Pull it.
Pull the trigger.
A sonic crack fractured the air as all the anger wiped from Karen Clarkson’s face. In its place fell a look of pure confusion that turned quickly to dread. Her fingers slackened on Acid’s throat, enough she could wriggle free and throw her off. A carefully placed bullet in the middle of her forehead put the witch out of her misery before another took care of her pathetic sibling.
“Good work,” Welles gasped, getting to his feet and helping Acid up. “The motherfucker blind-sided me.”
She nodded, her breath frozen in her chest. But she had no time to compose herself. Caesar had commandeered one of the jeeps and, with Raaz beside him, was pulling it out of the parking lot and heading for the complex.
Acid gave chase, racing over there with a speed that belied the pain in her muscles and the numb hollowness rising in her soul. He had to die. Today. For the memory of Louisa Vandella, her poor, innocent mother. But also, she realised, for the memory of Alice Vandella, the young girl Caesar took under his wing all those years ago and made into a cynical, loveless killing machine.
She was over there and clambering into a jeep of her own when she heard the cry. Welles, shouting her name. She glanced over to see him pointing over to the stage where Thomas Engel and two enrobed females were dragging Spook and Sofia into a waiting jeep.
“We got to go after them,” Welles shouted, running over to the jeep and jumping in the rear.
“But Caesar,” Acid replied, watching powerlessly as her old mentor disappeared around a mound of trees. “He’s getting away. I can’t… I can’t…”
“Acid. There’ll be another time,” Welles told her. “But right now we have to save the girls.”
Acid turned away, but she’d already accepted the choice. She started the engine and reversed the jeep into a skidding turn before shoving it in first and slamming her foot to the floor.
“You got ammo left?” she asked, as she leaned into a tight turn.
Welles checked the mag of his rifle. “Some. You?”
“Five rounds, tops.”
“We can still do this,” he told her. “Keep the faith.”
She stepped on the gas, pushing all her weight down and leaning forward in her seat as if the action would make them go faster somehow. In front of her she could see Spook’s face, staring forlornly out the back of Engel’s jeep whilst next to her, Sofia, still with some fire in her, struggled with one of Engel’s female guards. A second guard was positioning herself on the back seat and aiming a hunting rifle at Acid.
“Shit,” Welles yelled, as Acid swung the jeep off to one side, putting a line of eucalyptus trees between them.
The surface here was uneven, with every bump and pothole felt, but the trees provided some cover as shots ricocheted off the road in front of them.
“Can you get alongside them?” Welles shouted, lifting the AK-47 over the side of the vehicle and taking aim.
“I’m trying,” Acid replied. She leaned forward, her knuckles white on the wheel. “You got a clear shot?”
“Not yet.”
A quick glance and Sofia was still struggling with the female guard. They were standing up in the back of the jeep. As Acid watched, the guard loomed over and smashed a fist down on the top of Sofia’s head. But it also left the tall woman exposed.
“Take her,” Acid yelled, but Welles had already pulled the trigger.
A split second and the guard’s head jerked to one side in an eruption of ruddy mist. She fell forward onto Sofia, driving them both over the side of the jeep.
“Ah, shit.”
Acid pulled the wheel violently to one side, driving through a gap in the eucalyptus trees to re-join the main track as Engel sped off ahead. Her first instinct was to keep going, to get Spook back whatever. But as she drove alongside Sofia another part of her (the part that, ironically, sounded a lot like Spook) won out and she slammed on the breaks.
“Get in, quick,” she yelled.
“You hurt?” Welles asked, grabbing Sofia by the forearm and pulling her into the passenger seat.
“I’m fine,” she gasped. “But we need to hurry. There’re choppers waiting for them. And Engel has already engaged something called Endgame.”
“Endgame?” Welles repeated, as Acid pulled the jeep back onto the track and the pursuit continued. “What do you think that means?”
“Well, I don’t want to pull rank on ya, Mr Bureau,” Sofia spat, throwing a side-look Acid’s way. “But I’d say it’s pretty easy to decipher. The crazy freak has some kind of contingency plan. A way to cover his tracks. And I’d say we’ve got about fifteen minutes before this whole island goes up in flames.”
Thirty-Nine
The words had barely left Sofia’s mouth when an enormous explosion over in the centre of the island rocked the jeep. Acid held the wheel steady and dropped down a gear as the dirt road rose up in front of them.
“Hang on,” she yelled, applying more gas and steering into a sharp turn that took them all the way around the side of the island.
In front of them they could now see the imposing steel and glass structure of the resort complex. Engel had already pulled up outside and was heading for the main entrance, followed by his remaining guard. But not before she’d grabbed Spook by the waist and flung her over her shoulder. The three of them disappeared through the enormous glass doors as Acid skidded the jeep to a stop.
“Shit,” Welles said, shaking the AK-47 and throwing it down. “I’m all out of ammo.”
Acid shrugged. “Like you said, boss. We can still do this. Keep the faith.”
Not waiting for the others she jumped out of the jeep and ran across the marble-paved concourse towards the entrance. She had one thought on her mind. Save Spook. Kill Engel. (All right, two thoughts.) The bats screeched across her consciousness, her eyes burned with unblinking intensity. Every muscle in her body seared with pain and fury. But she was doing this. She had to. Win or bust. Death or glory.
She got up to the doors and shouldered open the heavy glass before dropping to her knees and scoping out the room with the Taurus 9mm at arm’s length in front of her. She’d been expecting more guards, but the vast, open-plan space appeared to be empty.
As Sofia and Welles arrived behind her, she got to her feet and the three of them moved deeper into the complex. They stepped cautious, moving steadily along the edge of the large room, with Acid and Welles flanking Sofia and keeping their aim high. But Acid knew cautious and steady didn’t get the job done. Not when you were up against the clock. As if to highlight this point another explosion rocked the foundations of the complex.
“Crazy bastard,” Welles barked, grabbing Acid’s arm. “He really is blowing the place up.”
They darted over to the corner of the room where they now had eyes on the landing area opposite and the elevator to the upper levels. Engel was there, desperately pressing the down button, his other hand gripped tight around Spook’s wrist as she struggled to get away. Acid was reassured to see she still had some fire inside of her.
Spook spun around to see Acid approaching. “Wait,” she called. “It’s a trap.”
She hadn’t gotten the last syllable out before Engel’s guard sprung out from her hiding place behind one of the large urns and opened fire.
“Move,” Acid yelled, throwing herself at Sofia and Welles and jostling them behind a large marble plinth. A huge modern art sculpture, rendered in marble (naturally) stood on top, spiralling up towards the high ceiling like a gargantuan strand of DNA. It was well made, but not Acid’s taste. Meaning she felt no remorse as a moment later the entire lower half of the sculpture was destroyed in a hail of bullets. Tiny splinters of marble cascaded over their heads as the remaining half of the double helix fell forward and smashed noisily onto the floor. Acid seized the moment, leaping to her feet and firing as she went. She took out the guard with a perfect shot, just left of centre. Right in the heart. The woman went down, but not before she squeezed off an
other flurry of shots. Acid dived for cover, cutting her face and hands on remnants of modern art as the bullets pinged off the walls and ceiling.
Sofia and Welles ran over and helped her up in time to see Engel and Spook stepping into the elevator and the doors sliding shut in front of them. Before they closed, Acid raised her head, making eye contact with Engel as he raised a hand in a farewell motion, his arrogant leer smacking up against Acid’s malevolent snarl.
“Hang on, Spook,” she yelled as the elevator doors closed. “I’m coming.”
She got over there in a few strides and jabbed over and over at the button, watching breathlessly as the guide-light showed the elevator ascending to the roof terrace. It wasn’t coming back down anytime soon.
“The stairs,” she growled, already on her way over to the small door over in the opposite corner. She burst into the back stairwell without slowing her pace any and took the steps two at a time, dragging herself up with the railing’s help. Engel was heading for the helipad, that much was clear. It was three flights up, not far, but her lungs ached and her legs were seizing up. Three days of no rest and little food finally catching up with her.
“Keep going,” she grunted to herself. “You can do this.”
But could she? Acid had no idea what to expect when she reached the roof. Engel already gone, taking Spook with him to god knows where? More armed guards? She hadn’t been counting, but she must only have one or two rounds left in the Taurus. Not the best odds in the world, but she’d done well with less.
“Hey, you okay?”
She glanced over her shoulder to catch Sofia’s concerned look. “What? Apart from the obvious?”
The journalist looked down briefly, then back up through her long eyelashes. “Listen, for what it’s worth, I’m sorry. I just wanted to say, that, before… you know. I should have trusted you. Shouldn’t have run off.”
Thanks for the sentiment but bad timing, sweetie.
“It’s fine,” Acid told her. “It’s what I’d have done.”
“You’re a tough cookie, I’ll give you that, Acid Vanilla. I’m glad I’ve got you on my side.”
Not letting up the pace, Acid flicked a glance back at the woman panting to keep up behind her. Maybe she could see the similarity now. Same cheekbones. Same pout. But whether she could handle herself like Acid could was a different matter. So, what, she was from Brooklyn? Well so was Woody Allen. The girl might talk a good talk, but in Acid’s experience that rarely meant much in the real world. Welles too, he’d proven himself along the way, but the guy was tired out and clearly past his prime. Whatever happened next. It was down to her.
Another few steps and she reached the top level. She paused to catch her breath, allowing Welles and Sofia to catch up so she could tell them, “Stay here, out of sight. It’s best if I do this alone.”
“The hell you talking about?” Welles spat. “I’m coming too.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Acid told him through gritted teeth. “You’re unarmed. It’s too dangerous. Stay put, I’ll come back for you.”
“Not a damn chance,” Welles said, resolution deepening his voice. “We’re in this together now, Acid. I know you ain’t too big on teamwork, but tough shit. Anything I can do out there to help, I’ll do it. Now let’s go.”
Sofia was nodding in agreement, although not quite as convincingly. On the other side of the door, Acid could hear the distinct whirr of rotary blades. She put her shoulder against the door and grabbed the handle.
“Fine.” She held their one remaining weapon aloft. “But don’t blame me if this goes tits up.”
Forty
The downdraft from the helicopter blades, coupled with the extreme heat, was reminiscent of a hairdryer being blasted in her face as Acid eased open the door and stepped out onto the tarmac. She blinked, forcing her eyes to become accustomed to the change in light from gloomy stairwell to bright sunshine. Over on the far side of the roof, a raised mezzanine level was strewn with tables and chairs, sun loungers, and a well-stocked bar area. From there a short flight of stone steps led down to the far helipad where a chopper waited, fast filling up with the remaining guests, falling over each other to clamber inside. Acid spotted Jerry, Luther Clarkson’s hapless assistant, squashed in the back seat with his face up against the glass. She’d let that one go. For Spook.
Spook.
She scanned her eyes across the roof top, her focus snapping to the far side of the complex where Engel was standing in front of a second chopper. His tanned forearm was gripped tight around Spook’s neck, and he had a gun pressed to her temple.
“Stop right there or your little friend is dead,” he yelled, on seeing Acid. He backed away, moving onto the outlying helipad.
Acid raised the Taurus, training it on a point just below Engel’s over-plucked eyebrows. “It’s over,” she told him.
“Not a chance. You miserable cretins might have ruined my fun this weekend, but you won’t ruin me.” His eyes bulged with rage and his cheeks shook as he screamed, “I am Thomas fucking Engel and I decide who lives or who dies. I make the rules.”
He dragged Spook towards the waiting chopper, the kid gasping for air, clawing feebly at the arm pressing against her throat.
Acid kept her aim up. “Let Spook go.”
Engel laughed a deep, bitter laugh. Then stopped immediately. “Oh, you’re actually serious. But, no. Sorry darling. She’s coming with me. Call it an insurance policy.”
Spook’s eyes widened, her face red and pleading. “Acid,” she groaned. “Please. Just shoot him.”
Acid’s finger tightened on the trigger but she was fading fast. Could feel the fatigue washing over her. She gripped the wrist of her gun hand to steady it. The manic energy of the bats was still strong, but she could sense the darkness enveloping her from the inside.
“Acid?” Welles whispered as Engel stepped closer to the chopper. “You got the shot.”
“Just about.”
But she couldn’t, wouldn’t, risk it. Not yet. Not like this. Acid was a crack shot. Had been. On a good day at least. But all it took was a centimetre or two in the wrong direction and Engel would survive the shot long enough to take Spook down with him. They were almost at the chopper now, but Engel’s next step was uncertain. He’d have to take his eyes off Acid to open the chopper door and get inside. But he wasn’t going to risk that. His only other option was to push Spook into the cockpit first. But again, that left him exposed. Acid could take the killer shot. She swallowed. Her throat was dry.
“Put the gun down now,” Engel called over. “Or I swear, I’ll kill this bitch.”
She lifted her chin. The guy wasn’t stupid. He’d assessed his options and was doubling down.
A bead of sweat ran down the side of her face as another explosion rocked the complex. Behind her she sensed the growing agitation coming off Welles and Sofia. Another explosion like that and the whole place would start crumbling. They were on borrowed time. Acid knew it. Engel knew it too. But that was the problem. She took a deep breath, keeping her aim up. All she needed was for him to drop his concentration for one second.
“Put the gun down, you crazy bitch.”
“Not going to happen. Let her go.”
No one moved.
One second.
Come on, you bastard.
Over on the far side of the roof she sensed more commotion, a flurry of activity out the corner of her eye. Then she heard the shouting. The distinct and affected tones of Beowulf Caesar.
Acid tensed, breathing heavily down both nostrils. This was the closest she’d gotten to him since Germany. She had a real chance now, to avenge her mother. But he was getting away. She shifted her position a few inches, still with the gun on Engel but able to watch as Caesar barged his way over to the departing chopper.
Do it, the bats screamed at her.
Forget the damn kid.
This is what you’re here for.
This is who you are.
Kill him.
Acid gulped down a lungful of air and her aim faltered a touch. Welles saw it too. “Keep on this one,” he growled. “I’ll take care of Cueball over there.”
“Welles, wait,” Sofia cried, but he’d already set off.
In her peripheral vision Acid watched as the big old cop, no doubt a force to be reckoned with in his younger days, ran towards Caesar, ready to tackle him to the floor.
Only he never got there.
Caesar saw him coming and with a leery sneer pulled a small handgun from out the pocket of his safari suit. Acid saw it. Sofia’s high-pitched yelp told her she saw it too. Welles certainly saw it as he skidded to one side to remove himself from the situation. But it was too late. A flash, a crack of gunfire, and Welles fell to the ground.
It was all Acid could do to keep her focus fixed on Engel and Spook. Sofia let out a scream of defiance as Caesar, grinning from ear to ear, barged his huge bulk into the departing helicopter. Acid kept one eye on the scene, watching as Raaz appeared behind Caesar and attempted to clamber onboard. There was more shouting. Roars of frustration and panic.
“No room,” was the cry.
“Go to hell,” an old man shouted.
But Raaz wasn’t giving it up. She got one foot on the rim of the door and tried elbowing her way into the rear seats. Those already onboard shoved her back. No room. She screamed at Caesar to help her as the pilot lifted the landing skids off the tarmac. Another explosion shuddered through the underbelly of the complex, sending fragments of rock and dust scattering over the scene.
“Please. Caesar. Help me.”
Raaz gripped on for dear life as the helicopter tried to pull away, but she was no match for Caesar’s bright green, size thirteen boot when he leaned out and kicked her forcefully in the chest. With a grunt that sounded half-way between pain and bewilderment, Raaz let go of the door of the helicopter. As it began its ascent, and with Caesar watching, she stumbled backwards and banged her head on the tarmac.
The Acid Vanilla Series Page 72