On the Hunt

by Kerry J Donovan

  They all knew the only outcome, Danny included.

  Kaine hugged his dying friend closer and made sure he had a good view of the attractive front garden. It would be his last. He fell silent, listening to the lad struggling over every gurgled breath.

  “Captain … I’m …”

  Kaine squeezed Danny’s hand.

  “Don’t talk, Danny. I’m here with you. We’re good.”

  “Will … will you do me a … favour, sir?”

  “Of course. Name it.”

  “Tell Bobbie I … tell her … Well, you know.”

  “Yes, Danny. I know.”

  “And look after … Marian Prentiss. She’s … she’s pregnant.”

  Kaine tried to swallow past the restriction in his throat. Couldn’t manage it. Tears blurred his vision. He wiped his eyes with the heel of a bloodied hand, the one still holding his de-cocked Sig. He tried not to sniffle. Danny wouldn’t appreciate tears from his commanding officer.

  “Pregnant, is she? I didn’t know.”

  “Even though … she’s … not one of The 83 … she needed our help.”

  The skin on his face became more and more translucent as the blood drained away. A pale blue tinge to his lips showed how close he was to the end.

  “One … one more … thing, sir.”

  “Yes, Danny?”

  “Lajos Pataki … will you … will you …”

  Really?

  “You want me to kill him?”

  Danny turned his head, locked drooping eyes with Kaine and smiled. It must have taken most of what he had left.

  “No … sir. Flush that … fucking toilet for me.”

  Kaine held Danny close and tight, and he laughed. He laughed until the tears took over—until the life left Danny’s eyes and he grew still in Kaine’s arms.

  Chapter Twenty

  Wednesday 3rd May – Vadik Pataki

  Amber Valley, Derbyshire, UK

  “Kibaszott pokolba!” Vadik cursed aloud.

  The attack had started so well. A concerted and bull-roaring all-out assault designed to instil terror in the hearts of the occupants. Shock and awe. The cowards in the house, Pansy and his cronies, would have been shitting themselves.

  Truffle Pig reached the house first. He broke through the pitiful defences, brave in his actions, bold even. A man worth his wages even if he was black. He crashed through the broken windows, firing his weapon as he entered. Three shots from inside the house followed by screams of pain suggested the black mercenary had been successful.

  Farzin, a short way behind, stopped his darting, serpentine rush and turned to Vadik, his long hair flapping around his head.

  “That was easy, főnök. So very easy,” he called.

  Together, they punched the air as brothers.

  “Go help him find Lajos,” Vadik ordered, waving Farzin towards the house. “And keep the woman alive. I have plans for her.”

  Dark plans.

  He would take her back to Hungary and use her as one of the family’s whores. After being strung out on horse for long enough, she would beg to please any man, just for one more fix. A fitting life for a woman who had caused Vadik Pataki so much inconvenience.

  As Farzin marched towards the front, rapid shots exploded from the rear garden. Obasi, Eliasz, and the others had reached the house and found their targets. Vadik whooped. He had plotted the encounter with the precision of a military genius. The mission was back on course. They would clean up the mess here at the house and take over the business as planned. Papa could not fail to be pleased and proud of his firstborn son. No longer would Vadik suffer the ignominy of being called the Bastard.

  Only then did things turned to shit.

  Something moved behind the smashed front window. A leather-clad arm pushed through the opening, its hand holding a black semi-automatic. Farzin froze to the spot.

  One second later, maybe two, Farzin flinched. Then came the shot that ended his existence.

  A single shot, fired through the window by the man in black leather.

  The hair at the back of Farzin’s head billowed as though ruffled by a puff of air. Blood and other stuff sprayed out in a red halo. Slowly, Vadik’s oldest friend fell backwards to the drive. He lay still. Dead.

  Szar!

  “No!” Vadik screamed. “Farzin. No!”

  He punched and kicked the tree behind which he had orchestrated the assault.

  The one who shot Farzin from inside the safety of the house was a fucking coward. He would die!

  Die! Slowly. Painfully.

  As the gunfight raged at the back and sides of the house, Vadik edged further behind the tree, peeking out with only one eye. Multiple cracks and pops broke the stillness. Bullets whizzed, ricocheted. Glass smashed. Men shouted, shrieked, and screamed. Some were dying. Vadik did not recognise the voices.

  He turned towards the gates. From his seat in the BMW, Wilfred stared at him, through a face with skin as pale as Lajos on a normal day. His blue eyes, normally wide and awestruck, were filled with shock and terror. What did he think of Vadik, hiding behind a tree? Where once he looked on in awe, what did he think now? Pity? Disgust?

  Well, fuck the geek. Fuck him to hell.

  What did Vadik care? Vadik was the Lion of Győr! He planned and calculated and schemed. He instructed people what to do. He drove while others obeyed.

  More gunshots and screams echoed through the English countryside. Then the rain started. Splodges of wetness sprinkled the leaves and flowers, dripping down the back of his neck.

  Fucking English weather.

  What was he going to do now? How was he going to fix the hideous shitstorm?

  Then, the thunder of a massive explosion vibrated up through the earth. Orange flames shrouded in black smoke climbed into the air from behind the house.

  What the fuck? They have bombs?

  In the car behind Vadik, Wilfred squealed. Vadik spun. Wilfred, eyes wide, mouth open, squealed again and applauded. The terror on his face had turned to delight.

  Why?

  He must have thought Eliasz responsible for the explosion, but that was not possible. Eliasz had used his only charge to destroy the electricity sub-station and cut the power to the house. Such was the naïvety of the boy. He had no understanding of what was happening. Once again, the boy’s reaction showed his ignorance and inability to grasp the wider picture. Wilfred laughed and clapped again. Vadik could not understand the mentality of the child who showed genius in some things, yet idiocy in others. If the family had not needed his technological skills, Vadik would end him. Those Vadik could not understand, he could not control, and they had to die.

  More shooting drew Vadik’s attention back to the battle.

  The flames died almost as quickly as they had been birthed, no doubt doused by the increasingly heavy rain. Screams of dying men, men Vadik knew and others, struck his ears. More gunshots followed. More agonised howls.

  Still, Vadik waited. Maybe the battle was not lost. After all, how many men could Pansy have amassed in so short a time? Maybe he was alone after all. Perhaps the explosion had been the final, desperate act of the defender. An act of suicide.

  Movement at the side of the house. A shadow emerging.

  One of the men Obasi had led into battle appeared on the path, the one who always wore a black beret, a beret from his military days that made him look so ridiculous. Rohan. He skidded to a stop, looked from Vadik to the house and back to Vadik. He started running, not towards the house but away, heading for Vadik and the gates.

  Fucking coward.

  Vadik raised his gun and fired twice, aiming low. The bullets thudded into the ground ahead of Rohan. He skidded to a halt once again, holding his arms away from his sides.

  “You fucking coward,” Vadik screamed in Hungarian, raising his Glock, aiming at the ugly face of a filthy weakling.

  Rohan shook his head and waved his hands.

  “But it is over, főnök,” he shouted. “Our men are dead.” />
  “Go. Kill them all!” Vadik yelled. “Kill them or die now!”

  Vadik lowered his Glock a fraction and pulled the trigger again. He missed again, but only by a centimetre or two. The bullet hit a rock at the side of the path and screamed off into the air, but the miserable coward got the message.

  “Te rohadék,” Rohan screamed.

  Yes, I am a bastard! And proud of it.

  Vadik waved his gun towards the house again and the beret-wearing chickenshit finally took the hint.

  Rohan turned towards the house and started running. He fired at the intact window. Glass smashed. Shards fell into the house. The coward continued screaming. Continued running. Closer, closer. Nearly there.

  More shots, these from inside.

  Rohan buckled, twisted, and fell through the shattered window and disappeared into the darkness. More gunshots marked his end.

  Fasz!

  Vadik moved into the protection of the tree once more. The bark was rough under his hand and against his cheek, but from its coarse texture and bulk came strength. The strength to stop bullets. The strength to save his life.

  Fasz, who is in there? How many?

  These were not questions Vadik could answer. Not today, if ever. The battle had not gone well. It was time to leave. Regroup. Protect himself. To hell with Lajos and the woman. To hell with the soldiers in the house. To hell with his men, who even now must all be dead or dying.

  He would go home, recover. Live to fight again. Only the next time, the next fight, he would be better prepared with more men and more complete information. Better intelligence would have saved the day. Wilfred should have warned him about the strength and disposition of the defenders inside the house—Pansy and his fucking men.

  Yes. That is it.

  Wilfred was to blame for the disaster, not Vadik.

  Damn the witless boy to Hell.

  Wilfred was paid to gather information. So why did he not provide it? He would pay dearly for his mistake, but not right away. Vadik needed the fucker to book flights and get them through customs. Only when Vadik had reached the safety of home, would it be the time to extract his revenge. Yes. Only when they were safely on home ground would he punish Wilfred, the one ultimately responsible for the failure of the mission.

  Vadik pushed away from the protection of the life-giving tree and, crouching low, raced to the car.

  Screaming at the useless Wilfred, he dived behind the wheel, and smashed the kid in the face for the pleasure it gave. Blood spurted from a split lower lip.

  Bassza meg! Fuck you!

  Vadik fired up the engine, turned the dial to Sport Mode, and selected reverse. The SUV’s rear wheels spun and bit into the gravel before finally gaining traction. The car shot backwards into the empty road. Vadik spun the wheel and expertly faced the car to the east, heading back along the way they had arrived. The leather-clad steering wheel felt good in his hands. Natural. He had always been a superb driver. Driving came naturally to him. All cars, fast or slow. Tractors, even.

  He mashed the pedal into the floor pan, the tyres spun on wet tarmac before catching. The SUV leapt forwards, gaining speed rapidly on the wet roads. Rain slammed down, cutting visibility to nothing. The sensors picked up the downpour and the wipers started up automatically, clearing the screen in a few swipes.

  In an instant, the first corner was upon them. He hit the apex at breakneck speed, twitched at the wheel, fighting a slight oversteer. They struck the grass verge on the road’s outer edge, but the stiffened shocks under Sport Mode took the strain, and the SUV stayed on the road. Vadik ground the pedal harder into the mat.

  In the front passenger seat, Wilfred whimpered. One hand held tight to his computer tablet. The other trembled and struggled to fasten his seatbelt securely.

  Tears ran down the cheeks of the weakling boy, mixing with the blood from his cut lip. Let him cry. What did Vadik care? The moment they reached safety, Wilfred would have every reason to blub.

  Vadik smiled even as he gritted his teeth. Speed was power and an aphrodisiac. He loved speed, but they needed more than the SUV was currently providing.

  Another a sharp right-hand curve approached. Vadik eased the car over, took the racing line, and they careened around the corner at speed.

  A perfect turn.

  As expected, it had not taken him long to learn the SUV’s new setup. Its points of balance. Its strengths and weaknesses.

  Go, Vadik. Go!

  “Főnök!” Wilfred screamed. “Too fast, you go to fast!”

  Wilfred held tighter to his unfastened seatbelt, his ashen face standing out white against the blood. Vadik laughed out loud.

  “Never fear, little man,” he shouted over the scream of the racing turbocharged engine. “Vadik Pataki knows how to handle a car such as this.”

  If Wilfred had bigger balls, he would find a roadmap on his tablet and navigate for them, but not a chance. The way the idiot’s hands shook when he tried and failed to fasten his seatbelt, and the way his chin crumpled in fear, told Vadik it was pointless to ask.

  Ahead, in the distance, the dipped headlights of an oncoming car bobbed and swerved around an upcoming corner—the first vehicle to pass since their arrival at Prentiss House. Vadik grinned. He had left the battle zone at exactly the correct time. Once more, his senses and superior intellect had saved him. Even better, the onrushing headlights were showing him the position of the next corner through the rain-washed gloom.

  Headlights glared through the spray, and a flash of white shot by on their right. The two cars passed at a combined speed in excess of one hundred and seventy kph. Vadik whooped his pleasure. He loved the dominance that power gave him. This was better than sex.

  The next corner, another right-hander, closed upon them. Vadik mashed his foot to the throttle. No need to slow for such a gentle bend.

  So what if the assault on the house had been a disaster? Nobody at home would know what had happened. So what if Lajos and the takeover bid on Prentiss Haulage was dead? Papa might rage, but Vadik would shift the blame to Wilfred, Lajos, Farzin, Obasi, and the others. Not even Eliasz would escape the culpability. He glanced at the still-bleating Wilfred. Apart from Vadik, only Wilfred knew what had happened at the Prentiss house. But Wilfred would not live to tell the tale. His time was already measured. Vadik smiled inwardly, but showed nothing on his lips.

  I apologise in advance, my young friend. But I do promise you one thing. Your death will be quick and painless.

  Yes, Vadik would make it quick and painless. After all, Wilfred had served the family well for so long, and Vadik was not a monster.

  Quick and painless.

  The least he could do.

  He returned his attention to the road. By the merest fraction, he relaxed the tension in his right foot, eased the pressure on the accelerator, and tweaked the steering wheel into the turn.

  The corner arrived faster than expected. Much faster. A massive puddle covered the outside lane, but it mattered not. Vadik Pataki had the skills to cope. If the family business had not pulled him in other directions, he would have made his name on the Grand Prix circuit. Maybe one day, he still would. He allowed a smile to spread on his face—a face many women had described as ruggedly handsome.

  Beside him, Wilfred screamed.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Wednesday 3rd May – Afternoon

  Amber Valley, Derbyshire, UK

  With extreme care, Kaine lowered Danny’s body to the chessboard tiles. Biting back the tears, he stepped out from under the cover of the portico, raised his head to the weeping sky, and released a silent scream.

  Danny’s dead!

  He’d taken a bullet to save Kaine.

  The driving rain cooled his face. He held out his hands, washed off Danny’s blood as best he could, and wiped them on the grass running around the path.

  Danny’s dead!

  Kaine blinked the rain and tears from his eyes and turned back to face the house, trying not to look at Dann
y.

  Cough appeared in the open doorway. He glanced down at Danny and closed his eyes for a moment before focusing his attention on Kaine.

  “Report.” Kaine’s voice cracked. He cleared his throat.

  Cough pushed his way through the door, keeping a respectful distance from Danny. “It’s carnage out back, sir. Two bodies burned to a crisp. Two dead in the hall, and two more out front here”—he pointed to the carcasses of Longhair and the arsehole who’d killed Danny. “There’s one par-boiled in the kitchen but alive, and another survivor behind the stairs. Neither of them will cause us any trouble.”

  “What about Marian … I mean, Mrs Prentiss?”

  “Unharmed but terrified. Stinko’s looking after her. Better with women than I am, sir. Gentle, you know?”

  “Thanks, Cough. I … Christ, what a bloody mess.”

  Cough dipped his head. “In the middle of the English countryside, too. Never thought I’d see the day …” He let the thought trail off and allowed sadness to cloud his face. “What do you want me to do with the other one?”

  “Sorry. What other one?”

  “There’s a blond geezer tied to the downstairs bog. Looks in a bad way. He’s mumbling shit in foreign, too. Can’t understand a bleeding word he’s spouting. I take it you or Danny put that bullet through his arm and leg and stuck him there for a reason?”

  “We did. He’s Lajos Pataki, Vadik’s brother.”

  Understanding dawned and Cough lifted his chin. “Ah, I see. Corky briefed us on the situation during the drive here.”

  “You didn’t release him, did you?”

  “What, the blond one tied to the bog?”

  Kaine spun away to wipe his eyes and take a deep, cleansing breath. He’d make time enough to mourn Danny’s loss later. Work needed taking care of first. He turned back to Cough and nodded. “Yes, him.”

  “’Course not. I figured you’d want to deal with him yourself.”

  “Is he going to live?”

  Cough shrugged. “No idea. Maybe. If he gets medical treatment soon. Gonna lose the arm, though. Already turning black and started to pong something terrible.”