by Gareth Flood
This is probably incredibly stupid – I’m going to do it anyway. he thought.
He reached over and unclipped the gun, pulling it out towards him.
It was much heavier than he had expected, having never held a gun before. The safety catch was eventually located and shifted to the off position.
I need to draw fire away from Julie.
On his hands and knees, he crawled along the car and over Avi towards the bonnet area.
After taking three deep breaths, he quickly lifted his arm up and over the bonnet to fire. A searing pain tore through his tricep before there was even time to look where he was going to fire.
He yelped and his arm shot back down behind the car.
The Tatar paused for a second to see if the idiot would stick another body part above the car.
Hopefully his head this time.
The car remained still. It seemed he was not going to get any more gifts on this one.
He unclipped the magazine from the gun and replaced it with a different one from inside his jacket pocket. The new magazine had red tape around it.
Petrol did not explode in a tank when you shot it, but the Tatar had special rounds that sparked off metal and would thus ignite flammable substances housed in metal tanks. He clipped these special rounds into the rifle and moved to aim towards the back of the car.
He started firing again but this time in a concentrated line towards the fuel tank. The tank was positioned on the far side from him and at the bottom of the vehicle but he knew with enough concentrated fire, the bullets would soon get through.
The process was interrupted by a loud, inhuman screech from above that pierced even the repetitive noise of the fully automatic rifle.
The Tatar looked up to the sky in bewilderment but too late to see the Desert Falcon coming out of the sun to latch its talons into his head and snap it backwards - just in time for the Arab to emerge from the sunroof opening of the car below and fire a bullet into his skull with a nine millimetre.
The Arab saw the head go back and a spray of blood shoot from it as the bullet went through the skull. The bird released the head as the weight of the body fell onto the rooftop.
The last thought the Tatar had before his vision faded to black was No! Not taken out by a bloody bird!
‘It is okay. The scene is clear.’
The shadow of the Arab covered Julie as she knelt in shock on the pavement against the shattered car.
She slowly looked, just in time to see the Falcon re-alighting on the broad arm of the Arab, who was still standing through the sunroof.
‘You can get up now.’ The Arab said calmly. ‘The killer is dead. He was alone. There is no-one else around.’
Julie looked down again to see Avi the giant slowly propping himself onto one elbow and loosening his shirt to reveal a bullet proof Kevlar vest that held indentations of two high calibre slugs in the chest. The blows from the high-velocity bullets had obviously knocked the wind out of him quite badly, as well as probably being quite painful.
Just beyond Avi, she saw Jonathan and let out a sharp shriek of alarm.
‘You’re bleeding.’ she cried.
This pulled her out of her own reverie somewhat and she rushed over to him. The blood was coming from the top of his right arm.
‘It’s alright.’ Jonathan said, as she fussed over him. ‘It’s just a flesh wound.’ he had no idea what that medically meant but it was what they always said in films.
He knew it was not a proper bullet wound though. The shot had just clipped the edge of his tricep. He had staunched the blood flow immediately and it was already starting to congeal.
‘I’ll be fine, don’t worry.’ he said smiling.
His heart glowed from the concern on her face.
Within five minutes, they had been whisked away from the scene in another blacked out Mercedes after Avi had made a call into his cell phone for another car to brought up from the hotel car park.
Police sirens could be heard getting very close as they pulled away.
Inside the car, the Arab was driving with the Desert Falcon on his arm and keeping the car just below the speed limit to avoid any further unwanted attention, Julie was in the passenger seat and Avi was patching up Jonathan’s arm in the back with a medical kit he had grabbed out of the boot before he had got in.
‘Is it bad?’ Jonathan asked.
He winced while Avi taped sterile gauze around his arm.
‘It will require three stitches. I can do this on the plane. You will be fine.’ Avi replied.
‘Oh…okay.’ Jonathan said.
The thought of being stitched on a plane filled him with less than joy. Though it was obvious nice clean hospitals with pretty nurses were out of the question.
Still, he believed he was being pretty damn tough for an office worker.
‘What is that in front of us?’ The Arab asked aloud. Everybody in the car looked up and was taken by surprise by what they saw.
In the middle of the road was a huge man wearing a cowboy hat, full length trench coat and boots that all appeared to be made from alligator skin. He had a sallow face and two dark circles for eyes that were focussed directly on Jonathan in the car.
The Cajun had tracked down his prey.
‘Very strange.’ The Arab said, ‘if he does not move – we go straight through him.’ The car lurched forward as he planted his foot into the accelerator.
As they approached the Cajun at speed, he raised his two hands in front of him and slowly clenched them into fists to reveal an alligator tooth coming out of each knuckle. At the last moment, the Cajun launched himself upward with a speed and agility that far belied his size. He cleared the bonnet of the car as it went under him and disappeared over the windscreen. A large thud was heard in the car as the heavy bulk landed on the roof. With an almighty bang four holes appeared in the centre of a large dent that was caved into the roof. New holes started appearing around the first set - the occupants in the car watched with incredulity as alligator teeth were repeatedly being punched through the metal roof as the Cajun started tearing the roof open to get to Jonathan.
‘Get him off there.’ The Arab said as he started swerving the car left and right.
Avi put the window down as he pulled his gun out. He would not risk firing from inside the car as it would be too close to people’s heads to discharge a firearm – the danger of blowing out their hearing and balance was too great. He grabbed the edge of the roof and heaved himself half out of the car to swing his free arm and bring it to bear on the new threat on the roof.
As the gun came around the Cajun reacted with lighting speed and kicked out to connect with Avi’s hand – the gun went flying and clattering down the street behind them. The Cajun continued to kick out at Avi and Avi reacted by parrying and punching back as best he could with one free arm.
Inside the car, the Arab swore in his native tongue. Swerving the car was not shifting the Cajun and Avi was not having the desired effect. ‘Here, you drive.’ he said to Julie as he grabbed her arm by the wrist and placed her hand on the steering wheel. An Arabic word was shouted and the Desert Falcon obediently hopped off his arm and into the back seat next to Jonathan.
‘What?’ Julie said in surprise, but the Arab was already had his window down and launched himself half out the car. Julie quickly leant across to the other side of the car to get the best grip on the steering wheel that she could to hold the car as steady as possible in the circumstances.
On the roof, the Cajun now had to contend with two powerful men striking him from either side. He was forced to release the grip he had on the roof from having the alligator teeth on his hands hooked into the metal below. He flipped onto his back, which was the best chance he had of defending an attack from either side.
Passers by had to do a double take to check what they were seeing was real as they saw a speeding Mercedes go by with three huge men having a fight on the roof of it – one man fully on the roof and two half out the c
ar.
The car was starting to decelerate rapidly after the Arab had taken his foot off the accelerator to join the fight on the roof. Jonathan was the first to notice this in the back of the car. He had been a passenger up to this point, unable to see how he could help Julie steer and wary of trying to help outside the car while he was still bleeding after his last attempt at taking on assassins directly.
‘Julie,’ he said urgently as he leant forward, ‘the car is going to stop soon, then that maniac can get off the roof.’
‘Okay,’ Julie replied, ‘I understand, but I can’t reach the pedals and steer. I’m wearing a tight dress for god’s sake, if I try shift over to the driver’s side – I’ll probably crash the car.’
‘There’s no time either,’ Jonathan said as he moved to be as far as he could in the front of the car from the back. ‘I’ll take the wheel and you lean down and press the accelerator with your hand.’
‘Got it.’ she said.
Jonathan leant forward into the front part of the car and took the wheel. Julie moved herself over the centre console as much as her dress would allow and dropped her head and arm into the driver’s footwell. She reached forward and jammed her hand into the accelerator pedal.
The car lurched forward and swerved slightly. Amongst the flailing of fists and legs on the roof, the Cajun slid towards the boot of the car and pivoted slightly as the car swerved beneath him. His legs swung involuntarily towards Avi, who did not waste the opportunity to grab an alligator boot and pull as hard as he could to accelerate the momentum as the Cajun slid to the rear.
The Cajun was too late in flinging his arms down to get another grip and went sailing off the back of the car in a heap of billowing alligator skin to hit the road and tumble in a heap to a stop.
Avi and the Arab were straight back into the car, the Arab pushing Jonathan and Julie back as he regained controlled of the vehicle.
They all turned to look through the back window.
The Cajun was already up on his feet, fists clenched – he spat venom in the direction of the receding car.
‘Ah, new problem.’ The Arab said, looking forward.
All the others turned to face forward and saw that the traffic in front of them had come to a complete standstill. The Arab started braking as he ran out of road.
The Cajun saw this and the occupants in the car turned around again to see him breaking into a loping run towards them. Unless they moved very soon, he would soon be with them again.
‘Open the glove compartment,’ Avi said to Julie, ‘pass me what is in there.’
Julie hurriedly clicked open the glove compartment and gasped at what she saw, but quickly recovered to hand over to Avi a revolver and a hand grenade.
‘Get ready.’ Avi said to the Arab as he pulled the pin on the grenade and heaved himself back out the rear window.
Once outside, Avi took his time to line up the incoming Cajun with his throwing arm, once satisfied with his targeting, he lobbed the grenade and pulled himself back inside the car. As soon as he was in, the Arab twisted the steering wheel and gunned the engine so the car took off like an electrified beast. The Mercedes mounted the pavement and went headlong through the tables of an outside café that was yet to open. Beyond the scattered tables of the café, pedestrians went scrambling to get out of the way as the Arab ploughed forward down the pavement, bypassing the queued traffic with his hand on the horn to give pedestrians half a chance to save themselves.
An explosion was heard behind them as they reached the corner of the block. The Arab turned right and was able to rejoin a road with flowing traffic.
‘Will that stop him?’ Jonathan asked.
‘Can’t say as we didn’t see the result. It will slow him down at a minimum. He won’t catch us now, not running.’ he paused, ‘Now we really have to get out of Spain - quickly.’
‘Julie,’ Jonathan said, ‘this whole thing has become much too dangerous. That’s four times in almost as many days that I’ve gotten you killed. Now I have extra help, professional help from our friends here, I want you to go somewhere safe and stay there till all this is over.’
Julie looked suitably shocked and outraged.
‘No! I will not, we are in this together.’ she said indignantly.
‘I know. But I can’t stop thinking about two things here. One is that I’m not sure how much more help you will be able to give now we have additional help - you will only be endangering yourself. And secondly I really could not bear it if something happened to you.’ Jonathan was trying to reach his objective of getting her to safety by a two-tactic method – appealing to her on the rational level as well as the emotional one.
‘Your boyfriend is right.’ Avi said unexpectedly, ‘I do not think you can help us anymore where we are going. It would be best for your safety if you left and went into hiding. I won’t let you on the plane.’
Julie’s eyes moistened.
‘I don’t want anything to happen to you either.’ she said to Jonathan.
He smiled and their hands reached for each other across the car. ‘Hopefully we can resolve this in a couple of days and then I can join you somewhere for an impromptu holiday. Can you think of anywhere you can go? Where you haven’t been before and nobody knows you there?’
Julie nodded as she wiped her eye. She leant into him and whispered something in his ear, then kissed him on the cheek. He smiled and for moment they seemed totally alone.
She whispered into his ear again.
‘Uh, good point.’ he said, as the reverie was broken; Jonathan looked at Avi, ‘She needs cash.’
‘Tell the Arab,’ Avi said, ‘we need to go to our bank, the main train station to put Julie on a train and then the private airfield.’
‘Can’t you tell him? He’s three feet away?’ Jonathan asked.
‘No. Neither of us will take orders from the other.’ Avi replied flatly.
‘Ah. You two are going to be a joy to travel with. Okay, umm…’
Jonathan trailed off before addressing the Arab.
He was carefully considering how to address him, after all, he did not want to mispronounce ACKKKKKKKK and either insult the man and start some sort of blood feud or say a different word in Arabic which commanded the killer bird that was now back on his arm to take his eyes out.
The bird was staring him down, as though willing him to get it wrong.
He had to be careful here…
37
Moscow
Derek Munro strolled into the arrivals hall of Moscow’s Sheremetyevo airport carrying only a small overnight bag.
Munro was in Moscow to meet the Vice-President of Russia. He was pretending to be an envoy from Warrant Tarrant, who would be granted an audience with the VP.
They were then to have a private talk over issues that the two partners had.
Munro was then to report back directly to Tarrant. The brief was that if the VP was acting strangely in any way or Munro picked up so much as bad karma from him towards Tarrant, then Munro was to disappear off the grid and stay in Russia until the VP had been assassinated.
The Russian driver who picked him up barely spoke any English, or pretended not to. He just kept pointing at himself and saying, ‘Me driver! Me driver!’ if Munro attempted to talk to him. Munro gave up after a while and instead looked at the kitsch hoardings and cheap advertisements that lined the road all the way into the city.
Eventually the car pulled up in the city centre outside the Metropole hotel.
‘Right opposite the Bolshoi’ Munro said to the window as the car ground to a halt, taking in the famous ballet theatre across the road.
His father had told him about the Metropole. Scrolling through the celebrity guest book while checking in, he could see such venerated celebrity names had all stayed at the place and marvelled at its Art Nouveau style: Placido Domingo, Francis Ford Coppola, Michael Jackson, Pervez Musharraf, Andrey Shevchenko (a footballer), Roh Moo Hyun, (The President of Korea), Montserrat Caballe,
Sylvester Stallone, Steven Seagal, Julio Iglesias, Vladimir Klichko (a boxer), Harrison Ford and Enrique Iglesias (a singer).
His father had also told that in the ‘old days’, which is how Russians now referred to the communist period, every room in the place was bugged with surveillance equipment.
The old head office for the KGB was just up the road in Lubyanka square. The Kremlin itself was less than a mile down the road in the other direction.
Once he had his room key, he took a second to appreciate the quality décor that surrounded him.
Clearly built with extreme opulence in mind, the building obviously still had scars from falling into the hands of the Soviets before clearly being refurbished for the purpose of parting foreigners from their cash.
The lobby was a riot of stained glass, mosaics and chandeliers of gold. Lamps on gilded stalks were interspersed along the walls, which cast shadows on the marble floors from gorgeous women who entertained day or night for a fee and passing surly staff trained in the Soviet service tradition of not smiling under any circumstances.
Having looked around the lobby, he went straight to his room.
The room was nothing on the same scale of décor as the common areas. It was small and decked out with thin linen and worn towels. The average Moscow three star experience at five star prices that Munro had heard about.
After dumping his bag, he stretched out on the bed to wait for the phone to ring.
He would not go out.
‘Not here to bloody sightsee.’ he said to the faded stucco ceiling.
38
London
Within the marbled foyer of the head office of the largest oil company in the world, a nondescript man in a black suit and carrying a briefcase strode purposefully towards the large glass security doors.