Murder Island (A Rogan Bricks Thriller Book 3)

by Steve Richer

  “Make sure. Put a bullet in his head.”

  “With pleasure.”

  As he racked a bullet in the chamber, Orland decided it was time to make his move.

  He rolled on his back and lifted the pistol he had secretly made Bill give to him a few seconds ago. First, he caught sight of Delta standing over Bill. He was in fact pointing his gun down at the attorney.

  Orland took aim and fired two quick shots straight into his head. Blood and brain matter spattered all over the top cupboards before the lifeless body collapsed on itself.

  “Shit!” Kappa grunted when he concluded that the whole thing was backfiring.

  He raised his carbine toward Orland, but the latter was already swiveling back. Orland lined up his sights against Kappa’s chest. He fired twice before putting a final round into his head.

  Even though the two men were clearly dead, Orland continued to aim at them for several seconds. It wasn’t that he thought they would magically come back to life, like zombies, but the stress was making him edgy.

  “Oh geez,” Bill said as he ultimately sat up and shifted away from the woman’s corpse. “You killed them.”

  “It was either them or us, Bill. Would you have preferred I’d made a different decision?”

  “No, no, this is fine. But Jesus, you’re good.”

  “Average to fair,” Orland replied, sitting up and feeling the bruises a lot more now. “Are you all right?”

  Bill shrugged, climbing to his feet. “I’m alive. What now?”

  “Now we get out of here before more people show up.”

  Chapter 20

  Blake felt the wind pick up, mostly because the rain was lashing at his face like paper cuts. He looked up, slightly annoyed, but returned his gaze to his map on which were his tactical notes.

  Gamma was still scanning the area, weapon against his shoulder. The weather didn’t affect him. He had once been detailed as a sniper and the story about him that Blake preferred was when he had spent twenty-seven hours straight watching a drug lord’s compound in Central America.

  In spite of the bug bites, the high temperatures, thirst, hunger, fatigue, and personal needs, he hadn’t moved a single muscle. It took more than a day until his target came into view and he took him out with a single shot. A little rain wouldn’t affect him.

  More worrying was that they had lost a man at the staff house. Blake didn’t like that. It wasn’t about losing a man, it was about compromising the operation. So far, he was certain that things were proceeding as planned. He had no reason to think otherwise, but any loss was worrisome.

  “Kappa, this is Alpha. Come in.”

  There was no answer so he repeated the transmission.

  “Delta, this is Alpha. Come in.”

  Again, no response. The boys didn’t even click to acknowledge.

  “Red Team, come in.”

  As the radio remained silent, Gamma twisted his head to look at his boss. They shared a look that spoke volumes. Earlier, they’d said that Zeta had been killed even though they had retaliated against the tango.

  What if there were more? It was probably some security guy they had missed. What if he had taken out Red Team completely?

  Christ…

  There was no sense panicking just yet. Everyone knew what they had to do. As long as their objectives were achieved, they were still in the clear.

  And to put his mind at ease, Blake decided to see how the main assault was going. He keyed his radio.

  “Beta, this is Alpha. Come in.”

  “Copy, Alpha.”

  The big man’s voice was low and Blake could tell he was interrupting something. Still, if Beta couldn’t speak he wouldn’t have replied.

  “Give me sitrep. Over,” Blake said.

  He had heard the explosion in the distance before as the main house was breached, Beta had told him as much before. He was eager to get some news. With any luck, the operation was already successful.

  It took a few seconds, but his second-in-command came on the line. “Alpha, situation is under control. Slight resistance, but we’re taking care of it. Over.”

  “Roger that. We’re making our way to you. Over and out.”

  Having heard this, Gamma came closer to pick up the radio as the leader pocketed the map. With most everyone dead on the island, Blake could afford to go to the main house for the endgame. After all, he was in charge and it was his responsibility to put an end to all of this.

  “Ready?” he asked the bearded man.

  “I’m with you, sir.”

  Blake nodded and they took off with their gear, running along the coast and staying close to the vegetation.

  ~ ~ ~ ~

  Oliver was almost giddy that he managed to run to the house without being shot at. The odds had been against him, really. There was nothing but open space between the garden shed and the house. Logic dictated that he would’ve been taken down if one of the bad guys had seen him.

  But they hadn’t and he was still alive.

  He headed to the corner where gutters ran down the length of the house. It wasn’t exactly a ladder, but it was his best shot at getting up there. He didn’t dare shout to get Sabatini’s attention, not yet anyway.

  He grabbed the pipe and started to climb. The thing was freezing cold with all the water running through it. However, he couldn’t linger on this. The faster he went and the faster he could run back to safety.

  There was a sound. Voices.

  His heart racing, Oliver couldn’t help himself and craned his neck until he was leaning toward the closest window. Inside, he saw some of the soldiers. It was in reality his first good look at them. Tall, well-built. Professionals. And they had a fucking arsenal.

  On the ground was something even scarier. There were two bodies and he recognized them in spite of the darkness and the rain splashing against the windows. They were Johnny and Sal.

  Oliver retched, but nothing came out. He was just gagging, the weight of the situation finally getting to him. He had spoken to these people, he kind of knew them. And now they were dead.

  Man, what was he doing here?

  Pushing these somber thoughts out of his head, he glanced up. There was some movement. Sabatini had been smart enough—or lucky enough—to hide on the balcony, but now he was trapped. He had to get to him quickly.

  Steeling his resolve, Oliver picked up the pace. He found his groove: one hand up, brace, one foot up, brace, repeat. He felt like a kid again, climbing trees and whatever else he could find.

  “Sir!” he whispered. There was no answer. He tried louder. “Sabatini!”

  This time, the fidgeting above stopped. The mobster was clearly alarmed and didn’t dare come to the edge in case it was an ambush.

  “It’s me, Oliver.”

  His arms were beginning to get tired. In fact, his entire body ached. It had to be the stress, he told himself. He was only about halfway up and decided that Sabatini could meet him halfway.

  “I’m here to get you, sir.” This time, the older man’s head poked over the glass ledge. “Come with me, we have a place to hide.”

  Sabatini hesitated, but only for two seconds. He swung one leg over and shimmied to the corner. Unlike Paul who was in a bathrobe, the mobster was wearing Bermuda shorts, a polo shirt, and loafers. He was dressed for this exercise.

  “The pipe is solid,” Oliver said. “Grab it tight and climb down.”

  This time, the crime boss didn’t waver. He hadn’t risen to his position without knowing how to assess situations and take advantages when he could. He shuffled gracefully, and startlingly fast, along the outside of the balcony until he was able to reach the pipe.

  “Left foot, left hand.”

  Oliver felt dumb saying something so obvious, but it was the only way to be useful right now. And that in itself kept his mind off those killers in the house. He watched Sabatini get in position and within seconds he got the gist of it. He started to go down and Oliver had to do the same before the man st
epped on his head.

  They descended quickly and Oliver just knew that he was going to make a mistake. His foot would slip against the wet pipe and he would fall to the ground, cracking his skull. As a result, he went even faster so that the drop wouldn’t be fatal. Sabatini kept pace with him.

  Chapter 21

  Oliver reached the grass in record time. He stepped aside to give the older man some room, grateful that he hadn’t actually fallen.

  “This way,” he told Sabatini when he was standing next to him.

  They took off toward the garden shed, almost crouching to stay low. Oliver kept his eyes on the ground. He told himself it was so that he watched where he was going—now wasn’t the time to roll his ankle—but a part of him wondered if he wasn’t like a kid pretending that if he couldn’t see anyone, nobody could see him.

  Gina poked her head around the corner, followed by Paul. She was mouthing encouragements which made Oliver run faster. At last, they rounded the building and collapsed into a flowerbed, out of breath. Oliver could barely believe that he hadn’t been killed.

  “Where’s Renna?” Sabatini asked, looking around as if she was hiding behind someone.

  “We haven’t seen her,” Gina replied. “We thought she was with you.”

  “We got split up when this shit went down. She was in the sauna on the other side of the house.”

  Paul sighed. “You didn’t take her with you?”

  “I couldn’t get to her.”

  “Goddamn it…”

  “So now you’re taking an interest in her?” Sabatini told his lawyer.

  Oliver and Gina glanced at each other, finding a new layer to their relationship.

  “Just because I’m not hot at the idea of a kindergartner being married to you, it doesn’t mean I want her to get whacked.”

  At that, Clifford gasped, understanding the gravity of the situation. “Do you think she’s dead?! And what about Raymond? He went after the both of you.”

  “Keep your mouth shut,” Paul said. “The truth is, we don’t know anything. We have no idea what’s going on?”

  Sabatini nodded. “Recognize any of them?”

  The attorney shook his head. “No, just hired guns. Has to be. They’re doing somebody’s dirty work.”

  “And that means they want me.”

  Oliver looked around the corner of the shed. Beams of light were dancing through the windows inside the house. These attackers were doing a thorough search. There were a few sporadic gunshots. If there was anyone still alive in there, they wouldn’t be for long. That meant Renna and Raymond were in immediate danger.

  “Mr. Sabatini,” Gina began. “How is your relationship with your wife?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “All I’m saying is that they may use her against you. If they find Renna, they will use her as leverage.”

  “We have to find her before they do,” Oliver said.

  Sabatini nodded, wiping his hands on his knees, and standing again. “I’ll do it.”

  “That’s crazy, sir. You’d give them what they want.”

  “Oliver is right,” Paul added. “We can’t risk you going back.”

  “She’s my wife! She’s my responsibility.”

  “Raymond is there, no?” Everyone turned to Clifford. “I mean, he is. He knows what’s at stake. That’s why he went back upstairs. He knows he has to save her.”

  “Yeah, but…” Sabatini said.

  “But what?”

  It took a moment before the mobster spoke. “My son… He acts tough, and he means well, but I’m not sure if he’s equipped to do this. He’s gonna get both of them killed.”

  Oliver closed his eyes because he knew what that meant. He had to go back to the house himself.

  ~ ~ ~ ~

  Like toothpaste and orange juice, this was a bad fucking idea, Oliver just knew it.

  On top of that, he was mad that nobody had tried to change his mind. Sure, Gina had suggested that he didn’t have to put himself in this position. He had no obligation to do it. But everyone knew that there was no alternative. Clifford was useless, Paul wasn’t in shape.

  Gina had halfheartedly floated the notion of going herself, but Oliver had nixed that idea. A part of him knew he was being sexist, but he chose to see it as being chivalrous.

  Besides, he told them that he had just made it to the house, almost to the third-floor balcony. He had the most experience out of all of them. Now it was only a matter of going just a little farther.

  It became clear that he had no workable plan when he reached the house. He didn’t have any weapons; he barely knew the layout of the house. How was he going to get Renna out? What if Raymond had already made her escape from the other side and he simply couldn’t see them? What if they were dead already and he was risking his life for nothing?

  He would have to play it by ear, he decided. He did have one advantage. He was alone and had no flashlight. Hopefully, he could blend in and disappear into the background if he had to.

  Back in college, he had done something similar. Well, without the dire consequences. After a night of drinking, his buddies had dared him to sneak into a sorority house to steal girls’ underwear.

  In hindsight, this was wrong and illegal on many levels, but after four beers and as many tequila shots, it had sounded like a blast. And he had succeeded, too. The alcohol had dulled his senses, mostly his anxiety, and he had been in and out within five minutes. He had become a legend to his friends.

  This adventure wasn’t much different except that he could very well wind up dead.

  Focus on something else, he told himself.

  He opted to do something bold: entering through the front door. The locks had been blown away so he wouldn’t have any trouble going in. Also, as he approached the house, he saw the flashlights on the third floor. Could there be someone in the foyer looking out for intruders? That was a possibility. But so was being struck by lightning.

  Oliver scurried to the front of the house, keeping low to avoid his shadow alerting someone. The door was ajar when he reached it. He took a couple of deep breaths and pushed it in a little more. He hated that the sound of the wind and rain kept him from hearing the bad guys. What if they were three feet away and he couldn’t hear them?

  But no, they were upstairs, he reminded himself. He had to stop acting like such a little bitch already. He walked in, taking very slow steps and being careful not to walk onto anything that would crunch.

  Up ahead was George the butler, or his corpse anyway. Blood was pouring out, making a lake around his body. Taking advantage of the fact that the mercenaries were upstairs, Oliver explored the ground floor.

  He was marching blindly through the house, not knowing exactly where he was at any given moment. There were so many rooms that it was easy to get lost amid the dens and libraries and billiard rooms.

  “Renna!” he whispered every time he was confident that there weren’t any armed men around.

  And every time there was no response. That meant he had to venture upstairs.

  Where the mercenaries were.

  Chapter 22

  Oliver had to be insane, he just had to. Nevertheless, it was the right thing to do. He wasn’t the most moral person there was, he conceded that, but he also knew that sometimes actions had to be taken. Somebody famous had once said that for evil to triumph, all good men had to do was nothing, or something to that effect.

  He had made some bad decisions in his life. He was determined to make up for them. This was his penance. After this one good thing, he would no longer be ashamed to look at himself in the mirror. His son would grow up knowing that his father was a good man.

  Cautiously, Oliver climbed the grand staircase. The higher he went and the more distant the storm sounded. He took his time so that steps wouldn’t creak.

  He paused on the second-floor landing and listened as best as he could. Were these voices? Maybe it was his mind playing tricks on him. Yet he couldn’t take the risk, not with
so much at stake.

  He hurried to the first room on his right and walked in. It was darker than the rest of the house, but also quieter. He closed the door, though not all the way. He wanted to be able to see what was going on.

  And see he did.

  Two men walked in downstairs. One quietly spoke in a radio and a second later they were going up the stairs. Tactical gear, weapons. They were part of the crew. One was in his mid-forties and walked confidently. The other was younger and had a thick beard. Oliver wondered if these were the leaders.

  He had to find Renna and Raymond fast. If the boss was here, that meant that decisions would be made. People would be sacrificed. Murdered.

  Oliver held his breath as more footsteps were heard. He crouched, closing the door until there was only a thin crack he could spy through.

  Three armed men showed up, but that’s not what nearly gave Oliver a heart attack. With them were Renna and Raymond. Shit, they had been caught.

  What would happen now? Oliver could predict it and the scene in his head made him sick. The leader would act tough, make a threat, and then he would shoot one of them so they understood who was in charge.

  And most of all, it would thin out the options for Sabatini. Losing his wife or son would make him helpless. He would definitely surrender or do whatever the hell these guys wanted.

  Oliver knew this because it was the same in business. The concept of leverage was extremely powerful in negotiations. He had done it himself using stock prices and trades on foreign exchanges instead of actual violence, but the idea was the same.

  He balled his hands into fists, bracing for the inevitable.

  They all met at the bottom of the stairs leading to the third floor. They were essentially blocking the way, crowding the landing.

  Raymond puffed out his chest in defiance. “So?”

  “So what?” the man who was the leader replied. He had an uppercase A on the front of his uniform.

  “You took your sweet time getting here, Blake.”

  What?! Oliver covered his mouth before he said anything out loud. What the hell was going on? Raymond knew these people?!