NO EASY WAY OUT a gripping action-packed thriller (Johnny Silver Thriller Book 4)

by PAUL BENNETT

  ‘You don’t know my father,’ he said. ‘He would see it as failure.’

  ‘Success makes you clever,’ I said. ‘Failure makes you wise. Think about it.’

  Too subtle? Maybe, or maybe not. He was still very young. Not old enough to be wedded to a life that didn’t fit him.

  He stood up to go. Hesitated while important things were going round in his head. ‘Thanks for the coffee,’ he said. ‘If you’re not gone straight after the fiesta I’ll assemble all my men, hunt you down and kill you. Think about it.’ Touché!

  He was learning. Getting good at threats. But he was making the mistake of underestimating us. Be a shame to have to kill him. I got the impression there was something good inside him. But needs must where the devil drives, and boy was the devil driving. I was reading the signs that said a big kill was going to be the only way to save the girl and maybe the village, too.

  ‘Good to have had this chat,’ I said to his back as he reached the door.

  ‘I wish I could say the same,’ he said. ‘Seems like it’s cost me twenty grand and nothing has changed.’

  ‘Think of it as a charity donation to a worthy cause,’ I said. ‘Might make you feel better.’

  I knew what he was going to do next. Something only a young lad would think would create the right impression.

  He left and slammed the door shut behind him. Got it on the button. Too predictable.

  * * *

  We were just getting back together in the main room when there was another knock on the door.

  ‘As you were,’ I said. ‘Back to battle stations.’

  I opened the door and groaned at the visitor. It was hell-and-damnation breathing Padre Patrick.

  ‘You’re still here,’ he said.

  ‘So it seems.’

  ‘My work is done until the fiesta starts. Except for you, that is. Why are you still here in spite of my plea?’

  ‘Let’s just call it unfinished business.’

  ‘I’ll ask just one thing from you my son. Don’t spoil the fiesta. It’s the one day in the year when the people can let their hair down and have a good time without thinking about a hand-to-mouth existence. Don’t rob them of that.’

  ‘You heard the one about omelettes and breaking eggs?’

  ‘Don’t get smart with me,’ he said.

  Shouted, actually, might be a better description. He was getting worked up and I was starting to enjoy baiting him.

  ‘I know your kind, Silver. No thought for others. Killing is all you care about. And the kick it gives you. Leave now.’

  ‘I’ve just accepted twenty thousand dollars to leave straight after the fiesta. You wouldn’t want me to break my word, would you?’

  ‘Is that all you think about? Money?’

  ‘Despite the image you have of me, money is usually the last thing on our minds. Except, I grant you, money can be behind a lot of things we come across and why we get involved in things that aren’t our concern. At first, that is.’

  ‘Don’t play games with me,’ he said, his voice up a pitch. ‘Think of the village. Think of Chico. For some strange reason he thinks a lot of you. You’ve become the father figure that was missing in his life. Go now before you shatter his illusion or build his hopes up only to dash them down to the ground.’

  ‘I’m very fond of Chico,’ I said. ‘I wouldn’t do anything I thought would hurt him. Trust me, Padre Patrick.’

  ‘I’ve seen too many men like you in my lifetime. Men who care nothing about people, who only care of the money they may bring.’

  ‘Anyway, padre, what’s the rush? The fiesta will be over in two days. Why not put up with us for that little time?’

  ‘Because you can spoil everything,’ he spluttered.

  He was losing it. The fiery evangelist had run out of fuel. He would soon start to beg and it wouldn’t be a pretty sight.

  ‘I beg you, Silver.’ How about that? Right twice in one day. ‘Leave now. Leave us in peace rather than shattering that peace.’

  ‘I swear we won’t spoil your fiesta. There will be much to celebrate tomorrow. Our work will be done and we will leave the village a better place. Now, don’t you have more important things to do than berate me for sins uncommitted?’

  ‘This is a fragile community,’ he said. ‘Its existence hangs by a thread.’

  One spun by Estevez, I understood that. Pity I couldn’t tell him we were here to rescue Estevez from a situation that might eventually destroy the village.

  ‘Via con dios, padre,’ I said. ‘Pray for your fiesta. Even a little prayer for me wouldn’t go amiss. Surely you can pray for someone’s salvation and redemption.’

  ‘I suspect it would be a waste of time.’

  ‘Then do one thing for me, padre.’

  ‘And that is?’

  ‘Don’t slam the door on your way out.’

  Chapter Fifteen

  Final briefing over, we were sitting around the table hard at work. At two the next morning we would move, hopefully not for the last time. The time for thinking and planning was now over. All that was left to do was scrupulously clean our weapons and don our night-time camouflage. I had stripped and oiled the Uzi and now would pay attention to the Browning and the Magnum.

  ‘Do you think we get attached to our guns,’ Pieter asked.

  ‘The hell I know,’ said Red, who tended to get more jumpy than the rest of us prior to the start of a mission. ‘And you’ve got the knives to think about, too. How’d you learn to throw like that?’

  ‘Sometimes in the bush you need to kill an animal silently so that the rest of the pack or herd or whatever aren’t spooked. For those occasions it was like anything else, the more you practise the better you get.’

  ‘By rights I should be good with a bow and arrow, but that skill died out a long time ago. Shame we Comanche haven’t kept our heritage up to date.’

  ‘Aren’t you now into casinos instead?’ asked Stan.

  ‘Some of the tribes have built casinos in the desert. Funny how land that was given to them because it was worthless has now turned out to be a gold mine. Kind of poetic justice, don’t you think?’

  ‘Any kind of justice is a good thing,’ I said. ‘Poetic or otherwise.’

  ‘Is this your hubris and nemesis thing again?’ asked Bull. He had his eyes shut. Forever testing himself, he was breaking down, oiling and reassembling his Kalashnikov blind.

  ‘It usually works out that way,’ I said. ‘If you’re lucky that is.’

  ‘Are we going to be lucky?’ asked Pieter.

  ‘Who can tell?’ I said. ‘That’s why we spend so much time on planning and preparation.’

  Pieter had finished cleaning his guns and took out a small whetstone from his pocket and started to sharpen his knives. It made an awful high-pitched screeching noise that was going to get on Red’s jumpy nerves very quickly. I checked my watch.

  ‘Let’s have action,’ I said.

  ‘At last,’ said Red. ‘Amen to that,’ said Bull.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Time was ticking down. Weapons spotless, triggers oiled so that they gave us another fraction of a second in our favour. We buddied up to work in pairs, applying the black make-up to each other’s faces, except Bull, of course, who had a natural advantage. He shook his head and grinned at us. We were dressed entirely in black and it would be nearly impossible to see us in the faint moonlight. Our pockets were stuffed with spare ammunition for the assault rifles and handguns. Pieter had his knives in sheaves strapped to each leg.

  We had caught some sleep in the afternoon after our visitors had gone, still setting a watch rota just to be safe, had a light meal of roast chicken and salad prepared by Rosa and then drunk lots of coffee. To say we were fired-up would be a gross understatement. We were floating up to the ceiling. We were caffeine and adrenaline fuelled to the limit as we prepared to leave for the final battle.

  At two o’clock in the morning Bull lifted up the crate of Molotov cocktails like it
was a box of feathers and we walked in the shadows to Rojo’s ranch. The guards on the two watchtowers at the front corners were in a regular metronome of a routine of sweeping one-hundred-and-eighty degree arcs from the side wall to the front and back again. This meant that we could time our attack to coincide with the light being furthest away.

  Time for Pieter to do his knife-throwing trick. He got out the first of his knives and moved close to the side wall, but out of its beam. As soon as the light started to move away, he stepped underneath the watchtower and took aim. It seemed to take an age while he balanced the knife in his hand and then threw it. I caught a glimpse of light reflecting on the blade from the weak moonlight. The knife dug into the guard’s chest. The guard made a clutch at it, but slid directly down to the floor of the tower.

  Now time was of the essence. As soon as the other guard noticed his compatriot’s light had stopped moving, would be the time when he would realise that something was wrong.

  We moved in the blackness to the watchtower at the opposite corner. Pieter pulled the second knife from its sheath and took aim again. And again, that split-second pause that seemed like an age. The knife made a soft thudding that sounded like thunder in the silence as it buried itself in the guard’s chest. The guard swayed. He should have sunk to the floor, but he just stood there rocking back and forth. And then it dawned on me, one more sway and he would fall out of the tower and down to the ground near to our feet.

  I tapped Stan on the shoulder and motioned him to come with me. Together we moved directly underneath the swaying guard. One last sway and he went over the top. Stan and I broke his fall with our knees before he landed on the ground with barely a sound. We all moved to the gate. As rehearsed, Bull made a back for Pieter, who climbed up, spread the rug over the razor wire and hopped on top of it. With a lightness that I imagined he used when stalking wild animals in the South African game parks, he jumped down to the ground. A few seconds later and we were inside. Phase one successfully completed.

  Bull carried the crate of Molotov cocktails inside and placed it to the side of the house. He joined me at the front door and we waited for the fun to start. Shock and awe hadn’t worked the last time we employed it, hopefully second time lucky.

  Red and Pieter started lighting fuses. They threw some of the petrol-filled bottles at the base of the other two watchtowers and the balance all around the bunk house. Explosions sounded deeply in the still air and flames exploded upwards and along the base of the bunkhouse. Every exit was covered. All that was left for them to do was gun down anyone who emerged. Those that did would be panic-stricken and easy targets. The boom, boom of Red’s mighty shotgun could strike fear into the bravest person. There wouldn’t be much fight in them.

  I tried the door handle and it, frustratingly, was locked. Still, we wouldn’t let that stand in our way. I pointed my Uzi at the lock and fired off a burst that blew it out of the surrounding wood. Bull, Stan and I stepped inside. Stan had been allocated the ground floor. He ran along the corridor kicking in doors and carefully looking inside. Thanks to the late hour there was nobody there. Anyone in the house would be tucked up in bed soundly asleep. Bull and I raced up the stairs.

  We followed the procedure seen often in American thrillers, where one person kicks in the door while the other launches himself inside ready to fire at any occupants. Most would be awake by now due to the explosions of the cocktails and the sound of bursts of bullets.

  The first person we came across was Paco. By the time the door had flown open, he had grabbed a gun and was ready for us. Entering, crouching low down, I spotted him and shouted a warning for him to freeze. He knew he was outnumbered and outgunned and dropped his weapon and put his hands in the air.

  ‘So now we know what you are really here for,’ he said. ‘I should have guessed. I will be lucky to live after this. A consiglieri cannot afford to make mistakes of this scale.’

  ‘No offence, but better that you have been tricked by us. Superior force. Use that in your defence.’

  ‘This is going to be a night of surprises,’ he said. He grinned at me as if he had a trick of his own up his sleeve. ‘What a night!’

  We put him in his en suite and wedged a chair under the door so that he couldn’t get out. Then it was back to door kicking.

  We found the girl in the third bedroom we tried — the others were empty. As I entered the room, she turned on a light and looked up at me from the comfort of a huge queen-sized bed.

  ‘Grab some clothes,’ I said. ‘We’re friends of your father. You’ve got a dog named Tino and your room could be used as an operating theatre it’s so clean.’

  ‘No,’ she said.

  I took another look at her. She was prettier than her picture. Softer, less defiant in the absence of a photographer. Her hair had a tousled appearance that softened her face.

  ‘It’s safe,’ I said. ‘We’re here to set you free. Forget the clothes. Let’s move.’

  ‘No,’ she said again. ‘I’m staying. I love him.’

  With those words Rojo stuck his head out of the bedclothes beside her. He grinned at me.

  ‘Well,’ he said, ‘what are you going to do now?’ The hell I knew.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Bull had joined me and the two of us stood there staring at the two of them. Romeo and Juliet, but somewhat less innocent. Helen of Troy caused only slightly more devastation.

  ‘Call your men off,’ I said to Rojo. ‘Too many people have died for this girl. Now the killing has to stop.’

  He got out of bed and pulled on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. He walked across to the window and stuck his head out. He shouted below three times before he could make himself heard over the din that was going on below him.

  ‘Stop shooting,’ he bellowed. ‘Throw down your weapons. Put the fires out and go back to the bunkhouse. There’s nothing you can do here. We have surrendered. Your job is over.’

  I moved across to him and looked out of the window. There were a few sporadic shots and then the air went still. Fires flourished at lots of points, but they looked worse that they were. If the ranch had been wooden rather than adobe, then there might have been cause for concern, but the fires just need a few buckets of water to put out.

  Rojo stepped back and went to sit on the bed beside Maria. I stuck my head out of the window, where his had been, and shouted down to Red and Pieter. ‘Cover them and prepare to move out.’

  I turned back to the girl.

  ‘You’re coming with us,’ I said. ‘We took a contract to rescue you and that’s what we’re going to do. You can sort everything out with your father later.’

  ‘Shan’t,’ she said.

  I looked at Bull. He moved forward, bent down and plucked her from the bed.

  ‘You can kick and scream as much as you want, little lady,’ he said, ‘but I’m not letting go, so there’s no point trying. We’re going home.’

  ‘I’m coming, too,’ Rojo said.

  I shrugged. It made no difference to me. Getting the girl back had always been the object of the exercise.

  We moved out of the bedroom. As we passed Paco’s bedroom, we let him out and the five of us filed down the stairs. Stan joined us in the hallway and we exited the house.

  I motioned to Red and Pieter and they backed away from the burning bunkhouse, covering what was left of Rojo’s bodyguards, and we walked through the gate.

  A crowd from the village had formed to see what all the noise was about. We must have made a very confusing sight. Five guys black as night, four carrying weapons, one carrying a struggling girl, Paco and Rojo half dressed. The crowd followed us as we made our way to the house of Estevez.

  Chico came up to me. ‘If only I had a phone! I could have taken a movie of everything. I was looking over the wall. The fires! The shooting!’

  ‘I think I’ve had enough of videos,’ I said. ‘You should be in bed, Chico.’

  ‘What and miss all the fun? No, Senor Silver, my place is at your s
ide.’ We walked as a group until we stood outside the gate to Estevez’s ranch.

  ‘You all go home,’ I shouted to the crowd. ‘Tomorrow is the fiesta. Get some sleep. Prepare to celebrate.’

  Unbidden, Chico translated and the crowd looked at each of us and the scene and came to the conclusion that the excitement was over. They drifted away.

  Estevez opened the gate. He and his wife stood there in pyjamas and nightgown respectively. His wife saw Maria in Bull’s arms and started to cry. Bull put the girl down.

  ‘My baby,’ sobbed Conchita, running to her daughter and wrapping her arms about her. ‘You’re home. You’re safe now.’

  ‘I think we need to go inside,’ I said to Emanuel Estevez. ‘There’s some things we need to talk about.’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ he said. ‘You have done it, Senor Silver. Thank you so much from my wife and myself.’

  We walked inside the house and into a large lounge. There were deep leather settees, armchairs and native wooden and wicker coffee tables, all set around a grand fireplace. Estevez spoiled the effect by going across to the fire, pressing a button and flames burst into life. So much for tradition. Hadn’t there been enough fires for one night? Still, his heart was in the right place. Try to make the place cosy and inviting, create the right atmosphere to discuss whatever was on our minds.

  I looked around the group and made a decision. ‘A drink would go down well,’ I said.

  ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘Forgive me. I was so overjoyed at having our Maria back that I forgot my manners. Please, all of you sit down.’

  We obliged. Anything to speed up getting that drink.

  I walked across to the fire and leaned on the mantelpiece. The others each found themselves a seat in what resolved into three groups. Our group to the left of the fire, Maria, Rojo and Paco to the right and Estevez and his wife in the middle. Estevez went to a tall cabinet and opened up the middle section. He slid out a shelf and placed glasses on it. From a cupboard at the bottom he took out a bottle of tequila — I hoped he had more than one — and filled the tiny glasses. As a good host, he distributed the glasses among us. I downed the drink and felt the fire hit my belly. I walked across to the cabinet, picked up the bottle, filled up my glass and passed it to Stan to do the honours. ‘We have delivered on our part of the bargain,’ I said to Estevez. ‘Are we agreed on that?’