by A P Bateman
Next, Stone scanned his eyes over icons on the homepage. He saw Google Maps and opened it. The island, or what he assumed to be this island was on the screen. He controlled the arrows on the screen and found what he recognised to be the two headlands in relation to the hill. He found the pond, saw that there were actually two smaller ones further west. He could see the overgrown hill where he had outsmarted The Saracen, changed his direction to flank him. In the centre of the island, which looked smaller than he imagined, he could see a cluster of buildings and a gravel roadway. He could see the road which led up to the satellite array where he had been hit with the tranquiliser gun. The road terminated at a cove on the other side of the island. He looked at the key running down the side of the screen. It was a little under a mile away. That was, if he was in one of the buildings in the cluster on the screen, which he had to assume he was. The compass showed it was due west from the buildings. He looked at the hill and the satellite dishes to get a bearing, then made his way outside.
There were no other vehicles and no sign of life. But if there were no other vehicles, then how were the three men going to have transferred him to the boats? Perhaps one of the other two was going to drive back and pick them up after they had secured Kathy. But that seemed a waste of resources. Unless there was another vehicle somewhere. He couldn’t see one and the place looked deserted. There was the Jeep, but Stone could not see it and neither of the three men had keys on them.
Stone kept the M4 rifle shouldered, the muzzle lowered a few inches. Safety off, finger touching the edge of the trigger. He could get the weapon on target, wrap his finger completely around the trigger in a few hundredths of a second.
The huts were set deep in the ground so that the roofs were all that was visible, which meant that each one had a dozen wooden steps leading down to them. Stone knew he needed to check each one before he left for the cove, but safely searching a building was a time consuming process. He made his way down the first set of steps and tried the door. It opened and he could see as soon as he pushed the door inwards that it was a sleeping quarters. There were a dozen military-style cot beds and each was covered by mosquito netting. He could see it was empty. There was a bathroom at the far end, the door left ajar. He called it clear and made his way up the steps to the next hut. Again, it was unlocked and the door pushed inwards. This was a cookhouse and rec-room. There were tables and chairs, a serving hatch at the far end and along one side of the room there were vending machines. Mainly soda and confectionary. Empty calories for people waiting around. One quarter of the room was given over to a lounge area with a large flat-screen television on the wall. There was a pool table that had been abandoned in the middle of a game and an Xbox hooked up to a smaller television in a cosy nook with a selection of games and magazines scattered on the floor. It was more civilised than most of the army barracks he’d spent time in.
Stone walked through, having already seen that there was no place for somebody to be hiding and waiting to ambush him. The kitchen was empty. There was a bowl of fruit on the counter and he ripped the skin off half a dozen bananas and practically inhaled them. He ran the faucet and filled a coffee mug with water, downing it and another two right afterwards. There wasn’t time to eat more, and he could tell without opening the fridge or cupboards that the kitchen had wound down. Whoever had the kitchen duty had known that the operation was drawing to a close. There was nothing prepared for dinner, no sign of food waiting either to be cooked or defrosted.
Back outside in what he termed in his head as the compound, he looked for the landmarks he had seen on Google Earth. Satisfied he was heading in the right direction, he ignored the winding track the vehicle would have taken and ran at a fast pace west.
The terrain was thinner, long savannah and pampas grass, tall banyan trees and tight thorn bushes. The air was cooler than it had been in the dense jungle of the eastern side of the island. At the fringe of the coast, the jungle started again, but it was lighter and less dense. Stone realised that he was at around a hundred feet of elevation when he caught sight of the coast.
A rugged outcrop of rocks gave him some cover. He crouched down and saw the two boats in the bay. He recognised the cruiser as a Sunseeker. He liked boats but they were something to enjoy with friends and family, and Stone didn’t have many of either so never had any real aspirations of ownership. But senators and politicians liked boats and Stone had flicked through enough boating magazines whilst waiting around on security detail to know what the boat was and how much it would have cost. He recognised the other boat as a utilitarian craft, most likely made locally, although it had powerful engines and would probably match the big cruiser for speed.
Stone moved from his position and made his way around the outcrop of rocks. He worked his way lower down the slope, placing his feet carefully on the shale surface. He could see a pile of the scree at the bottom near the water. He didn’t want to take the ride down; it was only a degree or two off vertical. He crossed over to where the rock looked firmer. Below, he could see the vehicle parked on the beach. He realised that the track went to the other end of the beach and the last two hundred metres had to be driven across the sand, which was why he had not seen the vehicle before now. He edged closer to the cliff and peered down to his left. He could finally see them, joining the walkway to the jetty. His heart was pounding and he felt a dramatic relief well within him when he saw Kathy walking in front, prodded in the back with the muzzle of a compact Kalashnikov assault rifle held by Marnie. He could only assume they had plans for her regarding her story into their affairs and still needed her for damage control. The man followed, struggling on the last few feet of sand and pebbles with his prosthesis. The two dogs brought up the rear, sniffing the air and whining. Marnie looked at them and stopped walking. She seemed distracted, then turned and stared up the cliff directly at Stone. He went to duck down, but it was too late. He simply raised the weapon and took aim.
“Hold still!” he shouted.
“Seek!” she shouted. “Attack!” She pointed directly at Stone and the two dogs took off, disappearing from view under the lip of the cliff.
Stone corrected his aim, but Marnie had the weapon aimed at Kathy and was moving swiftly towards her closing the gap that had opened up when she had spotted him. The man was aiming a large handgun up the cliff at him. The weapon was huge, comically so. A gunshot rang out and Stone fell backwards, the rifle ripped from his hands by the bullet. He checked himself over, dazed by the impact. He went to pick up the rifle but stopped when he saw the twisted and buckled frame. The bullet had passed straight through, punching a thumb-sized hole through the receiver.
He wondered how long it would take the dogs to get to him, and he thought back to what he had remembered about the night they had taken down the man impersonating the cop. The night they had eaten out a man’s throat.
He got his answer almost instantly as the first dog bounded up the slope and stopped dead at the top. Stone drew the 9mm Glock. The dog was huge and seemed even more muscled than it had been on that night. Suddenly, he felt under-gunned. The dog was standing head-on, and at fifty-feet it was a small target. Stone brought the weapon up to aim and waited for the dog to make its move so he could make the bullets count.
It remained still, its eyes staring at Stone, its teeth bared. And that’s when the other dog, silent and still just a few feet behind him, made its move.
37
The strength of the animal was incredible. Its teeth tore into Stone’s shoulder and he dropped the pistol as he involuntarily raised his hands to cover his neck. He bowed his head and wrapped his arms around his ears and head. Survival mode was kicking in, the instinct of self-preservation. Already the dog had savaged his right hand and was working at getting its jaws into his throat. Stone felt the other dog bound onto him and was thrown down onto his side as the dog, weighing at least one-hundred-and-forty pounds attempted to get its jaws into his throat. Stone rolled onto his front and struck out a blow, but hi
s fist simply hit hard muscle and bone and did nothing to slow the animal down. Keeping his guard up to his head, he struggled to his knees but was pushed back down by one of the beasts. The attack was frenetic, a flurry of claws and jaws, wailing, barking, growling – savagery at its most basic, primal instinct.
He pictured the man lying on his back, his throat ripped out. The image had been with him throughout the attack. But he was unable to fight like this. He couldn’t see what was happening, he needed to get himself into a better position. He still had the knife, but couldn’t draw it from its scabbard. Stone took a chance and started to roll over. At once he caught one of the dogs by its throat and he squeezed until his fingers met behind its windpipe. The dog seemed shocked and stopped its attack, but started to push and jerk itself backwards. Its strength was too much for Stone and it jerked free, but instead of continuing its attack, he coughed and choked on the spot, attempting to clear its throat. It was obviously taking in little air and its own survival instinct had kicked in. Stone grabbed the dog’s tongue and pulled it clear by almost a foot. The dog froze, its jaws still for fear of severing its own tongue. The second dog was still attacking with all its vigour but Stone managed to keep it at bay using the point of his elbow, as he fumbled for the knife. The other dog’s tongue was hot and wet, and the attack from its companion meant that Stone lost his grip. The dog shook its head, stunned and confused. It watched on as the other dog kept up its relentless attack. Stone managed to get a good grip on the knife and with his other hand now free to grab a handful of skin around the other dog’s throat, he slashed it across its ankle joint and it practically jointed the creature’s leg there and then. The dog slowed its attack, howled and tried to back up but with the partially severed leg, lost its footing, enabling Stone to grab harder at the skin of scruff of its neck. He got the knife under its throat and sawed vigorously as he pulled the dog closer. The knife was a razor-sharp military K-Bar, the blade honed as sharp as a scalpel. There was a massive release of air and blood as the blade slashed through the arteries and windpipe and the dog lolled on the spot, its legs shaking before it flopped down and rested still.
Stone backed up, sitting on his backside with his legs tucked in, the bloody knife in his hand. The other dog was still coughing and spluttering, its tongue hanging limply where muscle and fibre would have ripped at the back of its throat, but seemed to be getting enough air to remain standing. It looked at Stone, then at its dead companion. It walked over, sniffed the body and pawed at it. Stone edged towards the pistol on the ground. He picked it up tentatively and aimed carefully at the dog. The animal no longer seemed interested in killing him, but Stone didn’t want to take the chance. He aimed at the dog’s head, tightened his finger on the trigger and watched as the dog held up its head and howled like a wolf. Stone lowered the weapon. The dog then laid down beside the body of its companion and rested its chin on its bloody neck and let out a long, eerie whine. As Stone got to his feet and edged cautiously away, the dog watched him through the corner of two of the darkest, saddest eyes he’d ever seen.
38
The power cruiser’s engines started and reverberated around the bay. Stone looked down from the clifftop and saw Marnie casting off the forward and aft ropes, the man controlling the boat at the helm. The boat had two steering platforms. One inside with the cabin comforts and the other on an elevated platform for enjoying the sunshine and being seen by people in smaller boats.
Stone watched as the boat moved seamlessly away from the jetty powered by its bow and stern thrusters - a transversal propulsion device fitted front and rear on both sides for effortless mooring. Once the boat was clear, the bow rose as the power was applied harshly to the rear engines and the boat surged away developing a tremendous wake that lifted the work boat high out of the water and smashed it repeatedly into the jetty.
Stone could see the boat lean hard to starboard as the man spun the wheel and cleared the edge of the horseshoe, perilously close to the jagged rocks. The boat then leaned hard to port, its cabin getting considerably close to the water as it hugged the headland and straightened up for open water. Stone looked around and saw the scree. It was practically vertical, but he ran for it and jumped, digging his heels in as he landed twenty-feet further down and rode the shale down the cliff like a surfer dropping down the face of a monster wave. He trailed his right hand in the scree to help slow himself down, but with little effect. He dropped so fast, he could feel his internal organs rising, his stomach playing catch up. He skidded at the bottom, his feet digging into the pile of flat shale and he was flung out across the beach and landed in a heap in the sand and pebbles. He looked up but could no longer see the power cruiser. It was out in the open ocean. He could hear it though and the craft’s engine emitted a base thrumming that was echoing off the cliffs around the bay as it headed away at full throttle. Stone got to his feet and limped across the short distance of sand and onto the jetty. The log platform rocked with the wake of the cruiser, making it tricky to run across. Not only that, but both of his ankles felt tight and he was favouring them with every step. He had been lucky not to sprain or break them when he landed. He put some thanks into the tightly fastened military boots he was wearing.
The work boat was rocking on its strop, the line fastened to a large cleat on the jetty. Rubber fenders hung from the prow and stopped the boat from becoming damaged by rubbing on or striking the platform repeatedly. Stone unfastened the rope, just keeping it looped once around the cleat. He wrapped the length around a bow cleat and looked at the control panel. As he suspected from a work boat with multiple users, it was a simple ignition switch and push-button start to negate the problem of people losing or forgetting a set of keys. He knew the battery would have a cut-out switch to avoid discharge, but he needed to locate it first. As a tester he switched the ignition just in case, but nothing happened. He got down on his knees and looked along the sides of the boat and under the control panel, where he saw a tool kit and flares. He went back to the rear bench seat and lifted the cover. There were four large removable fuel tanks and located between them was a dial with three settings: Battery 1 – Off – Battery 2, written on the transom at the quarter-to, twelve and quarter-past positions. He selected position 1 and went back to the control panel. The two engines fired into life immediately. The boat was equipped with two batteries which would charge each other during use. The user simply had to alternate the batteries.
Stone flicked the rope from the jetty cleat and dropped the line on the deck. He reversed out and pushed the throttle forwards a quarter of the way. The boat lurched forwards and Stone took the rocks close, just as he’d seen the man do in the Sunseeker. As he rounded the point of the second horseshoe bay he could see the white cruiser a long way off on a northerly heading. Stone slammed the throttle forwards and the prow climbed. He adjusted the trim and tilt setting on the throttle and the nose of the craft came back down again and the wake lessened. The boat now seemed to fly across the water. Every now and then the boat would hit a swell and would leave the water entirely and crash back down on the surface with a tremendous spray. There were no dials other than a temperature gauge so Stone had no idea how fast he was going. All he knew was that he’d never been faster on water, even in the US Navy SEAL’s attack boats, when he’d done a water insertion course with them and learned all about pain and being cold and wet for two weeks.
Stone didn’t really have a plan, but he could see that he had a speed advantage over the cruiser. That said, the Sunseeker was an exceptionally fast boat. But what the power cruiser had over this roughly made, over-engined work rocket was fuel capacity. Stone had no indication of how much fuel he was carrying, but he knew the four tanks would last minutes rather than hours at this speed and he had not checked whether they were full when he had left. And nor could he leave the skittish controls to go back and check the levels and adjust his speed accordingly. It was simply time to do or die. Only if he ran out of fuel, it was Kathy at risk, not himself.
The boat ahead had quadrupled in size now; the work boat had caught up quickly. Stone estimated there to be a thousand-metres in it. He had trained as a sniper and reckoned the man, who he knew to be six-five, was about the right size for a thousand-metres. After a few minutes that distance was down to seven-hundred. And then five. And then three. And that’s when the man casually turned around and started shooting at him.
Stone didn’t worry too much for the first couple of shots, but a bullet whizzed past his head and he ducked down. He’d had close calls with bullets before, and this was in his top five for as close as it got. He felt the wind from the spinning bullet brush his face. He heaved the wheel to port and the boat leapt over a four-foot high breaking white horse from the Sunseeker’s wake. The man turned and fired again. Stone didn’t even bother taking out the 9mm Glock for an unsteady three-hundred yard shot at forty-knots. It would simply be a waste of ammunition. Instead, he concentrated on drawing the man’s fire. Hopefully he’d run out of bullets. But the man did not fire anymore, and Marnie did. She hunkered herself down on the transom and opened up with the short model Kalashnikov. It was good for three-hundred yards or so, and the bullets clattered into the hull of the boat spitting splinters into Stone’s face. He wheeled to starboard and the rounds tracked across the water sending up plumes of spray and then tracked back and found the boat again.