Perfect Day

by Kris Lillyman

  As a result, Sam was filthy, unshaven and in dire need of a bath - as were the rest of the men he was travelling with, but all twenty of them would have to wait until they reached the city.

  Thankfully, the prospect of that was much closer now as late last night a small band of them had managed to steal the truck from opposition forces. This was greeted with a minor celebration by the rest of the battalion as it ensured that the remainder of the journey would now be much less arduous. After walking so many miles, riding in a truck, no matter how uncomfortable, was considered to be a comparative luxury.

  The small band of mercenaries all looked identical to Sam; dirty fatigues, combat boots, stubbled chins and deep suntans - all of them carrying packs and assault rifles and wearing holstered sidearms. Many of them, like Sam, also had sheathed machetes and hunting knives fastened to their belts. To these men there was no such thing as being too well armed.

  They were maybe a day’s march from Kinshasa - or as little as four hours by truck but on these roads it would be more like ten. Either way, they would not be there until nightfall - and only then if they did not run into any trouble along the way.

  Yet as Sam sat there, squashed between a man either side, all of them sweating and stinking as they bounced along in the back of the truck, it struck him that the heat and the dust was a world away from the harsh, bitterly cold climate of Siberia that he had known for so long. Back then, in the lonely confines of his freezing prison cell, he would have done anything for such warmth. Yet the reality of his present situation was almost as intolerable - the difference being that in this instance he had the freedom to walk away whereas in Siberia he had not.

  But walking away was not an option. Not when he was so close to achieving his objective.

  Upon being released from prison four years earlier, Sam had flown back with Marcus Ellison and Vasily to the United States where they had landed in secrecy on a private airfield on the outskirts of New York. From there, they had driven directly to Marcus’ brownstone on the Upper West Side.

  There, with the help of his friends, Sam had been allowed to rest and fully recuperate.

  He was weak and malnourished with his muscles having wasted to almost nothing but in the care of Marcus and Vasily, he soon began to rally, his time at The Garden quickly becoming nothing more than a bad memory.

  After watching Brendan Williams being swallowed up by grain in that prison camp silo, Sam had been thrown into solitary confinement and had remained there, in appalling, monstrously outdated conditions, until his eventual and most unexpected release.

  At first, during his long incarceration he had attempted to maintain a strict exercise regime. Even though space in his cell was limited he had found enough room to do push-ups, squats and ab crunches - he even used the prison bars to do pull-ups. Furthermore, he would also jog around the perimeter of the high-walled recreation area during his one hour of daily yard time in a determined bid to stay fit.

  However, the meagre food rations soon took their toll and the lack of food and constant hunger made even small amounts of physical activity unsustainable. Indeed, just twenty sit-ups would give Sam crippling stomach pains that often resulted in severe bouts of diarrhoea; his body unable to cope with the exertion.

  Nonetheless, he struggled on for six months, desperate to keep his body fit and his mind occupied but beyond that he just could not continue and finally had to admit defeat.

  After that his incarceration became much tougher; the long, lonely hours with nothing to do and no one to talk to seriously effecting his weakened state of mind.

  The reality being that he had far too much time to think.

  With no other distractions, he had little else to do but stew on the deaths of Brendan Williams, Roger Finch, William Merton and Deano McCullough; his thoughts haunted by what they had done to Claudette - her attack and murder playing over and over in his mind again and again like a record on repeat. Claudette’s face was little more than a blur now - and the guilt of forgetting what she looked like was also eating him alive - yet the faces of the men who had perpetrated those atrocities were still crystal clear - those that were already dead and those whom he yet had to find; Darius Purcell and James Locke.

  But it was those two men who got him through each day; the thought of finding them and killing them and finally making them pay for the savage thing they had done; the thing that had robbed Sam of his fiancé, his child and, as a direct consequence, his mother and father too.

  The thought of finding them became his purpose for living, an obsession which fuelled his very being. He came to believe that it was the sole reason why he was still breathing - why against such heavy odds, he had so miraculously survived - because destiny had chosen him to find those who were guilty.

  And no matter what it took, he promised himself he would fulfil that destiny.

  At night his dreams were filled with thoughts of Miriam. He dreamt of making love to her, of getting married to her, of having children and a happy life together that in the cold light of day he suspected they would never truly have.

  Sometimes in these dreams Miriam’s face blurred with Claudette’s and he became muddled as to who was who. Often they were one and the same; two women, both of whom he loved; one who was dead and one whose life he had ruined.

  And again came the guilt.

  Inevitably these dreams frequently turned into nightmares and he would find himself in the glade once more, helpless as six men raped and killed the women he loved - Claudette and Miriam, Miriam and Claudette - the two were one and the same, inextricably entwined in his confused subconscious.

  Sam would often scream their names in his sleep, tossing and turning; his mind in a whirl of turmoil before finally waking with a start to find himself still alone in his prison cell.

  Which was when his obsession with the six men would start all over again.

  Nevertheless, Sam’s recovery at Marcus Ellison’s home was remarkably swift. Good food, warm clothes, a comfortable bed and the care of two exceptional friends all playing their part in restoring him back to full health - both physically and mentally.

  Before long, Sam felt his strength returning and was soon able to go for long walks, which within a short space of time turned into long runs.

  After six weeks, Vasily sent for his brothers, Mikhail and Pyotr and they all met up at a hunting lodge Marcus owned in the Ozark Mountains.

  Years earlier, Marcus and his wife had used the lakeside cabin as a summer retreat; fishing, boating and swimming in the lake, which had left him with some wonderful memories of their time together. Indeed, Sam remembered going there himself as a boy and jumping in the water from the wooden deck; his father, mother, Marcus and his wife, all having a wail of a time.

  However, those happier days were long ago and Marcus had not been to the lodge in many years. Indeed, he had only refrained from selling the place because of the memories it held. As for Sam, he had forgotten all about it until he mentioned that he needed a quiet, out-of-the-way place to train.

  When Marcus suggested the lodge in the Ozarks Sam recalled it instantly, fondly remembering the time he spent there as a child. What is more, he realised it would make the perfect base - its rugged location absolutely ideal for his particular needs.

  Before entering into the Russian penal system, Mikhail and Pyotr had trained Sam until he was at the peak of physical fitness; their combined efforts transforming him into a highly efficient warrior.

  The years in prison had dulled those skills and taken a toll on his fitness and now he needed to hone both once more.

  Indeed, if he was to go after Darius Purcell, an experienced and extremely proficient killer who earned his living as a mercenary, then Sam was going to need all the help he could get.

  Furthermore, Purcell was last known to be in Angola, a country currently caught up in the midst of a second Congo war that involve
d vicious fighting between at least six African nations. Because of this, Sam’s mission would be even more perilous so it was vital that he be fully prepared for any and all eventualities.

  Mikhail and Pyotr were the obvious choice to provide Sam with the help he needed but it would be unwise for him to travel back to Russia so soon, especially after all Marcus and Vasily had done to get him out.

  That being the case, the next best thing was to get the Voronin brothers to come to him. So Sam decided a nice, all-expenses paid vacation to America was just what the pair needed.

  Finding them more than happy to agree to this arrangement, Vasily picked his elder siblings up from Springfield airport in Missouri a few days later.

  Then, in the S.U.V. he had rented for the duration, he drove them to the hunting lodge located deep within the staggering beauty of the Ozark Mountains.

  Surrounded by stunning vistas and looking out onto a sparkling fish-filled lake, the large, luxuriously appointed wooden lodge was a far cry from the humble, very basic dwelling the brothers and Sam had shared on the outskirts of Moscow several years before. Indeed, it was a picture-perfect slice of the idyllic American dream which Mikhail and Pyotr could not help but pour scorn on.

  “It is the reason why you Americans are so soft, tovarich,” Pyotr said with a mischievous glint in his eye, as he and Mikhail embraced Sam warmly, instantly reigniting the ruthless ribbing and cheerful camaraderie the men delighted in; their bond to each other now lifelong and unbreakable.

  However, after spending that first evening eating, drinking and reminiscing, they set to work with a vengeance the very next day by dragging Sam out of bed before dawn to start his strict new training regime.

  Utilising the location’s rugged terrain to their advantage, much like they had with the forest in Russia, the brothers started by setting Sam daily challenges specifically designed to significantly increase his strength, stamina and overall fitness. This was regularly interspersed with weapons, tactics and combat training.

  Indeed, over the weeks that followed they put him through his paces in what was possibly the refresher course from hell.

  Mikhail and Pyotr allowed themselves no consideration for the hardships Sam had been through and treated him exactly as they would anyone else - knowing that their tough methods of instruction might well save his life.

  As it turned out, much of what they taught him came back instantly, as if he had only learnt it yesterday, but certain other aspects seemed to come less naturally and were much harder to grasp the second time around. But, thanks to Mikhail and Pyotr’s unwavering persistence, the details eventually stuck in.

  The biggest change, however, was in Sam’s body which was less responsive and nowhere near as willing as it had once been. Even though he was only twenty-seven and supposedly in his prime, the four years in prison had clearly taken their toll on his joints which were noticeably stiffer than they had been at the age of twenty-three.

  In fact, to his surprise, he needed a full eight weeks training in the Ozarks to get back to the condition he had been in prior to entering The Garden.

  Yet finally, Mikhail and Pyotr deemed him ready and Sam knew in himself that he was. What is more, he was confident that he could stand alongside any soldier in the world and not be found wanting in either his marksmanship and weaponry expertise or his formidable hand-to-hand fighting skills.

  He had also been fully trained in the art of combat, which was vital if he hoped to be perceived as being from a military background - and even more important in his aim to be recruited as a soldier for hire.

  Indeed, amongst the mercenaries he sought to embed himself with, he must be seen as an equal with credentials that were unimpeachable.

  In support of this, Vladimir Voronin had once again played his part and supplied Sam with papers and a back story that would not be questioned by recruiters of such men. Part of this ‘legend’ included Sam’s time in Siberia; his prison sentence authenticating his story with a liberal amount of truth that could easily be confirmed. The rest, however, was all complete fiction, although Sam was assured that it would stand up to even the closest scrutiny.

  Furthermore, Vladimir had exercised his sizeable influence to get Sam into Angola where his cover as a former enforcer for the Voronin organisation would add weight to his reputation and make him much more appealing to would-be recruiters.

  So it was that just three days after finishing his training Sam said goodbye to Mikhail, Pyotr, Vasily and Marcus once more, uncertain whether he would ever see any of them ever again, to head off on yet another journey into the unknown.

  Leaving the beautiful Ozark Mountains far behind him, he flew from Springfield down to Miami where he boarded a cargo ship bound for Namibia, his passage arranged by Vladimir Voronin.

  Three weeks later, in the late November of 1999, he disembarked in Africa where he met up with a guide who had been paid to take him to Angola, the last known whereabouts of the man he sought. And it was there, in that terrifying, war-torn hell hole, that Sam’s quest to find Darius Purcell truly began.

  ***

  Regardless of how eager Sam was to mete out his vengeance, it very quickly became obvious that finding anyone in such a tumultuous place would be extremely difficult. In fact, Sam was soon forced to temper his initial impatience and take a more pragmatic view.

  What is more, this revised approach had been repeatedly borne out as three and a half years after his arrival in Angola, Sam had still not caught up with the man he had been relentlessly pursuing in all that time.

  He had been tantalisingly close many times but on each occasion he had missed Purcell by the narrowest of margins.

  His quest had taken him from Angola to Rwanda and from there onto Uganda, serving one brutal rebel leader after another in the guise of a soldier for hire. Now, after an arduous journey through jungles and over mountains, his search had brought him to the Democratic Republic of The Congo. In fact Sam presently found himself in a truck on the road to the capital where, he had been assured, he would at last find Darius Purcell.

  Word had reached him that the detachment Purcell was reportedly serving with would be amongst the many mercenaries, private military groups and foreign aid workers gathering at the same rendezvous point in Kinshasa that Sam’s battalion were also heading towards.

  Yet with so many forces working against each other in the region, nothing could ever be certain, so Sam had learnt not to rely on anything too much. He had discovered through bitter experience that circumstances could change rapidly in Africa which had cost him the chance of catching up with Purcell in the past.

  Nonetheless, he could not help himself from hoping that this time he would finally get his man.

  Finding Purcell had become a fixation. In fact, having something to focus on, a clear and solid objective, was the very key to survival amongst the chaos of his surroundings.

  During his time in Africa Sam had seen many despicable things; horrors that surpassed even those he had witnessed in that glade on the banks of The Cam so long ago. Acts so barbaric in nature that they would surely make any sane person question the rite of man to exist on the planet.

  Wherever he looked there was savagery and violence; life and death all too frequently balancing on the blade of a blood stained machete. But Sam could not afford to be distracted from his goal, no matter how much these things effected him.

  Indeed, he had to keep moving forwards for fear of losing his very humanity.

  Since setting foot on African soil, his desire to find Purcell was the only thing that had kept him from being driven insane by the utter madness around him.

  Moreover, it was the very reason why he had been able to stomach the horrors he had seen.

  He even forced himself to live amongst the men who perpetrated such atrocities - these so-called soldiers of fortune who cheerfully did the bidding of their despotic paymasters
on the promise of rich rewards. But the war they were fighting meant nothing to them except for what they could profit from it.

  However, it was clear to Sam that all the raping and butchering was really what they lived for, the money was merely an added bonus.

  But Sam knew he was guilty by association.

  Even though he had played no part in the slaughter of innocents he had been witness to these vile acts and it made him sick to the stomach that he had made no attempt to prevent them.

  But he knew that if he did so he would be seen for the fraud he was and killed as surely as if set upon by a pack of rabid dogs, thus ending any hopes he still had of finding Darius Purcell.

  So, to his eternal shame, he chose to ignore what was happening around him, reasoning that as just one man there was nothing he could do.

  But he made a vow to himself that if he ever finished the task of vengeance he had sworn himself to and made it out of Africa alive, then he would do all he could to end the bloodshed in this extremely turbulent part of the world.

  Furthermore, backed by the financial weight of Beresford Industries and the immense funds at his disposal, he was certain he could make a difference to the lives of those who had suffered so much.

  It was his hope that such an undertaking in the future might make some kind of amends for him not acting now.

  He also hoped it might help assuage his dreadful guilt, but deep down he doubted anything ever would.

  As for the fighting, that in his assumed role of mercenary, he had been specifically recruited for, Sam made a good enough show of things.

  The skills Mikhail and Pyotr had taught him had proved invaluable; their intensive training not only teaching him how to behave like a soldier in combat but how to survive in such a hostile environment, too.

  Furthermore, Sam could not deny that their unflinchingly tough methods had played a vital part in actually keeping him alive as on the battlefield he had no other choice but to play an active role, knowing failure to do so would surely arouse suspicion amongst the members of his platoon. But he would aim wide whenever possible and only wound attackers when forced to defend himself. However he refused to kill. This was not his fight and certainly not his war and his only reason for being there was to find Darius Purcell.