Officer Ryback would perform a quick check for any outstanding violations or warrants in his name. Clay wasn’t worried. It was a long time since he’d tangled with the law, and never in Nevada. Once Ryback had called it in and was satisfied, he would listen to Andrea’s story in detail.
Suddenly the trooper pitched forward, his legs giving way, his body crumpling as it fell. A spray of crimson surrounded his head as his hat was snatched off as if by an invisible hand.
“Jesus H. Christ!” Ice water rippled down Clay’s spine. “Danny!”
9
The Kawasaki quad bike was much faster and infinitely more agile than any RV, but Matthew knew that the big road-blocker wouldn’t be easy to stop. Just like a pride of lions trying to bring down a wildebeest, they’d need to pick their moment carefully.
The RV turned right onto the main highway. John steered the quad into the big vehicle’s slipstream. He flicked a toggle switch and the main light changed from full beam to a much reduced glow, just enough to provide illumination but less noticeable.
“Just follow them until Mark and Luke catch up. If the woman isn’t in the building we’ll overtake the crusty bus a couple of miles down the way, flag it down and search it.”
“What do we do with the occupants of the vehicle?”
“You know our brief: terminate anyone who has had contact with the package.” Matthew gave his reply matter-of-factly and without emotion.
John nodded. Matthew knew that his subordinate had no problem with killing. He had killed on contract in more countries than he had fingers. It was a little unusual to be doing so in the continental US, but a job was a job.
A rattle of static sounded in both men’s ears simultaneously, then Mark’s southern drawl announced, “Negative on the building. The target is not here.”
Matthew tapped his send button. “Get your butts up here and we’ll take the bus down.”
“Roger that.” Mark’s voice conveyed unhidden pleasure at the command.
John opened up the throttle and let the Kawasaki do its thing. Both men hunched low against the wind that whipped at their faces.
The Winnebago wasn’t the fastest thing on wheels but it was moving at a decent clip. The taillights shone through the darkness like a pair of demonic eyes.
“Boss, we could have trouble ahead.”
Matthew peered around John’s head and saw the flashing lights. Cops!
“What do we do now?”
Matthew scowled in the dark; then he repeated the mission brief out loud like a mantra. “Proceed as planned. We need to recover the package and terminate anyone who has come into contact with it.”
“That include cops?”
“That includes the goddamned Pope if he gets in our way.”
Five hundred yards ahead, the RV slowed to a halt. The flashing lights of the police cruiser were obscured by the bulk of the bus.
John killed the headlights and slipped the engine into a lower gear and the bike crept slowly forward in the darkness. He placed the quad on a path that kept the bulk of the RV between them and the patrol car.
Two hundred yards…
“There’s a cop talking to the driver.”
One hundred yards…
Fifty…
Matthew calculated the odds. If the target, that tricky bitch, wasn’t in the RV then he’d be in a deep pile with Topcat. Killing a cop was not a thing that any operator would consider lightly. He drummed his fingers against the barrel of his Heckler & Koch MP5K sub-machine gun. Then fate decided for him. The woman sat up and looked out of the rear window. The ambient light inside the vehicl
e framed her face perfectly.
“Got her. She’s inside the RV. Move up quickly and quietly.”
John gently braked as Matthew tapped his shoulder twice. Matthew clambered off the bike and darted towards the driver’s side window.
The cop turned and walked back toward his cruiser, with what looked like documents in his hand.
Matthew dropped to one knee, brought up the stubby weapon to his shoulder and squeezed off a short burst. The cylindrical sound suppressor fitted to the barrel reduced the gun’s retort to an angry rattle. The cop went down in an untidy heap.
Inside the RV, the driver yelled something unintelligible. A yell of distress or warning? The driver was just an indistinct shape from Matthew’s vantage point, no way of telling age or appearance. No matter; a quick burst from the MP5K would take care of him.
Matthew scuttled along the side of the RV, his back barely touching the amber and tan aluminium skin of the bus. He measured two steps then sprang out smartly, level with the driver’s door. Seventeen 9mm rounds from his MP5K ripped through the door like it didn’t exist. But where seconds earlier a human silhouette had been framed, now there was only shattered glass and bullet holes.
Matthew moved cautiously to the front of the vehicle, weapon held high and ready. He tapped his radio control button and hissed, “John, move up.”
10
As Officer Ryback slumped to the ground, six things happened within the space of as many heartbeats.
Beat one: Clay shouted a warning to Danny. Basic and guttural.
Beat two: Danny pushed Andrea flat to the floor and yelled for her to stay down.
Beat three: Clay snatched up his bulky Colt Python revolver from under his seat. As he leaned down, bullets ripped through the door over his head.
Beat four: a gunman stepped in front of the RV’s windscreen, weapon raised.
Beat five: Danny grabbed a steak knife and launched himself out of the side passenger door.
Beat six: Clay put two bullets through the windscreen into the gunman’s face.