by Angus McLean
He heard more people arrive and a few seconds later a soft body landed half on top of him. He recognised Susie's scent. They both wriggled to untangle themselves and ended up lying more or less side by side.
More people climbed aboard the boat then they heard a louder splashing and heavy grunting as others arrived.
There was the sound of straining and the boat rocked before a heavy impact beside Travis. From the size of the object and the muffled growling coming from it, he was pretty sure the new arrival was Brad.
An outboard motor started up and the boat moved off, bumping across small waves and gradually picking up speed. Travis was aware of the sound of a second engine nearby, keeping pace with them.
He got as comfortable as he could and breathed through his nose, getting himself together and gathering his wits. He pressed against Susie, willing her to stay calm. Things were looking dire and he couldn't help but wonder if they were about to meet a watery death. Kidnapped and taken out to sea, nobody would ever know what happened to them. He forced the thought from his head and concentrated on what he knew and what he could do.
Mookjai focussed on the dock as the boat pilot brought them in close, cutting the engine and letting the current take them in.
The other boat docked first, the three men on board with Major Dang alighting quickly and mooring their craft before beginning to unload their supplies. The Major stood back and watched.
Mookjai glanced down at the three prisoners in the bottom of the boat, all three lying still and silent. The big one stirred and made muffled sounds, probably curses given their previous interaction – when they had captured him in his villa they had tasered him twice before getting him fully under control. Before the first dose though he’d got his hands on one of the lads and battered him around the head before throwing him against the wall.
That cop, Decha, sat over the big man, watching him carefully. When he stirred this time, Mookjai watched Decha stamp his foot down hard on the man’s head, producing a grunt and more muffled curses. The other two lads chuckled and Mookjai hoped for Decha’s sake that the big man didn’t get loose. He turned his own attention to Travis, the older man, who lay in the middle. From Mookjai’s experience it wasn’t the young hot heads that posed the most danger, it was the older, wiser men. They had experience and cunning on their side, and this one was certainly battle hardened. Mookjai would dearly love to plug him and drop the body overboard, but orders were orders.
The woman had remained silent for most of the journey. He wasn’t sure whether she was too terrified to move, or had simply retreated inside to regather herself. He didn’t care either way – nobody walked away from the island.
They moored and began to unload. Susie was pulled to her feet first and manhandled onto the dock, waiting with one of the men while they went back for Travis.
The boat rocked as they jerked him roughly up. Mookjai jabbed his gun barrel into Travis’ ribs and pulled him close.
‘Please be stupid,’ the cop hissed. ‘Gimme excuse.’
Travis remained silent, but Mookjai could feel the vibes coming off him. The Kiwi let them haul him awkwardly up onto a wooden dock, where Mookjai held him near Susie.
Three of the men went back for the big man – Big Bad Brad, Mookjai thought – and wrestled him up onto the dock. As soon as his feet were stable the big man lashed out with his head, crashing his skull into the face of the man on his left arm. As that man cried out a big foot drove backwards into the man behind Brad, standing right at the edge of the dock. The man squealed and flew backwards, over the boat, hitting the water with a loud splash.
Decha jabbed his stun gun into Brad’s gut and gave him a long burst, making him jerk and thrash uncontrollably before collapsing to the ground like a felled tree.
Mookjai stayed back with his two prisoners, keeping an eye on Travis. He half expected – hoped – the Kiwi would react, but there was nothing. Either the man had complete faith that his nephew would be okay, or he was one cold bastard.
The cop hauled himself out of the water and received a burst from Major Dang, who was clearly not impressed. The other man was wiping blood from his face and shooting daggers at Brad’s hooded face.
‘If you ladies are quite ready, let’s go,’ Mookjai snapped. He shoved Travis forward, keeping the Commander ready just in case.
Chapter Twenty Nine
They made their way to the goat track, where they were met by the American, Mitchell. He had an Uzi submachine gun forward slung and a pair of night vision goggles pushed up on his head. He gave no greeting, just led them silently up the path to the buildings, veering off from the centre to a side building. As they entered it, Mookjai realised the building had been gutted and turned into an arena of some sort. The walls and roof were intact, but all that remained of the floor was an outer ring, circling a pit that filled the centre of the building.
The pit was probably four metres deep and twice that in circumference. He could see a door inset in a wall below, and a matching door to the side up at ground level.
Mitchell led them to the door and unlocked it with a large key. The stairs behind it were concrete. Lighted torches flickered at regular intervals down the wall, giving the whole place an almost prehistoric feel. It was cold and draughty.
At the base of the stairs was a room which had five cells off it, like some sort of medieval dungeon.
Mitchell opened the door of the first one. Brad was led in first, followed by Travis. Both were forced to their knees, looking away from the door. Susie was last in, and when she was pushed to her knees Mookjai stepped forward with a set of handcuff keys. He freed her hands and removed the hood and gag. She shook her head and licked her parched lips, looking round in the dim light.
Mookjai handed her the key and backed out of the cell. The door clanged shut.
‘Unlock them,’ he said, indicating the two men with his pistol.
Susie unlocked the cuffs from the two men and made to pass the cuffs back through the bars.
Travis stopped her, eyeing Mookjai with undisguised disdain.
‘When you feel like fighting like a man,’ he rasped, ‘come and see me.’
Mookjai stiffened and Mitchell stepped calmly forward, lifting the stubby snout of his Uzi. It was pointed at Susie’s gut. At this range it would shred her in a second.
‘Pass the cuffs back, pal,’ he said coolly, ‘or I’ll punch her ticket. Comprende?’
Travis turned his gaze to him, taking the three sets of cuffs to the bars and holding them out by a finger. He ran his eye up and down Mitchell, coming to rest on his face.
‘Call yourself an operator?’ he said coldly. ‘You look like a fuckin’ mercenary to me. A man without honour is no man at all.’
Mitchell flushed and his jaw set. ‘I always thought you Kiwis were overrated, boy.’
‘Ha.’ Travis gave a short, barking laugh. ‘Where I come from, DD spells coward. Guess you just weren’t up to it…boy.’
He gave a derisive snort and dropped the cuffs on the floor, before turning his back contemptuously. The unspoken message was clear.
Behind him, Mitchell slowly bent and picked up the cuffs, tossing them away to the side. ‘Your time is here,’ he said.
Mookjai led the way back up the stairs and the door at the top banged shut.
The only light in the dungeon was the flickering torches from the stairs, casting moving shadows in the musty darkness.
The dirt floor felt damp and cold. The concrete block walls were blackened with mould. The whole place had the rank stench of death about it.
‘I wonder how many people have died down here,’ Brad mused aloud.
Travis shot him a look. ‘Yeah, let’s be positive about it. Nice one.’
Brad shrugged. ‘Just making conversation. So, when did you two hook up?’
‘Fuck me,’ Travis muttered as Susie flushed. ‘You’re a bloody great conversationalist aren’t you?’
‘Well there’s not much else going on
down here is there?’ Brad shook the bars with both hands. They were solidly bedded in.
He looked around. There were no windows and no obvious means of escape.
‘We could try digging our way out under the bars,’ Susie suggested.
Travis had been running his fingertips all over the wall behind them. ‘Nothing there,’ he said, straightening up and dusting his hands off. He took an inventory of them all. Aside from what they were wearing, they had nothing to hand.
He wore faded blue jeans and a grey singlet. Susie’s ¾ length pants were khaki green and the T shirt over her pink sports bra was white. Brad wore DPM camo pants and a black T shirt. They were all bare foot.
They were locked in the dungeon of an island prison, surrounded by armed criminals. He couldn’t think of a time he’d been in a more dismal position.
‘No worries,’ he said with a grin, ‘we’ve got them on the ropes.’
Chapter Thirty
When Major Dang, Sergeant Mookjai and their men entered the auditorium of the main building, they found Chambers sitting at a long conference table.
He beamed at them across the table. He was clad in a long white robe like some kind of Roman emperor.
Also at the table, but sitting apart from him, were Philip Stephenson and his two henchmen, Prasong and Terry. All three looked distinctly uneasy, although Stephenson tried to force a smile.
Dang glanced down to his right and saw a small pile of weapons on the floor. He looked at Mitchell and noticed the Uzi barrel held steady at his navel.
‘Weapons on the floor, gents,’ the American said softly. ‘Nice and easy.’
Dang gave a nod and complied, his men following suit. They took seats across the table from the Englishman, Mitchell standing guard at the door.
‘Welcome, gentlemen,’ Chambers beamed, looking round at each of them in turn. ‘Welcome to my island paradise. I thought it prudent for us to get together one last time.’
He placed his hands flat on the table and adopted a contrite look.
‘Due to unforeseen circumstances, it is time for me to move on, at least for a time. However, before I do, there are arrangements to be made. These arrangements affect each and every one of you.’ He smiled thinly. ‘Business, as they say, is business.’ He made a steeple of his fingers and leaned forward, elbows on the table. ‘The line of work we are all in is a precarious one at best. It is a constantly changing beast. Dynamic, you could say. It is exciting and dangerous and thrilling.’ His eyes gleamed as he spoke. ‘With that comes inherent risk and the need to be adaptable. That suits me – I am a chameleon. I have changed form many times over the years, and it is my adaptability that makes me strong.’ He pounded a fist against his chest. ‘Some might say invincible. Indestructible.’
Chambers cast his gaze around them all again, the fervour within radiating from his face. The room was deathly silent.
‘Alongside me I need men who are also adaptable and resilient. I need men with forward thinking. Yesterday is gone, tomorrow is the future. My operation is sleek and deadly accurate. There is no room for idleness and dead wood. No room for time wasters and dreamers. No room for yesterday.’
Sitting at the end of the line furthest from the action, Terry listened to the man talk. There was no doubting the man was bat-shit crazy, and the more Terry listened the more he realised that every man in the room was pretty much fucked. He glanced casually across at the Thai cops sitting opposite them. The boss, that Major Dang, was completely impassive as he listened. His sergeant looked permanently pissed off, like he wanted to smash the first person to look at him sideways. The rest of them looked like they didn’t know what the fuck this crazy bastard was talking about. Fair do’s, Terry figured, they probably only spoke enough English to shake down tourists.
Looking to his left, Terry could see Stephenson was churning everything over in his head. He knew the boss was seriously concerned. Prasong, as always, gave nothing away.
‘All of you have been with me on this journey and have proven your worth previously.’
Terry saw Dang’s chest puff out and a self-satisfied smirk settle on his face. Cocky bastard.
‘But recently all of you,’ Chambers jabbed the table top with a finger for emphasis, ‘all of you, have let me down.’
Terry saw Dang’s smile fade and grinned inwardly.
‘This is your chance to reengage with me. Prove your commitment again.’ He looked at each in turn. ‘I take it that each of you has followed their instructions?’
There were slow nods, and Mitchell stepped forward.
Stephenson removed a small but hefty black velvet bag from an inside pocket and passed it the American. Dang did likewise with a larger bag which clanked as he handed it over. Mitchell checked both bags quickly before giving Chambers a nod. Terry knew that the bag Stephenson had just handed over contained two million US worth of uncut diamonds. He presumed Dang’s bag contained something of similar value, presumably gold coins by the sound of it. He’d heard a whisper the Thai cop had got his hands on some Nazi gold a while back.
‘Very good,’ Chambers purred. ‘This is a good start. The ability to follow instructions is important. So far you are all even. So far.’ He steepled his fingers again. ‘The second part of this evening will be a true test of survival. I need men that I know will live and die for the cause. And kill for it.’ He smiled coldly. ‘As you know, the intelligence service of New Zealand has rather naively sent some agents after us. Well, I presume, after our friend here, The Pastor. After some quite feeble attempts by all of you to shake them from our trail, they have finally ended up here and are currently under lock and key.’
Dang got that cocky smirk back again. Terry wanted to rip it from his face. Obviously the crooked cop thought he had the upper hand now.
‘The second part of this evening will sort the men from the boys, and whoever proves themselves to be a boy, will not be continuing this journey.’ He smiled again, the psycho cherub coming back. ‘And to the victor the spoils!’
Stephenson opened his mouth, cutting off Chambers’ diatribe mid-flow.
‘So what it boils down to is you want to up sticks and fuck off to Somalia to run your operation from there, and we’ve all pissed you off enough that we have to fight it out to see who gets to be your bum-boy?’
Chambers’ eyes were like shards of ice. ‘Don’t ever interrupt me, you arrogant little bitch. And if you speak to me with that insolent tongue again, I will cut it out and feed it to you.’
Stephenson visibly paled and his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down.
Chambers stared at him balefully for a long time before speaking again. ‘In essence, yes. That is what I am proposing.’
‘With respect, you do know that the Somali’s want my head?’ Stephenson pressed anxiously.
Terry cringed, waiting for his boss to take a bullet from the American.
‘I am aware of that, and it makes it more interesting don’t you think?’ Chambers replied, his icy glare changing in a second to a cherubic smile. ‘Of course I am aware.’ His smile got wider, his eyes glinting with amusement. ‘I arranged it!’
Stephenson’s jaw dropped open and Terry saw Mitchell push the door open behind him. In walked two grizzled looking bikers, both big men in black jeans with Southern Vikings patches on over T shirts.
Terry eyed them curiously. Jonah Jones and his buddy Kruger. At Mitchell’s word they added their weapons to the growing pile on the floor. Terry noted that Kruger’s was a huge AutoMag .44. Obviously got a small cock, he mused.
Once they were seated on Chambers’ other side, Mitchell opened the door again and disappeared. He was back a few seconds later, holding the door open to let four men walk in. Each of them had an AK front slung.
Terry heard Stephenson give an involuntary gasp as he laid eyes on Kablan, the half-blind sidekick to Ashkir. Kablan leered at him across the room.
‘We meet again, Mr Stephenson,’ he grinned. ‘Mr Ashkir will be most pleased,
I dare say.’
‘Weapons,’ Mitchell said calmly, ‘on the ground.’
Kablan glanced at him and gave a sneer. ‘I surrender my weapon for no man. Especially,’ he stepped into Mitchell’s personal space, ‘an American pig dog.’
Mitchell’s expression did not change. ‘All your weapons on the ground,’ he said quietly, gently raising the barrel of the Uzi. ‘Now.’
Kablan didn’t flinch. His thick lips curled back to reveal yellowed teeth.
Terry felt the atmosphere tighten. It was like the air was getting sucked out of the room. All eyes were on the two men. Even Chambers seemed lost for words.
But no, as Terry looked down the table at him, Chambers was not lost for words at all; he was grinning with anticipation. He was loving every second of it, the psycho bastard.
Mitchell took a slow breath in through his nose, started to exhale, and squeezed the trigger.
The Uzi chattered and six rounds blasted through Kablan’s gut, one of the rounds knocking the man behind him into a spin. As the leader started to fall his two remaining men grabbed for their weapons. Gobey got both hands on his AK and started to turn before Mitchell put a burst through his rib cage then another into the man beside him. Both men fell and Mitchell blasted the next burst into the first man he’d wounded, now struggling to hold himself up against the wall. He slid down it, leaving a large bloody smear. Terry noticed that his left eye was dangling from the socket onto his cheek.
Ricochets pinged off surfaces all around the room.
Mitchell moved from man to man, putting a short burst into the head of each of them. He stood over the four bodies and automatically changed magazines, racking a fresh round into the chamber.
Gun smoke hung in the still air, mixed with the pungent metallic odour of blood.