Spring Showers Box-set

by Avell Kro

  short bursts.

  Sparks flew from the body of the Mazda and he saw the windscreen shatter. The driver locked up

  and went into a skid, still swerving to try and hit him. Ahmed back pedalled, only a couple of

  metres from the Mazda as it came past him.

  He pinned the trigger back and hosed the last fifteen rounds along the passenger’s side, blowing

  out the windows.

  The Mazda went airborne and rolled a complete 360, smashed into an oncoming light truck and

  flipped again before skidding on its roof into the kerb and flipping onto its side on the footpath.

  Ahmed tossed the Mini Uzi back into the Lexus and hit the gas.

  Archer raced up the outside of the traffic, ignoring the blast of horns and swerving left to avoid a

  head-on with an Indian taxi driver as he accelerated heavily along Wel esley Street. He felt a clip on

  his rear wing as he cut too close to a car but carried on, overtaking again and making ground. A

  hefty Suzuki 1100 motorbike carrying a surveillance officer was rapidly catching up behind him.

  He saw a head appear from the left rear passenger’s window, followed by an arm and a flash. A

  second flash came and Archer accelerated harder. The shooter had to be Yassar himself, and he

  was confident the financier was no marksman.

  The head disappeared and the black Lexus leaped forward again, slipping right over the centreline

  and driving straight at the oncoming traffic. Cars swerved and immediately there was a pile up,

  one car sideswiping another as it took evasive action, another running up the back of both of them

  as they braked hard.

  Archer cut up the inside of a courier van and crushed the pedal down, surging after the Lexus with

  the engine starting to growl as they merged onto the northbound motorway.

  Ahmed hung wide, cutting across both lanes as he merged at over 100. He got into the outside lane

  and gunned it.

  The red Monaro was flying behind him, slipping between the inside and centre lanes to avoid a

  collision as Archer smoothly worked the transmission and goosed the accelerator.

  A light delivery truck was hogging the outside lane and Ahmed drifted left, clipping the front panel

  of a hatchback as he did so. The hatch went into a spin behind him, directly in front of the Monaro,

  and Ahmed allowed himself a tight smile.

  Archer stabbed the brake pedal down and dropped the gears, jaw set with determination, and

  slipped left, missing the spinning hatchback by a hair’s breadth then gunning it hard as he swung

  wide again to get into the outside lane.

  Yassar leaned out of the right rear window now, a pistol in his hand flashing as he pumped the

  trigger. His aim was better now and Archer was closer. The first round went wide but the second

  skipped off the Monaro’s bonnet, causing Archer to flinch without losing speed.

  He cursed and accelerated under a third round, seeing the Suzuki biker haring up on the left. Too

  eager, he thought, and sure enough a couple of seconds later Yassar was jabbing his pistol out the

  left rear window.

  A shot flashed out and the biker swerved, over-corrected and lost control. The bike tipped right

  and the rider spilled into the middle lane, landing heavily as his bike skidded in a spray of sparks.

  Archer hung right on the approach to the Harbour Bridge, seeing the Lexus veer left across the

  motorway into the left lane. He dodged a family wagon and a motorcyclist and followed it, a

  suspicion forming in his mind as he thumped across the dividing strips. The harbour stretched out

  below them, blue and sparkling, dotted with small boats and a couple of wave runners.

  The Lexus raced up the bridge, sideswiping a taxi and pushing it into the median barrier, and as it

  neared the crest, the brake lights suddenly flared and it skidded to a halt, slewing across the lane.

  Archer was still several lengths back and pumped his own brakes, slowing rapidly at the same

  time as the driver’s door and right rear door flew open on the far side of the Lexus. Both men

  alighted and took cover behind the car.

  He jerked the handbrake on and snapped the steering wheel to the right, skidding to a halt side on

  across the lane. A burst of automatic fire sounded and the passenger’s window exploded inwards

  as Archer dived out onto the road, drawing his own weapon as he did so. He rolled behind the rear

  wheel, more shots impacting on the car body, and sneaked a peek underneath. He could see a pair

  of feet beneath the other car just a few metres away and quickly lined up his front sight. He

  snapped off a double tap from the Glock, seeing the left foot kick out and the knee above it hit the

  ground, a scream sounding across the gap.

  He squeezed another double tap, the leg jerking with the impacts, but still the guy didn’t fall.

  Archer moved to the rear wing of his car and threw a quick look around, just in time to see Yassar

  moving. Archer started to move too but saw the second guy appear over the boot of the Lexus, a

  machine pistol in his hands. A stream of rounds blasted the back of the Monaro and sprayed

  Archer with glass shards before he got down again. He sneaked a quick peek and saw Yassar had

  climbed onto the railing of the bridge, a cell phone in his hand. He was facing out towards the harbour, the phone to his ear.

  ‘Don’t move, Yassar!’ Archer bellowed, aiming across the boot at him.

  The other man glanced back at him and smiled cockily.

  ‘You’ll never take me, you filthy capitalist pig,’ he sneered, and tossed the phone out into the blue.

  A split second later he followed it, stepping out and dropping from sight. Archer was up and

  running, checking the Lexus as he did so. The driver with the chopper rose awkwardly, the Uzi’s

  barrel coming round. Archer pumped two shots at him, the first punching him straight in the chest

  and the second taking a chunk of his temple off as he fell backwards.

  Cars were jammed up all around, civilians staring in amazement at the carnage on the bridge. He

  could see several holding up cell phones to film the action.

  Archer leaned over the rail and saw Yassar hit the water in a plume of spray. The two wave

  runners he’d seen earlier were racing towards him, and it was clear to Archer that this was all

  planned. A high-risk, high-profile escape. Daring and exciting. Front page news and an inspiration

  to the faithful followers around the world.

  He yanked his jacket off and tossed it aside, jumping up onto the railing. The wave runners were

  closing in down below and he saw Yassar’s head break the surface.

  Archer holstered his weapon and took a deep breath then jumped, folding his arms up across his

  chest and keeping his knees together.

  Just like freefall training.

  14

  The blue surface rushed up and suddenly he hit it, plunging deep and throwing his arms and legs

  out to slow his descent.

  The water was like a cold slap, and he felt the current immediately tug at his body. He kicked hard,

  pushing up and craning his neck to see as he did so. Getting closer to the surface he saw the two

  wave runners floating there, a blur of movement and then zipping lines of bubbles as bullets flew

  into the water a few metres away from him.

  Archer tugged his Glock free and extended it as he surged upwards, triggering a couple of shots as

  one of the wave runners raced away in a cloud of bubbles and white froth.

  His head burst i
nto the open just a metre from the second wave runner, and the rider swung

  towards him, the ugly snout of an Ingram MAC-10 following his gaze. Archer brought the Glock up

  and snapped out the last two shots, catching the rider first in the throat then the upper lip,

  throwing him backwards off the runner in a cloud of red, the sub machine gun loosing off a burst

  of rounds at the sky.

  Archer struck out for the runner and hauled himself on from the rear, sucking in air as he watched

  the gunman roll onto his front and float away. He dropped the magazine and did a speed change,

  chambered a fresh round and re-holstered the weapon.

  The other wave runner was nearly fifty metres away, heading towards open water, Yassar clinging

  to the rider. He was watching over his shoulder and Archer saw him lean forward to warn the rider.

  Archer gunned the wave runner after them, ducking low and opening it up in a desperate bid to

  catch them. The surface was rippled with a light wind and the wave runner bounced across the

  top, spray kicking up around it with every slap down. The wind whipped at his wet clothes and

  Archer cleared the drips from his face with a quick wipe. He settled in for the ride, scanning about

  for other threats as he raced across the harbour, but didn’t see any.

  They were motoring past other boats, mostly pleasure craft with fishing lines in the water. He

  glimpsed a girl sunbathing topless on the deck of a substantial cruiser as he flew by, large

  sunglasses shielding her eyes as she lazily watched him pass, making no effort to cover herself.

  Archer turned back to the chase and focussed on the back of the escaping terrorist.

  Unburdened by the weight of a passenger, he was gaining ground as they left the harbour and

  reached the open sea, and he began to plan his tactics on how to affect the capture.

  Suddenly the wave runner in front of him cut power and spun in a tight turn, circling to confront

  the pursuer. Archer eased off on the throttle and waited to see how they were going to proceed.

  The rider swung a MAC-10 forward on its sling from under his arm, answering the question with a burst of fire. There was a 30 metre gap between them, and the wave runner was an unstable

  platform, allowing the burst to go high.

  Archer snatched the Glock from his hip and triggered a snap shot before gunning the runner away

  to the right. Even though the stubby sub machine gun had a very limited effective range, it carried

  a 30 round magazine against his compact pistol, and he had no desire to engage in a close quarter

  battle out here.

  He turned again, seeing the other rider bringing the SMG up to eye level, trying to aim as best he

  could. Archer snapped another shot, firing one handed, and got close enough to make the gunner

  flinch and involuntarily jerk his barrel wide, wasting a good burst of ammo.

  Archer moved again, cutting a tight circle and throwing up a curtain of water as concealment. The

  throb of rotors reached his ears and he saw the Police heli approaching from Mechanics Bay.

  At the same time, he saw a lavish yacht ploughing towards them from the opposite direction.

  The other rider unleashed another burst, a line of bullets skipping across the water in front of

  Archer’s wave runner, and he threw a shot back to dissuade anything further. The rider raised the

  MAC-10 and emptied the magazine at him, hosing a spray of lead that sliced the air millimetres

  above Archer’s head.

  Archer threw his weight sideways, tucking in tight to the chassis of the runner and letting it right

  itself as he clung to it, watching the other runner turn and accelerate away. The Police heli was

  skimming low as it got closer, and he turned his attention to the large yacht as it also approached.

  A man on the bow was raising a tube to his shoulder, and turned it towards the heli.

  Archer cursed and waved desperately at the heli, vainly trying to warn them off as the man with

  the RPG settled his sights. A rocket propelled grenade flashed forward and up, a smoke trail

  marking its path across the sky as it zeroed in on the heli. The pilot reacted at the last second and

  banked hard, the rocket whooshing past in a narrow miss.

  The heli continued its evasive manoeuvre by pulling right back, ducking and weaving as it made its

  way to a safe distance. The gunner on the deck turned his attention towards Archer, slipping a

  second rocket into the tube.

  The first wave runner was nearly at the yacht now and Archer cursed, cranked the throttle and

  leaped it forward, the nose lifting at the same time as he saw the gunner settling into his aim.

  He snarled another curse and raised the Glock, emptying the magazine wildly in the gunner’s

  direction but to no avail. He saw the rocket launch and he dived right, plunging into the water a

  second before the wave runner exploded in a ball of flame, sending chunks of hot steel sizzling in

  all directions.

  Archer felt a tug as a piece of shrapnel ripped across his left side and he clapped a hand to it,

  gasping for air as he surfaced. The yacht slowed enough to take aboard the two new passengers

  before turning in a wide circle around Archer as he bobbed helplessly in the tide, powerless to stop them.

  Yassar came to the side rail and threw a rude gesture at him as the yacht powered away, an

  arrogant sneer on his face as he laughed at his opponent.

  ‘Better luck next time,’ he jeered.

  Archer swore angrily and watched the yacht disappear out to sea.

  15

  The Service doctor had patched the wound on Archer’s hip and sent him on his way with clear

  instructions on wound care.

  Archer hardly listened; partly because he was a trained medic anyway, but mostly because he was

  so angry with himself. He’d let his target get away on his first mission, there was a (fortunately)

  grainy photo from somebody’s cell phone of him at the centre of a media frenzy, and he’d received

  an immediate ‘forthwith’ to the Director’s office.

  As soon as he shut the office door Archer felt the wrath of the man.

  ‘I thought you were supposed to be a bloody professional, Archer,’ the Director told him coldly. ‘All

  I’ve seen so far is amateur hour, and my balls are in a sling because of it.’

  Archer stood stiffly in front of the desk, fixing his gaze on a painting on the wall opposite. It was a

  dark oil painting of some kind of old-fashioned English countryside scene with an effeminate-

  looking shepherd boy and his dog. Archer had never followed art at all and had no idea whether it

  was an original or a print. It didn’t matter much right now, as long as it kept his focus from the

  Director’s icy gaze.

  ‘The last thing we needed was to have this plastered all over the media, but that’s what I now have

  to deal with-and what I have to try and explain to the PM.’

  The Director wasn’t a pacer; he sat perfectly still behind his desk, hands flat on the surface.

  Somehow his physical calmness made the fury in his words more noticeable, and Archer suddenly

  felt very isolated and vulnerable.

  ‘I gave you three rules for this mission; no publicity, no col ateral and four days to do it in. You’ve

  got us on the breaking news with a trail of wrecked cars and bullet casings behind you.’

  ‘In a timely fashion though, sir.’ Archer’s attempt at levity was poorly timed. The Director’s

  expression told him that a fresh turd on his dinner plate would have been mo
re welcome.

  ‘This agency has made an excellent name for itself and in one fell swoop that’s been torn down by

  one man’s inability to carry out a simple task. Any fool could’ve embarrassed the Government like

  this.’

  Archer bristled at the jibe, and the Director picked up on it immediately.

  ‘Did you have something to say in your defence, Archer?’ he inquired. ‘I’d love to hear it.’

  Archer stopped staring at the effeminate shepherd boy and looked at the other man.

  ‘You have a leak,’ he said flatly.

  It was the Director’s turn to bristle and his nostrils flared. He pursed his lips and fixed Archer with a withering look.

  ‘And what the hell gives you licence to make accusations like that?’ he snapped. ‘You’ve got a

  bloody cheek!’

  ‘Well how the hell did that debacle happen then?’ Archer snapped back. ‘Those cops were gunned

  down in the elevator-they were ambushed. Yassar had help to get out of there, and if the details

  were kept so secure then it shouldn’t be too hard to find out who talked.’

  ‘You watch your tongue!’

  ‘And you watch your back!’

  The Director stood now and glared across the desk at him. Archer glared straight back and for

  several moments neither man backed down.

  ‘You’re an arrogant son of a bitch,’ the Director said frostily. ‘You think I don’t realise that? I’ve

  been living in the shadows since you were jerking off to Commando comics son, so don’t come in

  here shouting the odds and stating the obvious. You’ve spent your adult life as a blunt instrument, a

  sledgehammer for cracking nuts, but you’re in a different world now. It’s a world of shadow dancers

  and half truths, where more often than not the easy way is the wrong way, where you don’t trust

  your enemies and you certainly don’t trust your friends. Nothing is what it seems until you’ve

  triple-confirmed it, and every move we make is calculated for a purpose. Our actions can bring

  down Governments, so we don’t have the luxury of a practice run.’

  The Director paused to let that sink in.

  ‘People told me you were the right man for the job, but it appears they may have been wrong.