by Andy Remic
Carter flicked the Barrett’s safety off. Rolled tension from his neck.
‘What are you going to do?’ asked Natasha softly.
‘I’m going to shoot the bastard - shit, he’s gone. Back into the building. He’s like a fucking snake in oil.’
Carter watched as two more trucks rumbled off from Spiral_Q. He wondered idly what they were carrying. Shipments? But shipments of what? This was a development plant, a research facility, not a factory.
‘Have you got a cigarette?’
‘That’s the twenty-seventh time you’ve asked.’
Carter muttered something unrecognisable but probably lacking humour or tact.
‘What I’d give for some fine smooth Lagavulin,’ he said eventually, smiling. He had looked briefly away from the scope. He winked at her and ran a hand through his cooling but sweat-streaked hair. ‘Fuck me, it’s hot.’
‘It’ll just start to cool down and then the sun will be up again.’
They waited; a welcome breeze blew in, the hot air gently stirring the sand. Nats returned from the BMW with a bottle of water from their supplies; Carter drank the water thirstily, and handed the bottle back to her.
‘We’re going to have to conserve this,’ she said quietly.
‘There’ll be water down at Spiral_Q,’ mused Carter.
‘You seem pretty sure of getting in.’
Carter grinned, flashing her a dark look. It was the grin of a shark. ‘I always get in,’ he whispered.
He scanned the surroundings through the scope and spotted the Nex pilot of the Chinook jumping down to the sand and moving to the loading doors of the huge vehicle.
Carter calmed his breathing.
Sighted.
And fired.
The bullet took the Nex through the back of the head; the figure flopped to the ground and stained the sand with blood. Carter swept the scope back and forth, looking for more enemies...
Feuchter emerged and moved towards the Land Rover.
‘Here we go,’ murmured Carter.
Natasha had been lying on the rocks, her weary eyes closed, sweat trickling through her hair and soaking her clothing. After hearing the crack of the weapon, she had scrambled over to Carter and now peered over the ridge at a dark Land Rover. The engine fired up and the vehicle moved off.
Again, there was a crack.
Carter breathed out.
The Land Rover swerved, then rolled to a standstill against a bank of sand.
Everything was silent. Still. Calm ...
And there was a ... moment—
Carter chewed over the delicious sweet moment of revenge; he could sense Feuchter’s panic in the car. His driver, a bullet through his skull, blood splattered over the interior of the vehicle, the motor idling or dead. What to do? Where to run?
The passenger-side door opened - slowly.
Feuchter’s head poked out, then disappeared back in. He was gauging the distance he had to cover - illuminated by the lamps provided by Spiral_Q itself that were now lighting up the impromptu firing range with a brightness that Carter was sure Feuchter was cursing.
The man’s finely crafted shoes hit the sand and Feuchter began to rim, arms pumping like mad, head down, low ... a true sprint at a speed that surprised Carter greatly.
‘Running fast for an old man! Running like his little life depends on it,’ drawled Carter calmly, a man at ease. He squeezed the trigger. There was the snap of a round discharged. ‘Which it does, of course,’ he smiled.
Natasha saw Feuchter tumble into the sand to lie stunned.
‘It’s at moments like this I truly revel in my profession,’ said Carter, smiling. He put his eye back to the scope. Watched Feuchter, his face twisted in pain, gather himself and crawl to his feet and then launch himself, limping and bleeding, towards the sanctuary of Spiral_Q.
‘Where did you shoot him?’
‘The right shin. Stings like a motherfucker.’
Carter pulled the trigger once more. Feuchter spun into the sand and lay there.
‘Left shin. Bull’s-eye.’
For a while Carter watched, checking for other sentries, guards, or cursed Nex. Then he stood, lifting the rifle and bipod with him. ‘Let’s go talk to the man. Might be cooperative now, eh, Nats?’
Natasha did not reply.
Feuchter lay on the dirt road leading to the entrance of Spiral_Q, wondering what the fuck had hit him.
And then he remembered the driver - a single heavy-calibre round smashing through the windscreen of the Land Rover and taking the man full in the face.
Panic.
Flight.
Pain, smashing through his leg. Waves of pain ...
And then the second round—
And tears.
He struggled, whimpering, into a sitting position and examined the two bullet holes. The fine tailoring of his suit was mangled and had merged with his scorched flesh. Blood pooled to the dirt, spreading viscously from the twin wounds.
Blood...
Feuchter’s head came up, eyes scanning the darkness in panic. Where was the fucking sniper?
And the association ... could it be?
Carter?
He shook his head, almost in disbelief. This can’t be happening to me, he thought. After everything that I have been through! And then he understood the mechanics of the situation - he had been shot in the legs. Whoever had tagged him wanted him alive and was on their way down ...
Gritting his teeth, Feuchter rolled onto his belly and started to crawl. His suit tore in several places and got covered in sand. His neatly combed dark greying hair became a ragged dirty tangle. His calm and calculating face developed lines of panic, of understanding, of time ...
Weeping with frustration Feuchter watched the bike move cautiously across the sand. Turning, rolling over, Feuchter pushed himself on, dragging his damaged legs behind him, fingers digging into the dirt and rock and sand with cracked and battered nails, pulling, clawing, grating...
The huge silent bike stopped. Feuchter heard the thud of boots on the ground and he injected his efforts with psychological cocaine; he did not turn, did not look back, felt no curiosity whatsoever, just the basic raw animal instinct to survive ... to push himself on ... to stay alive, to stay ahead—
There came a metallic click: the sound of a bullet slicking neatly into a firing chamber. Feuchter slumped forward, exhausted, his pain-fuel spent. He could taste dirt. He didn’t even have the energy to roll onto his back...
Boots crunched over the track. They stopped.
The tip of something metallic prodded Feuchter in the back.
‘You still alive, you fucker?’
‘I’m alive,’ said Feuchter softly. ‘I knew you would come back, Carter. I knew it from the look in your eye in that storeroom at Castle Schwalenberg ...’
‘I don’t like being betrayed,’ snapped Carter.
‘As you wish. It was a necessity.’
Feuchter felt hands grab him roughly and roll him over. He looked up into Carter’s face - much more battered than the last time they had met, the nose more twisted, many minor cuts and scrapes marking the skin. Carter’s eyes were dark, brooding, unforgiving, his mouth a nasty straight slash revealing the tips of his teeth. Beyond Carter’s palpable hate stood Natasha, a Glock in one hand, a Browning in the other. She appeared, through Feuchter’s haze of pain, to be twitchy, on edge, looking nervously about to see if they had been spotted ... whereas Carter was focused, dark eyes like hardcore-drill bits boring into Feuchter’s soul.
‘How many are still here?’ he hissed. His fist wrapped around Feuchter’s well-tailored jacket, drawing the man closer. Feuchter could smell stale sweat and a lingering aroma of coffee.
He smiled softly.
‘You nervous, Carter?’
‘Nervous? You’re gonna give me and Nats some fucking answers.’
‘Or what? You’ll kill me? I’m already dead, Carter. The QIII has already been compromised. I was a condemned man awai
ting execution ... But now, now you are too late.’ He started to laugh.
Carter shook his head. ‘We had this guy, in Qingdao. He was an ex-Para; worked as a mercenary for various Far East countries. We used to call him Needle - because of his skills as a torturer. This man could get a fucking pig to swear it was a duck. You understand me, Feuchter? I learned a lot from that man. I learned a lot about pain, and a lot about not killing a man - no, killing was not the point. I learned a lot about keeping a man alive.’ Carter glanced up at Natasha, then to the perimeter fence and the desert beyond. There was no sign of activity.
‘You hide the bike around the side. I’ll get this walking corpse indoors. Set him up for his operation.’
‘Operation?’
‘You ever seen a man’s face when he’s presented with one of his own kidneys? Thought not. Being a kind of scientist I thought you might like to be party to the experiment.’ Carter started to drag Feuchter across the track towards the doors of Spiral_Q - which hissed open helpfully at his approach. Carter peered carefully into the interior, the Barrett rifle held aggressively, then dragged Feuchter into the cool luxury of the lobby.
He dumped Feuchter on the marble floor, then moved off between the plants, couches, glass screens and marble-clad pillars. He moved warily, checking every corner until he was satisfied. He whirled as Natasha approached, both handguns still in her grip. He smiled over at her and she responded weakly, her face showing exhaustion and pain.
‘You see any activity?’
‘No. There’s nobody else inside the Chinook, just the dead Nex.’
‘The only good Nex is a dead Nex. Let’s get some fucking answers.’
‘Carter.’ She placed a hand on his arm. ‘You’re not really going to torture him, are you?’
Their gazes met. He saw the pain there, saw the weariness, but, most of all, saw the humanity. ‘No,’ he lied softly. ‘It’s a bluff. But don’t tell him I told you.’ Carter winked and smiled. Then he moved over to where Feuchter had dragged himself to a couch and sat with his back propped, trying to tear open the trouser material round the twin wounds.
‘Enough games,’ snapped Carter. He slapped the butt of the Barrett across Feuchter’s head, knocking the older man sideways to lie, stunned, on the polished marble tiles.
‘Why was I betrayed? Why did you try to kill me in Germany?’
Silence.
Feuchter was staring at the floor.
Carter knelt by Feuchter’s head, where a string of blood and saliva connected him to the floor. Feuchter grinned, showing his tombstone teeth.
He spat, then sat up slowly.
‘You will never understand, little man. Never understand.’
‘Make me understand.’
‘How long have you got?’
‘As long as it takes.’
‘Wrong answer,’ said Feuchter. ‘You have precisely fourteen minutes and he checked the cracked face of his Rolex ‘— fifteen seconds. Then the cubes of electronically linked HighJ chemical explosive at strategic locations around this building will fire a huge firework display right up your dumb and questioning arse.’
‘You’re lying,’ said Carter.
‘Why would I? It’s not like you can’t check.’
‘Carter,’ said Natasha. ‘If it’s true, we’d better get the hell out of here.’
‘Not without answers,’ said Carter. ‘And if there are HighJ devices, then I can disable them. There isn’t a device worldwide that I haven’t been able to shaft. Hey, Feuchter, why do you think I was in a fucking DemolSquad?’
‘You can try,’ said Feuchter softly. ‘These have no disabling mechanism. You cut the power, they blow. There was never meant to be a second chance, never meant to be a back-door escape.’
‘Where’s the master?’
Feuchter did not reply.
Carter shoved the muzzle of the Barrett under Feuchter’s chin, then dropped it to his crotch. ‘Ever seen a man with his cock blown off? I know we’ve only fourteen minutes left, but what a blissful and intensive fourteen minutes it will be ... it will seem to last for ever, trust me on this ...’
Feuchter met Carter’s dark gaze. He swallowed dryly.
‘Over there. At the foot of the central pillar, in the small black case.’
Feuchter’s words were weary, filled with pain - and a touch of fear. But there was triumph there as well: an ultimate final triumph. Feuchter believed that he had won - no matter what they did to him, no matter what pain they put him through.
Both Carter and Natasha acknowledged this.
Carter moved over to the pillar, knelt, and flipped open the black box. LED digits flickered at him. There was no visible countdown - but then, why should there be? Whoever set such a machine working already knew the risks and the timings—
Carter analysed the wiring. It was insanely complex. And the detonation was handled by processor. He scratched at his stubble.
‘Shit. Shit fuck.’
Primary, secondary and fail-safe binary protection circuits. The HighJ Master was incredibly complex. And Carter knew it - maybe if he had two hours to spare and some high-tech disabling equipment then he might just stand a chance.
But with the minutes counting down ...
And worst of all...
Feuchter knew it. Knew that Carter was shafted.
Carter returned slowly and glanced up at Natasha. Both Nats and Feuchter saw the look on his face: it was not a nice look; it did not convey what could be termed ‘brotherly love’.
He turned and moved to stand in front of Feuchter.
‘Hold out your hand.’
‘Carter, this will gain you nothing.’
‘Do it.’
Feuchter obeyed, and the rifle muzzle lifted to touch Feuchter’s palm.
‘No jokes, no fucking wisecracks. Just answer my questions. First, why did you try to kill me?’
Feuchter met Carter’s gaze.
‘It’s complicated.’
The shot cracked, the bullet smashing straight through Feuchter’s hand and scattering an explosion of feathers from the sofa. Feuchter grabbed at his wounded paw, head bowed in pain, blood pattering onto the tiles. ‘Are you fucking crazy?’ said Feuchter thickly, his voice having risen an octave.
Carter placed the rifle against Feuchter’s shoulder.
‘Wrong answer. I repeat, why did you try to kill me?’
‘You were in the wrong place at the wrong time; things got accelerated, we moved forward too quickly and we needed to wipe out some of the opposition before they realised they were the opposition.’ He met Carter’s gaze. ‘You are one of the best, Carter. It’s why you were chosen to die.’
‘You are part of the splinter faction from Spiral? Why would you do this?’
‘Spiral?’ Feuchter laughed, a laugh laced with pain.
‘Spiral? You dumb fucker, the only thing this has to do with Spiral is how fucking weak Spiral has become ... fucking sycophantic government-arse-licking sons of bitches, they have the world in their hands and yet they do not know what to do with it.’ He laughed again, drooling.
Carter’s face had gone pale. He bit his lip, cast a quick glance to Natasha, then prodded Feuchter with the rifle. ‘Who are you working for?’
‘Myself.’
‘And the processor? The QIII? Where does it fit into this?’
‘The processor,’ said Feuchter thickly. His head hung low, his eyes no longer meeting Carter’s burning gaze. ‘The QIII. It is so powerful, so incredibly powerful - the WorldCode threw up a list of names that could compromise the very existence of the processor. It used probability equations, worked out which of the DemolSquads was the most dangerous and who we should take out. Your name was on the list.’
‘You are not working alone, Feuchter,’ said Carter softly. ‘Who else is playing the game?’
‘Durell, one of Spiral’s top ops.’ The name sprang easily to Feuchter’s lips and he smiled, smiled inside; he remembered. Durell was supposed to have s
orted Carter out.
Sort this out, you fucker, he thought.
‘Durell sorted the QIII list; instigated the WorldCode. He was the one who sent the Nex after you. He was the one who ordered the deaths of the DemolSquads. Me…’ Feuchter met Carter’s gaze. ‘Hell, Mr Carter, I am just an innocent party.’
He smiled, and his teeth were stained with blood.
‘Where would we find this Durell?’
‘Let us say he is constantly mobile.’ Feuchter barked a laugh on a fine spittle spray of blood.
‘Where is he, you fucker?’
‘I don’t know, Carter. I don’t know.’
Carter scratched at his stubble. He glanced again at Natasha; she had moved closer to the door, both guns held low. It was obvious that she wanted no part of this ‘torture’ but equally obvious that she needed to hear the answers as much as Carter did—
‘Is Gol dead?’
‘I believe so.’
‘So you do know of him?’
‘Only through Spiral. We worked together for a brief spell, many years earlier. On a project that was - ah, shall we say shelved.’
Carter stared hard into Feuchter’s eyes, and the man met his gaze, cradling his hand, his huddled figure coated with blood.
‘What are the Nex, Count Feuchter?’
‘The Nex ...’ Feuchter’s eyes widened a little. Then a strange smile crossed his face, revealing his cigar-yellowed tombstone teeth filmed with blood. ‘Ah ... the Nex ... they are ... something else.’
Feuchter’s gaze suddenly lifted to something past Carter, something outside, and Carter knew that they were out there—
‘Nats—’ he began to scream as he launched himself over the couch, but everything was drowned out by the sudden roar of automatic gunfire. Glass shattered deafeningly as it exploded into the lobby of the Spiral_Q building; bullets smashed across marble tiles and against pillars; they tore into the finely carved reception desk at the far end of the hall, chewing wood and thudding up into plaster.
Everything was madness—
Everything suddenly a bright mayhem—
And then—
Silence. Dust drifted, motes spinning on beams from the fancy inset lighting.
Carter scrambled along behind the row of couches and plants, and eased his face around a marble pillar. He saw Natasha, crouched, huddled foetus-like behind the doorway, wedged between the wall and a marble-faced pillar. She glanced up. Carter gave a quick succession of hand signals ...