by Arno Joubert
Latorre nodded.
“We had to wait for your gracious benefactor to vacate the premises, Lieutenant.”
Latorre grimaced, then helped Laiveaux lower one of the men from his shackles. The man couldn’t stand, so they made him sit. “Where is my gracious benefactor, General?”
Laiveaux started undoing the second man’s bonds. “He is in Las Vegas, Lieutenant.”
“Why?”
Laiveaux winked. “I think he has identified another target, I assume we shall soon find out.”
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
Alexa twisted sideways, trying to duck as the shot reverberated through the room. She gasped as the bullet slammed into her shoulder, but she didn’t dare fall back, more damage would follow if she didn’t do something.
She grabbed Ortell by the throat, pushing him back and pinning the weapon against the wall when she heard a commotion behind her. A bald-headed thug had arrived, alerted by the shot that went off.
The man swung what looked like a staff, connecting flush in Alexa's back, causing her to stagger and drop to one knee. She grabbed at Ortell’s legs as he scurried away, but he kicked her hands away. “Finish her,” he shouted at the man and strode to the cell where Neil was kept.
The man grinned as Alexa pushed herself up, he pushed a button on the scepter and a long blade appeared at the tip. He charged at her, stabbing the spear at her, but the attack was clumsy and rushed. Alexa crouched and swept his feet from underneath him, grimacing as a jolt of pain shot through her shoulder.
Her attacker crashed to the floor, his head connecting the concrete floor with a thud. He moaned, trying to push himself up, but then collapsed, his arms giving in.
Alexa looked up as Ortell lifted his gun again, his lips contorted into a sneer. She rolled as the shot went off, trying to hug herself into a ball, as small as possible. She leaped up and bolted toward the exit, trying to dodge the bullets as another shot reverberated through the small room. A searing sting bit into her leg as the bullet grazed her thigh and she staggered, then pulled herself over the window and ducked, trying to keep the low wall between her and Ortell.
She crawled toward the exit, head held low, but another man appeared in the doorway. He shrieked and swung the staff sideways, Alexa ducking as the rod whistled over her head. Once again, the blade appeared, and the man stabbed, once, twice, but Alexa managed to catch the blade between the palms of her hands. He twisted the stick to the side and slit a gash into her hand. Alexa let go of the weapon and rolled forward, trying to force her way toward the exit.
Her attacker continued raining blows down on her, grunting with effort as she tried to parry his strikes.
Alexa rolled out of the way of one of the blows and the staff clanged down on the marble floor beside her, causing the man to lose his balance momentarily. She jumped up and connected a roundhouse kick into his ribs, then thrust a boot out that landed solidly into his midriff. He fell to his knees, clutching his stomach, leaving his head exposed. She finished him up with a boot to the chin, like you would kick a soccer ball, and the guy fell down flat on his face.
Alexa held her shoulder painfully and glanced around, ducked as a bullet stitched a hole in the concrete wall behind her.
“Captain, are you okay?” she heard Frydman’s crackly voice.
She grunted. “No, I don’t think so, Major. Please, get me out of here.”
“Okay, listen carefully. I’ll get you out of there in one piece. There is an emergency exit fifty yards to your left. It leads to the side of the building, close to the parking lot.”
“Thank you, Sal,” Alexa sobbed, clutching her arm as she made her escape.
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
Alexa broke to a hard stop beside the sidewalk. She scanned the road and waited for a car to pass before she slipped out of the car with a groan, grabbing her Glock from the glove compartment before kicking the door closed behind her. She hobbled across the road, hunching as she painfully made her way across. She slouched in front door of the Walgreens pharmacy. It looked like it contained reinforced glass inside a thick aluminum frame; there was no way she was going to get in this way.
She stumbled along the wall and ducked into an alleyway, finding a loading zone to the pharmacy at the back. The roll-up door was secured with a sturdy padlock. She painfully lifted the Glock, then fired three times at the lock, turning her face away. The lock bent, and she managed to kick it loose on the third try.
She pulled it off and groaned as she lifted the heavy roller door and slipped underneath before it slammed back to the ground.
She sat back against the wall, breathing heavily. She felt the wetness on her back, checked her hand. It was cut up pretty badly, but would heal fast. She was worried about her shoulder, she hoped the bone wasn’t broken. She lifted it, her hand clutching to feel for any unnatural movement. There was no grinding sensation of bone fragments beneath her hand. Everything felt fine if she didn’t take into account the searing pain that surged through her shoulder every time she moved.
She put her head back against the wall, blinked as tears rolled down her cheeks. She sobbed, she felt helpless.
They had gotten Neil, but she dared not fear the worst. She heard the microphone hiss in her ear. “Are you okay, Captain?”
She shook her head. “I’m losing a lot of blood, Major.”
“Do something, girl,” she heard Laiveaux’s voice urge in the back of her mind.
“Okay, Iisten to me, Captain.”
She pushed herself up. “I’m listening.”
“Ortell has an APB out on you. They’re searching your hotel room as we speak, so keep a low profile, and under no circumstances should you visit a hospital unless it is a question of life or death.”
She grimaced as staggered, holding onto the wall for balance, leaving bloody palm prints behind. “Affirmative, Major.”
The hole in her hand was smarting like a bitch, and she stumbled along the wall, now using her healthy shoulder for support.
She needed drugs.
She made her way through the aisles, saw what she was looking for and lurched forward as she grabbed the handle to a door that led to the back of the prescription counter. She sobbed as she yanked it open. It wasn’t locked. She stumbled through and made her way to the shelves behind the counter, scanning the contents. She guessed they wouldn’t have Ketamine, but she found a worthy replacement. OxyContin.
She flipped the cap and tossed some pills into her mouth, spat out the freshness packet that she had inadvertently tossed into her mouth as well. Chewing the pills, she made her way down the aisle.
She felt light-headed and stopped, supporting herself on a rack as she sucked in a couple of rasping breaths. Blood was dripping from her pants and leather jacket, forming deep red splotches on the Formica tiles of the pharmacy. She would have to stop the bleeding.
She grabbed a pack of gauze and bandages and stumbled to a basin at the back of the area. She ripped the mirror which had been attached to the wall above the basin off, and placed it on the faucet. She wrapped the wound on her hand with some gauze, wound the bandage around it, then surveyed the aisles. She stumbled across the room to a rack containing surgical spirits and grabbed a bottle, before slowly making her way back to the faucet.
She gently slipped out of her jacket, ripped her blouse off and checked the wound in the mirror, then grimaced. The bullet had left a huge gash below her collar bone. She poured some of the liquid onto the wound and whimpered, blinking away the tears, then clumsily cut a strip of the sticky bandage with her left hand and stuck a cotton ball over the wound. That would stop the bleeding, but she would need to have it tended to.
Next, she unbuttoned her denims and pulled them down. A bullet had grazed the skin on her thigh, but the blood had coagulated and stopped the wound from bleeding any more. She lifted her blouse. Her stomach was covered with green and yellow welts where she had been beaten, and her face didn’t look much better. Her gums were bleeding from the blows, and she spat the
blood out into the faucet and sipped in a mouthful of water and spat that out as well.
She was lucky to have escaped with her life. She tenderly pulled her cell phone from her jacket pocket, tried to switch it on. It was smashed. She hobbled over to the reception counter and found a phone. She punched a ‘0’ to get a line, then dialed a number. Bruce answered after a couple of rings.
“Dad?”
“Is that you, Alexa?”
“Yes.”
“Are you okay?”
She closed her eyes and sobbed, shook her head. “Yes, I’m fine.”
“Where are you?”
“They captured Neil, dad.”
“Where is he?”
“At a place called the Illumenex temple outside the Mojave Desert.”
“Where are you, Alexa?” he asked again, more urgently this time.
She swallowed, took a deep breath. The pills were kicking in. “In a pharmacy in the city. I’m going to make my way to the church of Bishop Daniel McGill, I’ll phone you when I arrive.”
“Alexa, why are you in a pharm—”
“I’ll talk to you later, dad.” She disconnected the call. She was about to make her way to the exit when the phone on the counter emitted a shrill ring, one of the buttons on the body flashing on and off. Alexa picked up the receiver and pressed the flashing button. “Hello?”
“Alexa, I’m on my way to you, I’ll catch the earliest flight and meet you at the Bishop’s place.”
“Okay, Dad,” she said, hesitated. “Thanks.”
“No problem, baby.”
She placed the receiver on the cradle, then stumbled out the same way she had come in.
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
McGill heard a soft knock on the door, put down the book and pushed himself up from his La-Z-Boy. He switched on the porch light and checked out of the peep hole but there was no-one there. “Damned kids,” he muttered as he made his way back to his chair.
He stopped when he heard the knock again, turned around. He strode to the door and yanked it open. “I thought I told you damned kids…“
His recoiled in horror and stepped back. Alexa lay on her side, deathly pale and covered in blood. “What in the name of…?“
“Help me,” she croaked, her hand raised in the air.
He stepped forward and helped her to her feet, she slung her arm over his shoulder for support. “What happened?”
She swallowed painfully. “Talk later, need water.”
He took her to the bathroom, helping her sit down on the toilet. She removed a bottle of pills from her pocket, swallowed two and gulped it down with a sip of water from the faucet. She looked back at him and grimaced. “Long way to you,” she said hoarsely.
“Why didn’t you phone?” he asked.
She closed her eyes and shook her head as she pulled off her leather jacket. “Couldn’t remember the number.”
He stood up. “I’ll phone an ambulance.”
She held up a hand. “Whole town involved in Illumenex, can’t take that chance.”
“They did this to you?”
She nodded, then started loosening her laces and kicking off her boots.
“We have a local nurse that helps out at the canteen.”
“No, the risk is too big.” She grimaced as she started unbuttoning her black denims.
“Okay,” he said uncertainly. He started to turn around. “I guess I’ll give you some privacy.”
She shook her head. “No, need help, I’m bleeding a lot. Need stitches, now.”
He swallowed, looked at her uncertainly.
“Help me get undressed.”
He pulled her pants off and helped her out of her torn blouse. She wasn’t wearing a bra.
“Fill the tub,” she said.
He started running the bath.
“You fish?” she asked.
He nodded. “Uhm, yes, occasionally. Why?”
“I need thin braid, about two pound.”
“Okay, I can have a look.”
“Not gut, braid.”
He nodded.
“And a needle.”
He started to turn around. “Okay, I’ll see what I can do.”
“And lots of towels,” she called as he left.
He rushed out and rummaged through the kitchen drawers, looking for a needle, then hurried to the garage and found the braided line in his tackle box. When he returned to the bathroom, Alexa was sitting on the edge of the tub wearing only a pair of black panties, splashing water over the wounds on her shoulder and hip. Thin, red rivulets of blood ran down the side of the tub. He placed the needle and line on the toilet, then folded three towels and placed them at her feet.
She smiled painfully. “You got something to drink?”
He nodded, clumsily excusing himself and hurried to the kitchen, found the unopened bottle of brandy in the pantry where Mary had always kept it for cooking. He studied the label, it was ancient. He unscrewed the cap, brought it to his lips with shaky hands and sucked down two mouthfuls of the liquid, scowling as the warm liquor burned its way down his throat.
He scurried back to the bathroom and held the bottle out to her. She took it and smiled a thanks, threw the bottle back and gulped down five large mouthfuls, some of it dribbling down the sides of her mouth, pulling a face as she placed the bottle on the side of the tub. She swallowed, her head hunched between her shoulders, like she was preparing herself mentally. She looked up at him. “Okay, I’m going to need your help, Bishop.”
He nodded and stepped forward.
“Put the braid in the needle, about a meter.”
He did as he was told, then handed the needle to her. She pulled a double length of the cord through the needle and bit it off with her teeth. She fumbled a bottle from her jacket pocket and splashed some of the liquid onto the wound.
“I can’t see, guide my hand to the edge of the wound, bottom part.”
He put the needle next to the wound.
She sucked in a breath and pushed the needle through her skin, then started sewing the wound closed, grimacing, looking up questioningly every time she needed guidance. Bishop McGill watched in overawed fascination as she worked, like she was darning a sock or something.
“Doesn’t it hurt?”
She looked up briefly. “A bit, the pills help.”
He couldn’t help but admire the half-naked woman in front of him. She had an olive skin, and he could see that she was strong, her body toned and athletic. She had a rosy scar on her back shoulder. He glanced at her pert breasts, then averted his eyes in shame, chastising himself.
Dirty old man.
She looked up. “Please cut it for me.”
He fetched a scissors from the kitchen and cut the braid.
She examined the wound on her thigh, then splashed some of the liquid on a facecloth and proceeded to scrub it clean. She stuck a piece of gauze over it and fastened it with tape before slipping off the side of the tub and sitting down with her legs crossed, her head held back, sucking in deep breaths. She had no shame in sitting there, almost naked, like it was the most natural thing on earth.
He couldn’t help but admire her. She was like a graceful animal, like a racing horse or something. No, not a horse, something much more graceful. A bird?
“How many pills did I take?” she asked.
He swallowed. “Two, I think.”
“Give me two more, please.”
He fumbled the top off the bottle and shook out two pills into his hand, handed them to Alexa.
“And the brandy,” she said, her eyes still closed.
“You sure?”
She gestured with her hand, motioning for him to give her the bottle.
He placed it in her hand and she swigged down the two pills with a mouthful of liquor, then looked up at him and smiled. “Thanks.”
He shrugged. “No problem.”
She pushed herself up. “I need to take a bath.”
“You need any help?” he asked, winced.
She smiled, took his hand and squeezed it. “Thanks, I’ll take it from here.”
He nodded, gathered the braid and needle and dirty towels, then closed the door softly behind him as she started pulling off her panties.
Then he remembered what she reminded him of.
A cat.
A big, sleek, wild cat, like the ones he had seen in Guiana.
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
Bishop Daniel McGill rocked and pushed himself up from the sofa when he heard a rap on the door. He sauntered to the door and look through the peephole, but all he saw was a man’s chest. He opened the door an inch and peered outside, then looked up at the tanned face of a blue-eyed man in his late middle-ages. He had salt-and-pepper black hair and deep crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes.
“Bishop Daniel McGill?” the man asked with a frown.
“Yes?”
“My name is Bruce Bryden, I’m Alexa’s adoptive dad. Is she here?”
McGill regarded the man with suspicion. “Wait here,” he said and closed the door in the man’s face. He rushed upstairs and rapped on Alexa’s bedroom door, then pushed it open an inch. “Alexa, you awake?”
She turned in her bed, sat up, wiping the sleep from her eyes. “What day is it?”
“Wednesday.”
She sat upright. “I’ve been out for two days?”
He nodded.
She slipped out from under the covers and scanned the room. “Shit! Where are my clothes?”
“They’re ruined, I had to throw them away.” He opened his daughter’s cupboard. “Help yourself to any of these. Ruth was a bit bigger than you, but you should find something that will fit.”
She cast him an appreciative smile and started rummaging through the contents of the closet.
“Alexa, a man called Bruce Bryden is downstairs.”
She swung around. “My dad?”
McGill nodded. “I wasn’t sure if it was him.”
Alexa nodded excitedly. “Six five, blue eyes, tanned?”
McGill nodded.
She shrieked and pulled on a pair of jeans, thumped downstairs. “Where is he?”