Pray for Death (A Gunn Brothers Thriller)

by James Hilton

  The trees and foliage formed a thick green curtain on each side of the road, plenty of cover for a would-be highwayman to spring from. The waning daylight cut interspersing daggers through the thick canopy. Danny pressed himself against the side of the Jeep. He scanned the trees, his eyes moving slowly from shadow to shadow, searching for any sign of danger as Clay moved to inspect the tree.

  Tucking the revolver into his waistband, the big Texan squatted at the upper branches of the tree. He struggled to find a grip that provided the required leverage, one of the branches snapping off in his hand, but after a few false starts managed to drag the fifteen-foot length of timber to the side of the road.

  “I was half expecting a bunch of desperados to come charging out from the treeline,” said Clay as he climbed back into the Jeep.

  Danny gazed at the surrounding trees for another few seconds, then joined Clay back inside the vehicle. “Nothing would surprise me. But I guess trees do just fall down sometimes.”

  Clay resumed his usual driving position, hunched over the wheel with his head thrust forward. “You sure we’re headin’ in the right direction?”

  “As far as I can tell. We need to keep following this track until we get to Chios. This is the only road that Benito could point to on the map.”

  “But Chios ain’t on the map,” said Clay.

  “No, but if a shanty town was out here they would still need a road to get in and out, right?”

  Clay frowned, the scars on the side of his face crinkling. “I guess. It’s gonna be dark soon. Better get a bit of a tailwind going.”

  “Just don’t crash into any trees on the way.”

  21

  Ghost settled comfortably into the dead leaves. The serpentine roots of a towering kapok tree provided her with a natural camouflage. Dressed in a black jumpsuit with a ghillie camouflage net draped over her head and shoulders, she lay flat on her front, indistinguishable, just another curve of the tree. Only her eyes moved as she surveyed the network of buildings some two hundred feet in front of her.

  It had taken over half an hour to cover less than twenty feet. Slowly, ever so slowly, she’d inched into her chosen position, pushing her rifle ahead. She was almost sure that no one was looking up from the supposed safety of the compound below, but one mistake might mean death. The early evening light was beginning to turn to orange as the sun dipped towards the horizon. The elongating shadows would only help her remain unseen.

  A high chain-link fence encircled the camp. She had on previous nights worked her way around the entire barrier, seeking a viable point of entry. None had presented itself. The fence was well constructed and kept clear of encroaching plant life. The fence could be easily scaled. There was no barbed wire to deal with, and it wasn’t electric. But storming the castle was not an option. One woman against all the men inside? Unacceptable odds.

  Studying the layout of the compound, she focused first on the squat two-storey building directly in front of her, a picture of utilitarian blandness; all of it painted a dull green. A single door sat at the centre of the ground floor. Either side of the door, small rectangular windows peered back like the eyes of a disapproving parent. The windows of the upper floor were slightly larger than those below but showed no decoration. A series of smaller structures formed a loose horseshoe around the main building, linked to it by walkways. At the back was a wide shed that housed the pigs. Those God-awful pigs.

  Ghost remained motionless, breathing into the ghillie net. She knew it was a waiting game, that it was too risky to attempt to take the fight inside the compound. No, she would continue as she had over the previous weeks. She would wait until a lone target presented itself, then she would follow unseen and strike them down at the most opportune moment.

  “You know patience be a virtue, chile.” The breath caught in her throat as she realised that she had spoken out loud again. I need to be more careful! This time the words stayed firmly inside her head.

  The rifle propped on her right shoulder, a battered Marlin 336, was also wrapped in a layer of ghillie cloth. The ultra-lightweight netting was decorated with a scattering of leaves. She had stolen the weapon from the cab of an unlocked truck several weeks earlier.

  A door in one of the buildings swung open and a lanky man in faded denim stepped into view. He shaded his eyes as he walked to a panel truck. He slid the side door open and took out a large cardboard box.

  Ghost flexed her hands. Shooting him with the rifle would be a short-lived victory. She was saving the rifle for the leader of the group. One shot would do the job. One shot, righteous and true.

  She inhaled slowly. The mixed aroma of tree, ground and her own slightly pungent sweat was now very familiar to her senses.

  As she had many times previously, she willed her elusive enemy to step out into open view. “Come on, you bastard. Where are you?”

  The man made a second trip to the van. He retrieved another box and carried it inside the building as he had the first.

  “I can see the trained monkeys, but where’s the damned ringmaster?” she whispered. If he would only step out into the light. “Put a bullet right through your heart. Let’s see if you still look as smug when it’s your blood pumping out into the sand.”

  A harsh squawk like a rusty nail being prised from seasoned wood cut through the canopy. The man at the van looked out into the darkening treeline. He paused, setting another box back into the van.

  Ghost’s hand crept inch by inch towards the rifle. The man walked to the front of the panel truck. Cupping both hands around his eyes, he stared unmoving at the trees.

  Put a hole in him, chile.

  “Shhhh.” She increased the pressure on her trigger finger, feeling the mechanism. If the man moved to raise the alarm his death would be instant. She could feel the steady rhythm of her heart beating, thumping inside her chest. “Don’t make me kill you. Go back to work. Go back to work.”

  The man moved his right hand inside his jacket. She slowed her breathing again.

  Her index finger fluttered, the tension on the trigger at the maximum.

  Her target pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and sparked a lighter. The flame served to illuminate his face for a brief second as he puffed the cigarette into life, blowing a cloud of blue smoke into the air.

  Ghost relaxed her finger, the trigger moving back a fraction of an inch to its resting position. She watched the man finish his smoke, cast it aside in a small shower of orange sparks and again pick up the box. He closed the sliding door of the van by bumping it with his butt. The door of the building slammed closed behind him.

  Ghost settled back into watching the main house. Patience was the key. “Come on, asshole. Show yourself.”

  22

  “Well, that’s just great,” said Clay. “No more road. What’s the point of having a road that just stops in the middle of nowhere without warning?”

  Danny shared an exasperated look with his brother. The two faint ruts in the ground that formed the meagre path they had been following terminated in a circular clearing. The heavy foliage reflected the light from the Jeep’s headlights in a dozen shades of green. The clearing was barely big enough to allow a mid-sized vehicle like the Jeep to turn around. Gnarled roots and branches pointed accusingly at the brothers.

  Danny looked up as he stretched the muscles in his arms and shoulders. The sky was darkening rapidly. “Looks like we’re camping here for the night. We’ll set out again in the morning, when the light is on our side.”

  Clay turned off the engine, stepped from the Jeep and glared silently at the trees.

  “I can see by your face that you’re not happy about this, but if we get lost out here at night we could end up on the wrong side of Crapsville.”

  “And we’re not lost as it is?” asked Clay.

  “Not lost, just assessing.” Danny dropped to one knee and rubbed some of the red earth between his fingers. The soil in the small clearing looked more like hard-packed terracotta than regu
lar dirt. “Not much chance of getting tent pegs into the ground. I think we need to string a couple of guy lines between these trees.”

  Clay stood with his arms crossed over the wide expanse of his chest.

  “Hey, you just stand there and glower, I’ll set up camp. I’m sure there will be a T-rex by for you to wrestle with later.”

  Danny rummaged through the contents of the trunk.

  “You bought pop-up tents? That makes life a lot easier.” Danny moved with graceful ease between the trees at the edge of the clearing, carrying two tent bags, each the size of a large trashcan lid. With a couple of shakes, a tent sprang open and assumed its shape with a dull pop. Despite his earlier misgivings, he managed to hammer home several pegs into the hard-packed earth at the corners. Danny held up a handful of the pegs and began to shake as if having a seizure.

  “What the hell are you up to?” asked Clay in a gruff voice.

  “I’m on tent-a-hooks!”

  “Dumbass!”

  “Hey, be careful, you almost smiled there, big bro.”

  Clay gave a despondent shrug. “I thought we would have made better progress than this. I feel annoyed with myself. Salma and Sebastian will be sitting at home worrying themselves sick.”

  “We’ve been through this. They know that you’ll do anything to bring their little girl home to them.”

  “I know that but—”

  “Clay, we’ve been here less than a day.” Danny’s voice took on a firmness he was unaccustomed to using with his brother. “We’re making steady progress. We’ve already done more than the cops have in a week. We’ll get some shut-eye and start out fresh at first light. We’re in the right neck of the woods, at least.”

  “I just keep thinking about what could be happening to Celine right now, as we sit down to toast friggin’ marshmallows for supper. What may have already happened to her.”

  “Tell you what, why don’t you get a fire going while I finish setting up this other tent? I could murder a cup of coffee about now.” Danny raised an eyebrow. “You did buy some coffee, right?”

  “Best in the whole damned store,” grumbled Clay.

  “Well, we’re in the middle of a jungle, there’s bound to be a lot of dead wood lying around for the picking, can you get busy with that? I’ll gather the kindling from the edge of the clearing.”

  Clay found the large bowie knife in the rear of the Jeep. He unsheathed the blade and left the scabbard lying on the hood of the vehicle. The corners of his mouth curled briefly. “I think I brought enough dead wood with me.”

  “Just get on with it, ya big ape. Oh, and if you need something to carry the wood in, just use your hat. You should fit about a two-day supply in there.”

  “Just get on with the tents or I’ll stick this up your ass and toast you like a hot dog.”

  “Wow, prophetic or pathetic… I can’t decide.” Danny shook the second tent from its circular packaging. He smiled as the tent popped into its preformed shape. “Hey, I went to see the doctor the other day. He asked what was wrong with me. I said, ‘One day I feel like a tepee and the next I feel like a wigwam.’ ‘That’s it,’ he said, ‘you’re two tents!’”

  Clay shook his head and pointed with his blade. “I’ll get the firewood.”

  “Too tense… get it?”

  Clay was already gone. The wall of green foliage shook where he had pushed through.

  Danny finished securing the second tent. The surrounding trees provided a natural windbreak so there was little chance of the tents blowing over in the night. Satisfied, he began to unload a selection of foodstuffs and unpacked a mess kit.

  As Danny read the labels on the cans, he started to sing. “Beans, beans, the musical fruit. The more you eat, the more you toot.”

  “Who are you speaking to?”

  Danny pivoted into a fighting crouch, his open hands forming blades in front of his face. The grey-haired man that stood before him stared back impassively.

  “Where the hell did you come from?” demanded Danny.

  “Well, I was born near Chetumal, but I’ve been over here for quite some time now.”

  Danny was annoyed at himself at letting the man get so close. He appeared unarmed save for a small knife on his hip. If he had wanted to do harm, he could have been upon Danny with little or no warning.

  “You here by yourself?” asked Danny.

  The old man held his arms out to his sides then looked around himself in an exaggerated slow circle. “I believe I am alone. Were you expecting someone else?”

  “I wasn’t expecting anyone at all. We’re in the middle of nowhere,” said Danny. He let his hands drop, feeling a little self-conscious squaring up to a man in his seventies. “You live out here?”

  “I do.”

  “Nearby?”

  “Close enough to walk to on tired legs.”

  “Chios?”

  “Close to Chios, but far enough away so they don’t bother me with their noise.” The old man looked with interest at the items Danny had unloaded from the Jeep. “Oh, and you’re saying it wrong. You should make the ‘o’ longer. Chi-oos.”

  Danny beckoned him forward. “You must know everything about the people around here… the people in Chios.”

  He smiled as Danny corrected his pronunciation. His eyes twinkled with a boyish mischief as he answered, tapping a finger to the side of his head. “I know lots more about those people than I care to know, but there’s no way to un-know something once it’s in there.”

  “I guess not.” Danny extended his hand in greeting. “Danny Gunn. What’s your name?”

  The old man took another step closer and shook his hand. His fingers were as dry and tough as kindling sticks. “My name is Semeel Jak Shanarani.”

  “Your name sounds more Asian than Mexican.”

  “That’s because most Mexican names are from Spanish. Mine is from the old tongue. It means ‘Forest Walker’ or ‘Walker in the Woods’.”

  “Very apt, I’d say.”

  “Apt?”

  “I mean it suits you.”

  “Thank you. You can call me Jak. Most do.”

  Danny pointed at the tinned food at his feet. “You eaten supper yet, Jak?”

  “Not so much that I couldn’t try whatever you have there.”

  “Nothing exciting, I’m afraid, just some chilli and beans and stuff. My brother’s out there somewhere gathering wood for a fire.”

  Jak hooked a thumb over his left shoulder. “He’s fifty yards that way.”

  Danny looked in the same direction, but the encroaching trees blocked any hope of spotting his brother.

  “You can’t hear him huffing and puffing out there? He sounds like he’s in a bad mood.”

  “He’s okay. Just to warn you, when he gets back he looks big and scary but he’s my brother and won’t do you any harm.”

  Jak’s face was the colour of weak coffee, deeply tanned and leathery. When he smiled the lines on his face were so deep you could wedge a penny in them. He flexed the ropey muscles in his arms. “Maybe you should warn him about me.”

  Danny smiled, warming to the stranger. “Maybe I will, at that.”

  Jak folded down into a cross-legged position with a fluidity that belied his years. “So why are you and your big and scary brother so far out at nightfall? You get yourselves lost?”

  “Not exactly lost. We’re looking for some kids that went missing out here. We think they might have been looking for the Chios ruins, and got themselves into trouble and couldn’t get back. Or they may have been taken.”

  Jak flexed his hands, the knuckles bony and callused. The skin on his hands was a shade darker than the rest of his body. He took a pack of cigarettes from the pocket of his threadbare cotton shirt and offered one to Danny.

  “Thanks, but no. They’ve never been my thing.”

  Jak shrugged in acceptance as he lit his cigarette with a small disposable lighter. He studied Danny with hooded eyes. “The missing kids are yours?”

>   “One of the girls is as good as family. Her folks live with my brother in Texas. She came down to Cancún on vacation with three of her friends. They never came home.”

  “I think I know who took your girl.”

  23

  Clay arrived back at the makeshift camp with an armful of fallen wood and broken branches. He looked first at the ancient Mexican, then his brother. “I leave you for five minutes and already you’ve taken in a lodger.”

  Danny finished spooning a second can of beans into the cooking pot before he answered. “This is Jak. He lives close to Chios. He’s got some very interesting information. Oh, and he’s joining us for supper.”

  Clay dropped the large bundle of wood in front of the Jeep and clapped his hands together to shake off the worst of the detritus from the branches. He looked Jak up and down then extended his hand. “Clay Gunn.”

  Jak straightened up from his cross-legged position and accepted Clay’s greeting. “Semeel Jak Shanarani, but you can call me Jak. When you say that you are brothers…?”

  Clay smiled; they had been through this conversation countless times before. “Yes, we are full brothers. I take after Dad’s side; Danny is more like Mom’s.”

  “You speak with very different accents,” observed Jak.

  “Our parents spent as much time separated as they did together. It wasn’t exactly the most straightforward of marriages, that’s for sure,” Danny explained. “I spent most of my time in Scotland with my mother’s family. Clay grew up more with Dad and his family in Texas.”

  “You up to speed with the potted history of the Clan Gunn now?” asked Clay.

  Jak nodded. “Families can be complicated. It is good that you are together as grown men.”

  “It is,” agreed Clay.

  “I knew someone like you would come. It was only a matter of time,” said Jak. He licked his lips as he gave a none-too-subtle look at the pan full of beans. “Are you going to get that fire going?”

  “As we speak,” said Danny, arranging the kindling and dried leaves into a small pyramid. He sparked his lighter and touched the flame to the leaves, blowing gently at the base until the fire sprang to life. Danny then began to add slightly larger pieces of wood, building the fire slowly but surely. “Tell Clay what you told me.”