Torchwood_Exodus Code

by Carole E. Barrowman

  Donoso pushed Juan’s body out of his way, watching his wife crawl frantically to the nearest smashed window, dragging her LV bag behind her.

  Cash put his fingers to his lips. Vlad closed his eyes. Cash couldn’t see Hollis or Gwen because of debris, but he could see that Hollis’s arm was moving, trying to shift a section of the side door that was pinning him on top of Gwen.

  The minibus reeked of petrol, the iron odour of blood and Donoso’s own perfumed stink. Donoso pulled a cigar from his pocket, inhaling its scent, then he crumbled it in his hand, flaking the tobacco over Juan’s limp body. He shoved his wife’s gun into the waistband of his trousers then reached across and grabbed his wife’s leg before she could make it all the way through the window. She screamed. Shards of broken glass shredded her arms and legs as her husband hauled her back inside the wreckage. She raised her arms to shield her face.

  ‘You stupid bitch,’ he spat at her. ‘Did you really think your skinny body could buy you more loyalty from Antonio than mine?’

  Through the open emergency doors at the rear of the bus, Antonio raised his weapon and shot Donoso’s wife. Vlad gasped. Donoso turned and stared at him, then he picked up the LV bag with his ransom money in it, reached his hand out to Antonio and stepped from the rear of the bus.

  ‘You have ten minutes to gather your men,’ said Donoso, kissing Antonio on the mouth before heading for the other side of the bus where two armed guards waited next to a hummer. He handed one the LV bag.

  ‘Then we must go. I’ve business to take care of.’

  63

  FROM HER POSITION in the tower, Isela couldn’t believe what was happening. The entire hacienda was under siege and it was all her fault. She’d watched the bus flip, but that was part of the plan. It always was. Crash the bus. Give the driver time to get the mark out and turn him (almost always a male) over to her father’s personal security guards, leaving enough doubt among everyone on the bus as to whether or not the mark survived the accident while his ransom was negotiated.

  If the money came through, the mark survived the crash. If not, well it seemed his injuries were more serious than first thought.

  Peering over the edge of the belfry, Isela watched in astonishment as one of the old women draped in a colourful embroidered poncho, who moments before had been lounging on the church steps beneath her, tipped over a vendor’s cart, dived behind it and began shooting at her father’s men, who tipped over tables in front of the restaurant and returned fire. The other women were in fact men, pulling automatic weapons from their baskets, stripping off their shawls and skirts to reveal black special ops uniforms adorned with enough ammunition and grenades to take out the entire piazza, the tower included.

  Stunned, Isela watched as the food vendors pulled guns from inside their steamers and began returning fire. The few real villagers who had been in the market were trying to flee for cover, some inside the café and others out across the airstrip to the cover of the jungle.

  Without warning, a burst of gunfire sprayed the wall of the belfry. Isela threw herself to the ground, covering her head with her arms. Dust and rock rained down on her. After a few beats, she realized that the shots were collateral from the firestorm erupting in the courtyard. Antonio and her father were the only ones who knew she was in the tower. They’d have no reason to fire at her.

  But neither would anyone else. Everyone in the village was in her father’s pocket, which made imprisoning the mark as a doped-up patient in the hacienda one of the more manageable aspects of the plan. As for her role, it was stop the bus, create the diversion, climb down unseen as soon as Antonio extracted the mark, and then get back inside the ranch compound and wait for the ransom.

  After the chalky dust settled around her, Isela watched in confusion and disbelief as Antonio and the mark, a super-wealthy businessman from Brazil, emerged from the bus, kissed… Kissed? She was stunned.

  The pair split up, the mark heading for a car tucked behind the canyon wall. Isela let the scene sink in, pinching herself that she’d really seen what she believed. She slid down the wall. She needed to think. It was bad enough that the bus had flipped more violently than she intended and that she had no idea who the other set of soldiers were in the piazza shooting at her father’s men, but Antonio attracted to men. How could she have missed that detail?

  Isela lifted her binoculars and focused on the hotel compound, scanning the area surrounding the ranch. The doors to the house were closed, the shutters too. The entire house looked deserted. Behind the ranch, she could make out the staff barracks – they too looked empty. All of her father’s men were fighting below her. Where was her father?

  Isela tapped her earpiece. ‘Antonio, what’s going on?’

  No reply.

  After the initial burst of gunfire, the shooting had stopped for a few minutes but, each time anyone moved, a volley of shots sprayed across the piazza. The scene looked and sounded like a battle from Call of Duty, but with one disturbing difference. Isela had no idea who the bad guys were and what the goal of the game had become.

  The perimeter of the hotel compound was unprotected although she spotted a couple of bodies lying near the delivery entrance. None of her father’s personal security guards were on the roof and the men who’d been shooting from the walls were dead or had fled. She counted three bodies under the wall and at least three on the ground inside the compound.

  With all the shooters hunkered down behind their crude barricades, the dust from the courtyard was beginning to settle and the reloading and firing of automatic weapons was replaced with the cries and yells from the tourists left trapped inside the café.

  Isela watched as two passengers from the bus crawled through the shattered windscreen, the man tossing backpacks out ahead of him and then helping the woman through. She was cradling her arm and let herself slide down from the smoking, crumpled vehicle. A second man and woman followed them out.

  Isela watched the first couple inch across to the soldier and drag him to the rear of the bus. They had no sooner found cover than the shooting began again in the piazza. Isela kept watching the bus, waiting for Juan to crawl out next, but he never did.

  In the piazza, no one screamed. No one yelled. No one raised any alarm. Isela had not expected anyone would. Like everyone else in the village, when a kidnapping was in progress they all had a part to play, especially if they wanted to stay on the mountain and be protected.

  64

  THE KIDNAPPING OF Señor Olivares Donoso, one of the wealthiest men in South America, a man with links to the three families, was in play and Jack recognised that so far nothing was going according to plan – not his, not the kidnapper’s, or, he surmised, the CIA’s.

  From a corner inside the compound, Jack activated his comms unit.

  ‘Cash, do you read? Cash!’

  Nothing. Static.

  Jack tasted sage, heavy and distinct. And ginger, stronger than before. And then the voices in his head started, a serenade of low-pitched humming.

  Too soon. Too soon to lose my mind, he thought. I need my notebook if this is going to work.

  Jack’s stomach knotted at the state of the bus, on its roof, steam hissing from its engine, no movement from anyone inside, but he had no time to react let alone get to the wreckage to help Gwen and the Ice Maiden crew. Seconds after Isela’s shot, Castenado’s men swarmed from the barracks, leaving the inside of the hacienda protected only at its distant corners.

  This might be Jack’s only chance to search for his notebook. He knew that if either the CIA or Castenado’s gunmen won this fight, he’d not be free to roam the mountain and time was ticking away.

  Five hours and fifty-eight minutes.

  Jack darted into the canopy of the jungle shading the perimeter of the tropical gardens and the terraced courtyards. When the last of Castenado’s armed guards charged past heading out into the piazza, Jack slipped his belt from his pants and jogged in line behind the last man. When he was sure he was at the end of
the line, Jack snapped his belt against the guard’s head, the buckle drawing blood. The guard whipped around. Jack smashed his fist into the guard’s throat. He crumpled. Dragging him behind a copse of bougainvillea, in seconds Jack had stripped the guard of his automatic weapon, and the night goggles hooked to his belt.

  Before abandoning the body, Jack took the guard’s shades too.

  Jack silently slipped inside the main house, finding himself in a glittering foyer, its ceilings flecked with gold leaf, its walls covered in Diego Rivera-like murals depicting scenes from the family’s dark and chequered history.

  Jack figured he had about three minutes to get to Castenado himself before the piazza outside became a bloodbath. Jack wasn’t entirely sure what was going on, but a simple kidnapping had become something much more. He thought he had an idea what, but he couldn’t take the time to stop and check for sure.

  A curving marble staircase dominated the foyer. Jack knew from his earlier reconnaissance that Castenado’s private offices sat at the back of the house, looking out at the peak of the mountain.

  ‘Hey, who the hell are you?’ A large heavily armed American stepped out on to the corridor, blocking Jack’s advance.

  Jack had about ten seconds to make his decision. Footsteps pounded down the hallway behind the guard. In seconds, he’d be surrounded.

  ‘I need to talk to Castenado, and I need to do it now.’

  Jack was surrounded.

  ‘No one gets past me unless I say so, and I want to know who the hell you are.’

  Jack raised his hands into the air. ‘Tell your boss that I need to speak to him about Renso Castenado.’

  The guard squinted at Jack. ‘Are you some kind of nutcase?’ He took two steps closer to Jack, his gun pointing at Jack’s chest.

  ‘No doubt about it, but you really don’t have time to debate the point with me,’ said Jack staring down at the gun.

  Without warning an explosion from outside shook the building. Jack pivoted, taking out the guard directly behind him, catching his gun in mid air, then rolling across the floor, the second guard’s bullets shattering a statue of Inti the Sun God displayed in an alcove.

  ‘Hold your fire!’ a man called to the guard about to take another shot at Jack, who was scrambling back to his feet, arms raised, prepared to return fire at the two guards who remained standing.

  A tall, olive-skinned man in grey trousers, a loose white tunic, carrying a black case, came out of the room at the end of the hall flanked by two guards carrying heavy black bags.

  An explosion of gunfire pelted the house.

  ‘We’re under attack, boss,’ said a guard, another North American, sprinting in from the courtyard. ‘It’s what we thought. Antonio’s taking most of the men with him. The rest are pinned under fire in the piazza. Americans. Maybe ATF or CIA.’ The guard took the bag from Asiro’s hand. ‘We gotta go, boss.’

  Jack heard a voice answer in Spanish in his earpiece that the trucks were loaded and in back.

  Asiro stepped up to Jack’s face. ‘If it is you who has interfered with my business, Señor, you should know I’m not a forgiving man. I will return and I will hunt you down.’

  Jack let his weapon drop to his side, and stepped closer to Asiro, a sad smile on his face. ‘My God, you are your grandfather’s double.’

  ‘You knew my grandfather?’

  ‘Yes. He saved my life a long time ago. And that’s why I’m not going to stop you, but your grandfather kept something of mine that I need. I don’t care what’s going on out in that courtyard. I don’t care about your kidnapping scheme, but I need my notebook.’

  Asiro nodded to his guards, who dropped their guns, and began carrying luggage and supplies out through the rear of the house.

  ‘Who are you?’

  ‘I’m the man who fell from the sky.’

  Asiro’s eyes widened. He stared into Jack’s face. ‘It can’t be you… You’d be at least as old as my grandfather.’

  ‘Let’s just say,’ said Jack, ‘I’ve aged better than he did. But if you want more details, I’d suggest you pull back your men from the piazza and cut your losses with the Brazilian. You’re a marked man, Asiro, and I’d like to see you live to be an old one.’

  A wounded guard, obviously one of Asiro’s commanders, burst through the front doors of the ranch. ‘Boss, I don’t know what the hell’s going on out there, but we’re taking fire from all sides out in the piazza.’

  Asiro’s eyes drilled into Jack’s. Jack held his stare, noting Asiro’s tense but cut jaw, a look of such concentration in his face that for a beat Jack could see only Renso in his grandson’s stare.

  ‘What do you want from my family?’

  ‘I need to find a small leather notebook, one your grandfather probably kept safe, in a place where he kept his secrets.’

  The gunfire in the piazza was getting louder and closer.

  ‘Asiro, you’re running out of time. Take your wife and your daughter and go.’

  ‘My daughter, Isela, has the diary,’ said Asiro, jogging down the stairs to the foyer with Jack following. He paused as a guard handed him a bullet-proof vest. He pulled it on and then turned to leave.

  ‘You may need this sooner than I will,’ said Asiro, handing his assault rifle to Jack.

  ‘What about your wife and daughter? You’re leaving them here?’

  Asiro waved his guards on and stepped over to Jack. ‘If you knew my grandfather as well as you say you did, then you know that he married the mountain and neither my daughter nor my mother can leave.’

  65

  SHOULDERING ASIRO’S ASSAULT rifle and harnessing his Webley, Jack sprinted from the ranch towards the hotel’s gates. From his earpiece, he heard Asiro order his only guard left inside the compound to open the gate and let Jack leave. Jack sprinted quickly to the overturned minibus, sliding to safety behind it as a volley of fire rained after him.

  ‘Is everyone OK?’ asked Jack, crouching beside Gwen.

  ‘Minor injuries, thank God,’ said Cash. ‘Sam got it worst. A concussion, I’m sure.’

  Hollis slapped Sam upside the head. ‘That’s what he gets for missing our flight and then almost missing the bus.’

  ‘The fleet was in town,’ said Sam, stretched out against an overhang of rock that the rear of the bus had lodged under when it flipped, an icepack on his head.

  ‘It’s Miami,’ said Eva. ‘Pretty sure there’s always a fleet in town.’

  ‘And you didn’t even eat Hollis’s sandwiches,’ said Sam. Hollis slapped him again. ‘Ow! I’m in serious pain here.’

  ‘And it could get worse,’ said Hollis.

  ‘How are you doing?’ Jack asked Gwen.

  ‘I’m OK. I probably shouldn’t operate any industrial machinery or drive a tractor, but I’m sure I’ll cope.’

  ‘What’s going on out there?’ asked Vlad, making sure his laptop was functional. ‘I thought the hardest part was going to be getting you up the mountain.’

  ‘It still may be,’ said Jack. ‘The noises in my head are stronger, I’m seeing ribbons of colours in my peripheral vision and I’ve got a rock in my gut.’

  ‘Wheeee!’ giggled Gwen, squeezing Jack’s arm.

  ‘I think I know what’s going on,’ said Cash, tapping his earpiece. ‘The soldiers who were undercover are a joint task force of CIA and ATF. The other fighters are split between guards loyal to Asiro and those who’ve switched allegiances to his stepson, Antonio, who, by the way, was sleeping with Donoso, the mark. After we crashed, Antonio shot Donoso’s long-suffering wife, who, you may be interested to know, was the one trying to have her husband kidnapped in the first place, and, who, I may add, was also sleeping with Antonio.’

  ‘Doof, doof, doof, doof, doof, doof, doof-doof-doof!’ Gwen sang the theme from EastEnders before collapsing in giggles.

  Jack glanced at her in concern. ‘How do you know all of that?’ he asked Cash.

  Nodding towards the chapel, Cash tapped his earpiece. ‘A l
ovely young woman told me so.’

  Peering round the bus, Jack confirmed what he already knew: Dana had used her powers of persuasion and her covert connections to infiltrate the CIA’s unit, and she was one of the women he’d spotted undercover on the chapel steps.

  Across the courtyard a handful of Asiro’s soldiers had taken cover behind overturned food carts. Jack caught a glimpse of Isela peering over the top of the belfry wall.

  Beneath the tower, the peasant women had stripped off their colourful rags to expose their black unmarked tactical uniforms. Jack watched as one of the soldiers was setting up to climb the tower.

  ‘Shit,’ said Jack. ‘Cash and Hollis, cover me. Eva, Vlad and Gwen get Sam into the house in the compound and wait for me there.’

  ‘Where are you going?’ asked Vlad, already helping Sam to his feet.

  ‘I’m going to rescue a princess from her tower.’

  *

  Jack dodged bullets across the piazza, diving behind an upturned table outside the café, whose doors were wide open and its windows blown out. Taking fire from Antonio’s men, Jack darted to the cover of one of the arches.

  On the other side of the courtyard, four CIA ‘vendors’ had tipped over their souvenir and trinket carts and were using them as barricades. These soldiers were shooting at Jack along with the other guards from the hacienda.

  It’s the red T-shirt, thought Jack.

  Throwing himself to the ground, Jack rolled behind an upturned food cart, its vendor crouched behind the steaming metal bucket.

  ‘Who the hell are you?’ the guard snarled, raising his gun at Jack, who whacked him with a steaming container of pinto beans. The man screamed, dropped his weapon, and swiped wildly at his face trying to stop the red-hot beans sticking to his skin.

  ‘None of your business,’ said Jack, grabbing his gun.

  Flipping its handle, Jack struck the vendor’s forehead, knocking him unconscious. Crouching low as he ran towards the tower, Jack pulled on a black Che T-shirt from another cart. A bit tight, but it would do. He yanked two grenades from an injured soldier’s belt as he sprinted to the edge of the arched veranda.