by Carl Hubrick
Jason swallowed a guffaw at the expression. While their captor was being so pleasant, he was not about to interrupt. But Victoria had no such thoughts.
‘You’re disgusting,’ she exploded suddenly. ‘How could you be so mean – so vile? If you don’t do something to help him, John X is going to die.’
Florence Nightingale would have been pleased, but Tom wished the floor would open up and swallow his cousin.
‘You’re nothing but a pack of bullies – bullies with guns, who think they’re so clever capturing a few helpless children and a badly wounded man.’
The terrorist shrugged, and tried to smile the tirade away, but Victoria was not to be stopped.
‘You talk about your glorious mission, but you’re nothing but a pack of criminals. Do you hear me? Criminals! And if John X dies it will be murder and you will be the murderers – and I will tell everyone. Do you hear me? Do you understand?’
All at once, Victoria’s voice broke and her body shook with sobbing.
Tom wished his hands were free to put his arms round his cousin and comfort her.
The terrorist leader regarded the weeping girl for a moment, and then drew the black pistol from its holster. He cocked the weapon and pointed it straight at Victoria.
‘Do you understand?’ he asked quietly. ‘Can you hear me? If you speak to me, again – like that – I will put this pistol to our spy friend’s head and pull the trigger - and then he truly will die. Do you understand me?’
Victoria looked up into the black eye of the gun muzzle, but did not answer. Tom held his breath. For a moment, Victoria and the firearm stayed fused together in his brain, and death was smiling. Then the pistol barrel dropped.
The terrorist shook his head. ‘But I am not going to let anything spoil tonight’s celebration,’ he said.
He de-cocked the sidearm and slipped it back into its holster.
‘Omar! Throw a blanket over our sick spy friend.’
The big man did exactly as he was bid, the blanket landing in a crumpled heap on the SIS agent’s feet.
‘Now children,’ the terrorist chief continued, his voice almost warm again – almost. ‘I do not want to get cross. You are here for a lesson. In a minute or two from now, you will see history in the making. You will be witness to the culmination of months of work and preparation. Homework, if you like. I am sure you children are aware of just how important homework is.
Tonight, I – Karl’ - the terrorist paused and directed a sardonic nod at Victoria - ‘Karl X will show the world that a new dawn is breaking – a dawn offering liberty for the oppressed peoples of the world – freedom from the stranglehold of the rich and the corrupt.
From your own television network the news of our glorious mission will soon be spread around the globe.’
The terrorist leader had been smiling all the while, but Tom could see the malice in his eyes. Karl X was, as Victoria had said, a criminal – a murderer! Tonight he was enjoying his power.
The leader checked his watch. ‘Omar, it is time.’
The big man came over obediently and switched on the television.
‘As you children may have guessed, some of our comrades have been in your city of Christchurch carrying out our heroic mission of liberation.’
The TV station’s logo came onto the screen and Karl X turned up the volume so that they caught the end of the channel’s news theme.
‘I think we might just have the top news item tonight.’ The terrorist was grinning at Tom as he spoke. ‘I think we can trust your New Zealand broadcasters to do it justice, and give us a balanced and objective report – don’t you, Tom?’
The boy nodded his agreement. He could see no point in doing otherwise. The man was probably quite right anyway.
The news theme died away and a blonde woman came on, smiling into the camera.
‘Kia ora! Good evening!’ the newsreader said.
‘Kia ora! Good evening!’ Karl X mimicked back.
‘Here is the news.’ The smile faded and the newsreader’s face took on a grave expression for the first news item.
The terrorist’s face was glowing in anticipation. He had the bumptious smirk of the cat that’s swallowed the canary. Tom could almost see the feathers stuck to his lips.
The newsreader began. ‘Christchurch city was the scene tonight of an attempted assassination. Police are not saying who the target was, but the United States senator, Lloyd Honeywell, also known as ‘The Peacemaker’, who is in New Zealand at present on a goodwill mission, is a guest at the hotel where the attack occurred. The senator could not be reached this evening for comment.’
A Christchurch scene appeared on the screen, showing one of the city’s leading hotels.
The newsreader continued. ‘At just after 10 this evening shots were fired in this city hotel, as the Armed Offenders Squad and Special Tactics Group surrounded three terrorists who had forced their way into one of the hotel’s suites a few moments before.
Authorities are tight-lipped tonight, but unofficial sources say that the heavily armed terrorists opened fire, killing one police officer and wounding two others. Police returned the fire, killing two terrorists and seriously wounding the third. One of the dead terrorists was a woman.
We now cross live to our reporter at the scene...’
Tom had been watching the news item with an enormous feeling of relief, when a sudden sigh from Karl X caught his attention.
‘Sofia! Sofia!’ the sigh said. The self-satisfied smirk had gone from the man’s face. Instead, the terrorist looked as if he’d been shot himself. His face was ashen. His mouth hung open.
For a moment, Tom had no idea what Sofia meant, and then it struck him. One of the dead terrorists was a woman, and Sofia was a woman’s name.
Despite his relief at the news, Tom was on the verge of feeling sorry for the terrorist leader. The man had a name now and the dead woman had a name also – Sofia. They seemed almost human.
‘So-o-o!’ Karl X said softly. ‘We have lost a battle and some of our brave fighters have fallen.’ Then his voice rose. ‘But we have not lost the war!’ The terrorist stood rigidly to attention and his blue eyes burned. ‘We will strike again – swiftly and without mercy. Next time our mission will be successful and the noble sacrifice of our comrades will be avenged.’
The man glanced down at the children and Tom felt a sudden rush of dread.
‘We must leave here soon,’ the terrorist said quietly. ‘It is possible your security intelligence or police may become aware of this location.’ He paused. ‘I am afraid you will not be able to come with us...’
Karl X gave a slight bow to his young prisoners and then spoke to the other terrorist. ‘Omar! We must move with all speed. We need to rendezvous with our comrades at dawn. By then they will have finished their good night’s work.’
The big man nodded. Both men began to load large packs with supplies and equipment.
‘Is he going to let us go?’ Corina asked her brother in a whisper.
Jason hesitated, but when at last he spoke, his voice had a gentleness Tom had never heard before.
‘No,’ he said. ‘I don’t think he’s going to let us go.’
‘Is he going to – kill us?’ his sister asked.
Jason did not answer, but Tom saw him lean in towards his sibling and their heads touch. It was as close to an embrace as their tied hands would allow.
Tom wished he too had someone to touch or hold. He moved closer to Victoria and felt her warmth. His cousin’s face was pale, but there was a firmness to her mouth that made him feel better.
Dying, Tom decided, was not something he wanted. But - if it were inevitable - he would try to do it well. It was all that he had left. But he was afraid – afraid of the moment when they would put the gun to his head or hold the sharp knife to his throat. It was that moment that scared him the most.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
What do you think about when death is but moments away? Tom could only think o
f living. For some stupid reason he still had hope. His mind kept ticking off rescue possibilities repeatedly. Where might help come from?
John X? Out of the question. He was dead, or near enough to it.
Parents? Sure! Tom knew they’d have rung the police by now, but only about four children overdue on a tramp - nothing about terrorists.
The rabbiter? Well, he could be gone for days...
Tom watched Jason struggle to his feet. It is no easy task to get up from the floor with your hands tied behind your back. Jason gave his imitation of a Maori haka as he tried to restore the circulation to his cramped limbs. The two terrorists surveyed him warily for a moment, then bent back to their packing.
No! Only Wiremu could save them. He was the key. The big man had seen the terrorists, and he was still out there – somewhere. If anyone was going to rescue them, it had to be him.
All at once Jason’s haka stopped. Tom looked up. Karl X was staring down at them. Omar stood by his side. The cat had come for the canaries.
The terrorist leader spoke. ‘It is time for us to be going. I’m sorry, but...’ he shrugged, ‘I have no choice... you understand?’
‘Loose ends!’ Jason finished for him.
Karl X nodded. ‘Loose ends,’ he said.
‘Go to hell!’ Jason snarled.
Karl X carried on as though he had not heard. The terrorist leader drew the black handgun from its holster and passed it butt first to Omar in exchange for the machine pistol.
‘No need to wake up the whole country-side,’ he explained matter-of-factly.
Tom’s mouth was suddenly dry – his heart pounding in his ears.
Jason went to sit down again with the others, then changed his mind and stayed standing.
The terrorist leader swung his pack up onto his back, and hung the machine-pistol from his shoulder.
‘Do the job well, Omar,’ he said. There was no emotion in his voice. It was as if Omar was staying back to give each of the captives a haircut.
Karl X gave a final curt nod to the children, lifted the canvas flap covering the doorway, and was gone.
* * * * *
‘Bang!’ Omar was enjoying himself. He pointed the pistol at each of them in turn. ‘Bang!’
The joke seemed so huge to him, he lapsed into a fit of almost hysterical laughter.
For one brief instant, Tom believed it really was a joke. The terrorist was not going to shoot them after all. It had just been a big bluff to scare them. And then John X coughed, and Tom remembered the gunshot wound in the SIS agent’s shoulder.
‘Right! Who wants to be first?’ The gun waved in the air.
Tom looked at the floor.
‘You!’ A big hand shot out and grabbed Corina’s arm, dragging the little girl to her feet. ‘We’ll start at the smallest and work up to the biggest.’ The crazed laughter started again.
Tom watched, horrified. The inside of his skull spun like a poker machine at the casino.
The black muzzle pressed into Corina’s bandaged temple...
‘No!’ It was Victoria’s scream.
But Jason was already in the air. The flying sidekick to the chest took Omar by surprise. The big man staggered backwards, but kept his hold on Corina and the gun. But with his hands tied, Jason quickly lost his balance. He crashed to the floor at the terrorist’s feet. The man shoved Corina roughly to her knees and pointed the big black pistol at her brother.
‘So-o-o! You want to be first!’ he hissed.
‘Yeah! Scumbag!’ But Jason floored was not Jason out. The boy swivelled round rapidly on his side, sweeping his feet at the terrorist’s legs to bring him down. The big man stepped easily over the first kick, but bore the brunt of the next on his shin with a grimace.
‘Enough!’ he roared. He buried a savage boot – once, twice – into the battling boy’s side.
Jason doubled up in pain, his mouth wide open in a gasp that would not come.
Tom’s spinning brain stopped at last with an answer. He rocked himself forward onto his feet and charged. In the same heartbeat, he saw that Victoria was on her feet too, charging head first beside him.
Omar cursed. He stepped inside the boy’s charge, and in the same instant swung a fist that clubbed the girl down. Tom heard his cousin’s sharp scream and the terrorist’s mocking cackle. From some ancient instinct, a war cry arose in Tom’s throat. He turned and charged again, ramming his shoulder into the big man’s bulk.
The terrorist turned effortlessly with the charge and grabbed Tom’s shirtfront at the neck, pulling the boy up onto his toes, nearly choking him. Tom could smell the sour sweat of the big man’s body. He tried to break free, but the terrorist was too strong. The man had his throat in a vice-like grip.
The gun muzzle pushed up, hard and cold, under Tom’s chin. The boy could scarcely breathe. All he could see were the man’s stained teeth and prickles of black beard in the sallow skin. All he could hear was a quiet sobbing somewhere, and the whistle and wheeze of the terrorist’s breath.
‘Time to say goodbye - boy!’ The pistol pressed harder. ‘Time to say goodbye!’
It was the moment...
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Tom did not see the large tawny shape that leapt suddenly through the hideout door, ripping down the canvas cover as it came. But he heard the terror in Omar’s scream and the ferocious growl of a savage beast.
The man let go his grip on Tom’s throat. The boy dropped to his knees gulping in air. His neck burned from the throttling he’d taken.
Through a blur of tears, Tom saw a fierce jaw of white fangs clamped onto the terrorist’s wrist above the pistol. The man’s arm was being wrenched this way and that in a furious frenzy.
The big black pistol flew from Omar’s grasp, spinning across the floor, far beyond his reach.
The man fumbled for the knife at his side with his other hand, but the weight of the tan coloured demon swinging on his wrist made him fling the arm outwards instead, fighting to keep his balance. He bellowed a mix of curses and cries and tried to jerk his arm free. But the beast hung on.
Jason now scrambled in closer, and lying on his side, swung his foot like an axe to a tree, chopping Omar’s legs from under him. The man toppled backwards, lifting the wild creature in the air for an instant before he crashed to the ground.
The tawny predator kept its fearsome hold. The froth round its jaws was red with blood. It began to drag the hapless terrorist along the floor. The air was filled with the high-pitched screaming of the man and the muffled growling of his tormentor.
In an instant, Jason was on his feet, attacking the terrorist’s ribs with a merciless barrage of kicks.
‘Grab his knife!’ the boy shouted.
Corina shuffled in backwards on her knees, her tied hands toiling like frantic Siamese twins to wrest the long knife from its sheath.
In a matter of seconds, she had it loose. Jason backed up to his sister, twisting his wrists to work the bonds against the blade. The sharp edge cut flesh and rope alike, but in a moment, Jason held up his bloodied hands – free!
CHAPTER TWENTY
The children stood rubbing their wrists against the pain of returning circulation. There was no fight left in the terrorist. The wild animal loosened it pitiless grip and the man moved his mangled arm cautiously away from the dagger-like teeth. He rolled away cradling his wounded limb to his chest and began to groan loudly.
The tawny predator stared down at its victim, and gave a rapid volley of sharp barks in warning. The terrorist stopped his moaning and lay still. The wild creature’s head lifted and focused on Tom. Its muzzle was crimson.
‘Rhodo?’ The boy was half-afraid to attract the attention of this savage beast. To his amazement, the animal’s tail gave a faint wag in answer.
‘Rhodo? Come?’ The big dog, the colour of lions, stepped over its victim, its ears and tail down, its body asking the question – did I do right?
‘Rhodo! My god, it is you. You’re alive!’
The tail stood and danced back and forth, and the jaws relaxed into a canine grin.
The boy held out his arms. ‘Rhodo! Come!’
In an instant, the big dog was upon him, knocking him down. Tom laughed and covered his face against the frantic pink tongue. He pushed the animal aside long enough to sit up, then wrapped his arms around her neck and squeezed her tight. Victoria hugged the Ridgeback round the middle.
‘I’m glad she’s on our side,’ Jason muttered, patting Rhodo’s head gingerly. His sister did the same.
Tom laughed. ‘You can say that again.’
The big dog bowed her head and drooped her ears, the brown eyes blinking with embarrassed pleasure. The pack was pleased with her.
*
Omar submitted without any further trouble. The presence of the big tawny dog was sufficient threat. Jason joined the best lengths of their cut bonds and - ignoring the whimpered protests - lashed the terrorist’s torn and bloodied wrist firm against the other, pulling the knots up tight. He tied the man’s feet securely as well.
Tom checked the big dog over. She seemed no worse off physically for her ordeal than the rest of them. The Ridgeback had obviously been lucky and landed well when she was thrown from the utility. Tom remembered the title of one of William Shakespeare’s plays he had come across in a research topic for Mrs Sykes – All’s Well that Ends Well. Even after everything that had happened, none of them was seriously hurt, not even Rhodo. It seemed an appropriate description for their adventure.
*
‘So-o-o! You did well to turn the tables!’ Karl X stood in the open doorway, the black eye of his machine pistol staring at them. He had come up so quietly not even Rhodo had heard or sensed him.
‘Aw, shit!’ It was Jason’s choked whisper.
The Ridgeback growled fiercely. The hackles stood up along her neck and shoulders, matching the ridge of fur down her spine.
Tom held onto her collar tightly. ‘Stay!’ he whispered into the big dog’s ear. Tom knew not even Rhodo could make it across the open space to reach the terrorist leader before the man gunned her down.