Kill Shot

by Blair Denholm

  Jack shook his head. ‘Nah, it’s Harlow’s. Even if it’s not, they might’ve forced Steven to open his gun safe and give them his rifles. Let’s take another look.’

  The copse of stringy barks offered excellent screening, practically impossible for anyone down in the farmhouse to see them. The three officers lay flat on their stomachs, each scanning the front of the house with a pair of high-powered binoculars. From the high vantage point, all of them could clearly make out Harlow’s gold Mercedes SUV parked next to a utility pick-up. A hundred metres to the right, two red tractors inside a structure the size of a small aircraft hangar. To the rear of the building stood another large shed; Gupta explained it was the cool room for storing fruit from the mango trees which sprawled in neat green rows at least a kilometre towards the horizon. In the distance, the abandoned remains of an old zinc mine glistened in the bright afternoon sunlight.

  ‘You guys seeing any sign of human life anywhere?’ said Jack, wiping a trickle of sweat from his eye. The heat was almost stultifying; if not for the shade the gum trees provided he was sure his blood would literally boil.

  ‘Nothing.’ Taylor blew a buzzing insect off her top lip. ‘Piss off, fly!’

  ‘Hang on a second.’ Gupta wriggled, propped himself up on his elbows. ‘I can see movement through that big window. That’s Steve’s lounge room. Look.’

  Jack and Taylor focused on the window, about 300 metres distant. Harlow and Sharpe were dragging a man under the armpits, hands tied behind his back. Steven Masiker resisted, dug his heels in, wriggled like a feisty bull trout on a ten-pound line. The intruders sat him on a wooden kitchen chair. Harlow yelled at the captive, who yelled back in equal measure. Sharpe paced erratically, his body language conveying panic and uncertainty. Jack noted the resemblance of Steven Masiker to his nephew. The same fleshy features, although the older man, probably in his late sixties, sported a bushy moustache and a shaved head with a shadow of short black hair around the sides. Like Carl, he was tall and rangy. Harlow reached into a pocket and produced a roll of electrical tape, roughly wound it around the farmer’s mouth. Jack thought of the pain ripping it off was going to cause. Hopefully, Steve would get to feel that pain later, because it would mean he was alive.

  ‘Why the hell are they doing that to him?’ Gupta’s voice was filled with alarm. He scrambled to his feet. ‘This is bullshit, we have to get down there.’

  ‘Not so hasty,’ said Jack. ‘They’re both desperate, there’s no logic to their behaviour. Who knows what drugs they’ve ingested, either.’

  ‘We can’t just leave Steve there with those two crazies.’

  ‘If we storm in, I can’t guarantee he’s going to come out alive. There’s no cover between us and the house, just a vast empty space. They’ll spot us for sure. I can’t see a way to gain access from the back unnoticed either.’

  ‘What do you suggest then?’ Gupta couldn’t hide his frustration. ‘Dig a tunnel and pop up in the fucking lounge room?’

  Jack let the sarcasm slide. ‘When’s sunset?’

  ‘About 6:30pm. Why?’

  ‘That gives us,’ Jack glanced at his watch, ‘just over two hours. I’d love to get this over and done with before nightfall. I just can’t think how.’

  ‘I’ve got a pair of night vision binoculars if we have to keep watch after dark.’ Gupta said hopefully. He lay back down on his stomach, almost instantaneously rolled onto his side to brush away a jagged rock.

  ‘Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. I’m gonna hit up the boss for some inspiration.’

  Jack returned to the Hilux, radioed Batista. ‘Sir, we’ve got a situation here. The suspects are holed up in Steven Masiker’s farm, possibly armed.’

  ‘Christ, that’s not good. Have you got visuals on the suspects?’

  ‘Only when they’re in the lounge room.’

  ‘Are they aware of your presence?’

  ‘Negative, sir.’

  ‘What else can you see?’

  ‘Nothing inside the house. The curtains are drawn in all other rooms. If they decide to pull the blinds in the lounge, we’ll have no idea what’s happening. As we speak, they’ve got Steven Masiker gagged with tape and hogtied to a chair, they’re roughing him up a bit. It’s frustrating the hell out of me to watch it.’

  ‘Try to stay calm.’

  ‘I’m doing my best sir. It’s not easy in this heat.’

  ‘I understand, Jack. Can you sneak up on the house?’

  ‘There’s too much open ground surrounding the property. We’d be sitting ducks if they’ve got hold of Masiker’s rifles.’

  ‘Wait till nightfall. Have you got night vision goggles?’

  ‘No sir. I wasn’t expecting to be playing ninjas out here. But Gupta does have a pair of infrared binoculars. Problem is, we can’t all use them at once. We’ll have to use the flashlights on our mobile phones if we decide to advance on the house.’

  ‘I’ll leave you to monitor the situation. Don’t do anything without obtaining my approval first, you got me?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘I’ll request a unit from the Special Emergency Response Team head over there.’

  ‘What’s the ETA?’

  ‘Fifteen minutes for them to scramble, approximately three hours travel time.’

  ‘That’s too fucking long! Why don’t we have our own aircraft up here?’

  ‘Write a letter to the Police Minister. I’m sure he’ll give it his fullest attention.’

  ‘Hilarious.’

  ‘Listen, I’ve got an idea. I’ll contact the Air Force. There’re some Black Hawk and Chinook helicopters at Garbutt Base, if I recall.’

  Jack scratched his head. Perhaps sending in the cavalry wasn’t such a smart idea. ‘Might be best if you don’t call them, sir. Special ops goons crawling all over the place and hulking great choppers flying overhead aren’t likely to instil calm in Harlow and Sharpe. Could send them right over the edge.’

  ‘Not sure I’m liking where you’re going with this, DS Lisbon. Are you proposing…’

  ‘I’ll keep you posted, sir.’ Jack ended the call. Batista called straight back, Jack hit the “end call” button. He’d blame poor reception.

  Jack, Taylor and Gupta would have to get the job done themselves.

  Back at the top of the ridge, Jack briefed the others on his chat with Batista. ‘He’s requesting help from SERT and the military.’

  ‘What? I’m not sure that’s proportionate to the threat here.’ Taylor screwed up her eyes.

  ‘Me either,’ said Jack. ‘I more or less hinted we’d get the job done ourselves.’

  ‘You what?’ Gupta’s eyes widened. ‘Your boss is right. Why not let the professionals handle it? They’ll have trained negotiators, the lot.’

  ‘Because I know deep in my gut the noise and spectacle of a Francis Ford Coppola movie descending on this farm will only lead to disaster. And negotiations won’t work with these guys.’

  ‘I agree with Jack,’ said Taylor, slugging water from a canister. ‘We’re going to have a better chance of ending this ourselves.’

  ‘Holy shit.’ Gupta wiped his brow with his sleeve. ‘I hope you know what you’re doing.’

  ‘Me too.’ Jack pulled out his Glock and made sure he had a full clip.

  Just after sunset the three police officers checked they had sufficient charge on their mobile phones to operate the inbuilt flashlight apps. Each guesstimated they had enough battery power for them to run on low for a couple of hours.

  ‘Even at the dullest setting, won’t they still see the lights?’ Taylor’s initial enthusiasm seemed to be waning the closer it got to show time. ‘What if they suddenly decide to stare out the window while we’re crossing the open ground.’

  ‘We might be OK,’ said Gupta. ‘Fireflies are active this time of year, trying to attract mates. The phone lights will blend in with them. Our dark shadows could be ‘roos grazing.’

  ‘Yeah, and what do lots of people do to
kangaroos in paddocks?’ said Taylor. ‘Shoot them, that’s what.’

  Neither Gupta nor Jack could offer a reply to that entire logical conclusion.

  As the natural light faded and darkness descended, the luminous insects began to twinkle in the trees around them and across the fields. Soon, the sky was bedecked with starry-jewels, meteorites flashed through the atmosphere, extended tails glowing red. Jack gaped at the crystal clarity of the stars out here in the bush. He’d seen nothing like it in his life.

  ‘We’re lucky there’s no moon tonight,’ said Gupta. ‘Otherwise…’

  ‘Indeed,’ said Jack. ‘Now, are we all ready?’

  At precisely 6:40pm, the three officers carefully made their way down the short incline, in a half crouch, stepping around rocks and clumps of vegetation. They spread out in a line, two metres apart. Their mobile phone screens were pointed straight down: to minimize the chance Harlow and Sharpe actually could tell the difference between glowing fireflies and artificial light from cell phones, and to prevent a nasty fall. Wombat holes dotted the terrain, camouflaged traps that could twist ankles. Halfway across the paddock, someone inside the farmhouse pulled the lounge-room curtains closed. Now they had no way of keeping an eye on Steven Masiker.

  ‘Oi,’ Taylor cried out in a whisper-shout. ‘I can barely see. There’s a swarm of moths in my face. They’re…ugh…’

  ‘Shhh, said Jack.

  ‘Pull your shirt over you face and hold the phone out to the side,’ said Gupta. ‘They’re attracted to the light.’

  ‘Gottcha.’

  With about 150 metres to go before they reached the house, a naked light globe switched on above the front door, instantly drawing a swarm of bugs. Jack dropped to the warm dirt, face down. He heard rustling sounds to his left and right as Taylor and Gupta did the same. He thrust his chin forward, tilted his head back to see what was happening. The two wanted men each carried a long-neck beer bottle in one hand, a scoped rifle in the other. The guns looked like they could penetrate the Great Wall of China. The men headed for a chair and a framed swing seat on the front veranda. They were laughing and joking, the sounds of their conversation reaching the cops in the still, clear night. Harlow was full of swagger, anxiety made Sharpe’s voice quiver.

  ‘You don’t really plan to kill him, do you, Andy?’ The fighter took a huge slug from the bottle, spat on the wooden decking.

  ‘’Fraid so, mate.’

  ‘But why? He’s done nothing wrong.’

  ‘Being related to that dickhead Carl is reason enough. Guilt by fucken association.’

  ‘If you say so.’

  ‘I do. Now I’m your exclusive full-time trainer, you gotta learn to do exactly as I say.’

  Sharpe nodded as he rocked back and forth in the swing chair.

  The two sat in silence for a while. Harlow reached into his pocket, pulled out a pouch and started rolling a cigarette. A while after he lit up the aroma pierced the air and it was clear he wasn’t smoking tobacco. The two men shared the joint, not a word was spoken between them for at least two minutes.

  ‘Psst, you two, sneak around the back,’ Jack whispered. ‘Go in a wide arc and don’t make any unnecessary noise. Once you’re inside, liberate the hostage. I trust you can break into the place without making a racket. Once you’ve got Steven, get the fuck out of there and run for the mango plantation.’

  ‘The house is miles away,’ protested Taylor.

  ‘It’s only about 150 metres. Listen, they’re going to kill the man. Both of you, crawl on your damn stomachs. I’ll slowly make my way as close to them as I dare.’

  ‘Why don’t we just take a pot shot at ‘em from here?’ said Taylor.

  ‘We’re still out of effective range. If we gamble and miss, they race inside and Steve’s fucked. Maybe they’ll start firing back at us and then we’re fucked. Those powerful rifles trump what we’ve got for distance.’

  ‘Jesus, Jack. Why do I wish I’d never met you?’ Taylor hissed.

  ‘Shut up and go!’

  ‘C’mon,’ said Gupta with gentle encouragement. ‘You’ve got this.’

  Taylor’s and Gupta’s backsides began wriggling away from Jack, in opposite directions at 45 degree angles; the adrenalin coursing through their bodies ensured they covered ground fast. Harlow and Sharpe lowered their voices, words now a low rumble.

  Have they realised they’re being watched?

  They reached down for their beers, clicked a toast to something.

  No, they have no clue we’re here.

  Soon they’d finish the bottles; in their frame of mind they’d be wanting to get drunk. Jack knew he would if he was in their shoes. Which meant they’d need to go back inside.

  Hurry up, you two…

  Once past the western side of the house, Taylor and Gupta stood, quickly stretched to get proper feeling back into their extremities. They trotted with light steps to the corner, made a left and headed for the back door. Gupta twisted the handle. Not locked.

  ‘Follow me, Claudia.’

  She didn’t argue, the local cop knew they layout of the house. Through the open-plan kitchen and into the lounge. Gupta put a finger to his lips. ‘Be quiet, Steve. Not a word’. He and Taylor loosened Masiker’s bonds, escorted the shaking man to the back door.

  ‘Those cunts were going to kill me after they’d drunk those beers. Oh, sorry for the language.’ A looked of shocked embarrassment passed across Masiker’s face. ‘Didn’t know there were ladies present.’

  A loud bang. ‘Shit, that’s the front fly screen slamming. We have to hurry.’

  By the back door, Steve grabbed a big Dolphin flashlight from a steel wire rack. He moved with a limping gait.

  ‘Can you run, Steven?’ said Taylor, arm around the older man’s waist.

  ‘Run? I can barely fucken hobble. Pardon my French.’

  ‘Where are the keys to your ute out the front?’

  ‘In the ignition, mate. This is Kilroy. No crime out here.’

  Loud footsteps came from the lounge room.

  ‘Where’s the bastard gone?’ thundered Harlow.

  ‘I dunno, we both checked the rope. He must be Houdini!’

  ‘Or someone’s untied him. Quick, you check out the front, I’ll have a look round the back.’

  Jack crawled another 50 metres over jagged stones, gritted his teeth as prickly weeds bit into his skin. Finally he was close enough. He stood slowly, planted his feet firmly into the dusty ground, raised his gun to eye level. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a white 4-door Nissan Navara cough to life; its rear tyres spun in a blur until the vehicle took off like a rocket. Gupta sat at the wheel, the others, Jack hoped, were crouched down in the back seat. The two fugitives burst through the front door, shotguns slung over their shoulders, searching for the source of the noise. They stood as statues, hands on hips, as Gupta put ever more distance between the pickup and the house.

  ‘Fuck!’ Harlow stamped his feet. He felt in his pocket, extracted a set of car keys. ‘Come on. We have to catch him.’

  ‘Why?’ said Sharpe. ‘What’s the point? Let him go.’

  ‘He heard us admitting to wasting Bartlett and Kennedy, that’s why.’

  ‘Come on, Andy! We need to get the hell away from here. He’ll raise the alarm with the local cops and–’

  ‘Too late!’ Jack shouted from the relative safety of the eastern corner of the house. He’d managed to slink away from the line of fire in all the chaos. ‘Get on the ground before I blow your fucking heads off your shoulders!’

  A firefly dove directly at Jack’s eye, made him drop his gaze for a couple of seconds. A glance up again, and Harlow had grasped Sharpe in a fearsome headlock. Both rifles lay on the deck, a pistol pressed to Sharpe’s temple.

  Fuck.

  ‘Don’t do it Andy. Let him go.’

  ‘No. You let us go, or this punk gets a bullet.’

  ‘Punk? He’s your boy, your full-time fighter.’

  ‘Please…�
� Sharpe blubbered.

  The kid’s pathetic, lost his edge, Jack thought. Or the weed’s made him slow and vulnerable. Putty in the hands of a manipulator like Harlow.

  ‘Shut up, you muppet.’ Harlow tightened the headlock.

  Images of the siege in the Brisbane bank came flooding back to Jack. He’d overcome two gunmen, today he only had to bring down one. The difference between this standoff and the bank siege boiled down to one crucial element. The man holding the gun here was a hundred times craftier than the meth-addicted bank robbers. Jack would have to handle Harlow with kid gloves for now, otherwise Sharpe’s brains would be blown out of his thick skull.

  ‘Listen, Andy. You’ve done enough damage already. Go easy on Danny and I’ll see it’s taken into account when you’re dealt with.’

  The headlock around Sharpe’s neck tightened, the fighter now a pathetic specimen, eyes bulging like a terrified frog. ‘Dealt with!’ Harlow bellowed. ‘Fuck that. No, that’s not what’s going to happen. You’re going to escort me and the young bloke out of here.’

  ‘Where do you want to go?’

  ‘Cairns airport.’

  Chapter 27

  ‘OK. I’ll help you.’

  Harlow’s forehead wrinkled in distrust. ‘Why?’

  ‘I’m concerned about Danny. You’ve dragged him into this mess. He’s got his whole life ahead of him.’

  ‘He’s a big boy, he’s made all his own decisions.’

  ‘Andy, I’m gonna be honest with you.’ Like hell. ‘I’m sick of breathing in insects and dust. Do the right thing and it won’t turn out so bad for you. Let’s head back up the hill, hop in the squad car and drive back to Yorkville.’

  ‘I said the airport.’

  Jack shook his head. ‘You’re dreaming if you think you can get away, sunshine. There’s nowhere for you to go. If you co-operate I’ll see if I can cut you a deal.’

  Harlow’s head stretched backwards at a crazy angle. He let out a blood-curdling cry that carried across the landscape. ‘Cut a deal?’ His raspy voice was a scraping violin. ‘You’ve got to be joking, mate. No way I’m surrendering to a pig like you.’