The Red Cobra: a James Ryker Thriller

by Rob Sinclair

  Ryker crept further inwards, moving between containers until he reached the metal face of the warehouse. Now that he was away from the main docks, the area was nearly black. Only the lights at the front of the warehouse were on. He could hear voices within, but could see nothing of what was happening, or how many men there were.

  Moving along the edge of the warehouse, Ryker was watchful for any guards who might be doing their rounds. He came across no one. He’d moved around two corners of the warehouse when he came to a stop. On this side, with stacked containers behind him and the water directly beyond, he’d spotted a sliver of light coming from the warehouse wall. A hole no more than an inch in the worn metal surface. A missing rivet perhaps.

  Ryker moved up to the light and put his face against the metal. From there he had a near-unobstructed view inside. While the outside of the warehouse was dark and quiet, the inside was buzzing with activity.

  Two men stood guard with automatic rifles, one either side of the open doors at the entrance. They were standing back, against the wall, obscured from anyone approaching the front.

  Ryker could now see three vehicles parked up inside: the same shiny black saloon car, SUV, and panel van he’d seen at the ranch earlier.

  Ryker counted another ten men milling about the place. Other than the two at the doors, none of the others appeared to be armed. Among them was Sergei, but there was no sign of the Pakhan yet. It was clear the men were waiting around for something. But what?

  For nearly an hour, Ryker stood there in the darkness. In that time, he twice became spooked when he heard a noise behind him. Both times it turned out to be nothing. Or at least he saw nothing, though he couldn’t be certain exactly what the noises had come from.

  It was just gone ten p.m. when the heavens opened. Thick rain poured down. The drops clattered and banged on the metal warehouse and the many containers surrounding Ryker. Within seconds he was soaked through. Water poured from his hair, down his brow, and in front of his eyes like a waterfall.

  The noise from the torrential downpour would make it easier for Ryker to move with stealth, he realised, but at the same time would make hearing others moving towards him more difficult.

  Not long after the rain started, the men inside the warehouse sprang to attention, giving orders and moving into position.

  Moments later, Ryker heard the thumping engine noise of a large truck, then the hiss of its air brakes as it came to a stop.

  Thirty seconds passed, then the beams of the truck’s headlights became visible beyond the open warehouse doors. The truck swung around in the yard then reversed its trailer – a red sea container on top – into the warehouse.

  When the whole of the vehicle was inside – water dripping down from its bulk creating large puddles on the floor – two men stepped forward and rolled the warehouse doors closed.

  The other men quickly moved into formation. Each of them either drew a handgun or pulled a rifle from an unseen hiding place. All of a sudden, there were a dozen armed men inside the warehouse, crowding around the container.

  Two men, rifles over their shoulders, carried a set of metal steps over to the truck’s trailer, then another man clambered up and undid the thick clasps on the container before swinging open the rusted doors.

  Ryker held back a gasp as he stared at the darkness inside. The man on the top of the steps shouted and held out his hand. A woman timidly walked forward. She was young, maybe early twenties. Her thin clothes were plain and worn. Her skin was streaked with dirt. The look on her face... she was terrified.

  The man grabbed her hand and pulled her to him then ushered her down the steps where she was coaxed along by the other men. Then another woman came out of the darkness. And another. Next was a woman with her young baby pressed up against her chest. Then a man with a boy.

  Thirty people Ryker counted in total.

  Centuries earlier, the proximity of Algeciras to Africa had seen it develop into an important trading location. But the proximity had long been exploited by criminals too. Smuggling. Black market goods. Drugs.

  People trafficking.

  Ryker looked on as the armed men separated the stowaways into four groups. Families. Single men and women with children. Men. And the largest group – lone females, of which there were sixteen. The armed men moved the groups to different corners of the warehouse. The stowaways looked weary. And scared. Many of them were shaking.

  The container doors were closed, then the doors to the warehouse opened before the lorry’s engine roared back to life. The lorry was driven away and seconds later, four vans came into the warehouse, each parking up next to one of the groups of people. The armed men shepherded all but the group of lone women into a waiting van. The three filled vans drove away.

  Then the warehouse doors were closed again. One of the men with a rifle came over to the black car and opened the back passenger door. And there was the Pakhan. The mob boss.

  Ryker gripped the Colt in his hand. What he wanted to do was put a bullet into the boss’s head. One shot. Maybe Sergei too. Then run.

  But what would that achieve? And could he really kill the old man just like that without even knowing who he was? All the signs were there but still...

  The old man, cane in hand, moved over to the group of young women. When he reached them, he stopped and his underlings straightened the women up, moved them into a neat line. Paraded them for the boss. He gave the slightest flick with the cane and one of his men stepped forward and grabbed the chosen woman, twisting her wrist around and pulling on her hair. The woman cried out but no one took any notice, not even the other women, who looked on bewildered.

  One of the men helped the Pakhan back into his car. Another shoved the woman in the other side. The men ushered the remaining women into the final waiting van, then lay down their weapons before the warehouse doors were again opened. The van departed and the men stood waiting once more.

  If he was going to act, he should do it now, Ryker convinced himself. He stepped back from the hole in the wall and thought through a plan. If he could lure the men outside, into the darkness, he might have a chance.

  But then the boss would simply get away. His men would drive him to safety at the first sign of trouble. If Ryker was going to make a move, the boss had to be the first target. He was the one pulling the strings. The one who’d likely ordered Sergei to kill Miguel Ramos. The one who’d had Kim Walker killed. The one who’d been trying to kill Ryker!

  Ryker was snapped from his deliberation when above the noise of the driving rain, he heard a faint crunching behind him. Like someone’s foot scraping a small stone across the ground.

  Ryker spun round and stared into the darkness, his gun pointed out.

  Nothing. He could see nothing. Not even the droplets of rain that he knew were cascading down his face right in front of his eyes. It was too dark.

  But there was no mistaking the next noise he heard, a second later. A voice.

  More than that, it was a voice he recognised.

  ‘Carl,’ she said.

  The Red Cobra.

  CHAPTER 56

  Ryker said nothing. He held up the gun, pointed it out, and twisted himself this way and that as he did his best to scan the blackness ahead.

  ‘Carl, it’s me,’ she said, her voice nothing more than a whisper, now coming from Ryker’s side. ‘Over here.’

  Ryker stepped back until he felt himself brush against the warehouse metal. It gave him some comfort that wherever the Red Cobra was, she wasn’t behind him.

  ‘I won’t hurt you,’ she said, her voice coming from a different direction again. Ryker spun to the left. Still couldn’t see a thing.

  ‘Put down the gun,’ she said.

  Again the voice had moved. Then Ryker saw her. At least he thought he did. A dark shadow shooting between two containers in front of him. His finger was on the trigger. It was a job to resist the urge to shoot.

  ‘You know what they are now,’ she said. ‘You’ve seen what
they are. Help me to kill them.’

  ‘Why?’ Ryker said, speaking as quietly as he could.

  The next second, he felt a rush of air right by him. Saw her. She was sweeping around his side, going for his gun. She was inches away. He ducked, swivelled, and tried to catch her.

  She was gone again.

  ‘Carl. I’m not your enemy.’

  ‘Carl’s dead.’

  ‘No. He’s not,’ she said, the direction of her voice again taking Ryker by surprise. ‘But those men are.’

  ‘Who are they? The guy with the stick?’

  ‘The Pakhan? Giorgi? You know what he is, you’ve seen. It’s still early. That was one lorry. There’ll be five more before the night is through.’

  ‘I’m not going to let that happen,’ Ryker said.

  ‘No. Me neither.’

  Another flash of movement caught Ryker’s eye, off to his right this time. He spun and pointed his gun but saw nothing more of her.

  Then all was calm. Still. Quiet. Except for the rain that was still thumping down and the slow thudding of Ryker’s heart.

  He took several deep breaths.

  ‘Anna?’

  Nothing. She was gone.

  Or, at least she was no longer by Ryker’s side. The harrowing scream of a man moments later, followed by the sound of rapid gunfire, told Ryker exactly where she was.

  He spun back round to the warehouse and heard a chorus of shouts from inside. Footsteps moving quickly. The rattling of weapons as the men re-armed.

  A car engine starting.

  Ryker pushed his eyeball up to the hole in the wall. He spotted a man lying on the floor inside by the open main doors, a large pool of red beneath him. A second man stumbled from the rain back toward the inner sanctum, his hands covered in blood. He collapsed.

  Ryker looked over the remaining men. No sign of Sergei. The lights of Giorgi’s car flashed on. Ryker couldn’t let them get away. He shot into action, racing along the side of the warehouse, his gun at the ready.

  He heard more gunshots from inside, more pained cries. The sound of another engine starting. Ryker reached the front of the warehouse and spotted Giorgi’s car already out of the warehouse. Its brake lights blinked as it came to a stop at the security barrier that was slowly lifting up.

  Ryker opened fire. Aiming for the car’s back tyres. He hit both. He turned when he saw another vehicle. The SUV. Ryker fired a single shot at the windscreen, aiming for the driver through the tinted glass. But the bullet bounced away, not even a scratch.

  Ryker dove to the ground as the SUV swept passed him. He looked up to see Giorgi’s car speeding off the warehouse grounds then accelerating hard when it hit the road outside. The SUV followed on behind. Ryker cursed. Armoured glass. Run flat tyres. Nothing he could do.

  He quickly got to his feet and looked around. He could see four men inside the warehouse. Two with handguns, two with rifles. They were cautiously moving toward the exit doors. None had yet spotted Ryker. He could only assume his position had been masked by the darkness, and his gunfire by the rain, the revved engines of the escaping vehicles, and the haphazard firing of the men’s own weapons as they desperately tried to shoot at the Red Cobra.

  Wherever she now was.

  One vehicle remained inside the warehouse. As Ryker set eyes on it, the headlights came on and it shot forward. Ryker could clearly see the face of the driver as it sped toward him. The passenger too. Neither was Sergei. It didn’t matter. Ryker had seen enough. Every man left in that place was a target now.

  As the van approached, Ryker lifted the Colt and fired two shots. This windscreen wasn’t armoured. The bullets blasted through the glass and the cabin filled with blood spatters as the van careened passed Ryker. It swerved violently to the right, nothing more than an involuntary movement from the driver, who Ryker was certain was already dead. If, by chance, he wasn’t, the violent crash that ended the van’s escape would have finished him off for sure. Ryker watched as the van ploughed head-on into a metal shipping container. The vehicle’s front end crushed on impact and sent the heap of metal springing up into the air before it smashed back down.

  More gunshots rang out. Bullets whizzed by Ryker’s ear. He darted back to the outer wall of the warehouse for cover.

  ‘Nice shooting, Carl,’ came the Red Cobra’s whispered voice.

  Ryker spun round. She was already gone.

  The barrel of a rifle poked out from the warehouse doors. Ryker stood still, waited. The man had no other option: he had to come out into the open if he wanted to find Ryker and the Red Cobra. As soon as Ryker spotted an inch of the man’s head, he fired another shot. The man crumpled.

  A blast of automatic fire rattled the warehouse wall. A series of bullet holes opened up in the metal exterior right where Ryker was standing. He ran for cover over to the nearby containers, bullets ricocheting all around him.

  Ryker flung himself to the ground and rolled into a crouch up against the containers. Not even a second later, he was moving quickly around the side, back towards the darkness. And was taken by surprise when he almost walked head-on into the barrel of a handgun.

  Luckily, the man holding it was even more shocked than Ryker. That split second cost the man his life. Ryker thrust his fist up and crashed it into the man’s nose then fired a single shot as the man reeled backwards.

  But the noise of Ryker’s attack had given away his position. He took another barrage of fire from the unseen attacker with the rifle, and retreated further into the maze of containers.

  The gunfire stopped. Ryker moved quickly and methodically back around to the front. He wasn’t going to run and hide. He wanted to take charge and come back on the remaining men from behind.

  Ryker heard more screams. Male. He couldn’t see where they had come from, but the Red Cobra was certainly still out there. Still on the attack.

  There was a moment of silence, of stillness, as the rain died down. For a few seconds, Ryker wondered whether all the men were dead. He darted out from his position and headed back to the warehouse wall. He caught sight of the man with the rifle and, without hesitation, lifted his gun to fire.

  Then Ryker saw her. Again, she was nothing more than a shadow as she swept across the man. Just about the only part of her that was clearly visible was the glint of her knife. Ryker opened fire. At both of them. He hit the man, at least once. The Red Cobra? He couldn’t be sure. But Ryker soon realised he’d used up the remainder of his bullets. And he didn't have another magazine.

  He cagily moved forward, towards the fallen man, his eyes set on the man’s rifle. He could neither see nor hear anything of the Red Cobra. Then Ryker stopped.

  In front of him, he heard banging. Metal. Ryker continued to inch forward, moving with caution. The sound kept on coming. From the crashed van a few yards ahead.

  Suddenly its back doors flew open, and a figure collapsed to the ground. Ryker picked up his pace. The rifle was just a few steps away from him. The figure rolled over. A man. He got to his feet. His face was caught in the light coming from inside the warehouse. Thick, dark blood covered one side of his head, but there was no mistaking who it was. Sergei.

  The Vor looked up and Ryker knew he’d been spotted. The smile on Sergei’s face told him so.

  The fallen man, rifle in his dead hand, was five yards from Ryker. Sergei was the same distance beyond. Ryker knew Sergei had spotted the weapon too. Both men sprang forward. Ryker wanted that rifle, but there was no way he’d get there and fire it before Sergei was on him. In the end, Ryker opted to go for his foe instead.

  A good choice because that was Sergei’s aim too.

  Ryker hurled himself through the air and smacked into Sergei. The two men fell to the ground. Ryker knew he had the size and strength to give him the upper hand – if he could just keep Sergei’s attacks at bay. But as he’d expected, Sergei was far from a fighting novice. As the men grappled for control, the Vor delivered quick blows to Ryker’s side, then wormed his way out from undernea
th.

  Both men jumped back to their feet and squared off. They side-stepped around an imaginary circle, each waiting for the other to move. Ryker was the one to break the truce. He burst forward, intending on delivering a roundhouse punch that would surely floor Sergei.

  But Sergei saw it coming. He feinted then swivelled and swiped Ryker off his feet. Ryker landed on the ground with a thud. He was dazed.

  Then he spotted the rifle. Right there next to him.

  He reached out for it. Sergei saw what was coming, and he darted over, lifted his boot, and kicked away the rifle. Then he set himself up to finish Ryker off with a heel to the face.

  No chance. Ryker grabbed Sergei’s leg and bolted, lifting the Vor’s foot into the air. The momentum sent Sergei’s body tumbling backwards and Ryker threw himself down on top of his enemy once more.

  This time he wasn’t letting him go. Ryker didn’t give Sergei a second to recover. He grabbed Sergei’s head and smashed it off the tarmac. There was a loud crack. Ryker did it again and Sergei’s eyes rolled. Ryker was set to deliver a third blow that would surely finish Sergei for good when he was distracted by the sound of movement behind him.

  The Red Cobra.

  Ryker spun, moving off Sergei and into a defensive position. He expected to see the shadow. Perhaps the glint of her knife.

  So he was surprised when what he actually saw was the black butt of a rifle, moving quickly towards him.

  Not the Red Cobra after all.

  But it was too late for Ryker to do anything as the butt smashed into his face.

  CHAPTER 57

  Ryker came to when his head jarred against something hard. He opened his eyes. It was dark. Noisy. Another jolt, and his face smashed off a metallic surface just inches away. It took Ryker’s battered brain a few moments to calibrate and realise where he was.

  The boot of a car.

  He couldn’t see a thing, could barely move in the cramped space. His wrists were strapped together. His ankles too. Rope? Tape? He had so little room to manoeuvre, he couldn’t be sure.