The Fourth Option

by Matt Hilton

  We could’ve gone ahead with Walter’s initial plan to bring down Arrowsake, but doing that would also condemn him — and probably us too — to a similar prison term as most of the other key players, and to me that outcome was both undeserved and unpalatable. I’d come up with a more ballsy solution to our shared problem. If it worked we’d all be free of Arrowsake, which as an entity would self-implode and we’d fully avenge our fallen comrade, Sue Bouchard. If it failed, well, we’d be dead, and Walter could fall back on Plan-A. If Vince, or another of their killers got to Walter first, then that was where Harvey and Velasquez would come in.

  Rink was in his customary position behind the steering wheel. I sat up front beside him, while Mercer was on a bench in the rear. He had Harvey’s rifle resting across his thighs — if it ever came to it, he’d swear he was the one to shoot dead Vince’s snipers back at the glade, keeping Harvey out of the equation. At his feet sat several canvas bags containing weapons and various other tools we might require. Rink and me had already gotten equipped with silenced sidearms, combat knives, equipment pouches on our belts, and walkie-talkies. The van was also equipped with a radio tuned to the same band as ours. All three of us were dressed in matching attire of black boots, black cargo pants, and black hoodies, looking like paramilitary cat burglars. Mercer had more mobility now than a few days ago, but wasn’t fully fit to join us on our assault of the private residence, but he’d dressed as we had should he need to abandon the van and require stealth. Once we got out, he was under instruction to get in the driving seat and keep the van ready for when we needed him. Only as a last resort might we need him to cover us with the rifle.

  Through the binoculars I studied the grounds as much as I did the buildings. From what I’d counted there was a security detail of six people patrolling the exterior, and perhaps as many again inside. There was even the possibility of more security operatives inside the bunkhouse because I guessed the team had to be on some kind of shift rotation. It was best, I’d contend, to over- rather than under-estimate possible enemy numbers. Those I could see through the augmented night-vision of my binoculars weren’t openly armed, but I’d bet my house — if it were still standing — that they were. Thankfully there weren’t any dogs, though we must take care not to spook the horses, as they’d make as much racket as any barking mutt.

  Inside the house, various lights were dimmed and in two rooms were extinguished completely. We’d waited for that moment, allowing those inside to settle down for the night before making our move.

  ‘Good to go?’ I asked Rink.

  ‘Ready, willing and able, brother.’

  I checked with Mercer. ‘Keep the engine running and come when you hear the signal,’ I said. It was a needless reminder, but I wanted him to feel part of the team, and that he was making a contribution towards vengeance for Sue.

  He began clambering into the front even as we exited the van, bringing the rifle with him. I handed him the binocs; they’d be more useful to him than me once I got moving. I exchanged a look with Rink, and caught his solemn nod. We threw up our hoods and then I slipped away towards the approach track, while Rink went into the trees alongside the tributary. It was necessary to either circumnavigate the exterior security detail, or neutralise them. I had no intention of sticking to the road; my route was going to be alongside the bank of the fishing pond, where I could employ the natural contours of the land, and the shrubs afforded there, to cover my advance.

  Up to a point there was public access along the road, but the private property was clearly marked by signage and a demarcation fence. The fence was barely two feet high, made from thick wires strung between posts, and was more a visual than physical deterrent. Once I’d crossed the road and gotten down towards the pond I stepped over it. If this had been a totally secure facility, I’d be wary of pressure and motion sensors but was unconcerned: this place was private but not a no-man’s land, paying guests were invited to fish the pond, and at the house regular photo-shoots and executive or celebrity gatherings occurred there.

  Keeping to the brush at the edge of the pond I passed a couple of jetties to which rowing boats and even a flat-bottomed skiff were moored. From my lower vantage I could see neither hide nor hair of the house, but the same could be said of me for any watcher. I made swift progress and once at the far end of the pond began to angle towards the nearest paddock. It was night but some of the horses had been left out to graze. They knew I was approaching before I ever moved into view, but they were obviously accustomed to strangers on the land, as beyond a few soft wickers and snorts the horses didn’t react. Nevertheless I was careful not to spook them as I crept over the rise in the earth. I was then at an approximate ninety degrees angle from the house, and able to use the fence around the paddock to help conceal my approach. Unlike the wire one at the perimeter this fence was sturdy and comprised of thick upright wooden posts and cross beams. My silhouette was darker than my grassy surroundings. I crouched so my height was relative to the posts and moved from one to the next without revealing my shape in the open.

  I advanced until I was equal with the helipad, and crouched lower as I spied over at the chopper. It looked like a wasp, sleek and dangerous, but it wasn’t the helicopter I was bothered about: I ensured there was no crewmember still aboard the craft that might spot me lurking and raise the alarm. I could see no one, yet I waited a little longer, to be sure.

  Ahead, and to my left, a pair of guards patrolled. They were deep in conversation and totally unaware of my presence. If I wished to, I could’ve shot them both dead and they’d be none the wiser, but the same might not be said of the horses. Even the suppressed gunshots could set them stampeding around the paddock and bring other guards to investigate. Maybe I should’ve let the horses do my work for me and bring the others into my line of fire, but no, I wasn’t there for the purpose of cold-blooded murder. Rink and me were both in agreement, we wouldn’t kill any of the guards or other staff unless absolutely necessary. Our resolve made our task more difficult, but easier to swallow.

  I allowed the duo of guards to continue in blissful ignorance, watching them sauntering almost nonchalantly out towards the pond I’d just come from. I wondered if they were sneaking out of sight of the house to perhaps loaf about for a while or have an illicit cigarette. Luckily they hadn’t chosen their stroll to the pond while I was still down there. Once they were over the rise and out of sight, I left the cover of the fence and jogged as swiftly as I could without making much noise towards the house. I was within spitting distance of it when I heard somebody cough. Immediately I dropped to one knee and brought up my pistol. There was no sign of whom the cough had originated from, and I couldn’t even be fully certain of which direction it had come: maybe, I considered, the cough had come from one of the horses. I was wrong. A second cough erupted, this one louder, and this time I followed the sound to its source and spotted a figure on the far side of the external swimming pool, peering out across the slope leading down to the river.

  The phlegmatic guard was a tall, burly man. His size alone made up my mind for me, because I didn’t want that guy sneaking up and jumping on me from behind. I rose up and made to skirt around the swimming pool, this time padding slower and noiseless. He was lost in thought. At one point he dipped down and teased a stone from between tufts of grass and weighed it in his palm. He then swung and released the stone towards the river. The stone plonked in the water, and from his stance, head cocked on one side, I could tell the guard had heard it land. He bent to choose another stone; unbeknown to him he was assisting me as his digging around covered any sounds I made. I closed the gap, all the while casting glances across the pool towards the house. If anyone were stationed at one of those huge windows, they’d spot me about to launch at the guard. I could see nobody inside.

  The guard stood straight, then torqued his body to let loose another missile into the river. As his arm came back, I moved in at a rush. Clutching tight my pistol, I swung under his outstretched arm, the
n hooked it in the crook of my elbow. At the same instant I swept my hip in tight to his buttocks and jammed out my right heel so that it halted any backwards movement by him. A bump of my hip, and a yank of his arm and he very nearly completed a reverse cartwheel. I drove forward and down, and his neck and shoulders impacted the earth with stunning finality. He’d gotten out a croak of consternation, but not loud enough for his voice to raise the alarm. My pistol was free of him simply by the way he’d fallen. He was dazed. I could have shot him in the face or heart and had done, but that wasn’t the plan. Instead I slammed the flat of the gun’s frame against the side of his jaw, and he went out like a doused match. I couldn’t count on him staying asleep long enough for me to complete my mission. Immediately I rolled him belly down, dragged around his hands and secured his wrists with zip-ties from my equipment pouch. Moments after that I’d secured his ankles, and also slapped a duct-tape gag over his mouth. Rather than leave him out on the lawn where somebody might spot him, I dragged him to the edge of the riverbank and rolled him down onto a sandy embankment. There I liberated him of a pistol holstered under his armpit, and I heaved it out into the York River. It made a satisfying plonk as it hit the water, as the stones he’d chucked had moments ago. I left him breathing in short sharp rasps through his nostrils. As I moved back towards the house, I gave the man a second thought: he suffered from a hacking cough, hopefully he wouldn’t choke to death on a build-up of phlegm behind his gag.

  I couldn’t concern myself with his welfare; I’d done what I could to spare his life and had time to do no more. I crept back to where I’d first knocked him out and surveyed the house. This time I did spot movement, a blur beyond the thick glass. Some kind of technology I was unfamiliar with allowed the walls to become semi-opaque, probably for the sake of privacy after dark, but from the sylph-like shape and the high-pitched giggle recognised it as a tipsy young woman who was tripping her way along a second floor landing. A guy carrying a bottle pursued her.

  I moved, allowing her distraction to attract anyone else, and went around the far edge of the swimming pool. There were several deckchairs and low tables littered with empty glasses and bottles, testament to a party that had happened there before being carried on inside. It just showed the arrogance of our enemies that they would believe themselves safe from us enough to continue their debauched ways. Picking my way around the litter, I used the shapes of some topiary nearer the house to disguise my shape. The door was open on the ground floor. Just inside a man was seated in a low chair, bent over a table. He frowned down at something on the table, and chewed on the end of a pen: oblivious to what was going on around him, the guard was perplexed by a Sudoku or crossword puzzle. Something must have inspired him, because he took the pen from his mouth and scribbled on the puzzle. In that moment I’d checked that the area was clear of more astute guards, and I was safe to move. I transferred my gun to my left hand and approached him, and he didn’t acknowledge me at first. Only when I halted beside him, and he became aware of my presence did he look up. He wasn’t alarmed for about a second, and then realisation struck that I wasn’t a stray partygoer, or his phlegmatic pal that’d returned from his rounds. As he began to rear back, he was more inclined to open his mouth in question than reach for a weapon. Suited me fine. I hit him with a snapping right cross to the chin, and he sank back down in the chair.

  From up a grand flight of suspended marble stairs I heard a giggle, and thought it was the same girl as before. Something smashed with a high tinkle. The giggle grew more drunken and a man’s deeper guffaw joined in. It was all fun and games, up there. No wonder the guard I’d just knocked unconscious had kept his head down, he was trying to stay well away from the drunken antics: I kind of felt bad for whacking him so hard now. But it was necessary, as was securing him so he wouldn’t again become a problem.

  I took away his pistol, leaned out of the door and under-armed it into the swimming pool. Returning to him, I pulled zip-ties from my belt pouch and bent to the task of tying him up. All the while I kept one ear, and regular glances, aimed upstairs. I almost missed detecting a soft footfall on the floor behind me. I twisted to the left, transferring my pistol to my right hand, and aimed it backwards under my left armpit, even as a heavy hand clamped down on my opposite shoulder. From there, I could put any number of bullets through the giant’s torso as he loomed over me, but I’d a split-second or less to do so.

  34

  ‘Take it easy, brother, it’s only me.’

  Rink’s whisper stalled my natural reaction to being crept up on, and I immediately released pressure on my pistol’s trigger.

  ‘Shit,’ I replied, equally low, ‘I almost shot you.’

  ‘Nah,’ said Rink. ‘I wouldn’t’ve let ya.’

  Rink peered over my shoulder at the sleeping guard.

  ‘How many?’ he asked, meaning how many of the guards had I neutralised.

  I showed him two fingers.

  ‘Then he makes four. I put two to sleep.’

  ‘Another two have gone off on a jolly down by the fishing pond,’ I said. ‘They could still cause us problems if they come back, but I’m guessing they’re keeping well out of the way while their boss gets down and dirty with his girlfriend.’

  Upstairs the girl was still giggling, but it was interspersed with other less identifiable noises.

  I caught a frown from Rink.

  ‘This is too easy,’ he intoned.

  ‘Yeah. I don’t like it either, but maybe we’re just getting a break for a change.’

  He seesawed his head, while holding his pistol up alongside his right shoulder. He was on high alert for a possible ambush, but unless there was a squad of assassins hiding in the bunk house ready to assail us any second, I was doubtful. I’d only counted six guards during our recon, and though I couldn’t be positive the man I was currently restraining was one of them, we’d thinned their numbers dramatically. We couldn’t of course discount the fact that the man we’d come here for had houseguests, but it was unlikely they’d be elite combatants considering the amount of empty glasses and bottles of hard liquor I’d come across at poolside.

  ‘Ground floor clear?’ Rink asked.

  ‘Haven’t heard anyone else.’

  Rink sloped off, his gun held ready.

  I shoved my pistol in its holster on my hip. Grabbing the dozing guard under his armpits I dragged him out of the chair and across a room that was sumptuously decorated to another door. This one was formed of heavy oak and chrome fittings. In any other property it would have been an ostentatious entrance to a cloakroom. I pushed the guard inside, closed the door on him. There wasn’t a visible lock, and it would be pointless trying to barricade it to keep him inside, as anyone spotting the piled furniture would be alerted to our presence as easily as by him screaming blue murder. Hopefully by the time he came around we’d be done here, and then he was welcome to shout as loud as he needed for release.

  Rink came back.

  No words were necessary.

  We exchanged nods as I drew my pistol, and then headed for the stairs. Rink went up first while I covered him.

  Once he was on the upper floor, I went up, taking the marble stairs slow and steady.

  The woman’s giggles had halted. Now she was making the types of over the top noises you heard from those pay-for-view videos available in seedy motel rooms. If she was charging for her services, our target sure was getting a bang for his buck. Similar — but less vocal — sounds emanated from other rooms on the upper floor: it sounded as if we were in a damn knocking shop.

  ‘Sometimes the filthy rich are just plain filthy,’ Rink quipped at a whisper.

  We lowered our hoods. Not so we could hear better, but for appearance’s sake. Now that we were confined to a narrow walkway towards the far bedroom, our silhouettes would present against the semi-opaque glass walls. Should the remaining duo of guards continue their walk and move away from the pond they might spot us, and wonder at two hooded dudes where they were ex
pecting guys in informal clothes and women in skimpier attire. We kept our guns down by our sides for the same reason. There were rooms behind us: Rink again set off to clear them, whilst I headed for the furthest bedroom.

  A figure stepped out onto the landing. He didn’t spot me. He was looking back into the room he’d exited, in the process of assuring his bed buddy that he’d be right back. He was wearing an unbuttoned shirt and boxer shorts and a sheen of perspiration on his forehead. He pulled the bedroom door shut in an unexpected act of protecting his partner’s modesty and turned towards me. He looked vaguely familiar: a handsome guy, with a square chin and too perfect nose. I didn’t slow my pace. I kept walking towards him as if I’d every right to be there, and was rewarded with a drunken grin of camaraderie from the guy. It took another second or more for it to dawn on him that I was a stranger, and also dressed oddly for partying. By then it was too late for him to let out as much as a squawk. My pace never faltered as I stepped alongside him, gave his shoulder a nudge and spun him towards the wall. My right arm wrapped his neck, catching it in the vice of my inner elbow. I got behind him, and sat my gun hand over the crook of my left elbow, my left palm on the back of his head. A controlled squeeze cut off the blood flow to and from his brain. Under normal circumstances a man can be strangled unconscious in short order, but this man surprised me. As drunk as he was, he succumbed to strangulation the instant I locked the hold on, his legs folding and he almost dragged me down to the floor with him. I kept the hold in place for a few seconds to be sure he was fully out, and then allowed him to slither boneless to the floor. I shook my head softly in bemusement: his silly drunken grin was still plastered on his lips.