Fight or Die

by James Hilton

  “Dickens, I think.”

  “Profound.”

  “Indeed.”

  “Come on, we’ve still got a lot of work to do.”

  “Roger that, wee one, let’s get our asses in gear.”

  “Stop calling me wee one.”

  Clay shot him a grin.

  Danny gathered up the documents Adam had supplied and the brothers walked to the rear of the club. As Julie passed a brief smile was exchanged. Larry gave them a perfunctory nod as they climbed the stairs to Danny’s room.

  Bedsprings creaked in protest as Clay sat on the bed. Danny picked up his laptop and accessed Google Earth. Seconds later a satellite view of Ultima appeared on screen. He scrolled the map upwards and zoomed until he located the villa. Then he glanced at the three option menus on offer: map, hybrid and terrain. “I’ll print off the route from here to the villa. I’ll need to link to Pam’s printer downstairs.”

  “Okay. You’ve been busy I see,” said Clay, pointing to the various items arranged along the windowsill.

  “I thought a few party favours might come in handy.”

  After figuring out the identification details for the printer, Danny printed off a series of maps, photographs and plans, all showing the Barcelo’s main villa building and surrounding landscape. A quick trip down the stairs and back followed. The various views included topographical detail of the surrounding coastline, a road map of the immediate area and a hybrid view of the grounds that afforded an overlaid combination of road and satellite view.

  The villa was a huge affair. It was situated on a narrow peninsula and the perimeter wall arrested all direct access from land. The villa grounds formed a rough V shape, or more correctly an inverted triangle. The building itself was unusual in shape. The main edifice was circular, with a series of interconnected buildings that formed twin Ls to either side. Viewed from above it resembled a swastika with the north and south arms removed. An expansive pool and sun terrace paved with terracotta tiles faced out to sea at the rear of the villa. A narrow stretch of private beach lay at the bottom of a steep wooden staircase.

  “The nearest neighbour is about three miles away. That’s good; no bystanders if we have to go in heavy.”

  Clay nodded and selected another picture. “This hill overlooks the whole place. Should be a good spot to set up camp.”

  “I don’t disagree, but I want to try some sideline tactics before we go near that place all heavy-handed. I want to give them something to think about other than us, keep them occupied and off balance.”

  “What you got in mind?”

  Danny outlined his plans and Clay grinned again. “I knew I kept you around for a reason, wee one. See, I like to fuck with the opposition, but you, you take it to the next level. When do we start?”

  “As soon as the sun goes down and the punters come out to play.”

  “I’ll bring in some of the kit from the car. We can strip and clean while we’re waiting.”

  24

  Hours later, all of the weapons that Clay had brought lay on the camp bed. He loved the distinctive gun-oil smell the rifles and handguns gave off. The AK47 had seen better days but after several checks he was sure it was still fully functional. That was one of the AK’s many strengths; it was produced cheaply but it was built to last, a real workhorse weapon. The weapon could fire up to six hundred rounds per minute on full auto fire, and it only took one of those rounds to kill. God bless Mr Kalashnikov. Seventy million users couldn’t be wrong.

  Clay rolled a tapered 7.62 round between his fingers. “What d’you think we’ll do when we’re too old to play this game?”

  Danny shrugged. “Don’t know, grow old disgracefully I suppose.”

  “I’m thinking about starting an adventure business in Portugal. Split my time between there and the States.”

  Danny worked the slide on one of the Beretta pistols. “What do you mean by adventure?”

  “Be a soldier for a day, play at commandos. Let the tourists ride in an armoured car, shoot some blanks, maybe try a killing house with paintball guns, that kind of thing. That was one of the things I had to go and sort out. I’ve bought a chunk of land a few miles away from my house. It’ll be ideal ground if I decide to go ahead with it. There’d be a good job for you as well. I’d need someone to manage it whenever I was back home.”

  “Sounds like a good idea.”

  “Well it’s easy money and we don’t have to get any more of these.” Clay rubbed a finger across the scar that emerged from his hairline down onto his forehead. Of all the scars on his face it was the one he was most self-conscious about.

  “What about your place in Texas?”

  “The house is in safe hands. I let Salma and Sebastian live there rent free while I’m out of the country. They tend the house and the gardens anyway, so everything’s square.”

  Danny nodded. Clay was grateful he didn’t say more. Danny occasionally mocked him for having a housekeeper and gardener, even though he knew they were good people. Their daughter, Celine, now a feisty sixteen-year-old, was a budding maths genius with a great future ahead of her. Clay would make sure of that.

  Clay had decided it was prudent to stay away from the States for a while after the trouble he and Danny had encountered the previous year. They had rescued a British journalist from the clutches of a mercenary team with orders to terminate her. Death and destruction had followed the brothers from the Nevada desert all the way to the Florida Keys. The resulting federal investigation had led to months of legal wrangling that convinced the Gunns to head to Europe until things died down.

  Clay had purchased the property in Portugal. A fixer-upper he had called it. Danny had asked why he hadn’t just bought one of the many top-end villas available in the Algarve. With the millions he had inherited from Diana’s company, money certainly was not a problem, but Clay had wanted something to occupy his time and attention.

  “I’ve got a contract with Odin Corp coming up in a couple of months. But after that… maybe?” replied Danny.

  Clay sighed. “I’ve said it more than once, when are you gonna leave all that behind? We’ve both done our time in uniform. There’s enough trouble in the world without marching into the middle of war zones for a damned private outfit.”

  Danny gave a non-committal shrug. “I’ll know when it’s time to put my boots away for good. Just not yet. Besides it’s good money. I make a lot more as a PMC than I ever did as a green jacket.”

  Clay couldn’t argue against that. He knew the world of private military contractors could be a lucrative one. “Well, when you are finished with it you know there will always be a place for you with me, either in Portugal or at home with me in Texas.”

  “I know and I appreciate the offer. Anyway, if you’re done with the mayhem, what the hell are we doing here?”

  The corners of Clay’s mouth twitched into a smile before he answered. “That’s different. This is helping out friends in need.”

  “But will still probably add to our scar collection before we’re done.”

  Clay let the subject drop. He again rolled the 7.62 round in his hand. The feel of the bullet was perhaps a little too comfortable. Maybe Danny was right after all. Clay had long since left the service of the Rangers yet all these years later he felt a welcome tingle as he palmed the ammunition.

  25

  As the three friends sat at one of the club’s rear booths conversation shifted to the athletic superiority between American football and rugby players. Clay argued the validity of body armour and helmets while Larry cast unsubtle doubts on the manliness of the NFL players. Shaking his head, Danny opted out of the old debate.

  Clay looked across the table as he tried to garner Danny’s support. He spotted the messenger long before his gaze was reciprocated. Clay’s expression never faltered and he announced deadpan, “Incoming.”

  Adam half waddled, half jogged over to the booth. Sweat was beaded on his brow. “Hi, guys. I’ve got something for you.”

/>   Clay motioned for Adam to sit.

  “I’ve been busy all day but I come bearing gifts.” He plopped a small sports bag onto the table. Two inches of stomach showed in a gap between his shirt and the waistband of his jeans.

  “Miss Sally not with you?” asked Clay, rubbing his hands together. He’d been looking forward to ribbing Danny some more.

  Adam looked back the way he’d come. “Er, no, just me.”

  “Show us what you’ve brought,” advised Danny.

  Adam delved into the bag and produced a small plastic box. “Ta-da!”

  The men looked down at the contraption. The small rectangular box was fashioned from black plastic. It had a small amount of circuitry visible between its base and lid, which sat open like a feeding clam. Two rows of copper-coloured needles decorated either end of the box like minuscule teeth.

  “Hey, you built a better mousetrap,” Clay quipped.

  “What is it?” asked Danny.

  “It works like a cable splicer. You clip it onto an ADSL cable or a video feed cable and the box transmits the web data or video feed to your computer. I thought we might be able to keep tabs on Barcelo and his men with it. You’ll be able to see everything he sees, either on his camera system or on any computers in the house. The system is self-aligning so it will piggyback any bandwidth that is used from the villa. He’ll never know we’re watching him. It operates on a black line code. I can insert a polymorphic virus that’ll leave his system in shreds.”

  Clay raised his eyebrows. “That all sounds super techie. Will it work?”

  Adam nodded then gave Clay a wink. “Oh yeah. It works.”

  Danny inspected the gizmo.

  “I just need to install this software onto your laptop. It’ll only take a minute or two. I’ve got the same program on my iPad.” Adam produced a thumbdrive from the bag. The drive was embellished by the cartoon image of a grinning monkey.

  “How do you know I’ve got a laptop?” asked Danny.

  “Why would you not have one?” Adam’s face was an example of perplexity as he stared back. “Everybody’s got one haven’t they?”

  “Not everybody,” said Larry.

  Adam continued undaunted. “I’ve got a laptop, a desktop PC, an Android tablet, a PS4 system and an iPad.”

  “Can any of those make you dinner or get you laid?” Clay shook his head in the negative.

  “Oh and my iPhone.” Adam counted off his collection on raised fingers. “And I’m thinking about a Fitbit or iWatch.”

  After a beleaguered sigh Danny said, “I’ll go get it.”

  As Danny trotted up the stairs to retrieve the computer Adam plopped himself down next to Larry. He gave Clay a toothy grin. “What were you guys talking about when I came in? Spy stuff?”

  “No, we were arguing the toss between Peyton Manning and… oh never mind.”

  Adam stared at Clay.

  “We were talking about rocket launchers and samurai swords.”

  “Wow. It must be great to be you guys,” said Adam.

  “Oh it is,” said Larry. “I get to lie in to seven every morning and then I get to hump boxes of beer in and out of my van for two hours.”

  “No, I meant with the missions you must have been on.”

  Clay sighed. “Again with the missions? Adam, we’re not spies. We’ve been soldiers, but most of a soldier’s life is taken up getting shouted at by assholes, doing the most mundane tasks ever devised by man and waiting for something halfway interesting to happen.”

  Undaunted, a mischievous grin stretched Adam’s features into new directions. “I know you and Danny are supposed to be good at the old head bashing but you can’t be a bona fide hero unless you’ve got the J.B. factor.”

  Clay shook his head, his weathered features almost drooping at the boy’s logic. “Okay, I know I’ll regret this, but I’ll ask… J.B. factor?”

  “Yeah, all of the best tough guys have the initials J.B.”

  “Like?” Clay asked with another barely disguised sigh.

  “James Bond, Jason Bourne, Jack Bauer, Jack Bristow, Jonas Blane…” He popped up a finger as he recounted the names.

  Larry raised his eyebrows. “Who’s Jack Bristow?”

  “Jack Bristow… from Alias. With Jennifer Garner? It’s a classic, early J.J. Abrams. I’ve got the complete box set on Blu-ray if you want to borrow it.”

  “Hmm…” Clay gave Adam a hound dog look. “I think you’ve way too much time on your hands.”

  It didn’t dissuade Adam from continuing on his original thread. “Or you can just be called Jack, that’s good too.”

  “You can stop now,” advised Clay. The kid was getting on his nerves. Next to him Larry groaned in annoyance.

  “Jack Bauer, Jack Bristow, Jack Reacher, Repairman Jack, Jack Sparrow…”

  Clay decided to play him at his own game. “Jumpin’ Jack Flash, Jack Daniels, Jack and the beanstalk, Jack ’n’ Jill, Jack Shit, New Jack City, Jack Kerouac.”

  “Now you’re just being silly,” mumbled Adam. “I was just saying it would be cool to blow things up and shoot some bad guys.”

  “Bollocks,” spat Larry. Clay knew he remembered all too well what explosions and bullets did to the fragile bodies of men.

  Adam held an imaginary pistol in his hands, his face twisted into the most serious expression he could muster. “But…”

  “But nothing,” snapped Larry. “I hope you never see it.”

  “Easy.” Clay lowered Adam’s hands to the table. He knew Larry was very touchy when it came to the realities of war. Losing limbs and being pushed out of the army you were serving tended to taint your world view. Clay gave a slow blink of recognition and understanding to Larry. As if to illustrate his feelings, Larry’s prosthetic limb clanged as it met the metal leg of the table.

  Danny’s return helped restore flow back to the conversation. He opened the laptop and turned it to face Adam. “Hey, if you break it, you bought it.”

  “You might know about guns and judo and stuff, but I know how to do just about anything with a computer that you can imagine.” Coming from most people that would sound like a line of bullshit. Clay didn’t doubt Adam.

  Resuming his excited grin, he inserted the thumbdrive into a port and the machine whirred into life. Adam moved his digits over the keyboard with a fluid grace that eluded the rest of his body. As he typed in coded commands he touched each of his large teeth with his tongue in turn. He emitted a groan of almost post-coital satisfaction. “And we’re done.”

  Danny nodded. “So after the box is clipped onto a cable, how far does the signal reach?”

  “Up to half a mile or so.”

  “Is there any way you can use this to freeze the signal?”

  “What, like jam the cameras?”

  “Exactly like.”

  “Er… no, but I could design something to do that over the next few days.”

  “At least start thinking about how you would do it. Don’t worry if you can’t. If it comes to that I’ll just cut the cables when I get close enough.” Danny made scissors of his fingers.

  “So the only problem now is how to get to the cable in the first place,” mused Clay.

  “No problem, I’m scheduled to go back there tomorrow,” said Adam. “I’ve got a couple more parcels for him. I’ll see if I can hack into the cable then.”

  “Just remember that these guys are dangerous. If you get caught, you’re in the shit big-time. Not only is our chance at a surprise attack compromised but you’ll be for the body bag,” Danny warned.

  Adam looked at each of the three men in turn. “Don’t worry, I won’t get caught. I’m sure there was a cable that ran alongside the back door. I’ll hack that one if I can. Then any time you’re close to his villa you can spy on him. Once we’re in I can get deeper into his network and hack in remotely from home.”

  Clay turned to Danny who shrugged, and seeing no further objection, flicked back to Adam. “Okay, so what do we owe you for the box and
the program?”

  “Owe? Nothing. I’m just glad to be of help.”

  “Well, it’s much appreciated,” Clay said. “Adam, do you know who the most important man in the army is?”

  Adam counted his teeth with the tip of his tongue again. “The general?”

  “No, not the general. It’s the quartermaster. The guy who makes sure that the soldiers get the kit they need for the job in hand, so you’re like our quartermaster.”

  “Really?” Adam’s breathing quickened a little.

  Clay decided to chip in. “You do realise that the quartermaster brings me breakfast in bed, right?”

  This brought forth another of Adam’s goofy smiles and one of his eyes did that sideways shift again. “I hope you like Pop Tarts, ’cause that’s all I can cook.”

  “Pop Tarts? Jeez, no. You’re sacked. I can’t eat those things. They’re Satan’s own creation.” Clay screwed up his face.

  “I just about live on them,” admitted Adam.

  “I’ve got another favour to ask of you,” said Danny.

  “Anything.”

  “I want you to look for a couple of old second-hand cars. I need them to be good runners but it doesn’t matter what they look like. Do you know anywhere that sells them?”

  Adam drummed his fingers on the table. “There’s a car market outside of Almería every Friday. I could go down there and see what’s up for grabs.”

  “Great, you can spend up to four hundred euros on each, the bigger and heavier the better.”

  “Okay.”

  “Do you know much about cars?”

  “Well, I drive for a living don’t I?”

  “Not quite the same, but okay.”

  “I know enough not to bring you a couple of junk piles that’ll conk out on you when you need them most.”

  “Well, I think you understand the situation.” Danny reached for his wallet.

  “I’ll get that,” said Clay as he counted out the bills. “Here’s a straight thousand; spend it wisely.”

  Adam slipped the money into his shirt pocket. “The auction isn’t for another couple of days, what do you want me to do until then?”

  “Well, that program to freeze the cameras for one thing. Also, I want you to go home and think about what kind of car or truck is best for speed and ruggedness. They’ll need to take a few knocks and stay on the road,” said Danny.