Spring Showers Box-set

by Avell Kro

  There are at least two tree-mounted cameras that I could see on this side, probably motion-

  activated. There’s a guard roaming the inner cordon, carrying a Winchester semi auto shotgun.

  There’s at least one guard inside the house, couldn’t see what he had but a long of some sort.’

  Tracy nodded her understanding.

  ‘No sign of the target.’

  She nodded again. ‘So; plan?’

  Archer cocked his head. ‘Well, we can beat the infrared cordon, I can take out the external guard,

  we can probably deal with whoever’s inside, but those cameras are a problem. If we had enough

  time and some sheets of polystyrene, I could beat them too.’ He scanned the trees with the binos

  again. ‘Problem is, I don’t know how many or where they are, and if we miss one it doesn’t matter

  if we beat everything else; we’d be walking straight into an ambush.’

  ‘I thought SAS stood for Speed, Aggression, Surprise,’ Tracy jibed him.

  ‘It does,’ he agreed, ‘but not Stupid And Sloppy. If you fancy making a run for the front door from

  here be my guest; I’ll cover the rear and send a nice card to your parents.’ He frowned. ‘Let’s bug

  out and come up with a better plan.’

  Tracy moved wordlessly ahead of him in a commando crawl through the undergrowth, her boots

  mere inches from his face. The night was heavy and humid, the buzz of insects loud.

  He cradled the suppressed AR-7 in his arms and kept his head on a swivel, constantly scanning,

  checking, pausing to listen as they headed back towards the Jeep they’d stashed off the side of the

  mountain road.

  Suddenly he heard something and paused, his left hand snaking out to grab Tracy’s ankle. Silence.

  No birdsong. No buzz of insects. Archer’s eyes probed the darkness and he careful y pulled the

  binos from under his shirt.

  As soon as he raised them he saw the threat. Two large Samoans approaching from the right,

  straight towards them. The one in the front had a set of night vision goggles strapped to his face

  and was locked on the two crawling intruders just twenty metres away. The one behind him had no

  goggles but carried a shotgun at the ready.

  The front man opened his mouth to shout and Archer rolled on his side, bringing the AR-7 up and snapping a quick shot at them.

  Tracy raised herself and bolted at the same time, drawing her Beretta and doubling over as she

  ran, one hand in front to protect her face from low branches.

  The lead enemy ducked and scrabbled for a holstered pistol. The shotgunner stepped around him

  and brought his barrel to bear. Archer triggered a double tap, the little rifle barely twitching in his

  hands as he dropped the lead man.

  A shotgun blast ripped the night air and birds screeched above him as buckshot shredded the

  leaves and branches. Archer rolled again, scrabbled forward a couple of metres and took a knee,

  coming into the aim again. The shotgunner let rip again, firing blind and wide, the muzzle blast

  exposing him badly in the pitch darkness.

  Archer popped off another double tap, knew he’d missed and ran. Branches slapped at him as he

  crashed through the undergrowth, and he heard another shotgun blast behind him. He ignored it

  and ran on, knowing that unless his enemy was highly trained and lucky he would be hard pressed

  to nail a running man in the thick vegetation.

  He reached the road and turned, dropping to a knee again, the AR-7 coming up as the shotgunner

  crashed towards him with the grace of a drunk hippo. Archer emptied his last two shots at him,

  saw the man drop, and bolted again. Headlights were coming up behind him from the direction of

  the villa’s driveway and he heard the throaty roar of an engine being worked hard.

  Ahead another set of lights came on in the undergrowth, bouncing as the Jeep was manoeuvred

  out onto the road. He changed magazines as he ran, chambering a new round. He felt wildly

  inadequate with just a .22 in his hands, and for the hundredth time that day he mentally cursed the

  poor capabilities of the embassy’s black box.

  Tracy was revving the engine as he reached the Jeep and yanked the driver’s door open. She

  scrambled across to the passenger’s seat and grabbed the Armalite from him as he jumped in.

  The Jeep leaped forward as Archer mashed the accelerator down and the tyres screeched and

  grabbed at the seal. Headlights approached fast from behind them. Archer chopped up through

  the gears, riding the gas and clutch, fighting the wheel as the Jeep tried to swerve off into the

  darkness.

  A shotgun blasted loudly behind them and they heard bird shot pinging off the rear panels. The

  headlights got brighter behind them, the full beams lighting up the inside of the Jeep as a ute

  closed in. More shots sounded over the roar of the Jeep’s engine and Tracy ducked. The fabric

  canopy twitched as a couple of shots got close to the mark.

  ‘Keep them at bay,’ Archer shouted, down changing to enter a corner, goosing the gas to keep the

  revs up.

  Tracy turned in her seat and brought the AR-7 up to the shoulder, kneeling as she tried to get a

  bead on their attackers.

  Another couple of shots thudded into the back of the Jeep, and Archer’s wing mirror exploded in a shower of glass and plastic.

  Tracy squeezed off a quick volley of shots, causing the attackers’ ute to falter for a second before

  accelerating hard again to bear down on them.

  They hit a straight and Archer floored it, the Jeep responding but he knew it was not enough.

  ‘Cut loose at them,’ he shouted, ‘we can’t outrun them in this.’

  Tracy responded by emptying the magazine before snatching out her Beretta and stabbing it

  forward. She only had time to unleash one shot before the gunman in the ute emptied his own

  magazine into the Jeep. The windscreen spider webbed with multiple impacts and the headrest

  beneath Tracy’s left elbow blew apart in a cloud of stuffing. She yelped and grabbed for a hand

  hold, yelling a warning as she saw the ute suddenly charge them.

  The Jeep lurched forward and rocked dangerously, metal screeching and plastic shattering as the

  ute rammed it from behind.

  Archer swore angrily and grappled with the wheel, almost getting it straight again before the

  second thud threw them forward again. The Jeep swerved, the left wheels hit loose gravel and the

  tail flicked out. He steered into the skid, chopping the gear stick into neutral and checking both

  sides.

  The Jeep was still coming back in line when the ute rammed them for the third time, and Archer

  knew this was it. The Jeep spun and the wheel was ripped from his hands. Tracy was thrown first

  against the side window then crashed into Archer, her skul slamming against his shoulder hard

  enough to instantly deaden it.

  Undergrowth rushed at them and all they could hear was the roar of engines and screaming of

  tortured tyres. Archer grabbed hold of Tracy with one hand and threw the other over his head as

  he ducked down, bracing for the impact.

  A hefty tree trunk leaped out of the darkness and slammed into the Jeep, spinning it again and

  throwing it off balance. The Jeep rocked onto two wheels, wobbled, then dropped onto its right side

  and slid.

  A tree branch crashed through the driver’s side window and glass burst over them and the Jeep

  stopped with a thud. Archer’s seatbelt jerked tight at hi
s waist and across his chest, cutting off his

  air and dangling him sideways like a rag doll, Tracy dropping him his grasp as he fumbled weakly

  with the seatbelt.

  His fingers felt like catcher’s gloves and his vision was blurring with the lack of oxygen. If he could

  just get the buckle undone..

  Through the fog in his head Archer heard voices and then the crashing of feet in the undergrowth

  around the wrecked Jeep. He fumbled for the Beretta but it had been jarred loose in the crash, and

  before he could find it hands reached through the smashed window and grabbed him. He felt

  himself dragged out and dumped on the ground, then a boot slammed into his ribs.

  He arched in pain and took another one to the gut. He rolled over and saw a burly Samoan hauling

  Tracy out of the windscreen. He tossed her to the ground like a rag doll and she groaned. Archer

  wanted to reach out and console her but his tongue felt thick and he couldn’t focus enough to

  string a sentence together.

  Another boot hit him in the back and he let out a groan, but it was just the start. A hail of kicks and

  punches rained down on him and he curled himself into a ball to protect his vital organs as

  laughter sounded from those around him.

  Eventually the assault eased and he slowly uncurled himself and rolled onto his back. A sweaty,

  smiling Samoan face peered down at him, and a machete glinted in the headlights.

  ‘You made bad move, you honky shit,’ the man grinned evilly.

  He lowered the blade to Archer’s throat and pressed it firmly against the skin. Archer held

  perfectly still, knowing his life was in this thug’s hands.

  ‘I get my chance.’

  The man stood, sheathed the machete, and grabbed Archer by the arm. He hauled him up and

  pushed him against the side of the wrecked Jeep. Archer tried to catch his breath and glanced

  about, sizing up his chances.

  Another man, very tall, was tying Tracy’s hands behind her back, and a second, short and stocky,

  stood to the side with a revolver hanging at his side. Archer subconsciously clocked it as a decades-

  old Smith and Wesson Model 10, a .38 Special with wooden grips. Notoriously inaccurate, but at

  four metres it was just as likely to blow a hole in his head as a cannon.

  ‘Hey, no looking!’

  His captor, who he mentally logged as the middle sized man, spun Archer around to face him, and

  smashed a knee into his crotch. Blinding pain rocked through him and he col apsed forward,

  clutching at his crotch and gasping for air.

  Strong hands wrestled his arms behind his back and tied them tightly, then he was dragged to his

  feet and hustled past the wreck to the thugs’ ute. The men lifted him over the tailgate and dumped

  him on his face. A few seconds later Tracy was dumped on top of him and he found himself face to

  face with her. Blood leaked down her forehead from a shallow cut and her face was sweaty and

  dirty.

  ‘Okay?’ he murmured stupidly.

  Tracy’s lips twitched into something resembling a smile. ‘Great. Good driving.’

  Archer tried to smile. ‘Thanks.’

  ‘You, shut up.’

  A fist slammed into his kidney from behind and fresh pain enveloped him. They fell silent while the ute started up and moved off. The tall man climbed into the back and sat over them, his attention

  caught by Tracy. He leaned forward and ran a long finger down her cheek. She flinched away with

  a scowl.

  The man chuckled to himself, deep and throaty, and removed his hand. But Archer noted that he

  never shifted his gaze from her body.

  Things were not looking up.

  38

  After a few minutes on the main road they turned off onto a bumpy track and headed into the

  bush, before pulling up in a dirt clearing. The men climbed out and roughly dragged their captives

  over the tailboard of the ute.

  Archer saw they were outside a dilapidated shack the size of a single garage, surrounded by bush.

  They were dragged forward by the three big men into the shack, and shoved into armless wooden

  chairs facing each other across the room. Coarse twine was produced and they were tied to the

  chairs by their arms, with their wrists still bound behind them. The room had a dirty wooden floor,

  a couple of windows with closed shutters and was sparsely furnished. A hurricane lamp burned on

  the table against a wall, and a pot-belly stove was throwing heat into the room.

  The shorter man then took the time to administer a thump to the side of Archer’s head which

  knocked him to the floor with his head ringing and stars in his eyes. The men guffawed at the act

  of brutality before hauling him back upright and allowing the short man to repeat the

  performance.

  Archer went with the flow, letting them have their fun for now and all the while planning their

  escape. Things looked pretty bleak from where he was sitting. They were miles from any help,

  caged with three thugs who seemed to get off on violence, and they were securely tied up.

  He lay there and caught his breath, watching the men. The middle sized man removed the machete

  from his belt and leaned it by the door. Archer figured it was about three metres away from him.

  As the man turned, Archer noted he also wore a diving knife sheathed on his belt. Watching these

  animals and listening to their pseudo-gangster talk made him hate them with a passion. He

  determined that if he got even the slightest of chances, he would happily kill any or all of them.

  Looking over at Tracy as he was picked up again, he could see the terror in her eyes. The middle

  sized man turned to her and with a lecherous leer, and in one quick swipe he ripped the front of

  her shirt open all the way to her waist. He grabbed first one breast then the other, pawing roughly

  and making her squeal with pain.

  The taller man stepped over and shouldered his mate aside before ripping her bra open and

  exposing her to their gaze.

  Archer could see the lust in their faces as all three turned their attention to her now, groping at her

  and grunting like animals.

  He stared hard at her across the gap, willing her to be strong. Tears rolled from her eyes, whether

  from pain or fear he couldn’t tell. She met his gaze and held it, taking a shuddering breath before

  pulling her head back and unleashing a gob of spit into the face of the taller man.

  He recoiled back then lashed out and back-handed her viciously across the mouth, knocking her chair against the wall. The short man caught her by the arm and pulled her upright. The tall man

  hooked her in the temple now, throwing her to the side again where the middle man caught her

  and righted the chair.

  A trickle of blood ran from Tracy’s mouth as she looked up at the tall man and bared her teeth at

  him.

  ‘Fuck you,’ she whispered.

  ‘Ha ha.’ The tall man hefted his crotch at her with a grin. ‘I think I fuck you.’

  Archer could see this spiralling out of control very quickly, and interjected with a shouted ‘Hey!’

  The short man turned and drove a fist into his gut, winding him, then grabbed him by the hair and

  pulled his head back. Nose to nose, the Samoan leered at him. His breath was putrid with fish and

  beer.

  ‘No-one can hear yo scream, bro,’ he chuckled, ‘but I still rip yo tongue out yo head.’

  Archer eyeballed him and sucked air in through his nose.

  ‘You touch
her again, you filthy fucken animal,’ he hissed, ‘and I’ll kill you.’ He tossed a glance at the

  other two men, who had stopped now and were listening. ‘And your little boyfriends.’

  The short man flushed with anger and straightened up, cracking the knuckles of his right hand

  and shaking it out before setting his feet in a boxing stance.

  ‘Yo got a big mouf, bro.’

  The right jab came straight at Archer’s face and he managed to pull his head left and just catch it

  on the cheekbone, but it was still hard enough to rock him back in the chair.

  He looked at the man with a scornful sneer. ‘Pussy. You hit like a fa’afafine.’

  The other two men chuckled at his reference to the transvestites, and anger twisted the short

  man’s face. His left shot out and smashed into Archer’s jaw, fol owed by a right-left-right combo

  which tossed him around like a cork on the tide, the room swaying before him as he rolled with

  each punch.

  The short man stepped back and prepared himself for the next round, and Archer caught Tracy’s

  eye.

  ‘Thank you,’ she mouthed to him, knowing that while the men were focussed on him, they were

  leaving her alone.

  A car engine sounded outside followed by doors slamming and the crunch of footsteps

  approaching. The door opened and a pair of newcomers stepped inside, banging the door closed

  behind them.

  ‘Well well lads,’ Boyle said with a cheery grin, looking at each of them in turn, ‘what do we have here then?’

  Beside him, Yassar leered at Tracy. Archer’s heart sank as he realised their predicament had just

  got worse.

  The Irishman paused to glance at their passports then stepped into the space between the two

  captives and rubbed his hands together as he ran an appraising eye over them.

  ‘I trust my friends have been treating you well?’ he inquired, nodding as if to confirm it to himself.

  He paused as he took in Tracy’s nakedness. ‘And hello to you, Ms Spencer. So this is what all the

  men at the firm have been missing all this time, eh?’He glanced over at Archer. ‘Unless you’ve had

  a piece of this, Kiwi? No, I didn’t think so.’ He grinned at the three Samoans beside him. ‘She likes