Spring Showers Box-set

by Avell Kro

  floor. He shoved and got his knees up far enough to heave the thug off him. Hosea caught his

  balance on his haunches and came again, throwing himself forward in an attempt to pin Archer

  beneath him.

  Archer rol ed again, kicking free of the ropes and the chair before scrambling to his feet. He spun

  and delivered a punt to Hosea’s face. The thug fell back, clutching at his bloodied face. His knees

  were splayed and Archer gave him a second kick, this time to the testicles.

  Tracy cocked her foot and drove it down into Afa’s throat again. A murderous rage had descended

  over her and she was functioning on auto-pilot.

  Hosea folded at the waist and pulled his knees up. He rolled onto his side and vomited on the floor.

  Archer stood over him and sucked in measured breaths through his nose. It looked like the thug

  wasn’t getting up in a hurry.

  As he started to turn to check on Tracy he caught movement from the corner of his eye and

  snapped back around, instinctively moving to the side. Hosea had his shirtfront pulled up to

  expose the handgrip of his revolver, and the fingers of his right hand were on it as he started to

  pull it clear.

  Archer dived forward with the knife outstretched, slamming his bodyweight into Hosea and

  slapping his gun hand away, ramming the knife into the man’s neck with his other hand. The

  stocky thug jerked beneath him and a jet of blood spurted across the room from his severed

  carotid artery.

  He left the knife in place and rolled aside, grabbing the revolver from Hosea’s grasp. Archer fired

  two rounds at point blank range into Hosea’s face, pushed up and turned towards Tracy. Afa was

  on his side, clearly dead. Tracy kicked him again and his head rolled loosely from a broken neck.

  There was no sign of Solomon.

  Archer saw the door swinging open and darted to it. The middle sized thug was limping towards

  the ute, one hand clapped to his side, the other holding his machete. He heard Archer coming and

  looked desperately over his shoulder.

  ‘No!’ he cried, nearly at the ute now.

  Archer raised the Smith and shot him square in the back. Solomon fel forward against the side of

  the ute and turned, blood frothing at his lips. Archer came closer and shot him again, this time in

  the chest. Red speckled the white paintwork.

  Looking down at the bleeding thug, he could see the terror in his eyes.

  ‘I warned you,’ Archer told him coldly. He thumbed the hammer back and squeezed, firing a third

  shot to the heart.

  Solomon was dead before he hit the ground, and Archer returned to the shack.

  Tracy was sitting again, still tied to the chair. She was facing the lifeless form of the tall man, Afa.

  Her face was expressionless and bloodied. Her left eye was almost fully closed and horribly swollen.

  Her mouth was covered in blood.

  Hosea lay still on the floor, the knife in his hand and a fast-expanding pool of blood around him.

  ‘Is he dead?’ Tracy whispered thickly.

  Archer walked to her side and raised the Smith. He pointed it at Afa’s torso and squeezed the

  trigger. The hammer fel on an empty chamber. Hosea had carried it with only five rounds in the

  cylinder.

  Archer shrugged. ‘I don’t think it matters,’ he said quietly.

  He recovered the knife from Hosea’s dead fingers and cut Tracy free. She slowly covered herself but otherwise didn’t move. Archer searched the two bodies, found nothing of use, then wiped the

  Smith and Wesson clean and placed it in Hosea’s hand, wrapping his fingers round the slick

  wooden butt.

  He wiped the handle of the knife clean too, and placed it near the other outstretched hand. It was a

  basic attempt to confuse the crime scene, but it should buy them some time.

  He quickly gathered the discarded pieces of rope and shoved them in his pocket, along with the

  long nosed pliers, the extracted tooth and their passports, before helping Tracy up. She moved

  slowly and painfully as they went outside to the thugs’ ute.

  Archer helped her into the passenger’s seat, took the keys from Solomon’s pocket, and checked

  the vehicle. Their guns and phones were on the floor, and Archer took possession of them. He

  checked the load in his Beretta and re-holstered it. He also found a water bottle on the floor and

  offered it to Tracy. She washed her mouth out and spat bloodied water out the window before

  drinking half of the water and handing the bottle back.

  He ripped a piece off his shirt and wet it before gingerly dabbing at the burn on his chest. It stung

  and throbbed, and he wondered how bad it was. He left the compress on it and held it in place with

  the seat belt, then drained the bottle and started the ute, manoeuvring round onto the bumpy

  track and out to the main road.

  They needed to get to safety, fast.

  40

  Half an hour later they entered Apia and dropped the ute in a side street.

  The streets were deserted at this hour and the night porter was asleep in the back office, allowing

  them to slip past quietly and get to their room undisturbed.

  Archer locked the door behind them and drew the blinds, turned on plenty of lights and then the TV

  to cover any noise they made.

  Tracy seemed to have withdrawn into herself, so Archer took the lead and organised her. He sat

  her at the table and fetched the small first aid kit from his suitcase. Kneeling in front of her, he

  gently took her right hand and placed it on her thigh.

  ‘I’m sorry, this is going to hurt,’ he told her, ‘but it needs to be done. Bite on this.’

  He handed her toothbrush to her and she placed it between her front teeth.

  ‘Breathe in,’ he told her, ‘be strong and it won’t-‘

  He popped her little finger back into place and her face screwed up in pain as she bit down hard.

  She was still sucking in her first breath when his fingers moved to the next dislocation and swiftly

  popped it back into place as well.

  A muted scream burst forth from her bloodied lips and tears flowed. Archer shushed her softly

  and touched her head tenderly, drawing it to his shoulder and letting her cry.

  Once she had calmed down, he filled a tea towel with ice cubes from the freezer tray and had her

  hold it to her left eye. He gave her a glass of water to wash down some strong painkillers, then

  fetched a flannel from the bathroom and filled a bowl with warm water. He gently dabbed at her

  face and cleaned her as best he could without causing any more pain. She sat quietly and let him

  work, whimpering occasionally when he hit a sore spot.

  Finally, Archer stood up and brought her a glass of antiseptic mouthwash that he diluted with

  warm water. He watched as she rinsed her mouth and spat into the sink, cleaning the dried blood

  from the tooth injury as she did so.

  He took her to the bathroom and turned the shower on. Tracy raised her head and looked at him,

  questions in her eyes.

  ‘Don’t be embarrassed,’ he said gently, ‘you need help and I’m going to help you. It’s nothing more

  than that.’ He nodded affirmatively. ‘You can trust me, Trace.’

  She nodded and cradled her injured hand as he carefully undressed her. Once she was naked he

  appraised her body, looking for other injuries. She was dirty and blood-stained and covered in

  bumps and bruises and scratches.

  ‘Here.’

  He
helped her into the shower and adjusted the heat. He stripped off and put his filthy clothes in a

  pile with hers, then joined her in the shower. She flinched as he brushed against her and he moved

  back, giving her space.

  He spoke softly and soothingly as he ran his hands through her hair to wet it properly, comforting

  her through a process he knew she wouldn’t be comfortable with but that was necessary

  nonetheless. He washed her hair first and rinsed it out ful y, then took the soap and a flannel and

  washed her back.

  Turning her around, Archer held her by the shoulders and waited for her to look at him. Her eyes

  were wet and dark, the left one still swollen and painful looking.

  ‘It’s okay now,’ he told her quietly, ‘you’re safe with me.’

  Tracy nodded slightly and rested her head forward on his chest. She was warm and soft and

  womanly in his arms.

  ‘I know.’ Her voice was barely audible over the running water. ‘Thank you.’

  Archer finished washing her as quickly and unobtrusively as he could, feeling horribly self-

  conscious. Once she was clean Archer helped her dress and strapped her fingers, then left her to

  blow dry her hair while he showered himself.

  His own body ached all over and he found new injuries as he washed. He soaped himself

  thoroughly and scrubbed dried blood off with the flannel, which was now badly stained. The burn

  was red and yellow and nasty looking, and he made sure he cleaned it out properly, using a small

  bottle of antiseptic which made his eyes water when it touched the raw wound.

  Stepping out and grabbing a towel, he peeked into the bedroom and saw Tracy on the bed, dead to

  the world, ful y dressed. He dressed his wound and rubbed anti-inflammatory cream into his

  bumps and bruises. He carefully dried himself and dressed in clean cargo pants, a T shirt and

  boots. He checked his Beretta again and then Tracy’s, put the spare ammo in his pocket and then

  checked the door and windows again.

  Satisfied it was all secure, he made himself a strong sweet coffee and took some painkillers before

  sitting at the table and getting out his cell phone. He badly wanted a real drink, but the coffee

  would have to do for now. He needed to keep his wits about him.

  It was time to make a call.

  41

  Jonty had sounded croaky when he answered the phone at 3am, but after a minute’s talking from

  Archer he had become wide awake and switched on to what was needed.

  Archer gave him precise instructions, told him to hurry, then disconnected and waited. He sat on

  the sofa with his Beretta ready, Tracy’s pistol tucked into his waistband, and the cel phone in his

  other hand. He had an armchair pulled across the door and felt as ready as he could be. He let sleep

  take him and awoke with a start to the phone ringing in his hand.

  ‘I’ll pick you up in five minutes,’ Jonty told him by way of greeting, ‘there’s a plane waiting.’

  He was so keyed in that he seemed like a different man, even dropping his habitual ‘y’know.’

  Archer woke Tracy, gathered their luggage and led the way out to the front of the hotel. The night

  porter was still sound asleep in the back of the Reception.

  They were just descending the front steps when Jonty pul ed up in a red Mercedes SUV. He helped

  Archer sling the luggage in the back, doing a noticeable double-take when he saw Tracy’s injuries,

  then leaped back in and hit the gas.

  As they raced towards the airport, Jonty explained that he had called a local contact and hired him

  and his plane to make an emergency dash to Auckland. A military medical team would meet them

  at Whenuapai air base and take them immediately for treatment.

  ‘Re-organise that,’ Archer told him, ‘I need to get back to London immediately.’

  Jonty looked at him in the rear view mirror. After a moment’s pause, he nodded his understanding.

  ‘No problem, y’know.’

  Jonty did the forty minute trip in twenty five minutes and flew past the terminal to a side gate. As

  soon as he pulled up the gate swung open and they drove through. The gate clanged shut behind

  them and a man climbed into the passenger’s seat. He was a weathered looking man in his sixties

  with a white beard.

  ‘Gidday mate,’ he greeted Jonty, in a broad Aussie accent. He turned and nodded to the two back

  seat passengers. ‘Alright?’

  Archer nodded briefly in response.

  ‘Don’t worry mate,’ the pilot said cheerfully, ‘we’ve been doin’ this for years; you’re in safe hands.’

  ‘We?’ Archer inquired.

  ‘I’ve got a doc with me. He’ll patch you up a bit before we get there.’

  Jonty saw Archer’s look and nodded reassuringly. ‘It’s okay, these guys are solid.’

  Ten minutes later they were airborne in a Piper that had seen better days. Jonty had cleansed them-taking all evidence of weapons or equipment used in the assault-and they now just had to

  wait to land before they could get on with it.

  The doctor was an equally old man who Archer picked as the pilot’s brother. He was also equally

  quiet, going about his business efficiently without asking unnecessary questions. He re-dressed

  Archer’s burn before spending more time with Tracy, repeating most of what Archer had already

  done but doing it better and with superior materials.

  The plane was surprisingly well stocked and Archer laid claim to a pre-mixed bottle of bourbon

  and cola. He would’ve preferred the alcohol straight but wasn’t complaining. The doctor produced

  some American-issue MREs and prepared one for him. Without being entirely sure what he was

  eating Archer wolfed it in less than a minute and sat back, nursing his drink and mentally

  evaluating his injuries.

  He wasn’t in great shape and he was certain the burn would require some kind of surgery, he was

  exhausted, and his partner was in worse shape than him. But his mind wouldn’t stop buzzing. A

  million thoughts ran through it, pestering him like mozzies in the jungle.

  He felt out of his depth. Self doubt plagued him. This job was like trying to grab smoke What the

  fuck am I doing here? This isn’t my game. I’m a soldier, not a bloody spook.

  He smiled wryly. What was it that Moore had told him?

  It’s all smoke and mirrors, mate.

  He had that bloody right. He felt like he’d been chasing his tail since the start, always behind the

  eight ball. Just when he thought he was on top of it the rug got pulled and he was playing catch up

  again. The enemy were experienced and hard and ruthless, and they always seemed to be half a

  step ahead.

  This was a whole new playing field for Archer, and he felt like he didn’t know the rules and was

  trying to play a traditional game against a team of innovators.

  And how the hell did the enemy manage to stay ahead like they did? There was the debacle in

  Auckland that left a team of cops dead, Boyle’s escape after the Cornwall ambush, and now their

  own capture and torture in Samoa. And who killed Ruth and why? Ability and planning went a long

  way on the battlefield, cunning and innovation were crucial. But information was the lifeblood of

  any operation. Intelligence led to planning. Planning led to success. But where did the intel come

  from? How did the enemy get it?

  Was there a leak somewhere? Archer thought back to his discussion with the Director after the

  Auckland
incident, what seemed an age ago. He’d challenged the man directly then, told him there

  was a leak, but it had really been an accusation based on anger, not fact.

  But now he had something to work with. They’d had their legs taken out again and although he

  had nothing to base his suspicions on, Archer believed he knew where the leak was coming from.

  The hard bit was going to be trying to prove it.

  Maybe it was time to change, enforce his own rules on the game. Mix it up. Speed, Aggression,

  Surprise; the real SAS.

  Archer relaxed back in his seat and let his breath out. He ached all over and was mentally

  exhausted. He slipped easily into sleep and the next thing he knew they were landing at

  Whenuapai.

  42

  An ambulance met them on the tarmac and Tracy was escorted to it, despite her protestations that

  she was fine. Archer walked her to the back doors and they paused there, neither wanting to take

  the initiative.

  Finally, Archer awkwardly pulled her close and hugged her.

  ‘You’re a good girl, Trace,’ he whispered in her ear. ‘You did wel .’

  She squeezed him round the neck then kissed him firmly on the cheek and pulled away. Her eyes

  were wet and tinged with sadness as she looked at him.

  ‘I thought it was all over,’ she rasped.

  ‘But it wasn’t. You did what you needed to do.’ He smiled reassuringly. ‘You’l be right as rain before

  you know it.’

  ‘I gave Matthew up. You need to warn him.’

  Archer smiled thinly. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it.’

  She nodded awkwardly, then suddenly grabbed him by the neck and kissed him hard on the lips.

  Archer blinked with surprise, and then she was gone, turning away and climbing in the back of the

  ambulance without further ado.

  Archer had the distinct feeling he would never see her again. As he watched the ambulance pul

  away, he felt a twinge of sadness, maybe even regret. He shook his head abruptly and turned his

  mind back to the job at hand. Subconsciously he was already planning the next move.

  He knew exactly where he was going to start.

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