The Ring - An Alex Dorring Thriller

by Vince Vogel

  The detective put a finger to his lips as they creeped out onto the checkered floor and moved into a corridor at the back of the hallway. They heard the voices of men coming from a doorway at the end, radio chatter as well.

  While the others leaned against the polished wood paneling of a wall, Barker creeped up to the doorway and peeked out, before quickly retracting his head.

  In the short time he’d looked, he’d observed several armed men standing around in a large kitchen, chatting and looking nervous. He also spotted Frank Jordon in his wheelchair, blood dripping down his face from a cut to his forehead, and Brian Conway beside him. As he stood hidden around the corner, Barker could hear what they said.

  “Brian.” It was Jordon. “You must get Jess. Now.”

  “Okay,” Conway replied. “I’ll go get her. Kill the cops, too.”

  “Sir,” one of the armed men said to Jordon. “Your helicopter will be here in a moment. We need to get to the evacuation point.”

  Brian Conway put his head down and marched determinately towards the door. The detective had been peeking and jumped back as Conway’s glare almost alighted on him.

  “Quick!” he snapped to the others in a hushed voice.

  He ushered them backwards towards the hallway. But as they reached the entrance to it, another armed man came around the corner and widened his eyes. He quickly removed the assault rifle from his shoulder and pointed it at them.

  “Stop!” he shouted.

  At that moment, Conway was coming up behind. Barker turned from the gun to the gargoyle Conway standing behind them. A malevolent smirk slowly twisted his thin lips. But then it dropped when the sound of bullets smashing into the front of the building filled the whole of the manor.

  66

  Dorring stood in front of the red brick house, spraying it with bullets. He’d smashed apart the brick work and red dust hung in the air. All the latticed windows had been smashed apart and the place rattled with gunfire. Everywhere in the rooms at the front, men lay about, cut down by bullets. The others had retreated further into the manor, but Dorring still fired at the place, wanting to tear the whole building down if he could.

  The Minigun ran out of ammo and merely spun. He let go of the trigger and dropped the gun. Otis ran out from his hiding place behind a parked car. He quickly came to Dorring, placed his AR on the ground and unclipped the straps of the ammo backpack and lowered it to the ground. Then he helped Dorring out of the suit.

  This done, Otis removed the spare AR from his back and handed it to Dorring. He too was wearing body armor.

  “Remember what we said?” Dorring said to the old man.

  “Yeah.”

  “Don’t go after them on your own. Wait for me before engaging.”

  “Yeah. Yeah,” the old man complained, waving him away.

  “Meet you in the hallway once you’ve cleared the left.”

  Otis knew the building well. His mother had worked there for Frank Jordon, cleaning the house and looking after his elderly parents. As a child, Otis had waited around its rooms and corridors while his mother cleaned or attended to the whims of the geriatrics. Like most little boys, he loved to explore. The old man still had the boy’s memories. He still knew the place intricately.

  Otis went around the left side of the building as Dorring went through the front entrance into the hallway. Otis immediately spotted a man standing about ten yards along the wall beside a small brick porch. The man saw him, fired his pistol and went to run inside. The bullet missed. Otis did not. He hit the man in the shoulder before he managed to get back to the door. The blow knocked him sideways, so that he lurched away from it. Otis hit him with another in the side of his abdomen just above the hip. This floored him and he landed on his side.

  Otis marched up, shoving the rifle over his shoulder and plucking his knife from its holster on his belt. Grabbing the man up by the scruff of his shirt and placing the blade to his throat, Otis growled into his face, “Where’s Jess? Where’s the little blonde girl?”

  The blade pressed into the man’s windpipe so close that the guy was afraid to answer in case his Adam’s apple bobbed up and was sliced open.

  “Speak,” the gray-bearded old man demanded.

  “She’s with Jordon.”

  “She’s here!?” Otis exclaimed, his eyes filling with tears and a crack of joy making it through the clouds of his fury. “Where’s Jordon?”

  “A helicopter is comin’. They’re going to it.”

  Otis glared into his eyes, the tip of the blade pressed to the throat. It suddenly dawned on him that he knew the man he held the knife to. His name was Rob. He was well known around the villages. Drank in some of the pubs that Otis drank in. Had even been to watch Otis fight. Had won money on him. Had cheered as Otis had torn into an innocent man with the fury of his missing child burning in him like the flames of Hell.

  “I know you,” Otis said.

  “Yeah, Otis. We’ve shared a beer. Remember?”

  “An’ all the time you had my girl.”

  Otis gritted his teeth together and pushed the blade slowly through Rob’s neck, watching his eyes go dull as he did it, and feeling him struggle until he struggled no more.

  Otis dropped him in the dirt and wiped the knife on his trousers. Returning it to its holster and retaking the AR, he went inside the house through the porch and made his way to the back. The helicopter pad was next to the quarry at the end of the garden. Walking through the rooms, he passed dead men sprawled out and covered in bullet holes.

  He made it to the kitchen. Through an open door straight ahead, he saw them. They were on the lawn about a hundred yards away. Another two hundred or so yards further along was a helicopter. It stood on the edge of the quarry at the back of the striped lawn, perched on a shelf of rock that overlooked the water some twenty feet below. Moving towards it was a group of people. But before Otis could spend long enough looking to recognize anyone, several armed men amongst the group spotted him standing at the door and aimed their guns.

  A bullet hit the frame, wood splinters spitting out of it, and Otis jumped back inside the kitchen.

  “They’re out here!” he shouted behind him.

  Dorring stopped checking the other rooms and came running towards his voice. He found the old man in the kitchen propped at the edge of the door. Dorring fired several bullets randomly out of it to scatter the men kneeling down and firing at Otis. It worked and they dispersed. Otis was able to come out of his cover and fire more accurately at them. He hit one man in the chest and he dropped to the grass. The others took up position once more, retreating ten yards, and then began firing back at the door.

  Dorring ducked low and ran to the other side of the room. There was another door. It was open. The men had placed all their eggs in one basket. There were four of them left. They all aimed at Otis.

  Dorring took two out from his new position before the remaining men realized and scattered. He turned his crosshairs on the other members of the group and analyzed them as they closed in on the helicopter.

  Brian Conway carried the limp Frank Jordon in his arms. Behind him, another man holding a rifle ushered two men and two girls. One of the men Dorring didn’t recognize. He was slightly stout and middle-aged and helped the other, who appeared to have trouble walking. The man he helped, skinny and with pale skin, Dorring did recognize. It was the ex-detective John. The one who’d visited Otis. The two girls were easy. The blonde was Jess and the girl with black hair was Tina. It appeared that serendipity was on their side.

  “Jess and Tina are with them,” Dorring called across the kitchen.

  Otis pounced from his hiding place.

  “Jess!” he shouted.

  “Otis, no!” Dorring cried out as the old man burst from around the corner.

  Dorring turned back to the group as Otis ran towards them. He worried that the old man would get himself killed. But there was no time to dwell on it. There was something else that was more pressing. They were cl
ose to the helicopter. If they reached it, they’d be carried away to God knows where. There was little time and only one thing to do.

  Dorring aimed at the rotary blades of the chopper as they turned slowly in anticipation of take off. Jess, Tina et al were only about twenty yards from it. He’d have to be quick.

  Dorring pulled the trigger. The bullet sailed through the air some three hundred yards, over the heads of the people scampering towards the chopper, and hit the main rotary mast. The thing let out a screeching, grinding groan and smoke began billowing out of it. The pilot climbed out and stood gazing up.

  Otis was busy catching them up.

  “Jess!” he shouted frantically.

  The girl recognized the voice. She stopped and turned around. The armed man shepherding her and the others pushed her with the butt of his rifle.

  “Keep goin’,” he growled at her like an attack dog.

  But she didn’t. She stood defiantly and watched the old man that ran towards them from across the lawn.

  “Dad!” she suddenly shouted.

  “Jess!”

  “Da—!” The armed guard struck Jess in the stomach with the rifle and grabbed her by the back of her collar.

  “Hey!” it was Tina. She leaped at the man, jumping into his arms and grabbing him around the back of the neck before diving her mouth to his shoulder and biting into the flesh of his neck.

  “Agh!” he screamed as he ripped her from him and tossed her onto the ground like she was a rabid cat. He angrily aimed his gun down at her. She was glaring up at him, blood dripping from her lips.

  “Leave her alone,” Barker shouted as he stood holding onto John.

  But the guard didn’t listen. He glanced over at Conway and Jordon. They’d reached the helicopter and were remonstrating with the pilot as to what he could do to fix it. They weren’t looking that way. The guard glanced back at Tina and went to squeeze the trigger.

  But as he pulled it, the gun barrel tipped up into the air and fired at the sky. Something had hit him in the base of the spine. There was an acute pain that ran through his whole body and then it went suddenly cold and he felt numb. Looking down, he saw the end of the hunting knife poking through his abdomen. It had gone all the way though his spine and out the other side.

  He dropped to his knees and off the blade. Otis looked up from him, sure that he was dead, and saw his daughter ten yards in front of him. She was looking right at him.

  “Oh, Jess!” he sobbed uncontrollably. “I’ve missed you so much.”

  He dropped the knife and moved towards her as she too went to move towards him. But he got no further than two steps before he was thrown onto the ground.

  Someone had shot him in the back with a high caliber assault rifle. The bullet had hit the body armor and pounded it. The blow winded Otis and sent him sprawling. Jess swooped forward and grabbed her father as he fell, taking him in her arms as he landed, the old man struggling for breath.

  “Daddy!” she sobbed, her eyes filling with tears.

  Another shot. This one struck him in the thigh. There was no armor there and the bullet sank into the flesh.

  “No!” Jess screamed.

  More bullets hit the old man in his legs and then in the side of the torso through a gap in the armor, one burying just below the ribs.

  “Not near the girl!” Frank Jordon bawled from Conway’s arms, having ordered him to turn around.

  “Dad!” Jess cried out.

  The man who’d shot Otis stood some fifty yards away. He was glad that he’d got him, having witnessed several of his mates die today. He felt good enough to rejoice.

  “I got the old—!” But he shouldn’t have rejoiced. Before he could get the final word out, his head exploded when Dorring shot him from the doorway of the kitchen. Except for Conway and the helicopter pilot, who held a pistol, he was the last of Jordon’s protectors.

  Otis lay on the ground in Jess’ arms. Tina had gotten up and was beside her. Barker held John some way off.

  “You look like ya ma,” he said in a trembling voice. He raised a hand to her tear-drenched face and touched her cheek. “I’m glad I got to see you one last time. You know Bess is still about?”

  “Tina told me,” the girl wept. “She said you—”

  Jess was ripped away from him. It was Conway. He’d laid Jordon on the ground close to the helicopter and marched over. He took Jess roughly around the chest with one arm and held a Beretta to her temple.

  “No!” she cried, struggling in his arms.

  He wasn’t in the mood. He quickly jabbed her with the heavy butt of the gun and dazed her enough to stop struggling. Looking down at Otis sitting on the ground, he aimed the pistol between the eyes that glared up at him from the old man.

  “Men like you should stay where they belong,” Conway snarled.

  Dorring was racing towards the scene from the doorway. He was about a hundred and fifty yards away. He aimed the AR but was unable to get a view of Conway’s head without Jess’ being in the way.

  Then everything went a shade darker as though the scene had been enveloped in shadow.

  Conway pulled the trigger and Otis Rawly fell backwards. Conway turned and dragged Jess towards the helicopter as she screamed and struggled in his arms.

  Dorring was sprinting now. Tina had leaped to Otis. She sat on the grass, holding him up by the shoulders, gazing at his dead face and crying desperately.

  “No, Otis,” she wept. “No! No! No!”

  She was wildly shaking her head as Dorring reached them, as if she was unwilling to believe that he was dead. Throwing the AR over his shoulder, Dorring kneeled beside the old man, just as he’d kneeled beside him when he’d had the fight with Big Joe. But this time, it wasn’t just superficial damage and some broken ribs. This time, the old man was clearly dead. The hole in his forehead didn’t lie.

  Dorring checked the pulse just in case. His heart had stopped. He glanced over at the others. Conway was back at the helicopter, holding the limp Jess in his arms. Jordon was sitting on the floor. The driver was standing nervously, holding a pistol. Barker was holding John, the two of them making their way to it.

  “Wait here,” Dorring said to Tina as he stood up.

  It looked like she hadn’t even heard him. She was still holding Otis and crying into his blank face.

  Dorring took the AR from his shoulder and began making his way to the chopper, Conway set in his crosshairs as he closed the distance between them. The ugly little shit was backing up to the edge of the quarry. Barker and John were almost on them. The pilot shot at Dorring and missed by a country mile. Dorring sent a bullet square through his forehead and he dropped to the gravel of the quarry edge.

  When he was upon them, they were behind the busted chopper. Conway held Jess around the chest, his gun pressed to her temple. To the left of them, Frank Jordon sat on the dusty ground, his wide eyes gazing at the figure of Dorring as he marched towards them. Barker and John had come to a stop about ten yards in front and watched the scene.

  “It’s all over,” Barker was saying as he held the weight of his sick partner, who gazed at it from his mottled eyes. “Set your dog off him, Jordon,” he added to the scaly old man.

  “I’d rather see you all die,” he hissed defiantly.

  Dorring arrived and came beside the detectives. He wanted Conway to take the gun off of Jess and point it at him. The second he did, he would shoot him through the eye. But the ugly henchman appeared to foresee this and his gun never left the side of the girl’s head.

  “Otis?” Barker asked Dorring when he was next to him.

  “Dead,” Dorring said back, his eyes peeled on Conway.

  “Get back!” Conway shouted.

  His heels were right on the edge of the rocks now, the water twenty feet below. The fall wouldn’t kill you. So Conway needed to explain.

  “You come any closer and I’ll drop into the water with her,” he said. “I’ll hold onto her as we sink until she drowns. That quarry is
a hundred meters deep. You’ll never get her away from me and back to the surface before she’s dead.”

  “Let her go or I’ll kill the old man,” Dorring said, aiming the rifle at Jordon.

  For the first time, fear erupted on Conway’s face and creased his brow. He glanced sideways at Jordon and then back at Dorring.

  “Get that gun away—!” he cried out, but got no further when Dorring sent a bullet into the hand that Jordon held himself up on the ground with, sending him flat onto his face.

  “Agh!” he screamed.

  He lay on his back, gazing at the hand pouring with blood, three fingers missing.

  Conway turned sharply on Dorring, a distraught look on his face.

  “Don’t hurt him!” he cried pathetically.

  “Let her go or I’ll make that old man scream some more,” Dorring assured him.

  “Don’t listen,” Jordon bleated from the ground. “I’d rather die than give her to—Agh!”

  Dorring shot the old man in the forearm this time. It smashed the bone apart.

  “Don’t hurt him!” Conway screamed, tears filling his eyes. “I’ll make you suffer! I’ll make you all suffer!”

  As this went on, John peeled himself away from Barker.

  “What’re—” Barker went to say, but John stopped him with a shake of the head.

  While they were distracted, the dying man slowly began making his way to Conway and Jess, coming from the right as opposed to the left, where Dorring stood. The final blade of sun was poking up out of the horizon and he was wilting underneath its glare. But it wouldn’t stop him walking those last few yards.

  “I’ll kill her!” Conway was saying. “I’ll make her drown. I won’t even shoot her with this gun. I’ll make her suffer. Make her gasp for her final breath. I’ll drag her down to hell with me. I’ll—”

  It had surprised him. His eyes had been flitting between Jordon and Dorring. He hadn’t noticed John’s approach. When the dying man used the last of his earthly energy to rip the girl from his grasp, he was in shock. The gun hadn’t even been on her temple. He simply stared into the mottled eyes as John grabbed him in his arms, pushed him off the edge and down into the waters below.