Headlights momentarily illuminated Blake’s face as he moved past his hidden position and back towards the main road. Blake looked from the door the girls went through to the masked and armed guard to Laroche’s diminishing lights.
He started the car and followed, accelerating in pursuit of Laroche.
Out on the country road, a mile beyond the warehouse, Blake sped past Laroche and swerved in front slamming on his brakes and forcing Laroche to brake and swerve.
Both cars shuddered to a stop. Blake was out fast, his silenced Sig outstretched.
Laroche raised his hands in the car.
‘Out!’
Laroche stepped down from the Landrover.
‘On the floor. Face down’
Laroche slowly got onto the ground.
‘You’re making a mistake pal.’
‘Shut the fuck up. Wrists crossed behind your back.’
Blake tied a plastic cable tied around Laroche’s wrists and pulled it tight.
‘Stay.’
Blake pulled the canvas bag containing the shotgun and assault rifle out of his car and put them in the rear footwell of the Landrover.
He got into his car and drove it carefully off the road and far enough into the undergrowth so that it would not be visible from the road.
He cut Laroche’s bonds and lifted him up, the Sig trained on him.
‘You drive.’
Laroche got in and started the car.
‘Where are we going?’
‘Back the way we came.’
Laroche u-turned the car and drove with Blake’s silenced Sig on him.
‘What is that place?’
‘Don’t know. I’m just a delivery driver.’
Blake spotted a sleek assault rifle custom holstered beneath the fascia.
‘Lot of firepower for a delivery driver.’
‘What can I see, we drop to some shitty neighbourhoods.’
Blake pulled his phone and flicked it on to Laroche’s profile. He showed it to him. He examined it, then looked back to Blake.
‘You a cop? Because if you’re a cop?’
Blake pushed the silencer muzzle between Laroche’s legs.
‘I’m not a cop and I asked you a question.’
Laroche looked down between his legs.
‘It’s a holding and distribution hub.’
‘You make it sound almost normal. How many others are there?’
‘That’s all I know.’
Blake pushed the Sig further, making Laroche squirm in his seat.
‘That’s all I know, man. They don’t print a fucking list.’
‘Who’s they?’
Laroche’s jaw clamped shut. They approached the turning to the warehouse. Blake pulled the Sig away and held it low, out of sight and settled back into his seat. Interrogating Laroche could wait.
Laroche drove the Landrover up next to the guard’s booth. He pulled the window down. The guard flashed a light over his face.
‘You forget something, sir?’
‘Just a guest.’
Blake, leant forward and swung the Sig up fast punching a hole in the Guard’s face. The guard slid out of sight.
‘Fucking hell!’ squealed Laroche.
‘Open the gate.’
Laroche leant across and hit the gate open switch covered in blood. Blake gestured to a spot directly in front of the warehouse.
‘Park over there.’
Laroche did as he was told, bringing the car to a stop in front of the main housing.
‘CCTV?’
‘Only on the perimeter.’
‘Out,’ Blake ordered.
Both exited the car. Blake took a position behind him.
‘How many inside?’ he whispered in his ear.
‘Four.’
‘Sounds a little light. You better not be lying to me.’
‘I’m not.’
They reached the door inset into the main warehouse entrance. Laroche opened it and stepped in.
Inside the high-ceilinged warehouse there were boxes stacked along one wall and rows leading far into the huge space. Container rooms led off the other long wall. Another Landrover was parked, engine running, lights on. Four men, stocky, rough, armed were playing cards at a table in the space near the entrance. Stairs and gantries at the other end were barely visible. They looked up as Laroche cleared the door, they didn’t see Blake behind him.
‘Hey, you okay, boss?’ asked the nearest.
Blake threw Laroche onto the table, sending drinks and cards flying.
Four clicks sounded out, followed almost instantaneously by four thuds as he calmly and accurately put a bullet in the head of each of the four men. He pulled Laroche up, put the silenced Sig over his shoulder and guided him forward towards the idling Landrover.
‘I said there were just four,’ said Laroche, his whole body shaking.
‘Shut up,’ whispered Blake trying to see everything at once.
Laroche tried to bring his breathing under control. The fucking idiot with his gun to his ear and his arm round his neck had no idea of the army waiting for him. All he had to do was survive and hit one of the alarms and it was over.
The speed and efficiency with which this maniac had killed the four at the table scared the shit out of him. He detected no hesitancy, no rise in heartbeat, no nothing. It was like shooting ducks at the fairground except he did not miss. It was all he could do not to blurt out that there was another in the office just to save his own neck. But he had clamped his mouth shut hoping against hope that the last one on guard duty was marginally better trained than the fucking idiots at the card table.
Laroche caught a movement in the reflection of the windscreen of the idling Landrover. The angle of his approach kept the headlights slightly offset. It was the fifth man. How the fuck had he not shot him yet.
The fifth approached Blake from behind. He had heard the unmistakable pops just as he was about to pull the flush. Then the crash of the table and then silence. No groans, no movement. Just silence. He had left his gun on the table when he’d gone for a piss. Fucking schoolboy error. He looked through the tiny gap in the toilet door, being careful to keep his movements to a minimum. He caught snippets of shapes. Laroche. Another man close behind. Gun. They moved out of view.
The nearest alarm button was beside the table along with his and the other guard’s guns. If he headed back that way, he was a dead man. The speed and ruthlessness of the man’s attack made sure of that.
The fifth’s hand went to the long, serrated combat blade at his waist. Time to get up close and personal. He had no choice, and he had to move quickly. He slowly pulled the door open, praying the hinges made no noise. They didn’t. He mouthed a word of thanks to his god and moved. One sharp upward stab into the base of the man’s skull would do it.
The Landrover’s lights filled Blake’s vision, occluding his visual reach beyond the rear of the car. Blake pumped a bullet into each headlight killing them. As the second bullet hit, the shape of a sprinting shape resolved in the car’s windscreen. Blake swiveled and pulled the Sig trigger. Another click and the back of the knifeman’s head blew out, his body caught at the peak of his muscle’s contraction as he prepared to embed the knife into Blake’s skull. He fell backward, like a statue tipped over. The knife held like a trophy pointing the way back to his four compatriots lying dead twenty feet away.
Behind them another sound as a man exited a room, naked save for a towel around his waist and an automatic in hand. Blake pulled Laroche round again. The man lifted his gun.
‘Don’t shoot!’ shouted Laroche.
The man hesitated; Blake put a round into his chest.
Laroche sagged. Blake grabbed his neck and pulled him up.
‘Only four huh? Now why did I not believe that.’
‘I can’t walk.’
‘Pull on me again and I’ll shoot you dead. Keep moving.’
The shot man hyperventilated, his blood, horribly voluminous, spread across the floor.
Blake stopped at the Landrover killing the engine. He paused as the engine ticked and cooled, listening for any other sounds of approach. The bleeding man continued his hyperventilating, the sound now loud. Irritated, Blake put another round into his head, stilling him.
Blake moved past the room, Laroche held in his arms. His fate intertwined with this assassin’s like lovers.
Laroche knew he wasn’t going to survive this. The man holding him by his neck had made that amply clear. Laroche let his hand dangle by his pocket and when the man shifted forward, let it casually fall into it. His fingers curled around the phone and flipped it open. He made sure he had the right button then pressed, muting the device. Then entered the four digit code that would activate the alarm.
The two girls that Laroche had delivered cowered inside the last one container room.
‘Let’s go,’ said Blake.
The girls got up unsure of what to do.
‘Your choice, stay here or come with me.’
They saw the look on Laroche’s face, Blake’s gun. They got the message.
A loud siren suddenly filled the air. Blake saw a motion by a gantry at the far exit. A guard raised a radio to his mouth.
Blake turned to the two girls.
‘Go!’
‘How many?’ hissed Blake. ‘Tell me the truth and you live.’
‘Too many, dead man.’
Blake released his arm and shot Laroche through his temple. He fell face first into the floor and lay dead, his body twitching.
Blake sprinted back in the direction he came. The girls had stopped at one of the rooms, its door locked.
‘Move!’ shouted Blake.
‘One more. One more,’ they shouted, pointing at the door.
‘I’ll get her. You move!’
Blake waved the girls away. He tried the handle. Locked. He punched two rounds into the lock and kicked the door open.
From the other end of the warehouse came the sound like an oncoming wave.
A still form lay on a filthy mattress one wrist chained to the wall. Blake shot out the chain and turned her over. It was Josie. Her eyes flickered open. She looked at him, confused.
‘Can you walk?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Let’s go!’
Blake helped her up. She held her stomach in pain. Blake ducked his head out of the door.
One of the girls pointed to where an army of masked men poured out of the open bay doors.
‘They are coming!’
Blake pointed at the open door beyond the overturned card game.
‘Run!’
The two girls ran across the space and through the door. Blake pulled Josie through just as the frame exploded with gunfire. Blake pointed to the Landrover.
‘Get in!’
The girls fumbled at the doors. Blake pulled them open. They piled in helping Josie. Blake jumped in the driver’s side, started the engine and powered out of the compound. Men poured out of the warehouse and gunfire raked the back of the vehicle smashing the windows out and hitting a rear tyre.
Blake careened onto the country road. He accelerated, the rubber from the rear tyre peeling away.
Behind them a blacked-out Range Rover and a van powered out of the compound in pursuit.
Blake turned around and looked out of the rear window. In the back Josie stared at him. Blake saw the rubber of the deflating tyre start flapping around the rear wheel in the side mirror. He looked at the speedometer. It was slowing. Josie looked back.
The Range Rover and van were gaining, fast.
Blake shook his head.
‘We’re not going to make it.’
Josie heard him. Blake looked at her in the rearview mirror.
‘I need you to take the wheel.’
Josie closed her eyes.
‘Fuck!’
Josie opened her eyes. She clambered, stifling a groan, into the passenger seat.
‘You have to drive. Ok?’ he said to Josie.
Josie nodded her head. Blake slammed on the brakes. The girls in the back screamed.
Blake jumped out of the car. Josie shifted into the driver’s seat, grimacing from the pain in her stomach. Blake took the assault rifle and shotgun, jammed ammunition clips into them and shouldered the straps, he jammed spare ammunition clips into his pockets. He moved to close the door. Josie looked up, put her hand on it.
‘No, wait. There’s more. In another place. They call it Wonderland.’
‘Where?’
Josie closed her eyes. Her brow knitted in concentration. She looked up at Blake. Her lip trembled, tears welling.
‘I can’t remember.’
Blake held her look.
‘Get them out of here.’
He slammed the door shut. Josie screwed her face in pain as she crunched the gears. Then, the flywheel caught, she revved the engine and accelerated away.
Josie watched in the rearview mirror, as Blake walked down the middle of the road straight into the path of the oncoming vehicles.
He cocked the rifle, stopped, got down on one knee and aimed. Then he started firing, staccato bursts, illuminating the road with bright flashes.
The shots ricocheted off the blacked out, bulletproof screens of the ranger rover and the van.
Blake lowered his aim. He switched to continuous fire. Tracer rounds marked their trajectory.
The Range Rover accelerated bearing down on Blake.
The clip emptied. He reloaded. Firing into the lead vehicle.
The front tyre burst, it careened away into the path of the van and just missed Blake. The van swerved violently and rolled over.
Blake drove a continuous stream of bullets into the Range Rover rear window, finally shattering it and hitting the men inside turning the small space into a cloud of blood and glass. It slammed to a halt.
The rear doors of the overturned van flew open, two men came out firing shotguns. One caught Blake in his side. Blake slammed rounds into them punching them back into the van.
He walked forward slamming round after round into the back and side of the van until the rifle clicked empty.
A masked man crawled out of the side of the Range Rover.
Blake walked past the smoking van, to the crawling figure. The man turned over and looked at Blake, his eyes wide. Blake released the empty clip, slammed in another, chambered a round and aimed. The man raised his hand and shouted a muffled ‘No’. Blake fired, shooting him through his outstretched hand.
CHAPTER 24
irradiated...upturned cockroach...finding erebus...battle with blades...
Rainer took in the battered Land Rover and strode past the heavily armed police guards at the entrance and down the Hospital corridor, passing more of the armed policemen he had ordered to take station there.
Josie was unconscious, hooked up to monitoring equipment and a drip. The area she was in was enclosed by thick translucent sheets of plastic. Kamal was outside leaning against the wall.
‘How is she?’
‘They’ve got most of the drugs out of her system but she’s got a lot of internal damage,’ he replied straightening up at the sight of Rainer.
‘Why the quarantine?’ Rainer asked, gesturing to the heavy plastic sheets. Kamal uncharacteristically hesitated.
‘Spit it out,’ insisted Rainer.
‘She’s been irradiated.’
‘What?’
‘Irradiated.’
Rainer took a deep breath.
‘How far gone?’
‘Too far.’
Josie stirred behind the plastic. Rainer moved to go to her. Kamal grabbed his arm and shook his head.
‘You can’t.’
Rainer looked at Kamal’s hand on his arm and then to him. Kamal took his hand off and let it drop by his side. Rainer parted the plastic and stepped inside.
He sat beside Josie on the bed. She opened her eyes.
‘You can’t be in here,’ she said her voice croaking.
Rainer took her hand in
his.
‘Why did they do this?’
Josie gathered herself.
‘A warning. This is what happens if you go against them.’
‘Are you sure it was him?’
‘Yeah. The man I almost killed rescued me. Try and make sense out of that one.’
Rainer’s phone beeped. He ignored it.
‘Go. Don’t worry about me.’
‘That’s asking the impossible.’
‘It’s over for me now. I’m dying. I can feel it.’
Rainer’s eyes welled up. He squeezed her hand. Against the odds they had found her. No. Correction. They had not found her. The assassin, Blake, had found her. They had achieved nothing. And she was going to die anyway. Not like Dina. But still. Rainer felt something he had not allowed himself to feel for a long time. Rage. A cold hard Rage. He waited for it to subside. Rage served no purpose. It muddied the mind, addled discipline, and what edge it did give was brittle. He had no use for rage until now. He waited, it did not subside and he knew as he had known as soon as he had seen her violated and lying waiting to die, that this rage would not subside. This rage would drive him now.
He leant forward and kissed her and then whispered.
‘When I find them, I’m going to kill them. No arrests, no lawyers, no trial. I promise you.’
Blake staggered into his dark freezing hotel room and put the canvas bag on the floor. The adrenaline had dissipated unmasking the myriad of pains from the injuries sustained during his fight with the masked men. They pulsed in his mind like jagged streaks of lightning over a dark sea.
He slipped the Sig from his waist and placed it on the bed.
He stepped into the bathroom. The strip light flickered on filling the small space with its harsh yellow glow. His boots felt sticky on the black & white patterned plastic floor. A full-length mirror hung on the back of the door. He lifted his t-shirt revealing a livid welt up his left side. He felt along the ribs gently prodding here and there at the tiny pockmarks where the shotgun buckshot had penetrated. Nothing broken. He pulled his t-shirt back down and looked at the tired, bloody, man in the mirror and hated him. God he felt wretched.
He got to work on his face.
Later, the splinters lay in a bloody pile at the bottom of the basin. Rivulets of blood meandered down his neck and chest, blurred in the steamed mirror. Tiny red drops peppered the bathroom floor.
The Winter Man Page 24