by A P Bateman
He cut the bonds and the body slumped to the ground, the head rolling a few feet before resting still. He retrieved the leather plaited braids, knowing he would find a use for them, then took the makeshift dressing he had plugged the wound with using the loin cloth. He then turned and left the scene and returned to the beach. He had the knife and the spear with him and laid them on the shoreline with the length of leather binding as he entered the water. He washed the loin cloth and put it on. Part of him felt ridiculous, like he was auditioning for a Tarzan movie, but it was a relief to cover his nakedness and the material would have many uses now that he had the means to cut it and create cordage for traps or makeshift fishing net or line.
Back on the sand, Stone picked up the rope and weapons and struck off towards the next headland. He wanted to put in some distance between the body and himself. Not merely because of the macabre scene he had witnessed, but because there was somebody else here. Someone ruthless with an agenda unknown. Someone who would take the head of a man left wounded and helpless and tethered to a tree. Someone who had just committed a cold-blooded murder. Someone who, for all Stone knew, could be watching him from the cover of the thick jungle.
The headland was lower than the previous two. It was a swift climb to the top and Stone observed the bay ahead from above. It looked a treacherous terrain of sharp rock and jagged reef which was starting to become exposed as the high tide started to drop. His feet were sore from what rock and debris he had stepped on so far, and he was aware that what lay ahead should be treated as a last resort. To his left the headland disappeared into the jungle. Behind him lay the two bays he had already crossed. He reasoned that he should hole up somewhere for the night, and by the height of the sun and the fade of the light, he imagined reaching the scene of the murder at about the optimum time to rest up. It wasn’t an option. The sky had started to turn grey on the horizon. The wind was light, but onshore. The greyness would reach landfall sometime tonight, hopefully bringing rain and some relief from the heat as well as precious clean water. But if it rained heavily, he would also need shelter. Even in the tropics, over-exposure to rainfall would make the cooling temperature unbearably cold.
Options weighed, Stone headed off the headland and into the jungle. He switched the long knife to his right hand and the spear to his left. The blade was sharp and heavy and would make light work of the foliage. The spear was ready not only to strike an attacker, but to push branches out of the way and hold thorns away from him as he eased his way through.
The going was tough. After the first fifty-metres, Stone turned and could not see the fringe where the jungle had met the headland behind him. The only sky he could see was directly above him. Patches of blue with scudding white clouds framed in the canopy of the jungle. The heat was far more humid and intense in here, and the slight breeze that he had felt on the headland had disappeared completely. The light was dim, and occasional shafts of sunlight cut through the canopy like searchlights. Stone rested against a smooth tree, listening. The only sounds were that of insects and small creatures scuttling on the jungle floor. His breathing was heavy and he sweated profusely. He knew he would need water soon. And food. Perhaps going back to the reef where he had eaten the shellfish would have been his best choice. He turned around, but felt disoriented. He was sure he had approached from the area directly behind him, but he had turned and looked at the shafts of light, walked to the tree to lean against and rest his legs. He couldn’t swear to the direction.
He cursed himself. He was sure that the beach had faced south. That would put the median line of east to west at left to right across the beach as he faced the ocean. He tried to work out where the sun was, but all that he had to go on were the occasional piercing shafts of sunlight. He tried to recall what angle the shaft would have to run to indicate direction. He felt himself over-working the problem. It was getting late, the sun would be heading west, but what angle would the shaft take? Forty-five degrees running right to left. But the shafts seemed to hit him head on. Which way was that? He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. He needed to quell the anxiety. Needed to try and be rational. He did not need to work out the angle – he knew it already. He needed to put the light where he wanted it. He opened his eyes and calmly turned on the spot until the shafts of light shone from right to left. He now knew which way was south, and therefore the beach. It was all a matter of perspective. He needed to remain calm. No good decision would ever come out of panic or desperation.
And then, as if a gift from the gods, the canopy dripped with droplets of water and with each minute that passed the drips become stronger and heavier until they ran over the leaves and branches in rivulets. Stone sucked the water from the tree trunk he had rested against. The sky had dulled and he now lost his brief idea of direction, but he didn’t care. He could feel the water flooding his system, making his kidneys and liver function more freely, slow his heartbeat and make his stomach feel wonderfully full. He still did not have anything to store or carry water in, but for the moment, his thoughts were filled only with taking in the gift and sustaining him for a while longer.
A memory flashed, but the terrain in this snapshot was deciduous forest. He was cold, but thirsty and there was a group of bedraggled soldiers in overcoats and ill-fitting boots. An escape and evasion exercise. Basic training somewhere, sometime. But it was enough to trigger his survival training. Snapshots of fire lighting, of shelter building and bush craft.
Stone looked at the trunk of the smooth tree, its bark running with water. He took the knife and dug the blade into the bark. He ran the blade around it until it met the initial cut. He then repeated the process a whole two-feet lower. Then he drew a vertical line with the tip of the blade and dug behind it, using the blade and his fingertips he removed a large, thin section of bark. It was like thick paper. He shaped it into a cone and then dug a hole at the base of the tree and shaped the bark into the hole. Satisfied it was both free from holes and in one piece, he pulled the edge of the bark sheet so that it touched the tree in the centre of a steady rivulet of rainwater. The bark visibly filled with clear water as he watched. The downpour continued and Stone spent the next thirty-minutes or so preparing another three water traps. When he had finished, the first one was over-flowing and he dropped down onto the ground and sucked it up, drinking his fill. He turned and looked at the other water traps which were well on the way to filling. His spirits were lifted and he cut three more sheets and made more wells. Next he worked on numerous sheets of bark quadruple the length. He laid them against a tree while he chopped a number of thin branches. He arranged them in a series of A-frames, sticking the ends in the soft earth and wedging them together using natural knocks and tiny growths of branches until they held. He then rested the bark sheets on top and draped them over the sides. It was raining heavily and Stone drank more water from the water traps and carefully made sure he left them positioned to continue filling. He climbed into the tight space of the shelter and was pleased with his handiwork. The odd drip came through, but it was otherwise extremely effective. He was starting to dry already. When the rain stopped and the jungle dried, he would gather what he needed to start a fire. For now, he was happy to be cool, but dry and thoroughly hydrated. He watched the drops of rain hit and bounce and splash on the surface of the water and his mind started to wander. He was coping with being here, thrust into this situation. But how did he get here, and why? He tried to recall the next meeting with Kathy. And then he remembered that things had started to get weird.
11
Stone looked over the rear of the Mustang in the dark. It had started to rain and the flashlight picked up the fine mist in its beam casting a searchlight onto wherever it shone. The impact had been substantial and had knocked out both rear light clusters and driven the chrome bumper deep into the trunk, which in itself, had pushed upwards into a pyramid. He stepped away, knowing it was likely that the impact would have twisted the chassis. Well, that was what insurance was for. He just knew that
wasting the two men in the other car was going flag up something negative during the claim process. The thought made him smile.
The downstairs light was still on inside Kathy’s house. Stone switched off the flashlight and walked up the pathway. The dogs met him. The same look as the two idiot brothers on his high school prom night. To his surprise they did not bark, just stared silently and menacingly at him. He looked at them as he drew back the brass knocker and hammered the plate fixed to the door. The dogs continued to stare at him. He had never known dogs like it and they unnerved him as the stared him out.
Kathy looked hesitantly around the corner of the corridor. Stone was backlit by the porch lighting. She frowned, then smiled when she recognised him. Her hair was damp and she was still dabbing at it with a towel. She was wearing only a satin ivory night dress. Sheer and revealing. Low cut. Stone felt his pulse quicken as she bent down and ushered the two dogs out of her way.
“Hi!” she said, as she opened the door to him. “I just got out of the shower,” she paused. “Early start tomorrow. I just want to grab my jacket and handbag and go. What are you doing back here?”
Stone stepped in and closed the door behind him. One of the dogs stepped in between him and Kathy, leaned its weight against Stone’s knee. “Did you tell anybody you were meeting me tonight?” he asked.
“No, why?” she frowned.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. What’s wrong? You’re scaring me a little.”
“I’ve got no cell phone signal,” he said. “Could I use your phone?”
“Sure,” she replied. She still wore the frown. “What’s happened? Is everything ok?”
“Auto trouble.”
“It’s in my study,” she said. “You know the way. Fancy another coffee?”
“Sure. I’m wired anyway.”
Stone went on into the study. He called 911 and gave his name and details of his Secret Service seniority. He explained the scenario and asked the dispatcher for the police, coroner and fire service and left Kathy’s address and number for a contact. He heard Kathy behind him and turned around as he replaced the receiver. She was standing in the doorway with two cups of coffee. She had put a red towelling dressing gown over her night dress. It was comfy and although hardly alluring, she managed to wear it well. Although it was far less thought-provoking than the ivory satin underneath.
“What do you need all that for, I thought you had car trouble? Has there been an accident?”
Stone walked over and took one of the cups off her. “I ran into some trouble. Two armed men. They shot at me then chased me,” he said. “I can’t help thinking it had something to do with your dark web story.”
“Oh my god! Are you all right?” She had her hands held up to her face, then seemed to realise that merely by the fact that he was standing there her question had been answered. She looked a little more composed and asked, “Why would it?”
“Well, your computer guy identified missing war veterans with recent deposits made through the dark web into their accounts before they disappeared. The money appears to have been paid by the same source, albeit from a convoluted system of accounts and financial companies. Nothing a good forensic accountant couldn’t untangle. But he was on to something strange, something potentially ruinous for someone with something to hide and it would appear, a great deal of money to spend.”
“So we’ve stirred up a hornet’s nest? Edwards and me, that is.”
“And now me,” Stone said. “Because both of those men are dead, and they will have buddies for sure. They’ll want their vengeance. And for them to be on to you, to risk killing a government agent, then they must have backing. Hopefully just financial, and not political.”
“Oh my god!” she exclaimed. “You killed them?”
“It was them or me.”
She shook her head. “This is terrible. Why political? What made you say that?”
Stone sipped some coffee and shrugged. “Just a hunch, but those guys looked like spooks. Or former spooks. Just a feeling. The expensive car, the way they dressed. They wore shoulder holsters and carried identical pistols. Hoods don’t wear shoulder holsters. They tuck a gun in their pants and if things go south they toss the gun and are clean. The evidence has gone. You can’t do that with an elaborate shoulder holster, the clips and ties that attach to your belt to keep the weapon secure. And they were professional. Their drills were good, but I taught those drills and counters to the best the Secret Service has to offer. I knew what was happening just before it happened. Good for me, bad for them.”
There was a knock at the front door and they both looked up. Stone went first. The dogs both stood between him and the front door. Neither one moved. Give me a break! Stone thought.
The man at the door was in his late thirties or early forties. He stood patiently, his identification wallet held open and pressed against the half pane of glass. Stone looked at it and opened the door.
“Detective Rawlins, homicide,” the man announced and put the wallet into his inside jacket pocket. “Are you the reason I’ve got to write up reports all night?”
“You’ve seen the vehicle?”
“I have. Pretty efficient job. Damned car looks like Swiss cheese. Now, do you want to run me through it, step by step?”
“It’s pretty straightforward really,” Stone said. “I left here at around mid-night. The car picked me up at the end of the road, followed me, got too close and I speeded up. I thought it was some redneck wanting a drag race. I pulled over and the passenger started shooting. I fired back, gave chase and overtook them…”
“You overtook them? In a sixty-eight Mustang? That fancy pants German sedan had over five-hundred horses.”
“You don’t say,” Stone said. “They took off the decals. I figured they wanted a stealth car.”
“I saw the engine. Big V8, twin turbos.”
“Figures. It had a good turn of speed.”
“But not enough, eh?” Rawlings smiled. “Say, can we go somewhere with a table? I want to make some notes.”
“Sure,” Kathy said. “Can I get you a coffee, detective? We seem to be ignoring the basics of getting a night’s sleep anyway,” she smiled.
“Thanks. Black, no sugar,” he turned to Stone. “Now, how about that table?”
Stone followed Kathy towards the kitchen. “Can we use the study?” he asked.
She turned and nodded, but her expression was aghast as she looked past him. “Rob!”
Stone felt the movement, sensed it in the air. He dropped low and moved to his right. As he looked back, Rawlings was clearing the pistol from its holster. He kicked out and caught the man in his knee, but it was a glancing blow and the man was still on his feet as he toppled to one side and fell into the wall, knocking a framed print to the floor and smashing the glass. Stone fell onto his knees and scrabbled up, one of the dogs getting in his way. He lunged at the man and caught hold of his right wrist, pulled hard downwards and took control of the weapon. The man was fast and kicked out. Stone twisted and the blow missed his groin and glanced off his hip. He swung a back fist and connected with Rawlins’ chin. The man yelped and swung a punch, but Stone kept hold of the man’s gun hand and blocked the punch with his right forearm. He barrelled into him, but Rawlins was strong and fit and pushed back hard. Stone reached for his own pistol behind his right hip in a soft leather holster. Rawlins pushed harder and the two men shuffled backwards and into Kathy, who was standing in the hallway apparently frozen to the spot. Rawlins dropped the pistol and it clattered to the floor. Stone let go of the man’s wrist and pushed him hard in the chest. Rawlins fell into the other wall, clattered another print off its hook. Stone got a good guard up and shuffled forwards with a series of punches. Rawlins blocked and ducked and took a couple of hits, but he boxed back and caught Stone on the chin. For a moment Stone wobbled, but ducked and bobbed back up with his guard in place. He’d been scrappy in the confines of the hallway and the surprise had kept him on the back fo
ot. He had a little distance now, and he would fight better now that he had chance to eye his opponent and study the man’s guard and stance. Kathy bent down and reached for the pistol on the floor, but Rawlins lashed out and punched her to the floor without looking at her.
And that was the end of it for Rawlins. He was a dead man. He did not see the attack coming. A ferocious onslaught, leaving the man defenceless. Both dogs leapt on him and both dogs each weighed a hundred and twenty pounds or more of bone, muscle and sinew. And teeth. They roared and growled and their jaws gnashed and snapped. Their teeth ripped and tore and their claws held the man still while they did it. Stone stepped back, astonished at how quickly they had dominated the man. He looked at Kathy and her eyes met his briefly. For a moment he was sure she was smiling, but her expression switched imperceptibly and she looked as terrified as he’d ever seen a person. She held her swelling eye, transfixed on what the two dogs had done to protect her. She was shaking, her hands quivering. She was in shock.
It had only been seconds, but Rawlins was dead and the two dogs stepped back, licking their lips and padding around the corpse. The man’s throat had gone. The spine was visible amongst the fleshy mess and he had bled out as he had writhed in fear and agony. The dogs started lapping at the thick clotting blood, smearing streaks through it on the polished wooden floor.
Stone stepped around one of the dogs and gently, and to his mind in light of what he had just witnessed, carefully placed a hand on Kathy’s shoulder and guided her into the kitchen.
“I…” she hesitated.
“I know, me neither,” he said. “They were protecting you. They’re just animals at the end of the day. They did what came naturally.”