Circle of Death - Strike Back Series 05 (2020)

by Ryan, Chris

  Hulk kept the pistol raised.

  ‘Sorry, sweetheart,’ he said. ‘No witnesses.’

  The American’s index finger tensed on the trigger.

  ‘No!’ Porter shouted.

  In the corner of his eye, Bald saw his friend bringing up his rifle.

  Aiming it at Hulk.

  The American was fast. He reacted in a lightning flash, wheeling towards Porter and firing once before the latter could discharge a round. The Glock barked maybe six or seven feet away from Porter. A loud crack boomeranged around the master suite as a nine-milli bullet jetted out of the snout and thumped into Porter’s face. The round struck him like an uppercut and sent him sprawling into the wooden cabinet, body clattering against the shelves of baseball souvenirs. He sagged to the floor, blood gushing down his face from the hole in his head. Instant death.

  Fuller screamed.

  The maid darted past Hulk and scampered out of the room, screaming wildly. She ducked out of the door, disappearing from view before the American could get a bead on her, Hulk cursing under his breath.

  ‘Fucking bitch . . .’

  He started after her, then shook his head. Bald stood frozen to the spot and stared at his dead mucker. Fragments of Porter’s brain matter slicked down the wood panelling. The guy’s mouth was open in an ‘O’ of mild surprise. His eyes gazed lifelessly at a spot on the far wall.

  ‘Oh God,’ Fuller sobbed. ‘Oh, Jesus Christ.’

  Hulk slid his gaze across to the Scot, Glock hanging by his side.

  ‘Let’s not get emotional, here,’ he said coolly. ‘Your buddy didn’t want to get on board. He was going to fuck this thing up for all of us. You can see that, right?’

  Bald tore his gaze away from Porter. At his side, Fuller was weeping pathetically.

  ‘Fuck him,’ Bald replied tonelessly. ‘Cunt was soft anyway.’

  Hulk’s phone trilled. He took it out, read a message. Looked up.

  ‘Do you still want to get rich, brother?’

  ‘Always,’ said Bald.

  Hulk waved the Glock at Fuller. ‘Take her outside. One of the wagons out front. Stick her in the back. I’ll speak to Langley and deal with the president.’

  ‘What about the Land Cruiser?’

  ‘Change of plan. We’ve lost too much time. Dudley just messaged. He’s seen figures spilling out of one of the barrack blocks. Must have smashed open the door somehow. Any minute now, the soldiers will be ramming through that front gate. We need to get out of here, right the fuck now.’

  Bald glanced again at the clock: 04.11.

  ‘Get moving,’ Hulk went on, his voice urgent and tense. ‘I’ll be out in two minutes. Then we’ll get the fuck out of here and crack open the beers.’

  He turned away and dialled a number on his phone. Bald grabbed hold of Fuller and made for the doorway, arm wrapped around her waist. Her body shaking with fear and horror. The first time she had seen somebody die, probably.

  They left the master suite and traced their steps back down the corridor, heading towards the great room. In the background, Bald could hear Hulk’s voice as he spoke to the person on the other end of the phone. Giving them instructions. Fuller staggered alongside him, moving slowly, tears glistening on her dirt-smeared cheeks.

  ‘You can’t do this,’ she croaked.

  ‘Shut up,’ Bald said. ‘Walk faster.’

  ‘Please. You’re making a mistake.’

  ‘Not from where I’m standing.’

  ‘They just killed your friend. Don’t you care?’

  ‘He was a lame bastard. Now fucking move.’

  She kept begging with him as they moved across the great room and hooked a left, beating a path back down the foyer towards the front porch, ten metres ahead of them. Through the open doorway, Bald could see the nearest of the two Ford Explorers resting at the side of the carriage circle, four metres beyond the porticoed entryway.

  Our ticket out of here.

  He was banking on the key fob being left inside the vehicle. A reasonable assumption. Standard procedure for close-protection teams. You didn’t want guys having to search their pockets for the keys if the principal needed to make a hasty exit. Easier to leave them in the wagon.

  Then he noticed something else.

  A slender figure writhing on the ground to the right of the SUV.

  Dressed in a black-and-white uniform.

  The older maid had been shot. The woman Bald had seen in the dining room. She had taken a bullet to the guts. Both hands pawed at her stomach as a dark and glistening liquid pumped out of the hole, staining her apron and slicking the driveway. Bald wondered who had shot her. Stray round, maybe. But unlikely. Or perhaps Dudley had mistaken her for a target fleeing the building. The injured woman’s agonised sobs carried across the driveway, mingling with the fainter moans of the wounded men at the breach.

  No sign of the younger maid. Bald hoped she had found somewhere safe to hide.

  ‘Listen to me,’ Fuller said, gasping for breath. ‘I’m trying to help you.’

  Bald ignored her pleas and roughly marched her towards the entrance. They passed by the bullet-riddled guard Porter had dropped several minutes earlier. Felt like hours ago now. They were four metres from the front door when Fuller abruptly pulled away from Bald. He tried yanking her towards him but she stood her ground.

  ‘For God’s sake, listen, you bloody fool. We can’t go outside.’

  There was a sudden transformation in Fuller’s voice and posture. Like an actor breaking character in the middle of a show. Like a mask had dropped from her face. The weak, tearful figure he had rescued from the cell had been replaced by a much more confident woman. A hard look in her green eyes as she spoke.

  ‘It’s a trap. Don’t you see? As soon we step out of that door, they’re going to kill both of us.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘The Americans, you idiot.’

  Bald’s expression tightened. ‘Why the fuck would they do that?’

  ‘Because they’re not here to do a deal with you. They’re here to frame you both. You and your dead friend.’

  Bald felt something cold and wet trickle down the base of his spine. The pounding between his temples was deafening now. He shook his head.

  ‘Bollocks.’

  ‘It’s the truth,’ Fuller insisted. ‘They’re setting you up. They’re going to murder President Vasquez, kill you and pin the blame on you two. That’s their plan.’

  A question prodded at him. ‘How the fuck would you know that?’

  ‘I’m not a researcher,’ Fuller said calmly. ‘I’m with Six.’

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  The words hit Bald like a fist. For a moment he couldn’t speak. Couldn’t move. He simply stared at Fuller, a hollow feeling spreading though his chest. Outside, the maid with the gut-shot continued to scream. Begging for help that would never come.

  ‘Bullshit,’ he said. ‘You’re lying.’

  Fuller’s lips upturned. ‘Don’t believe me? Phone Madeleine. She’ll tell you the truth.’

  Bald peered at her. ‘How do you know Strickland?’

  ‘She’s my boss. I report directly to her.’

  Bald hesitated. He looked back in the direction of the great room. Hulk had said he would need two minutes to get on the blower to the agency, unlock the strong-room door and dispatch Vasquez. Maybe fifty seconds had passed since then.

  We’re almost out of time.

  His cold grey eyes skated back to Fuller.

  ‘Why would the Yanks want to frame us for slotting the president?’

  ‘There’s no time to explain now. You’re going to have to trust me.’

  Seconds ticked by. Bald remembered the questions they had asked themselves back in London. What Porter had said. ‘We’re going to a lot of effort for some unknown academic.’

  ‘Don’t believe me? Who do you think shot her?’

  Fuller thrust an arm in the direction of the housemaid on the driveway.

  Then he
understood.

  Dudley.

  The sniper hadn’t shot her by accident, Bald realised. He was too good a shot for that. Which meant that he had deliberately plugged the maid as she had bolted out of the front door. From Dudley’s vantage point on the hillock, four hundred metres away, he would have been able to line her up as soon as she had emerged from the mansion.

  ‘Why?’ Bald asked.

  Fuller said, ‘They shot her for the same reason they wanted to kill that maid behind the curtain. They’re covering their tracks. They don’t want anyone else to know they were here. Believe me, they’re not going to let you or me walk out of here alive.’

  No witnesses.

  Bald looked from the wounded housemaid to the great room.

  Left or right. Win or lose.

  Live or die.

  Less than a minute until Hulk finishes up.

  ‘We’ve got to go,’ Fuller said, panic rising in her voice. ‘You need to decide. Right now.’

  Bald thought about the money. The millions he’d make. He thought about Porter lying on the bedroom floor. The lights out in his eyes, a hole in his head the size of a poker chip.

  Who do you trust, John Boy? Hulk and Dudley?

  Or the woman?

  He looked back towards the front door. They weren’t in the sniper’s line of sight now, but Dudley would spot them as soon as they set foot outside the door, Bald knew. They would have to go through the kill zone to reach the Explorers.

  We’d never make it.

  He reached a decision.

  Nodded at Fuller.

  ‘Is there another way out of here?’

  She thought quickly. ‘Kitchen. They brought me in through the garage when I first arrived. There’s a door that connects from the motor court to the utility room. We can escape through there.’

  Bald cast his mind back several thousand years. He remembered sweeping through the barrier gate, making for the entrance. The motor court and garages on the western side of the stronghold. The Tahoe SUV he’d spied through the gateway.

  ‘Come on,’ he said.

  He started down the foyer.

  ‘Wait,’ Fuller said. ‘Do you have a phone?’

  ‘Just the one the Americans gave us.’

  ‘Lose it. The CIA will be able to track it remotely.’

  She scuttled over to the dead guard. The guy with the shredded ball sack and the oily hair. The guy who had been a split second away from slotting Bald. Fuller knelt down beside him and rooted through his clothing. Dug out his phone and stashed it in her jeans pocket. She grabbed the guard’s pistol from his belt holster too. A Browning Hi-Power semi-automatic. Tugged back the slider to see if there was a round in the chamber. Pressed the mag release button on the side and checked the clip. Full magazine. At the same time, Bald took out the handset Taylor had given him and tossed it aside.

  Fuller nodded at him.

  ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘Let’s go.’

  They set off down the foyer. Away from the squealing maid. Away from the front doors, and certain death. Towards the great room.

  Fuller was moving freely now, chopping her stride as they hurried towards the corridor off to the left, adrenaline juicing her veins. As they turned the corner, he heard two muffled cracks in the distance. Coming from the other side of the great room.

  Hulk.

  He’s just executed the fucking president, Bald thought.

  Any second now, he’s going to be leaving that room.

  ‘Hurry,’ Bald rasped.

  They pushed on, putting more distance between themselves and Hulk. Barrelled past the door to the basement and crashed through the grey door at the far end. Fuller led the way, Bald hurrying along a metre or so behind as she dashed through the kitchen and levered open a door next to the pantry. They hurried across a bare tile-floored space with a sink and several bins and washing machines. Swept through another and emerged at the side of the building, facing out across the motor court.

  Fourteen minutes since the attack on the barracks.

  The Tahoe was parked in the middle of the blacktop. A boxy beast of a wagon with paintwork the colour of graphite and a golden bow-tie logo fixed to the chrome grille. Run-flat tyres fitted as standard.

  ‘Get in,’ Bald ordered. ‘Quick.’

  His heart was beating faster now as he circled round to the rear passenger door and dumped his rucksack inside. There was a neglected bulletproof vest on the back seat. Left inside the vehicle in case the principal forgot to wear his own armour, presumably. Bald snatched the vest, swerved round to the driver’s side door and hopped up the step while Fuller climbed into the front passenger seat. He shoved his rifle barrel-down at his side and looked round for the keys.

  He didn’t have to look far. The previous occupant had left the key fob on the plastic tray in the middle of the console. For convenience, Bald imagined. The bodyguards would have had a system going on. Park the car, leave it unlocked with the key in the tray, ready for the next guy.

  The Tahoe was an automatic. He foot-tapped the brake and depressed the start button. The engine fired up. A whole galaxy of lights lit up on the dash. The needle on the fuel gauge showed a full tank. Enough for a journey of least four hundred miles.

  He thrust the spare vest at Fuller. ‘Here. Shove this down your side of the door.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘We’re in a soft-shell vehicle. We’re gonna be driving right past that sniper, on your side. It’ll stop any rounds ripping through the door.’

  She nodded quickly. Pressed the vest against the side panel on her door.

  ‘Stay low,’ he ordered. ‘And for fuck’s sake keep your head in the footwell.’

  He switched the lights off. The beams would simply make the vehicle a more obvious target. He down-shifted the lever on the side of the steering wheel to the Drive position. Released the parking brake.

  Then he stamped on the accelerator.

  The Tahoe roared as it surged forward. Bald gripped the wheel tightly, speedometer needle rapidly arcing upwards as he steered the wagon out of the motor court and through the arched gateway. Towards the carriage circle and the driveway and the front gate, fifty metres away. He slalomed around the two Explorers parked around the carriage circle, swerving to avoid the gut-shot maid. Hit the driveway and arrowed south, picking up speed. To his right Fuller was staying low in her seat, her chest tight against her thighs and her hands laced over the back of her head. Like an aeroplane passenger adopting the brace position.

  In the rear-view mirror, he caught a glimpse of Hulk. The ex-SEAL was rushing out of the mansion and bringing up his M4 rifle. Aiming at the fleeing Tahoe.

  ‘Stay the fuck down!’ Bald thundered.

  In the next fraction of a second, the rear windscreen shattered as three rounds punched through the glass and thumped into the rear headrests, rocking them back and forth with explosive force. Shattered glass fragments and torn bits of stuffing flew through the air as two more 5.56mm bullets sliced through the air and struck the upholstery. Bald dropped as low as he possibly could, steering almost blind. Foot to the pedal, aiming for the gate. Another round zipped past him, inches above his head. Buried itself in the front windshield.

  Keep fucking going.

  If we don’t make it out of here, we’re dead.

  Hulk was emptying a ferocious amount of lead at the wagon. Bullets clanged off the rear fenders and ripped through the bodywork in a deafening metallic clang. Bald kept the Tahoe pointed at the gate, mashing the pedal and gripping the wheel with white-knuckled hands. Thirty metres to the barrier gate now. Bald willed the wagon to go faster. Rounds hammered off the boot, clattering like hailstones against the bodywork. Twenty metres.

  Ten.

  There was a loud thump and clatter as the Tahoe rammed through the barrier. They hit the gravel track with a jolt and bombed south towards the main road, four hundred metres away. Mango grove on their right, the hillock somewhere further to the south. Engine snarling, the speedo
meter needle creeping past the fifty miles per hour mark. Fuller keeping her head down, the spare vest pressed against the side of the door.

  Bald floored it.

  We’re not out of the woods yet.

  We’ve got to get past Dudley first.

  The track would take them directly past the hillock on their right. They would have to endure Dudley’s fire before they could get away, he knew. He guessed there would be a delay of a few seconds while Hulk raised the redneck on the phone.

  The Brit and the woman are fleeing in the Tahoe. Stop them at all costs.

  They raced past the trees. Two hundred metres to the main road now. Two hundred metres to freedom. Beyond the treetops, he could make out the dark hump of high ground overlooking the stronghold.

  Dudley’s sniper nest.

  They were a hundred metres from the road when the first two rounds cracked against the windscreen, spider-webbing the glass. The bullets thumped into the headrests above Bald and Fuller, showering flakes of foam over their heads. Another pair of shots cracked against the front of the wagon, ricocheting off the grille. He heard an urgent hiss as Dudley brassed up the run-flat tyres, peppering them with rounds. A moment later they were sliding directly past the hillock and the side window above Fuller exploded. Glass cascaded over Bald and Fuller, sprinkling the footwells and grazing their hands and faces. Rounds hammered against the panelling on the door on Fuller’s side, thumping into the spare bulletproof vest. Bald drove on. Twenty metres to the main road. He dropped his speed and flicked the wheel sharply to the left. The wagon lurched heavily as it drifted into the turn. Tyres screaming in protest, loose gravel clattering against the panelling. Bald fought to maintain control of the wheel. There was time for Dudley to fire two more rounds, bullets glancing off the shattered frame of the rear windscreen.

  Then they were pulling away and surging east.

  The shooting ceased.

  Bald raced east and then south. After two miles he hit the road junction and made a sharp left, tearing along for a mile until he took the turn for the rough path he’d spotted earlier. He steered down the track for a hundred metres, the Tahoe shuddering over the potholes as he peered through the cracked glass. Found the spot where he’d ditched the Land Cruiser a few hours ago and slammed on the brakes, pulling up a metre behind it. Hit the engine stop button and sprang open his door. Fuller had sat up in her seat. Turned round to look at him, slivers of broken glass glinting like ice in her hair.