The Bach Manuscript

by Scott Mariani

  Dragan Vuković stepped forward and gathered up all the hardware. He thrust the two pistols in his pockets and the knives through his belt, then grabbed up the case and went back to stand close to his boss.

  ‘That’s better,’ Kožul said. ‘Now how about we all go make ourselves comfortable in the other room. I got some calls to make.’

  Now Dragan was pointing his nine-mil at them as well. Ben and Madison led the way at gunpoint as they all filed into the living room. Kožul directed them to a pair of red leather-upholstered chairs near the window, ordered them to sit, then took a seat himself in the centre of a broad red sofa opposite, making the leather creak under his squat bulk. His legs were so short that his feet didn’t touch the floor, making him look like an evil, steroid-filled, prematurely-aged child of twelve. Meanwhile Dragan walked to a glass-topped coffee table well out of the prisoners’ reach, and laid their guns and knives down on its surface. He set the case down next to the table, then pulled a small walkie-talkie radio handset from his pocket and thumbed the call button. There was a garbled crackling of static, nothing else. ‘I can’t raise anyone, boss,’ he said. ‘They’re all gone.’

  ‘What about Alek?’ Kožul asked. Dragan shook his head.

  ‘Alek’s taking a nap in the basement,’ Ben said. ‘A long one.’

  Kožul studied Ben for a long moment as he played with the shiny gold pistol, then said, ‘So you’re Hope. The piece of shit who broke up my place of business and took out half my guys. And now you think you’re just gonna come strolling into my home and cost me more fuckin’ grief, hmm? For what? You think I owe you money or something?’

  ‘You’re not important to me, Kožul. I came here for him,’ Ben said. He pointed at Dragan. ‘It’s a personal thing between the two of us, nobody else. Hand him over to me, and I’ll let you live.’

  Kožul laughed loudly and twisted round in the sofa to cast a grin back at Dragan, but not long enough for Ben to rush him and put his nose bone through his brain. ‘Check out the balls of steel on this motherfucker,’ he snorted, and Dragan shook his head in disbelief. Kožul turned back to face Ben, and the amused look turned serious again. ‘So tell me, what’s my man Dragan done to you that you came all the way out here to fix his business?’

  ‘He killed a friend of mine. I get kind of unreasonable when people do things like that.’

  Kožul shrugged. ‘So get in line. You killed a bunch of my guys too.’

  ‘That’s what comes from mixing in bad company,’ Ben said.

  ‘We gotta finish this prick, Zarko,’ Dragan interjected in Serbian. ‘Just say the word. I’m itching to whack’m.’

  ‘Hear that? Dragan wants you dead nearly as much as I do. And you will be, pretty soon. But why rush things? Like I said, I’m going to make a call or two. Get some other guys over here. I got plenty more. Then we’re gonna take ourselves a drive back into town, to this junkyard I happen to own. Lot of problems get solved there.’ Kožul waved the gold pistol at Ben. ‘And we’re going to have ourselves a party getting rid of this one, right, Dragan?’

  ‘Flatten him good,’ Dragan said in English, eyes fixed on Ben.

  ‘You won’t be alone,’ Kožul said with a twinkle in his eye. ‘That bitch of a sister of Dragan’s is gonna be joining you. We’ll have her go first, so you can watch her pretty little body go into the crusher and split open like a fuckin’ tomato. People pay good cash for that kind of shit on video. Then it’ll be your turn. Won’t be such a wise-ass then.’

  Dragan was smiling. Ben looked at him. This guy’s employer was talking about inflicting a slow and horrific death on his own sister and filming the event for entertainment, and he was smiling.

  Ben looked back at Kožul. ‘What did Lena do to piss you off so badly, Zarko?’

  ‘None of your fuckin’ affair what she did,’ Kožul said. ‘She fucked up my business. People who fuck up my business pay the price. As you’ll find out.’

  ‘I thought maybe she laughed at you when you tried to make a pass at her, because you’re just a runt.’

  Kožul’s eyes flashed dangerously. ‘Keep talking, smart guy. The more you wag that tongue of yours, the worse it gets for you. I just added another hour to your death. Believe me, we’ve had plenty of practice at making it last.’

  ‘The cops are on their way here, right now,’ Madison said. ‘They could be arriving here any minute, all ready to lock you up for a very long time.’

  ‘Is that a fact, lady?’

  Madison said, ‘Yup. And if I were you, I’d be running away as fast as my fat, stumpy little runt legs could carry me. Pint-sized prisoners have a much worse time in jail.’

  Kožul digested her words, then the corners of his mouth downturned in an inverted U and he replied, ‘That’s interesting. You want to see what a pint-sized stumpy little runt like me can do? Watch this.’

  Before Ben could launch himself in the way to protect her, Kožul turned the muzzle of the .380 automatic towards Madison and fired once. The sharp crack stabbed the air. Madison went over backwards, toppling the chair with her. Her head hit the wall behind her and she slid to the floor with her eyes closed and lay in an immobile heap.

  Ben rose to his feet. But the .380 was already pointing his way and the pistol in Dragan Vuković’s hand was aiming in the same direction.

  Kožul said, ‘I would advise you to sit yourself the fuck down, Mr Hope.’

  Chapter 58

  Ben stood looking at Kožul for what felt like a long, long time. He felt very cold, and he was breathing too fast. His heart was pounding in his throat.

  He slowly sat down.

  Madison Cahill was not moving.

  Kožul glanced over at her as if she was a dead fly he’d just swatted, and gave a chuckle. ‘Told you I was handy with this thing, didn’t I? One shot, right in the heart.’

  ‘That was a good one, boss,’ Dragan said.

  ‘That’s why I’m always telling you, practice. Right? Practice is the only way you get to be a good shot like me. A few hours from now, Hope, you’re gonna be begging me to do the same to you.’

  Ben made no reply. He kept glancing at Madison. The sight of her lying there was more than he could bear.

  Kožul smiled. ‘Speaking of that, I can’t be hanging around here all day. Let’s get this show on the road. Dragan, go find that murdering bitch sister of yours, and drag her in here. She’s gotta be hiding in one of the other bedrooms. Break her fuckin’ arms if you have to, but I want her alive. Understand?’

  ‘I can do that,’ Dragan said, and headed for the door with a big grin on his face. Your lord and master tells you to go and fetch your sister for execution, you obey without hesitation. Dragan left the room, still grinning to himself.

  Alone with Zarko Kožul, Ben stared at the mean little killer on the sofa opposite him. Looked into his eyes and saw nothing. Then he looked at Madison, and at the smear of blood on the wall, glistening red on red above her fallen chair and slumped body. He couldn’t have saved her, but even so he knew the guilt would weigh on him for however long he had left in this world. He looked at the gun in the hand of the man who had shot her. The icy coldness that had taken a grip at the core of his being was slowly spreading through him, numbing him all over. He felt his breathing slow and his heart rate settle. His muscles began to relax.

  In a normal person, those were the physiological signs of the body getting ready for rest. For Ben Hope, it meant he was gearing up for action.

  Ben stood up from his chair. He took a step towards Kožul.

  ‘I still got seven rounds in this thing,’ Kožul warned. ‘The first two are for your balls, you come another step.’

  Ben said, ‘I’ve known a hundred men like you, Zarko. You like to leave the dirty work to others to take care of. You think you’re above attending to the small stuff. Like cleaning the house, looking after the helicopter. Basic maintenance.’

  Kožul was glowering, but Ben could see he was already a little unnerved. ‘What is
this lunatic bullshit you’re feeding me? Sit the fuck down and shut up.’

  Ben didn’t sit. ‘Like that gun in your hand. I’ll bet you spend hours polishing your pretty little gold rocket, but you don’t like to get your hands all black and oily from the parts that matter, like scrubbing out the chamber, or cleaning all the crud off the feed ramp, or making sure the springs are all good and tight.’

  ‘What the fuck are you talking about, you stupid fuck?’

  ‘Just the fact that your gun’s jammed, Zarko. Don’t take my word for it. Try pressing the trigger and see what happens.’

  Kožul stared blankly at Ben, and then pulled the trigger of the Walther.

  Nothing happened. Not even a click. The mechanism was locked up solid.

  Ben came on another step. ‘In the business, we call it FTE. Failure to eject. It’s the firearms equivalent of a motorway pile-up. Only happens with automatics, which makes some folks still prefer revolvers even in this day and age. Your slide isn’t fully closed, because there’s a live round jammed up hard behind the spent case that the ejector failed to pull out after that last shot. Now the slide is stuck partly open, the magazine won’t come out, and it’s going to take a couple of minutes of basic gunsmithing work to clear the jam. And you don’t have two minutes. See what I’m saying?’

  Kožul stared at the gun in his hand as though Ben had just worked some conjuror’s trick and turned it into a live cobra. Ben took another step towards him.

  ‘So now you’re in an awful lot of trouble, Zarko. That’s what they call “the tables turning”. And you’d better pray that your flunky Dragan comes back soon, because I’m about to snap your filthy neck.’

  Kožul threw himself forwards off the sofa and stood braced with his lips peeled away from his teeth in a snarl, showing jagged teeth. It was like being faced with a dangerous little predator, like a wolverine. He hurled the useless pistol at Ben.

  Ben ducked the missile and came in fast and low. Fast, because even unarmed Kožul was a tough little nut to crack. Low, because even with his opponent standing Ben had to direct his strike at a downward angle. He drove an elbow into Kožul’s throat. Kožul rocked on his feet and let out a gurgling croak, but didn’t go down. He might have charged then, all muscle and gristle and hard little fists and snapping teeth, but Ben wasn’t going to allow him time to counterattack. He followed the elbow strike with a straight kick that drove Kožul’s right knee joint inwards and broke his leg with a crunch.

  This time, Kožul did go down, and hard. Ben landed on top of him. Kožul was incredibly strong for his size, as powerful and feral and as uninhibited in his violence as a chimpanzee crazed on angel dust. He bucked and twisted and tried to hurl Ben’s weight off him, but Ben hung on tight and kept him pinned to the red carpet. Four more elbow strikes to the face, and Ben felt the teeth cave in. Then he grabbed Kožul by both ears and battered his head off the floor at least ten times, until Kožul was beginning to flag and his eyes were rolling back in their sockets.

  Then Ben cupped a hand under Kožul’s chin and the other one at the back of his skull, and gave his head a sudden, sharp wrench, up and sideways to rend the vertebrae in his neck. Muscles like a bull from years of pumping iron didn’t save you from having the same weak spots as any other mortal man. Ben felt the neck break, gave it a couple more violent twists, then let Kožul’s dead body sink down limp.

  He jumped to his feet and began running over to Madison. He was halfway to her when he heard the door open and Dragan Vuković’s voice saying, ‘Boss? I couldn’t find her, boss. I—’

  Dragan halted mid-stride and mid-word, and froze in the doorway.

  Chapter 59

  Dragan’s gaze went to Kožul’s twisted shape on the floor and lingered there for a moment, before he turned his look on Ben with murder burning brighter than blazing jet fuel in his eyes. He clawed the pistol from his belt and ran into the room, blasting like a crazy man. His first shot hit a television screen. His second shattered the glass top of the little coffee table where Ben and Madison’s weapons were piled. The third would have hit Ben, if Ben hadn’t already been diving for cover behind one of the red leather sofas. As large and sturdy as they were, they offered little protection. Dragan’s bullets ripped through the wood and leather and ploughed into the red carpet inches from Ben’s body.

  Dragan was screaming, ‘You killed Zarko. You fucked up everything. Now you die!’

  Kožul’s pistol was lying nearby on the floor. Ben snatched it up and hurled it at Dragan’s head. He was better at throwing than Kožul. The gun bounced hard off the middle of Dragan’s brow and made him cry out in pain. The skin of his forehead was ripped open. He faltered for a second, trying to wipe away the blood that poured into his eyes.

  Which bought Ben enough time to belly-crawl over to the shattered coffee table. He could see his Colt lying among the broken glass on the floor beneath it. Dragan had cleared the blood from his eyes and was coming after him again. Ben reached out for the Colt. His middle finger touched the end of its chequered butt, but it was just beyond his grasp to pick up. A couple more inches, and he’d have it. But Dragan had realised he was going for the gun, and fired again. The bullet passed between Ben’s fingers and smacked into the floor. He felt the searing pain and the sudden wetness of the blood and drew his hand sharply away.

  Now Dragan strode up to him, aiming downwards with the nine-millimetre for the kill shot. Blood was still pouring freely from the flap of skin torn loose from his brow. His face was twisted in hatred, veins standing out on his neck like ropes. Ben rolled on his back and lashed a kick out at him and caught Dragan’s shin with his heel as the shot went off. Dragan’s aim wavered and the shot burned into the floor beside Ben’s left ear.

  The back-force of the kick was enough to slide Ben a couple of inches along the floor. Close enough to the table to reach out behind him with his uninjured left hand and grab the Colt from the pile of broken glass. His fingers locked around its butt and he found the trigger and brought the weapon up over his head in an arc and flashed the sights on Dragan’s chest and—

  The percussive blast of the gunshot that filled the room was twice as loud as a pistol going off. Like a Claymore mine exploding at close quarters. Dragan was thrown violently forwards as though a horse had kicked him from behind. He hit the floor next to Ben, landing on his face with his arms outflung. There was a bloody raw mess of pulped flesh the size of a dinner plate in the middle of his back.

  Ben hadn’t fired. For an instant he was confused and didn’t understand what had just happened. Then he looked up and saw Lena Vuković standing there.

  Her hair was wild and her face was covered in tears. The red dress she was wearing was ripped at the shoulder. There were speckles of dried blood on her throat, on her arms, and on the small slim hands that were clutching the black short-barrelled shotgun. A trickle of blue smoke was oozing from its barrel, which was still pointing towards where Dragan lay inert on the red carpet. She slowly lowered the weapon, came a faltering step closer and gazed down at her brother’s body.

  ‘Is he … is he dead?’ she whispered, barely audible.

  Ben made no reply. He rolled to his feet, dropped his pistol and scrambled past Dragan and over to where Madison was lying. She still hadn’t moved. Kneeling by her side, he looked for the gunshot wound where Kožul had shot her in the chest. When he saw the blood on her his stomach clenched tight. Then he realised it was his own blood dripping and flecking everywhere from his injured hand.

  Madison opened her eyes. ‘Ben?’ she croaked.

  She was alive, but how? ‘He shot you.’

  She groaned and lifted her head off the floor, then propped herself up on one elbow. ‘Hurts.’

  She tugged open her biker jacket. Something solid and rectangular slipped out of her inside pocket and hit the floor between her and Ben. He picked it up with his good hand. It was the slim black wallet containing the Fugitive Recovery Special Agent’s badge she’d showed him in the caf
eteria back in Belgrade. The wallet had been punched through on one side. When he flipped it open, a nine-millimetre jacketed bullet fell out, squashed as flat as a coin. The seven-pointed gold star badge attached to the inside of the wallet had a deep circular impression dented into the steel where the bullet had struck. If Ben had a badge that lucky, he would have hung it on the wall back home as a memento.

  Madison felt the back of her head and winced. Her fingers came away red. ‘Must’ve knocked myself out when I hit the deck.’ Then she saw the blood on Ben’s hand, and the sight seemed to shock her back to the reality of the moment. She gasped and looked around her.

  ‘Kožul’s dead,’ Ben said. ‘Dragan too. Lena shot him.’

  Madison said, ‘Lena?’

  Lena Vuković was still standing there over her brother’s still form, gazing down at him with a vague expression on her face as if she didn’t yet fully grasp what had happened. She turned her unfocused gaze slowly Ben’s way. ‘Did I kill him?’ she asked.

  Ben stood up, helping Madison get to her feet. ‘It’s over for him, Lena. The world’s a better place now.’

  She nodded, slowly. She was still holding the ugly black shotgun, its weight sagging down to point at the floor by her feet. She looked at it and blinked. ‘They were going to sell me to that man. I try to get away. He … he stabbed himself. I don’t know how it happened. Then I am hiding, because I know they will come for me. Suddenly there is so much noise, gunshots and explosions and shouting, and I get scared. I found this gun in the room where I hid. I—’

  She hung her head and screwed her eyes shut, then reopened them and tears leaked down her cheeks. ‘Dragan, he was searching for me. Then I hear more shooting inside the house, and I run, and that was when I find you. He was going to kill you. I had to shoot him. I would have killed him anyway.’

  ‘You did the right thing,’ Ben said. ‘He wasn’t much of a brother to you.’

  ‘He would have stood by and seen me sold like a slave.’