“A mean sonofabitch is he?”
“You can say that again. Meanest I ever come across - and I’ve seen a few.”
“Yeah?” Said Sam, blowing out a long plume of smoke, his interest piqued by this new snippet of information. “Anyone I might know?”
“Guy by the name of Purcell,” replied the trooper. “He’s a real hard ass. You heard of him?”
Sam nearly choked on his cigarette upon hearing the name but he disguised it well. “No. Can’t say I have,” he replied innocently, showing no outward signs of the shock and relief flooding through him. Indeed, his heart was suddenly pounding in his chest and his thoughts were racing for the man he had been tracking for so long was finally within his grasp.
“Then you’re lucky,” said the soldier, completely oblivious to the whirlwind of emotion his words had unleashed.
Sam craned his head, looking along the line of dusty, travel-worn troops. “Which one is he?” He asked, feigning only mild interest, yet in truth desperate to set eyes on Darius Purcell for the first time in ten long years.
“He ain’t here,” replied the man. “Got business to attend to or so he said. More like he’s got a whore lined up in a nice hotel somewhere - and fuck the rest of us.”
Sam felt his heart sink. “What - he’s not coming?” He could hardly disguise the disappointment in his voice.
“Oh yeah, he’ll be along later, I guess. When he’s good and ready. But I don’t reckon on seeing him until tomorrow morning.”
Sam’s spirits lifted slightly. There was still hope. “Oh, well. Good luck with that,” he said. “Sounds like you’ll need it.”
“You ain’t wrong there buddy,” agreed the soldier.
Sam smiled. “Anyway, thanks again for the light,” he said as he wandered away, back towards the main entrance of the hotel.
It would be cutting it extremely fine but if he could somehow locate Purcell first thing in the morning then he might still have time to kill him before his scheduled flight out.
For the present, though, it seemed there was little he could do but wait.
Sam then thought of Natalie, the perfect person to wait with. He glanced at his watch, hopefully by now she should just about be finishing up in the bar.
***
Her last two customers were soldiers just like all the others she had served that day. Yet these were older and obviously more senior in rank, so it would be unseemly for them to be in quite such a rush to hit the fleshpots of Kinshasa.
Nonetheless, it did not take them long to down the last of their pints and follow their younger subordinates into the city.
For Natalie the bar could not empty soon enough. It had been a long exhausting day and all she wanted to do now was climb into bed next to Sam, assuming he was up for a repeat performance, of course. Indeed, it was important to her that they made their last night together as memorable as possible.
It was still only early but the Night Manager would be taking over shortly and soon her work for the day would be done - although she would be hard at it again before dawn.
With her last customers finally gone, Natalie picked up a large plastic tray from behind the bar and set about gathering up the empties.
Before long the tray was stacked high with glasses and also extremely heavy. So, unable to manage anymore, she carried it back around to the other side of the bar and reversed through the swing doors into the kitchen. Her intention was to stack the empties onto the drainer next to the sink where they would be washed by the Kitchen Porter first thing in the morning.
However, Natalie did not see Purcell standing behind the door as she backed through it. Indeed, she did not even notice him behind her as she turned and carried the tray to the drainer, only a little puzzled as to why dirty washing up was still in the sink.
It was only after she had set the tray down and turned once more to fetch yet more glasses from the barroom that she saw Darius Purcell standing there in front of her.
His evil eyes glinting with delight and his single gold tooth shining in a wicked grin of tobacco stained teeth, as he eyed her hungrily.
In the years since she had seen him last, he had changed little; slightly thicker around the girth maybe and his dark hair now sprinkled with grey, but otherwise he was the same. Swarthy and thick set in appearance, the crescent moon scar on his cheek appearing to Natalie like the brand of the devil.
Indeed, she could not have been more terrified had Lucifer been standing there himself.
“Hello, my dear. Have you missed me?” Hissed Purcell, his accent a gruff mixture of Afrikaans and British.
Natalie froze, suddenly petrified with fear, the wide scar on her back prickling with foreboding. She attempted to scream, to call out, but her voice choked in her throat as her bottom lip started to quiver and her whole body began to tremble uncontrollably.
“Ah, I see that you have,” beamed Purcell, “I thought as much. Well don’t you worry, I’m back now and we’re going to have lots of fun - just like we used to - do you remember?”
So terrified was she, that Natalie could not prevent a trickle of urine from running down her leg. Indeed, she felt completely powerless to move, to speak - to do anything for fear of what the animal before her might yet do to her again.
She had suffered dreadfully at his hands before, as had her family, and it had taken her years to regain her confidence, to shake the constant fear of reprisal that had haunted her very existence for so long. She had even dared hope that the man who had raped her, beaten her and murdered the people she loved might actually be dead.
As the years rolled by, the more she became convinced of this and it was like a veil being slowly lifted until she eventually felt free to live without fear once more.
But in an instant those hopes had been dashed and now Darius Purcell had found her again. What is more, with him undoubtedly back in Kinshasa to be shipped out with the other troops, Natalie knew down in the very depths of her soul that this time, after he had satiated his sadistic desires, he would have no reason to leave her alive.
Pointing the gun squarely at her chest, Purcell walked slowly forwards until he was merely inches from her, invading her personal space, the barrel pressed up against her sternum.
She could now smell his stinking breath and feel it hot on her face as he began to rub the muzzle of the Glock steadily over the firm mounds of her breasts, playing the round end of it over each of her fat nipples until they stood erect against her will.
“See, I knew you’d missed me,” he remarked as he felt their stiff resistance against the movement of the gun.
Smiling with delight, he leant in and put his mouth next her cheek, then licked her, unable to resist the taste of her any longer; his slimy wet tongue leaving a snail trail of hot saliva up the whole side of her face.
Keeping his unshaven cheek next to smooth dark flesh of hers, he slid his free hand down to her crotch. Steadily he began clawing at the loose material of her long skirt, slowly gathering it upwards to expose her bare legs, anxious to find the warm spot between them that he had dreamt of for so long.
Natalie reeled backwards in horror, fearing what he was about to do. Yet as she recoiled, her elbows slammed into the tray on the drainer causing a couple of glasses to spill onto the floor and shatter on the tiles; sharp fragments spraying her sandalled feet and pricking her naked legs.
“Please no!” She squealed, “I beg you - don’t!”
But as she stared into his cold eyes, she knew any pleas for mercy would be utterly futile.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
When Sam strolled back into the hotel there was not a soul to be seen anywhere. Indeed, for an establishment that was currently over capacity it appeared to be remarkably empty.
However, Sam now understood the soldier mentality well and knew exactly where most of Natalie’s new guests could be found.
What is more, he suspected there might be many reports of trouble in Kinshasa, involving those exact same guests, before the night was through.
But that was somebody else’s problem, not his. All he wanted was a last night with Natalie and the chance to find Purcell in the morning - when he intended to personally deliver his brand of trouble in spades.
For now though, he would satisfy himself with a drink and the gentle touch of a beautiful African woman.
With this in mind, he crossed the lobby and entered the barroom to find that was empty too. Yet he knew Natalie could not be far away so pulled up a stool and waited for her to appear.
However, he had no sooner sat down when he heard a crash of glass in the kitchen and the sound of Natalie screaming.
Instantly alert, Sam sprang to his feet and vaulted over the bar, then, pulling his pistol from its holster, burst through the swing doors into the kitchen to see Natalie being attacked by a man wearing combat fatigues.
Sam saw the terror on her face immediately, her assailant’s back towards him as he rushed to her aid. “Get away from her now!” He growled, raising his pistol.
Yet before he had covered another yard, the man span around and swiftly wrapped a thick arm tightly around Natalie’s throat, using her as a shield as he jabbed the barrel of his Glock into her ear.
“Come any closer and I’ll blow her fucking head off!” He warned.
Sam skidded to a halt, fearing that the man would do exactly as he had threatened, the evil look in his eyes telling him he had every intention of doing so. “Okay, okay - just don’t hurt her, alright?” Sam begged.
However, as he spoke the recognition dawned. The man’s eyes were incredibly familiar - indeed, he had seen them in his nightmares every night for the last ten years. The man’s face, too; the swarthy complexion and the gold tooth, but above all, the one thing that Sam would never forget; the crescent moon scar.
For the man standing before him was none other than the very person he had been seeking.
“Christ, it’s you,” he said, his voice expressing the shock he felt. “You’re Darius Purcell.”
Purcell narrowed his eyes. “What? Am I supposed to know you or something?” He snarled, squeezing Natalie even harder, causing her to grimace with pain.
Sam tightened his grip on his automatic, his finger lightly caressing its hair trigger as he aimed it at the direct centre of Purcell’s tanned forehead. “We’ve met,” he replied, his voice calm and measured. “Only once. But it was enough. I met you’re friends, too. A long time ago in Cambridge, England. Since then I got to know them a little better - in fact I made sure that mine was the last face any of them saw - just like it’s gonna be yours.”
Darius Purcell suddenly felt an icy chill as he stared hard into Sam’s face, instantly realising who he was. He was the man who had killed Brendan Williams - as well as Merton, McCullough and Finch. This was the person who had been tracking him for so long - the angel of death who was forever at his shoulder.
This was the demon.
“You!” He gasped, not quite able to believe it. “You’re the kid we left for dead - you’re the one who—“
Sam smiled triumphantly. “Well done. Got it in one. Now it’s time for you to join your friends in Hell.”
He wanted to fire desperately. Just the merest touch of the trigger and another of Claudette’s killers would be dead. One less monster walking the earth.
What is more, he had a clear shot and knew without question he could make it. But there was a possibility that Purcell might squeeze off a round as the bullet impacted with his skull, which would undoubtedly result in Natalie being killed, too.
Either way, it was too much of a risk and Sam was simply not prepared to let her die.
“This is between us,” he said. “Let the girl go free and we’ll finish it like men - like soldiers - both of us with an even chance of survival. You never know, you might even get lucky. Either way, only one of us is leaving on that transport tomorrow and it could just as easily be you as me. But let the girl go - she’s got nothing to do with it.”
“You gotta be kidding!” Purcell laughed, pulling Natalie further in front of him to make an unimpeded shot at him impossible. “Tell you what. I gotta better idea. You drop the gun and I might just let this prime slice of juicy dark meat live.” Taking his hand from around her neck, he reached down and grabbed one of her large breasts and squeezed it roughly to emphasise his point. “If not, I guarantee I can kill her before you drop me.”
“Don’t do it, Sam!” Natalie cried, Purcell’s sharp fingernails digging into her soft flesh. “I’m dead anyway, so just kill him for both our sakes!” She pleaded.
Purcell seized her by the throat once more, and rammed the muzzle of his Glock deep inside her ear. “You pull that trigger and she’s dead!” He warned again as the two of them stared hard at each other in a desperate stand-off.
But Sam wanted to pull the trigger. He wanted to more than anything. In fact, so much so that he could almost taste it.
Yet, after coming so close, he knew it was impossible. There was no way he could just watch Natalie die, as he had Claudette.
He took a beat to swallow his regret, then reluctantly lowered the pistol.
“That’s a good boy,” Purcell sneered. “Now get rid of it, throw it away.”
Sam hesitated for a moment then dropped the gun and kicked it away.
“Well done. See how easy that was?” Said Purcell. “Now get on your knees. Hands behind your head. Do it now!
Sam knew he was done for, that there was no way out. But if he could appeal to whatever trace of humanity Purcell might have left then there could still be a chance to save Natalie. Surely it had to be worth a try.
“Please, let the girl go now,” he said, hunching down onto his knees and locking his fingers behind his head as instructed. “I’ll do anything you say - but please, just let her go.”
Purcell grinned wickedly. “Now why the hell would I do that?” He said, before violently smashing Natalie hard across the back of the head with the butt of his gun and instantly knocking her cold.
“No!” Sam yelled, as she flopped in Purcell’s arms like a lifeless rag doll; the sudden weight of her limp form causing him to stagger with the effort of holding her.
Yet his pistol was now trained on Sam, and whilst keeping it there, Purcell callously tossed Natalie aside; her body landing amongst the splinters of broken glass on the floor and slamming against the cabinet behind, blood seeping from the fresh crack in her skull.
“I’ll have some more fun with her in a little while,” Purcell said, shrugging his shoulders in relief, glad to be free of her weight.
He was breathing hard now from the exertion; adrenaline pumping through him as he straightened his shooting arm and walked over to where Sam was kneeling. “But after that I’m afraid I won’t have any more use for her.”
“You murderous sonofabitch!” Sam snarled, the feel of the Damascus Bowie tucked down the side of his boot almost too tempting to resist.
“Guess I can’t argue with that,” answered Purcell, sounding almost cheerful now as he pressed the muzzle of the gun between Sam’s eyes. “Any last requests.”
It was obviously a joke but Sam had nothing more to lose. Even though his knife was tantalisingly close there was no way of reaching it before Purcell could react. Indeed, he had no choice now but to accept his fate. Yet it occurred to him that he would like to know before he died what it had all been for. “Yes,” he snapped, suddenly curious. “Why did you do it?”
“Do what?” Asked Purcell, clearly amused by the question.
“Why did you and the others attack us in Cambridge - why did you murder my girlfriend?”
Purcell was a little surprised by this and took a step backwards, lifting the gun away from Sam’s head. It mattered not as there was no way he could
best him from that submissive position. If Sam made any attempt to move then it would be a simple matter just to kill him. But the question puzzled Purcell nonetheless so he was inclined to indulge it. “You mean you don’t know?” He asked.
“No.”
“You mean you’ve been hunting us down for the last ten years and you don’t even know why?” Purcell began to laugh, had he really been so frightened of such a fool?.
After all, he was clearly no demon but just a man - a pathetic one at that who did not deserve to be feared, certainly not by a king such as he. In fact, how he managed to kill the others was simply beyond comprehension.
“Did you just feel like it?” Sam persisted. “Was that it?”
Purcell continued to laugh, tears of mirth brimming in his eyes. “Hey, I always feel like it,” he chuckled, “But no, that wasn’t the reason. We were ordered to do it.”
Sam was incredulous. “Ordered? What do you mean?”
“By DeVilliers of course, who else?”
“DeVilliers - who’s he?”
Purcell stopped laughing. “Miles DeVilliers. You mean that fat public school poof’s not on your hit list?”
Sam shook his head.
“Jesus,” replied Purcell. “He deserves to be right at the goddamn top.”
“Who is he?”
Purcell considered Sam for a long moment, then shrugged his shoulders dismissively, “Shit. What can it hurt now. Miles DeVilliers is a fixer, based in London. He arranges things for rich people. A middle man with each of his chubby little fingers in a different pie. I don’t know who hired him but he’s the one who paid us. The order was that his client wanted it nice and messy or that’s what we were told.”
He then grinned with vengeful spite. “And guess what, I just love messy.”
Sam forced himself to ignore the malicious little dig, his mind a whirl of conflicting thoughts. It just didn’t make sense.
“So Locke wasn’t behind it then?” He asked, noticing with relief Natalie slowly rousing from unconsciousness out the corner of his eye.
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