Hunt for the Enemy (#3 Enemy)

by Rob Sinclair

  Maksat and Bulat were both readying themselves too. Bulat, assault rifle in his hands, opened fire on the two guards at the gates. They had turned their weapons away from Logan’s vehicle and were on the attack. Bulat never suspected the threat from Maksat, standing just two yards from him. As Bulat’s rifle rattled away, Maksat lifted his handgun and pulled the trigger. The bullet sank into Bulat’s head and exited the other side in a cascade of blood and bone and brain matter. A random spray of fire erupted from Bulat’s rifle as he plummeted to the ground.

  Maksat, a top marksman from his time in the Republican Guard – probably one of the best marksmen Butler had ever seen – ducked, turned, took a split second to aim and then fired another three shots. The cry of pain followed by a thud off to Butler’s right told him that Vassiliy had been hit and was out for the count now too.

  Stunned, Butler looked on as Maksat lowered his weapon and Evans’s two guards moved toward him. The three of them exchanged words in Kazakh. Butler didn’t understand. He didn’t need to. It was clear what had happened. Maksat and Ilya had sold him and Fleming out. Butler was confounded, but then he thought: money talks. There were very few relationships in life that people wouldn’t turn their backs on if enough money was on offer.

  Anger was now rattling around inside Butler. He tried to find the strength to move. To fight back. He heaved Fleming’s deadweight body off him and grimaced as he reached out and grabbed the handgun that lay on the ground by his side. He wasn’t sure whose it was – his own, Fleming’s, Ilya’s? Everything was such a blur. He pulled the gun up and pointed the barrel at the treacherous Maksat.

  A loud crack rang out. The giant fell to the ground. Butler looked on, stunned. He hadn’t pulled the trigger. He’d still been trying to find the strength. The bullet that had killed Maksat had come from the rifle of one of Evans’s guards.

  In the end, Maksat had got exactly what he deserved.

  Just a few seconds had elapsed since the first shot had been fired. Fleming and four highly trained men had been felled. The only two men in the complex who were still on their feet had fired just one of the many shots required in the process. Butler had to admit, he was quietly impressed with the deviousness and efficiency of the set-up. So much so that in his weary state he very nearly forgot his own predicament. Only when the guards turned their attention to him, their gaze meeting his, did he snap back to reality.

  By that point it was too late. As he clumsily tried to adjust his aim with the handgun, one of the guards let loose with a rifle. Bullets whizzed and ricocheted around Butler. One sank into his leg. Butler screamed. Another grazed his forearm and Butler reflexively let go of his weapon.

  He was done, he knew it. He simply didn’t have the strength in his body or the wits in his mind to fight back anymore.

  One of the men strode up to him. The other headed over to where Evans was still flat on the ground, his companion, Mason, now hovering over him. Neither had played an active part in the slaughter that had just taken place, but Butler knew full well it was down to them.

  The man came right up to Butler and held out his rifle, the barrel coming inches from Butler’s chest. On the ground but with his elbows propping up his torso, Butler stared down the barrel, then up at the man behind it. The man said something to Butler. He recognised the words as Russian. His dazed brain was unable to translate them. He said nothing. Just stared at the man who had nothing but death in his eyes.

  In one last desperate act, Butler propelled himself forward, aiming to tackle the man around his legs. But it was too little, too late. The man opened fire. A succession of bullets caught Butler. They tore into his chest. He collapsed back down on top of the fallen Fleming.

  Butler was face down. His mouth and nostrils were pressed up against Fleming’s midriff. He tried to move but couldn’t. There was simply nothing left in him. As his life faded away from him, what filled his head were not flashes of his past or his family or thoughts of his many regrets – it was the smell. The smell of blood. The smell of death.

  Moments later, he was gone.

  Chapter 39

  His eyes were closed. He was dazed and confused. The sound of rattling gunfire was only barely recognisable to his brain. After a short spell, the gunfire ceased, replaced by an uneasy silence. He tried to open his eyes but quickly shut them again when a pulsing pain stabbed at the front of his head.

  As he lay there on the cold, hard ground, eyes squeezed shut, slowly becoming more aware of where he was and why, he started to feel the pain ease and the fog in his brain clearing. He finally opened his eyes again when he heard a voice and felt tugging on his arm.

  ‘Evans?’ the voice said. ‘Are you okay? Evans? Come on, man, get up.’

  Paul Evans looked up and saw Mason kneeling over him. He pushed himself upright, bringing his knees up toward his chest, grabbing his legs to keep his heavy torso from falling back down. A rush of dizziness washed over him. He put his head between his knees and looked down at the ground, hoping it would pass. He saw drops of blood falling from his face onto the white surface below.

  ‘Shit,’ he said, lifting his head back up to stop his nose dripping.

  He felt at his nose, pulling it left and right, up and down. It was sore as hell from Logan’s head-butt, but it didn’t seem to be broken. It was oozing blood, though, and he could feel a laceration further up, between his eyes.

  ‘I’ll get you cleaned up in a minute,’ Mason said.

  ‘What’s happened?’ Evans said.

  He lowered his head just a little, peering over his cheek bones toward where his two other guards were standing, near to the Jeep belonging to Fleming’s men.

  ‘They’re all dead,’ Mason said.

  Evans began to scan the bullet-ridden and bloodied bodies that lay on the ground. There were two by the Jeep: Maksat, whom Evans had managed to pay off beforehand, plus one of Fleming’s other men. Ilya, who’d similarly turned against his former boss at the offer of a measly sum of money, was the first of three bodies that Evans spotted over by Fleming’s four-by-four.

  That was only five.

  Evans got to his feet slowly. The world seemed to sway in front of him. He took a step forward, cringing in pain.

  There was the sixth body, he realised. He’d thought there were just two bodies next to the four-by-four – Butler and Fleming’s remaining loyal guard. But there was actually another there, the one Evans had most wanted to see: Fleming. Butler was on top of him, his face buried in Fleming’s belly. The two bosom buddies laid to rest together.

  Fleming and Butler, the SAS heroes. Yet they and their four guards had been felled so easily by just two of Evans’s men. Granted, two of Fleming’s men had betrayed their boss only to be betrayed themselves, but it was still a damned impressive feat. Evans wondered whether Fleming and his crew had even managed to fire off any shots before they were taken out. They simply wouldn’t have been ready for the ambush, too caught up in their own greedy moment. Too focused on Logan and Grainger and the money they thought was on offer for handing the runaways over.

  ‘Tell them to come over here,’ Evans said, crouching back down on the ground.

  Mason shouted over to the two men, who were casually chatting among themselves. They turned and began to walk toward Evans and Mason.

  ‘I told you they would be good,’ Mason said.

  ‘You did,’ Evans replied.

  The two men were Russian. Mercenaries, much like Fleming and his crew. In reality, there was nothing special about them. They had been soldiers once, but so what? In an even fight, Fleming and Butler may well have had the upper hand. But it hadn’t been an even fight. It had been a simple snare. A cheap shot.

  ‘Good work,’ Evans said to the two men. ‘Pack up your weapons, then get ready to head out.’

  The men nodded, then turned around to head back to the car. As they did so, Evans reached into the pocket of his puffer jacket and took out the Glock handgun that had been there throughout the whole of th
e planned exchange of Grainger and Logan. He lifted the gun and fired two shots.

  A bullet struck each of the Russians in the back of their heads. Spatters of flesh and blood flew into the air. The bodies slumped to the ground almost in unison.

  Evans lowered his gun and looked over at Mason, who simply shrugged.

  ‘It’s a shame, I guess,’ Mason said. ‘They were good.’

  ‘They were replaceable,’ Evans said.

  ‘Probably. And expensive. No one likes to pay if they don’t have to.’

  ‘My thoughts exactly,’ Evans said with a wry smile.

  ‘Now let’s get your face sorted out.’

  Evans followed Mason over to the saloon car. Mason opened the front passenger door and Evans sank onto the seat, leaving his feet outside so that he was at ninety degrees to the seat back. Mason went over to the boot of the car and came back a few moments later with a small medical kit.

  As Mason began to delve into the supplies, Evans reached into his trouser pocket for his mobile phone. He lifted it up above his tilted head so he could see the screen and dialled the number. It took a while for the connection to hold, but when it did, the call was answered on the second ring.

  ‘Was it them?’ Jay Lindegaard drawled.

  Evans wondered whether he had woken Lindegaard or it was just his awful accent that made him always sound half-asleep.

  ‘Yes,’ Evans said, knowing that the question had referred to Logan and Grainger.

  There had been a niggling doubt in Evans’s mind as to whether Fleming and Butler were telling the truth or were playing a game with their request to do a deal over Logan and Grainger. It had been a real bolt from the blue when Butler had called Lindegaard to say that the two fugitives were staying at Fleming’s house near Aktobe in Kazakhstan. Prior to that, there hadn’t been a snip of the whereabouts of the two. Clearly, based on his question, Lindegaard must have had the same doubts.

  In the end, Fleming had been telling the truth. But his greed had got the better of him. Following the call, Evans had done his own digging into the ex-soldiers. He found it immensely amusing that Logan had felt Fleming was someone he could turn to in his hour of need. As far as Evans could make out, Fleming was nothing more than a self-centred prick, driven by greed and his need to feel superior to everyone and everything.

  Fleming had misplaced his trust, just like Logan had. If Fleming had known anything about Lindegaard and Evans at all, it was that they would never do a deal if they didn’t have to. And this time, they really didn’t have to. Killing the SAS men and their guards was by far the simplest solution really. No one was going to care about the deaths of two parasites who had been bleeding dry the local economy. Their deaths would be glossed over by the Kazakh authorities, who would be glad to see the back of them, as would the companies they had no doubt been fleecing.

  ‘And?’ Lindegaard said.

  ‘They got away,’ Evans said without any hint of regret.

  Mason thrust an antiseptic-soaked cotton ball onto the cut above Evans’s nose. The pain caught Evans by surprise and he let out a yelp, his body jolting.

  ‘Evans?’ Lindegaard said. ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘Just getting cleaned up,’ Evans responded through clenched teeth.

  Mason came forward with a needle and thread. He paused, looking uneasy. He stared at Evans, waiting for the signal to continue. Evans nodded his head slightly and Mason began work. Evans winced as the needle pierced his skin, but he quickly focused his mind away from the pain.

  ‘So they’re on the run again,’ Lindegaard said.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And Captain Fleming?’

  ‘Dead. And Butler. And four Kazakh guards. And the two Russians we hired.’

  There was a short pause on the other end.

  ‘Are you still there?’ Evans said.

  ‘Yes, yes, I just … I–’

  ‘I take it you’re a bit surprised?’ Evans said.

  ‘No, no. Well, I’m just surprised it was so easy, that’s all. I expected a bit more resistance, I guess.’

  ‘Who said it was easy? You should see my face. And anyway, the devil’s in the detail. All it took was a bit of planning.’

  ‘I know. I didn’t mean it like that. It’s excellent work.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Evans said, smiling at the unexpected compliment.

  ‘We may have a problem, though,’ Lindegaard said.

  ‘And what’s that?’

  ‘Our friend in London.’

  ‘Winter?’

  ‘It seems he might not be as useless as I’d hoped.’

  ‘That’s hardly a problem. In fact, he might play right into our hands.’

  ‘Maybe. But it does add some complications.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Nothing I can’t handle myself.’

  ‘Okay,’ Evans said, frowning. He wasn’t sure why Lindegaard had bothered bringing up Winter if he wasn’t going to explain what the problem was.

  ‘So everything’s still going to plan,’ Lindegaard said.

  Evans assumed it was a statement rather than a question.

  ‘Bang on,’ said Evans, smiling again.

  Logan might be a warrior, a fighter, but Evans was a tactician. Logan was part of this, but the mission didn’t start and end with him. The more Evans could bring together the different elements, the easier it would be to finish the puzzle. Evans was already two steps ahead. He knew what Logan’s next move would be. And the one after that. And with each move Logan now made, Evans would be a step closer to completing his work.

  Chapter 40

  ‘What are we going to do, Carl?’ Grainger asked, her voice edgy. She was sitting in the back seat, having hastily jumped in the car, behind the driver’s seat, after attacking Mason. ‘They must be following us, surely? We’ve got no money, no weapons. Where can we go now?’

  ‘We’re no worse off than we were a couple of days ago,’ Logan said, the anger in his voice clear.

  ‘Yeah, but we’re no better off either,’ Grainger said. ‘We’ve wasted two days with Fleming. I told you it was a bad idea.’

  ‘You did,’ Logan said through gritted teeth.

  Grainger was almost disappointed with herself for rubbing salt into his wounds. She could tell from the sour look on his face and his tone that he was raging about Fleming’s betrayal. She knew the situation was no easier for him than it was for her. In fact, it was clear that he’d been through much worse treatment at the hands of the Russians while she’d been cooped up in that awful apartment on the outskirts of Moscow. She felt sorry for him, for what had happened to him, she really did. But just where were they going now? What life-threatening situation was she going to be dragged into next?

  When Logan had first come for her, one of the things she’d felt most strongly was hope. That maybe Logan really was the one person who could help her. She still wanted to believe that, but over the last two days, all that seemed to have happened was that Logan had drawn her deeper and deeper into his own problems. Doubts were growing in her mind about whether he could ever get them away from his troubles. She hated herself for feeling that way because a large part of her felt such a strong attraction to him still, and it was only a few hours since the two of them had felt so close to each other again in that dreary roadside motel.

  He’d saved her life and she was grateful, but was this really a life worth saving?

  Logan thumped on the steering wheel. ‘I can’t believe I thought he would actually help.’

  ‘We all make mistakes.’

  ‘I’m going to get him for this,’ Logan snarled.

  ‘You want to kill him now? Yesterday you wanted to be his friend.’

  ‘I never wanted to be his friend.’

  ‘Whatever. Revenge can’t be your answer to everything, you know. You can’t just kill every person who wrongs you.’

  ‘Says you?’ Logan retorted.

  Grainger winced at his words. He was right, of course. Giv
en the lengths she’d gone to in order to exact revenge on the man who’d killed her father, she was hardly one to call him out for wanting to get his own back on Fleming. And actually, she was feeling the same. Fleming had betrayed them both. She would happily see him and his crony Butler dead too.

  ‘We got away. We’re still alive,’ Logan said, as though reassuring himself as much as anything.

  ‘Yeah, but what next?’ Grainger rebutted. ‘We’re screwed.’

  ‘Maybe not. Because I think I’m starting to understand something now.’

  ‘Are you going to let me in on that?’

  ‘Let’s just wait until I know for sure.’

  Grainger sighed. She trusted Logan implicitly. At least she trusted that he was trying to steer them to safety, trying the best he could to get them away from trouble. But if he didn’t let her in on what he knew, then how was she ever supposed to help? She wasn’t a useless damsel in distress. One of the things she’d liked so much about Logan was that he had always seemed to get that. They’d worked as a team so effectively. But his guard was up with her now and it felt like he was keeping her in the dark, whether intentionally or not.

  Who could blame him, though? She had, after all, betrayed and shot him.

  Despite her doubts, she wanted to believe that Logan was the right man to help her. Once again, she couldn’t help but compare her feelings for Logan to those for her ex-husband. Tom was such a charming and genuine person. Grainger knew he would walk to the ends of the earth for her and he certainly didn’t carry the baggage that Logan did. He was just … normal. The problem, she knew, was that the situation she found herself in was anything but normal. Plus, she’d never had the powerful attraction to Tom that she had to Logan. There was simply something about Logan, a magnetic connection that meant she was inexplicably drawn to him.

  And, perhaps most importantly, she knew Logan was a true warrior. Whatever his troubles, he would never stop fighting. Fighting for her.

  ‘Who was that?’ Grainger said. ‘Were those men from your agency?’