Then Scarlet started to laugh to himself, the Opium lifting his spirits and enhancing his sense of humor to the point that all was amusing.
‘Let them find Garrett,’ he chuckled. ‘They’ll come, he’ll kill them. Then he’ll track down whoever sent the assassins and he’ll kill them too. And then he will kill anyone one else that had anything to do with it. I will be avenged, you stupid mother fuckers.’
The tall man laughed again. It was the classic case of the hunters becoming the hunted.
He took another hit on the pipe and closed his eyes.
And far, far away he heard a voice calling. Welcoming him.
‘I gave your cross away, my darling,’ he whispered to the voice.
It called him again and he reached out towards it.
Scarlet died with a smile on his face.
Chapter 22
Happy lit a cigar; it took him longer than usual because he kept fumbling, his fingers refusing to perform the minor fine motor skills necessary for the task.
If he was being completely honest with himself he would admit that he was actually in a mild state of shock. But it would not do to admit such a weakness.
‘But what the hell?’ He asked himself. ‘How could that have just happened?’
When he hadn’t received a sitrep from the kill team that he had sent to the Elephant and Castle, he had sent another back up team to report on the situation.
They had found a massacre. And from what they told him it had been one guy who had taken them all out. Dead bodies everywhere, stoners full of holes, his men torn to shreds from shotgun fire, throats cut, one man with his head almost ripped off and a dead gangster in a purple suit with a smile on his face.
‘What the hell?’ He questioned again, his bafflement robbing him of his usual verbal eloquence.
And the worst of it was that none of the dead were the target people. Where were they?
He picked up his phone and rang Debra.
Twenty miles away, sitting in an office with Colonel Grant Peterson, Debra Haddock answered and listened to the Curator without interrupting. However, her expression was enough to judge her feelings.
‘Mister Taylor, or Curator or Happy or whatever you call yourself,’ she hissed into the phone. ‘You sort this goat-fuck of a mission out or I promise that your group will receive no more work from this government or any other. Clean up this mess. Do I make myself clear?’
She disconnected and threw the phone down on the table top.
‘What’s the problem?’ Asked colonel Peterson.
‘What isn’t the problem?’ Snapped Haddock. ‘I seem to be surrounded by fools and idiots. The Custodians couldn’t organize a killing in an abattoir. Commander Hastings is late, as usual, and Professor Parker is definitely dragging his feet.’
‘It will all come right, Debra,’ said Peterson.
The minister stood up and began to pace around the room. ‘It had better, Grant. I’ve spent years setting this up. And for those same years I have had to watch my country slowly erode as the left eats away at its very fabric. The heart of our proud nation is being flooded and drowned by a flood of foreigners and Islamic radicals.
Our pathetic, pink-politicians are more worried about political correctness than they are about waging a war on Islam and its followers. For God’s sake,’ she continued. ‘Most of them won’t even admit that we are at war. And if we can’t name our enemy, how can we ever beat him?’
‘Preaching to the converted, Debra,’ responded the colonel. ‘You well know that Jarvis and I are in full agreement. I’m an officer in an army that is now little more than a minor ally to the Americans. We no longer have a navy to speak of, our fighter jet capability is a joke and now we can’t even get funding for the submarine program. Even our boys on the ground have substandard equipment, crappy body armor, shoddy boots and the world’s worst communication systems. I fear that we have finally reached the stage where we no longer have an actual working defense force.’
‘Well that will all change,’ said Haddock. ‘I know that Jarvis and you were initially appalled at my plan but now you see that it is all that we can do. Thousands of good British people will die, but they will do so as true martyrs. True heroes.
Because, when we detonate that nuclear bomb on the outskirts of Birmingham and pin the blame on Isil, there will be no turning back. The ire of the British people will ensure that we finally react in the way that we should have from the very beginning. Britain, Europe, America. The rest of the Christian world will fall on the Muslims like the wrath of God. We will exterminate their evil from the face of the earth. People will be left with no other choice after such a terrible atrocity.’
And then the Empire will need a new leader, thought minister Haddock to herself. A strong leader. A new Iron Lady. Like Thatcher but harder, stricter. Stronger.
At that moment commander Hastings burst into the room.
‘Good afternoon all,’ he blurted. ‘Sorry that I’m late, but good news. I have reacquired the targets. I have the address where they are staying.’
Haddock smiled, her features a study in vulpine pleasure. ‘Good work,’ she said. ‘Give it to me.’
Chapter 23
The Watchmen came for Garrett and Petrus and Lindsey at midnight.
There were six of them. They picked the door and slid into the house on rubber soled feet, dressed in black.
All six carried the silenced Skorpion .32 sub machine guns favoured by the Custodian Group.
Three stayed at the bottom of the stairs and three crept up, keeping their feet on the outside of the stair boards to ensure that they made no sound. Death approached silently as they glided down the corridor and then stopped, one outside each occupied room.
One man held his hand up and ticked off the timing on his fingers.
One, two, three – all reached for the door handles and turned them slowly, easing the doors open with glacial speed.
They stepped into the rooms.
The first man raised his machine-pistol, aimed at the still mound on the bed.
And then the darkness exploded into life. There was the flash of a machete and the Watchman’s hand literally leapt from his arm in a welter of blood, the hand and weapon landing noiselessly on the bed. Then the massive blade reversed in the air and flicked back slashing through the assassin’s neck.
The body slumped silently to the carpet.
Garrett moved again, whispering as he did so. ‘Lindsey, stay in the closet, one minute.’
He ghosted through the door and, as he did so, he heard the sound of a body sliding down the wall in the next room.
Petrus stepped out, his assegai dark with a deep red coating.
The dull burp of a silenced sub machine gun thudded from the room that Lindsey was meant to be in. Petrus stepped into the bedroom and slammed his assegai through the shooter’s shoulder blades. A foot of steel magically appeared out of the man’s chest. Then Petrus twisted the blade savagely before he pulled it out, accompanied by a grotesque wet sucking sound.
The man sank to the floor.
Both Garrett and Petrus unslung their Sten guns and Garrett led the way out into the corridor.
There were three men downstairs, two at the foot of the staircase and one standing at the door.
Garrett aimed and pulled the trigger, a one and a half second burst that burned off ten rounds. The Sten was everything that Scarlet had said and more. Garrett registered the fact that he had better apologize to the old bastard the next time he saw him.
The ancient suppressor let out a bare purring pulse of sound and the 9 mm rounds packed a vicious punch. Both of the men went down in a storm of blood and flesh and chips of wood and pieces of mortar.
The man at the door returned fire but both Garrett and Petrus fired back and a hail of lead hammered the man into the door, killing him before he slid to the tiled floor.
Then silence.
Garrett ran down the steps, checked that the men were all dead and
then he quickly scanned the rest of the downstairs.
Petrus called out. ‘Princess. It’s safe. Come on down.’
The young girl came out of the room and flinched when she saw the bloodied bodies at the bottom of the stairs.
‘How did you know that they were coming?’ She asked. ‘I mean...one second I was asleep, next you woke me and less than a minute later they were here.’
Garrett shrugged. ‘We just know. It’s what we do. It’s a gift. It’s why we’re still alive. Maybe it’s a curse. Let’s go, we need to move out right now. First, Petrus, let’s pick up some weapons and ammo and whatever else these dudes were carrying.’
The two friends quickly searched the bodies. They took two Skorpions and ten magazines of ammunition.
‘Hey, check this out,’ said Petrus.
‘What?’
The Zulu held up a bulky pair of goggles. ‘Some sort of night vision goggles. Should we take them?’
Garrett shook his head. ‘You can if you want to. I hate those things. They disconnect you from the environment. Also they never seem to work when you need them to.’
Petrus shrugged and dropped the offending piece of equipment to the floor.
Then they all grabbed their various items of personal kit and ran to the Land Rover, piling in and pulling off immediately.
At the end of the street a big man watched them through a small pair of binoculars, he thumbed his cell phone. It rang and was picked up immediately.
‘Hello, Daisy. Is it done?’ Asked the Curator.
‘Negative, Curator. The two men are leaving the house now. They have the girl with them. It looks as if they have terminated the team.’
‘Impossible.’
‘I did warn you, sir.’
‘Fuck sakes. Can you see their number plate?’
‘Yes.’
‘Give it to me. Don’t follow them, they might spot you. Wait until they’re gone and then get into the house. See if any of the team are alive.’
‘They won’t be, sir.’
‘Just check, Van Staden, for God’s sake’, cursed Happy. ‘Keep in touch.’
He disconnected and fumbled in his pocket for a cigar. Then he cut it and spent some time lighting it perfectly, turning it round in the flame and drawing gently. He forced himself to concentrate on the simple task, ensuring that he did it without shaking hands.
How can this be happening? He thought to himself. He took a deep drag, but the smoke tasted bitter. Acrid and dirty.
It tasted of defeat.
He has lost over half of his Watchmen.
And he hadn’t even managed to scratch the targets.
Chapter 24
The Land Rover stood on the side of the road in the London suburb of Putney.
‘How the hell did they find us?’ Asked Garrett to no one in particular.
‘Maybe Scarlet told them,’ suggested Petrus.
‘Never,’ denied Garrett. ‘Trust me on that.’
‘CCTV cameras,’ said Lindsey. ‘There’s like half a million of them in London. The average Londoner is caught about three hundred times a day.’
‘So what?’ Asked Garrett. ‘To find us they would have to have a platoon of dudes watching them.’
Lindsey shook her head. ‘Uh uh. If they know what we look like, then they’ll just run their facial recognition programs. They’ll find us for sure.’
‘What if we wear disguises?’ Asked Petrus.
‘Well, maybe if they’re really sophisticated. Or maybe if we all wear burkas, or rubber masks. Even then it also depends how much info that they have on us. Their software can pick up the way that we walk, mannerisms, that sort of stuff.’
Garrett nodded. ‘Well that’s cool because we don’t want to hide anymore. In fact it’s time to take these assholes out. Look, at the moment we aren’t sure how many recourses they have at their disposal, but we’ve taken out a few of their guys. The thing is, the last lot were definitely not SAS or cops. I’ve seen their type before. ‘
‘Mercenaries,’ said Petrus.
‘Yep,’ agreed Garrett. ‘Hired guns. Pro assassins. Some looked South African. A couple were definitely Israeli. That smacks of outside contractors. So, I would guess that means that the boys that we are up against, the original kidnappers, don’t have unlimited recourses. They’ve had to contract work out. That’s good, because contactors don’t like to lose men. Now, at the moment all of the advantages lie with the enemy. They know London better than us, there are undoubtedly more of them than us and they will have better weapons and access to better equipment. But, I have a plan.’
‘What?’ Asked Petrus.
‘Well, where do we do our best work?’
Petrus laughed. ‘In the bush.’
‘Exactly.’
‘Good one,’ laughed Petrus. ‘So it’s simple, all that we have to do is go back to Africa, leave a trail for them to follow, wait for them, ambush them – problems over.’
Garrett grinned. ‘You got it.’
Petrus’ smile faded. ‘Come one, don’t be stupid.’
‘No,’ retorted Garrett. ‘ I’m serious. Okay, we obviously can’t get them back to Africa, but we can get them into an open outdoor environment that suits us over them.’
‘Where?’
‘Richmond Park.’
Lindsey clapped her hands. ‘Brilliant.’
Petrus shrugged. ‘That means nothing to me.’
‘Well,’ said Lindsey. ‘Richmond Park is situated in south west London. It covers an area of two thousand acres, has over six hundred deer and is surrounded by a high wall. But they allow access twenty four hours a day for bicycles and pedestrians.’
‘How do you know all of that?’ Asked Petrus
‘Brain the size of a planet,’ smirked the young girl.
‘Still, it’s not Africa,’ said Petrus. ‘But it’s definitely not inner city London. So, what’s the rest of the plan?’
‘It’s simple,’ replied Garrett. ‘We head for Richmond Park, look to get there just before sundown. We make sure that we’re picked up by CCTV going in - and we wait. They’ll come for us.
We’ll need to stash Lindsey somewhere in the park, probably in a tree hide or similar. Then we take our pursuers out. Try to keep at least one alive so that we can question him. He’ll talk, there’s no reason why he shouldn’t. He’s a gun for hire, not a convert or a patriot, we threaten him and he’ll talk. For sure...I know that I would.’
‘What’s a tree hide?’ Asked Lindsey.
‘Just a hideaway in the tree tops,’ answered Garrett. ‘It’s always a good place to hide. Most people don’t look up enough. Even professionals.’
‘Great,’ said Lindsey. ‘You guys are turning me into a monkey fugitive.’
Petrus laughed. ‘Better baboon than buried.’
Lindsey looked scared.
‘Don’t worry, Princess,’ said Petrus. ‘I won’t let anything happen to you, I swear.’
‘Right, troops,’ said Garrett. ‘We’ve got a day to kill. What do we need? Any requests?’
‘A few small ones,’ Answered Petrus. ‘Something in a squad support weapon. A 7.62 belt fed machine gun would do. Twenty claymores, an AKM assault rifle and a few grenades.’
‘Sorry,’ replied Garrett. ‘All we got is the two Stens and those crappy Skorpions and a couple of Walthers.’
‘Oh well,’ sighed Petrus theatrically. ‘That’ll do.’
‘You’ve got your spear and your big knife,’ added Lindsey sarcastically.
The two men turned to her and smiled. And she had a glimpse of what it would be like to fall into a shark tank with two giant ragged tooth man eaters. She shivered in vicarious fear.
Garrett cranked the starter and drove to a hardware superstore.
As they drove, Lindsey pointed out landmarks to Petrus.
‘Look,’ she said. ‘That’s Stamford Bridge, home of Chelsea Football Club. Capacity, forty one thousand seven hundred and ninety eight. The club is worth
over one point three billion dollars.’
Petrus grunted. ‘Don’t watch soccer much.’
‘Over there, on the horizon,’ continued Lindsey like a tour guide. ‘You can see the four chimneys of the Battersea Power Station. Built in the 1930’s and stopped producing electricity in the early 1980’s. Currently being converted into apartments, shops, offices and so on.’
‘Fascinating,’ sighed Petrus as he watched a tall blond woman cross the road, walking a dog the size of a hamster.
‘That was the Thames River that we crossed earlier, of course,’ continued his personal tour guide. ‘Did you know that two thirds of London’s drinking water comes from the Thames? Also, an average of one body a week is retrieved from the river.’
‘What are you, some sort of walking encyclopedia?’ Laughed Petrus.
‘I read stuff and I remember it,’ answered Lindsey. ‘Can’t help it.’
‘It’s cool,’ said Petrus. ‘Interesting, actually.’
Garrett pulled into the parking lot of the superstore. ‘You two wait here, maybe get some grub there,’ he pointed at a caravan selling bacon sandwiches, cheeseburgers and sodas. ‘I won’t be long.’
He came back about forty minutes later.
Petrus thrust a burger at him and he ate it in three massive bites.
Lindsey made mock gagging sounds. ‘Yuck, you eat like an animal.’
Garrett grinned. ‘Yum,’ he said and patted his stomach.
Then he chucked two bags onto the back seat. Lindsey took a look at them. Inside the first one was a reel of fishing line, a bag of six inch steel nails, duct tape, a long length of strong rope and a large olive green tarpaulin. In the second bag was a large orange box marked, “Hot Hands x 200 units”, and a small blue aerosol spray can.
‘What are these?’ She asked, holding the box up.
‘Disposable hand warmers,’ answered Garrett. ‘Two hundred of them. They’re just little packets of chemicals. They self activate when you take them out of their wrappers. Stay hot for eight hours.’
Garrett & Petrus- The Complete Series Page 69