Later, Ryan. Later.
He negotiated the sharp left-hander and reached the straight outside Prentiss House. Someone, probably Cough, had opened both gates and moved his Ford and both BMW X5s from the entrance.
From Kaine’s angle of approach on Chequer Way, the area looked normal, tranquil, untouched. But as he pulled off the narrow road onto the gravel drive and passed through the gates, the farm became the obvious site of a recent gun battle. The smashed front windows, the bloodstained and rain-soaked gravel, and the puddles of blood covering the black and white portico tiles, gave the place the surreal air of a film set.
One thing in their favour, the large house hid the damage caused by the propane explosion, which was just as well. The bodies were missing, too.
With another heavy downpour to wash blood from the driveway, a swabbed portico deck, and a pair of replacement windows, the front of the farm would probably look as good as new. Damn near pristine.
Cough had reversed the Ford and the BMWs to one side and parked them facing the gates. One of the BMWs’ tailgates stood open.
Kaine parked the Triumph alongside the Ford and dismounted. He tugged off the skid lid, hung it on the bars by its strap, and marched towards the front doors. Cough and Stefan appeared around the far corner, coming from the back garden. They each had the hand of a blackened corpse and were dragging it behind them. Stefan’s expression hadn’t changed much since earlier, but Cough looked decidedly uncomfortable. Green about the gills. Death affected people in different ways, even veteran soldiers like Ashley Coughlin.
Straight-faced, Cough nodded to Kaine and he and Stefan dragged the toasted body to the BMW and tossed it unceremoniously into the back.
“Wouldn’t it be easier to reverse the SUV around to the rear courtyard and load it from there?” Kaine asked.
“Yeah, it would be, but there’s no room, what with all the rubble and the other BMW, which is already full of dead people, by the way.”
“Oh,” Kaine said, up-nodding. “I see.”
His eyes drifted from barbecued bad guy in the boot to the front of the house and the gated entrance.
“Anything wrong, sir?” Stefan asked, dusting some of the ash from his gloved hands.
“With all the gunfire and that explosion, I’m surprised we’ve not been inundated with neighbours.”
“We were, sir,” he said, raising his eyebrows in a double-hitch. “Well, not exactly inundated, like. But this red-faced farmer drove up on his Massey Ferguson, wondering what was going on. Only he weren’t that polite about it. Turns out we’ve been upsetting his cows. Bloke was worried about his milk yield, or summat. Quite aggressive about it, he was.”
Kaine hadn’t heard Stefan say so much in one go before and managed to hide his surprise.
“What did you tell him?”
“Weren’t me, Captain. Cough talked to the geezer.” Although totally out of place given the circumstances, Stefan’s conspiratorial smile was quiet refreshing. It brought some humanity to the scene.
Cough stepped alongside to answer. “I told him we were filming for the new series of Our Girl, sir. Said he should have received a letter about it last month.”
“Our Girl?”
“A TV show about an army medic, sir,” Stefan answered, using extravagant hand signals to show the army medic in question was female—and a looker.
“Never heard of it,” Kaine said, ignoring Stefan’s lurid non-verbal description. He turned to Cough. “The farmer. He fell for it?”
Cough shrugged. “Seemed to, sir. At least he calmed down when I told him the producers would be contacting him next week to discuss any necessary compensation.”
Kaine nodded. “Nice one, Cough. Thinking on your feet like that.”
“Thank you, sir. I um, … also gave him a hundred quid and asked him to act as our local consultant for the afternoon.”
“Really?”
Cough’s smile matched the one Stefan gave. “Right now, he’s parked up the road, redirecting traffic and explaining what’s happening. Hopefully, he’ll keep any rubberneckers at bay.”
“You’re kidding. It worked?”
“Yes, sir. Well, I think so. A mean, we haven’t had any other visitors since he buggered off, counting his cash.”
“Amazing what a few quid will buy you these days.”
“Not so much the money, sir. You’d be surprised what some people would do on the promise of getting a mention in the credits of a TV show.”
Kaine sighed. “Yes. I probably would. Remind me about the money, though. I don’t want you out of pocket.”
Cough waved the issue away. “I imagine you’ve been doing some tidying up of your own, sir?” he asked, nodding in the direction of Derby.
“You could say that.”
“So, we won’t have to worry about Vadik Pataki turning up with another attack team, spitting nails?”
“No, we won’t. No chance of that at all.”
“Yep, I thought so. There were two men in the car that passed us. What happened to the passenger?”
“Lost his head, I’m afraid.” Kaine winced, but didn’t explain the joke. There would be plenty of time for a full debrief. “He did leave me with a trail of breadcrumbs though.”
“Yeah? That’s good.”
Kaine glanced at the bloodstain near the front door, where he’d last seen Danny.
“We placed him in the back of our Ford, sir,” Cough said, reading Kaine’s mind. “Figured you’d want to send him back to his family for a decent … well, send off. Don’t worry, sir. We treated him with respect.”
“I know you did, Cough.” He paused for breath. “But Danny didn’t have any family. To begin with, we’ll take him to Mike’s place. Danny loved the farm and it’ll be fitting. Afterwards, the sea. Bobbie, his girlfriend, knows the farm and can visit, but … not just yet, eh?”
“Understood, sir. I imagine a visit to Hungary is on the cards?”
“For me, Cough. And maybe a few of the others, but not for you or Stefan. If you’re willing, I have other plans for you two.”
“Your call, sir. Whatever you want, I’m up for it. Can’t speak for Stinko, though.” He turned to the younger man. “What do you reckon, mate?”
“You can count me in, Captain. Danny were a mate o’ mine. Whatever you need me to do, I’m game.”
Kaine nodded his thanks and moved on. “How’s Mrs Prentiss?” he asked Cough, but Stefan answered.
“Crying her eyes out, Captain. But she ain’t hurt or nothing. Reckon it’s down to shock mainly.”
“Can you look after her while Cough and I have a quiet word with Lajos Pataki?”
“The man in the crapper?”
Kaine nodded. “The very one.”
“Yeah, no bother.”
“Thanks, Stefan.”
The youngster turned and hurried back the way they’d come, heading towards the kitchen, but halfway to the corner of the house he stopped and turned.
“Don’t suppose we’ve got time for a cuppa, sir?”
Kaine grinned. The soldiers’ need for a refreshing, recuperative brew spanned the generations.
“Sorry Stefan, I’d love one, but we can’t hang around too long. Despite your arrangement with Farmer Giles, someone else might have called the cops. Besides, we don’t have time to boil water without power and, funnily enough, there’s no gas left. Refreshments will have to wait until we reach the farm.”
Stefan broke out his second grin of the day.
“No probs, Captain. I’ll go see how Mrs Prentiss is getting on,” he said and hurried away.
“A happy soul,” Kaine said to Cough as they headed towards the closed front doors.
“Not much of a conversationalist, sir. But he is reliable, and Mrs Prentiss seems to have taken to him.”
They reached the front doors. Kaine stopped and lowered his voice. “Good, I’ll want you and Stefan to protect her until this is over. Will you do that for me?”
Cough’s
expression turned serious. “Yes, sir. How long’s this likely to last, though? Situation seems a little complicated to me. And fluid.”
“Let’s go find out, shall we?”
“Time for a visit to the loo, is it?”
“Yes, Sergeant. I’m feeling a little flushed.”
Cough winced. “Oh dear, sir. That’s beneath you.”
“Sorry, Cough. I’m a little off my game right now.”
Time to shape up.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Wednesday 3rd May – Afternoon
Amber Valley, Derbyshire, UK
Contrary to Kaine’s original expectations, but much to his relief, Lajos Pataki still breathed. In fact, he seemed to have rallied a little, although he did babble happily into the toilet bowl as though he’d lost his grip on reality. He spoke in a strange singsong Hungarian with a smattering of English swear words mixed in. His head flopped over the bowl and his speech sounded hollow.
The man’s injured arm was in a bad way, its colour dark, the wound already festering. Kaine had seen crush injuries before and understood the process. The loss of blood to the limb caused by the injury and aggravated by the life-saving tourniquet had produced an early onset of putrefaction. Already the arm smelled of old blood and rotting meat. Kaine doubted anyone could save the arm, and he couldn’t generate one ounce of pity for the sorry specimen of humanity.
Kaine stood over the miserable creature.
“Lajos Pataki,” he said, but the small man with the white hair ignored his name and kept up the mumbling.
Kaine leaned forwards and pulled the chain attached to an old-fashioned, high-level cistern. The flush echoed loudly in the close confines of the washroom.
Lajos Pataki choked and squealed, and turned his head as much as the noose would allow. He coughed and spluttered until the water finished running, but it had the desired effect. The little man stopped babbling and started shouting—in fluent Hungarian.
Although Kaine didn’t understand the words, he caught their meaning easily enough.
“That woke the bugger up,” Cough said, through a chuckle. “A little harsh, though, mind. I thought you were joking about feeling flushed.”
Kaine glanced at Cough unable to hide a scowl. “This bastard ordered Marian Prentiss’ death and was deeply involved in her husband’s murder. There’s no need to waste your sympathy on him, Sergeant. Besides, I was carrying out Danny’s dying wish.”
The words, “Danny’s dying wish”, tore out his throat even as he spoke them. How the hell was he going to keep it together in front of the men … and Lara.
Cough scoffed. “No sympathy here, Captain. Just didn’t want you drowning the fucker before he’s puked up all the intel we want.”
“Good point, but there’s no need for the kid gloves any more, Sergeant.” Kaine pointed outside, towards his bike. “In the bike’s top box, I’ve got two mobile phones, a computer tablet, and another gizmo that might have been used to block the mobile phone signals. I’m betting they’re full of the information we require. This piece of filth probably won’t add more than background colour, but he might just help me get over Danny’s loss. I need a punching bag.”
Kaine kicked Lajos Pataki in the ribs with the inside of his boot, more to underline his intention than to cause real damage. Again, Lajos Pataki squealed.
Normally, Kaine wasn’t one to beat up a helpless captive, but this day was anything but normal. Not that he had any real intentions of unloading his fury on the injured man, he just wanted Lajos Pataki to think he would. And since the miniature Hungarian thug understood English, Kaine wasn’t going to explain his real intentions to Cough.
“If you say so, Captain.” Cough winced at the blow and his confused frown matched Stefan’s default expression.
Kaine winked and rubbed his hands together. “I do, Sergeant. I do indeed.”
The comms unit clicked in Kaine’s ear.
“Cough,” he said before tapping the earpiece into life, “untie this piece of filth and drag him into the kitchen. And there’s no need to be to be too gentle about it, either.”
“Foxtrot One to Alpha One, are you receiving me? Over.”
Lara.
The breath caught in Kaine’s throat. He swallowed hard before answering.
“Alpha One here. Reading you strength five. What’s your ETA? Over.”
“Should be there in ten minutes. How are you? Over.”
Kaine gritted his teeth and waited for Cough to drag the squealing man away before answering. “I’ve had better days. Who’s with you? Over.”
“No one. I’m alone. Over.”
“Damn it, Foxtrot One. Turn back. There’s nothing for you to do here. Over.”
The last thing Kaine wanted was for Lara to witness the way he intended to deal with Papa Pataki’s only surviving son. He’d never performed an amputation before, but he’d seen plenty done in the field. Anyway, how difficult could it be to saw off a man’s arm if you didn’t really care about the outcome or the pain inflicted during the process?
“I understand there are surviving casualties. Over.”
Kaine gulped.
“None that matter. Over.”
“I’ll be the best judge of that!” she snapped. “Foxtrot One, out.”
Damn it, Lara!
The earpiece clicked into silence. He tapped it once.
“Whatcha, Mr K. How you doing?” Corky answered Kaine’s summons, his manner significantly less surly than usual.
“How’d you think I’m doing, Control?” Kaine barked, but he didn’t mean it to sound so hostile or to forget radio protocol.
“Yeah, Mr K. I get it. Stupid question. Corky’s gonna miss Danny, too. Lovely bloke, he were. Really decent.”
Kaine took a breath. “No. No. My fault. Shouldn’t have snapped. I’m sorry. Over.”
“What can Corky do for you. Mr K?”
“Force open a line between Foxtrot One and me. She’s gone silent and I want her to turn back. Over.”
“Foxtrot One? Oh, you mean the doc. Nah, not worth it, Mr K. Corky’s been trying to get her to change her mind since she learned what happened. She ain’t listening.”
“But she’s alone, damn it. Over.”
“’Course she is. Ain’t no one around to back her up. There’s only Connor and Mike at the farm. And Mrs A, of course, but she’s on a video conference with the DCI. He don’t know nothing about what’s going on over there with you and … Danny. Me an’ the doc thought it best to keep him out of it. Him being the fuzz an’ all.”
For once, Corky was making perfect sense. It would be best for everyone concerned if Jones could be kept well out of the Prentiss mess.
“Okay, Control. Are you going to be available for a while? Over.”
“Yeah, Mr K. Corky’s sticking around for as long as you need him to. You got anything particular in mind?”
“I’ve recently acquired some mobile phones and a tablet. I’m going to need the information they contain asap. How can I get them to you? Over.”
“There ain’t no need. Corky can access the information remotely. Easy-peasy. Want your hand held through the process?”
“Sorry, I’m about to become a little busy. Can you walk Cough through it? Over.”
“Yeah, no worries. Prob’ly be easier doing it with Mr C, seeing as how you’re so useless with techie stuff unless it’s used for blowing stuff to pieces.” He delivered the insult with a chuckle, sounding more like the old Corky.
Kaine ignored the unjustified dig at his lack of knowledge of the intricacies of IT. “I also found a piece of electronic equipment that might have been used to block our comms signal. Thought you might be interested in dissecting it. Maybe you can work out a fix. Over.”
“Yeah, sounds like a good idea. Corky’ll tell Cough where to post it. Someplace Corky can arrange a collection.”
Kaine didn’t ask for details. Corky had never revealed his location and Kaine had no intention of prying. Partitioni
ng of sensitive information was a mainstay of keeping his people safe.
“I assume you’re monitoring police radio traffic? Over.”
“Yep. Sure. Ain’t no one’s called the fuzz about the gunfight. Not yet, anyhow. Corky’s guessing there weren’t no neighbours close enough to hear the explosion, neither.”
Only Farmer Giles, but Cough had dealt with him well enough.
“Okay Control. Let me know the minute anyone takes an interest. We’ll need as much warning as you can give us. Over.”
“Will do, Mr K.”
“Alpha One, out.”
Kaine tapped the earpiece into silence and headed for the kitchen.
Someone, probably Stefan, had found a couple of large table cloths and thrown them over the oil and water mix to make the floor less slippery. They covered the blood, too.
Commando, his face red and blotchy and painful-looking, sat on the floor in the corner, knees bent, hands tied behind his back. His eyes were closed and he shivered, probably fighting the shock. No matter how well-trained or prepared, serious injuries stimulated the body’s natural reaction to pain, and Commando clearly wasn’t any more immune than the rest of the human population. The bullet-riddled Merc lay beside him on the floor, bleeding slowly onto the tiles.
Neither man presented an immediate danger and, being English hired hands, neither would have much useful information to offer. To begin with, Kaine turned towards the primary object of interest.
Cough had dumped Lajos on a dining chair. The pint-sized thug leaned forwards, arms still tied behind his back, the bonds secured above the smashed elbow. His head rested on the table, keeping his injured arm clear of the chair’s back. Sodden white hair fell into his eyes.
The second he spotted Kaine, he sat up straight, jogged his arm, and screamed in Hungarian.
Kaine shouted over the tirade. “Speak English, moron. Or we’ll get nowhere!”
Lajos bared his teeth. “Do you know who I am, szar az agy számára?”
Kaine’s earpiece clicked. “He’s just called you ‘shit for brains’, Mr K. That there is one nasty little man.”
Kaine sighed. “Thanks, Control. But I have this. Alpha One, out.”
On the Hunt Page 18