Dead Secret

by Peter Kozmar

  “Keep it safe.”

  Mark placed the USB stick back into his pocket. Andy rubbed his chin and thought for a moment. “What else was going on within your office?” he asked.

  “Why do you ask?” Mark took a bite of his chocolate.

  “Maybe this is something else. What was Tom Evans working on?”

  “Tom?” Mark sounded surprised.

  “Doesn’t it strike you as odd that Tom dies a week before everyone else in your office is murdered?”

  “The police said he drowned, they thought it was an accident.”

  “A former British Royal Marine Commando, extremely fit, in great condition, a good swimmer and a competent kayaker. He drowns on a calm day. Humor me … What was he working on?”

  “Recently he’d been working with Fiona Armstrong. They’d found something which troubled her.”

  “Did Fiona tell you what it was?”

  “Not specifically. We kept what we were working on to ourselves.”

  “But Tom worked with her on this?”

  “Tom was our ‘go to’ guy if we needed someone followed or surveillance devices planted or physical evidence gathered. At one time or another he’d helped most people in the office with his skills. This time around he just happened to be helping Fiona.”

  “What did Fiona tell you?”

  “Only that she’d passed the information she’d gathered up the chain-of-command within the UN and appeared surprised when she didn’t hear back. She raised it again with UNHQ and again silence, which was pretty unusual. Out of exasperation she contacted the UK Foreign Office via the British High Commission. She even met their resident MI6 man, Anthony Clement-Bridges.”

  “Must have been something pretty serious for her to flag it with UNHQ and the British Foreign Office. You sure you don’t know more?”

  “Look Dad, that’s all I know about Fiona’s work.”

  Andy decided upon a different approach, “I found your little black book under your desk at home.”

  “How?” Mark sounded surprised.

  “I’m no amateur,” Andy winked as he took another sip of his coffee. “You were building an insurance policy for your future if things with the UN didn’t work out. Do you know if Fiona did the same?” he asked.

  “She did have a cache … we all do.”

  “Do you know where she kept hers?”

  “No. Not really. She said London were keeping an eye on things. So, she must have mailed it to someone in London or given it to the British Government.”

  “Did Fiona ever refer to Tom as ‘Tom O’?”

  Mark placed his mug of coffee on the table, “No. Not in my presence. I don’t think he would have liked being called Tom O. If anyone said that to his face, in his own words, he’d rip them a new arsehole. Everyone called him Tom.”

  “What can you tell me about Tom?”

  “Tom, he was a great guy. Super fit. Keen on the outdoors and came out here a few times with me.” Mark pointed in the general direction of the door as he continued to talk. “He even came snowboarding with me with his family. They were all good snow boarders. Like him, his teenage kids had no fear and did black runs with ease.” Mark picked up his mug and took another, longer sip.

  “Could Tom have stumbled onto something?”

  “Tom wasn’t an analyst or a technical specialist. He was more a physical asset who we called upon from time to time. He never led operations, he was always in support. If he did find something, he wouldn’t have been on his own.”

  “Did Tom have any problems or concerns about anything?”

  “No. Nothing appeared to bother him. He was a very binary kind of guy. For him options were either left or right. Up or down. Forwards or back. You got no sitting on the fence or ambiguity from him. He had a soldier’s mentality that sometimes you just had to put your boots on and carry on regardless of how you felt.”

  The sound of heavy footsteps on the deck gave advance warning of someone approaching. Andy guessed it was the warden returning from checking the traps. The shape through the window confirmed it, as the warden sat on a bench and removed his boots before standing and heading for the door.

  The warden entered the hut.

  “How did your trapping go?” Andy asked.

  “Successful!” He replied with a large grin, “I found six dead possums at two of the near traps and a big bugger further along the line.”

  “Hey Dad, I’ll pack my kit so we can get going,” Mark interrupted.

  “Sure.”

  Mark disappeared into the sleeping accommodation leaving Andy alone with the warden who lit his cooker and started boiling water for the pasta which would be his late lunch. While he waited for his water to boil the warden explained the different methods they used for pest control which included, stoats, deer, goats and rabbits which all needed to be culled, Andy only half listened. Mark returned and packed his stove and food before he washed his mugs in one of the four metal sinks.

  “I’m packed and good to go,” Mark announced while he heaved his heavy pack in one hand.

  “Have you got the memory stick?”

  “I sure have,” with his free hand, Mark retrieved it from his front pocket and held it up.

  “Okay. Keep it safe.”

  Mark put it back in his pocket, then let out a quiet groan as he slung his pack onto his back and tightened the straps as he walked towards the main door.

  Andy was standing just to the side with his much lighter daypack. Mark opened the door. Andy watched in what felt like slow motion as Mark’s expression changed from happy through puzzled to fear. For an instant Andy didn’t know why.

  And then he heard the barely discernible, but distinctive sound he knew all too well: Phut! Phut!

  CHAPTER 15

  Two rounds hit Mark’s forehead sending him falling backwards, eyes wide open and instantaneously devoid of life.

  Brain and bone fragments sprayed across the rear wall.

  Before Andy had time to catch him, Mark’s body hit the floor hard. His limp body twisted as he landed awkwardly on his pack.

  Andy was frozen to the spot as he stared at a man, dressed in hiking gear, holding a silenced firearm at arm’s length. A thin wisp of grey smoke rose slowly from its muzzle.

  The gunman’s expression completely neutral; he didn’t look happy, angry or deranged … just neutral. The gunman adjusted his stance, pivoting and started aiming towards him.

  Andy reacted immediately and slammed the door closed dropping to the ground. He grabbed a door wedge which he pushed against the crack at the bottom of the door hoping to buy precious seconds. Rounds zipped through the door sending wooden splinters across the room as the gunman pumped rounds into the space where Andy had stood moments earlier.

  The commotion caught the attention of the hut warden who moved to near to where Andy had been standing but didn’t appear to notice the bullets slicing through the door. He stopped and looked down at Andy holding a memory stick while lying on his dead son. “Get down!,” Andy yelled.

  The warden didn’t react fast enough as two rounds struck his chest causing him to spin to the right and hit the floor. He remained motionless and Andy knew that at this distance the bullets would have done their job; the warden was dead.

  Andy felt light-headed and weak as he crawled to Mark’s twitching body. He wanted to retch as he saw the back of his head was missing. A dark pool of blood appeared beneath Mark’s body.

  Andy had a choice, stay here and die with Mark or push on and fight. His mind clicked into a different space: survival.

  He opened Mark’s top pocket and removed the USB memory stick.

  Andy needed to move. He rolled to one side and stood. As he placed the memory stick in his trouser pocket, the door flew open, the gunman had kicked it in with a single powerful kick. Instinctively, Andy started to back away.

  Andy looked down the barrel of the silenced semi-automatic pointed at his head. His heart raced and beat so hard it felt as through h
is chest would explode.

  The gunman smiled and squeezed the trigger.

  Andy closed his eyes waiting for the shot. All he heard was ‘Click’.

  Andy opened his eyes in time to see the gunman releasing the magazine, quickly ejected the dud round and reaching into his jacket pocket for a fresh magazine with his left hand.

  The brief moment gave Andy the seconds he needed to grab the warden’s pot of water from the gas cooker and throw it at the gunman. The gunman was slow to react and screamed in pain as the hot fluid hit him full in the face burning into the soft facial tissue.

  Andy bolted out of the hut’s side door running in his socks through the outhouse. He picked up speed as he crashed into the dense bush and kept his hands in front of his face to protect it from the sharp barbs and branches from the bushes.

  Andy knew he had a head start while the gunman recovered from his burns and searched Mark’s body for the memory stick. Andy needed to maximize his advantage before the gunman discovered that Andy had taken the prize.

  After a short time the ground rose steeply. Andy figured the loose ground cover would leave a clear trail to follow. He switched direction and headed left without gaining any more height. After three hundred meters he broke out of the bush into a clearing. The valley floor opened up in front of him, grassland with a few small trees in the distance, creating the perfect killing ground.

  The helicopter would arrive further down the valley, in the open ground. He quickly assessed his options. Running there now would probably get him killed. Staying put would allow the gunman to find him. Heading up the steep hill to his right would be slow and noisy, making him easy to find. The final, and best, option was to skirt the clearing to the left, cross the river, move down the valley and re-cross the river beyond Sayers Hut to meet the helicopter.

  He’d have to find a good position to watch for any signs of the gunman at the time of the helicopter’s approach. Moving inside the tree line Andy placed each step as carefully as he could to avoid making any noise while he listened intently for any sounds of the approaching gunman.

  He reached the main track which ran left to the hut and right into the valley, parallel to the river. His heart raced as he stepped across the open ground of the track and back into the bush. He could hear the river only a short distance away. Andy broke out of the bush near the riverbank and surveyed the river to his front and looked downstream for alternative crossing points. This spot looks pretty good. Andy was breathless. He raised his hands and saw they were trembling. Come on! Keep going! Move! he silently urged himself.

  The sound of something or someone moving through the undergrowth carried to him. It sounded as though it came from other side of the valley, but getting closer. Andy lowered himself into the freezing water. With his arms at full extension his feet weren’t touching the riverbed. He let go and dropped into the waist deep water making him gasp with the shock from the cold.

  He didn’t dwell on the water or its temperature, instead he pushed hard with his legs and used the strong current to propel him across the rocky riverbed. The stones scuffed, scratched and banged his feet as his socks offered no protection.

  He kept his legs bent and hunched his body low to the water as he moved as quickly as he could across the river. The far bank looked tantalizingly close. The water became shallower and his profile larger, making him an easier target.

  Andy pushed himself harder, but the water around his legs still offered serious resistance, as it slowed him down and sucked further at his already ebbing strength. He broke clear of the river water and ran across the dry riverbed.

  His feet were sore. His thighs screamed with fatigue. His lungs were exploding. He had to push on and reach the relative safety of the thick bush a few feet to his front.

  The first bullet flew by.

  He pulled on his deepest reserves and ran for his life. His legs pumped hard as he slipped and stumbled on the river rock.

  The air cracked around him and the rocks splintered and shattered in front as the gunman rapidly emptied a magazine. Andy crashed into the bush, ran three steps forward and made a sudden left turn, ran ten paces then a right, away from the river.

  The gunman was going to reload much faster without a face full of near boiling water to slow him down. The undergrowth to his right jumped and cracked as the gunman emptied another magazine randomly into the bush in the hope of a lucky shot.

  Andy ran, pushing himself harder as the ground rose steeply.

  He could hear the sound of the gunman crossing the river. Andy had another thirty seconds before the gunman would be in the bush with him in his sights. He moved on. His legs burned and his lungs screamed through exertion. Andy started to climb the steep gradient of the hillside, tree roots helped provide handholds to pull himself up as well as good footholds for his feet to push up from. He’d never pushed himself this hard in his life.

  He needed to find cover. To his left he saw a rotten log and behind it, a hollow in the ground. Andy scrambled to the log and threw himself into the small indentation.

  Andy resisted the urge to raise his head and look for the approaching gunman. Instead he took the opportunity to slow his breathing and listen. His eyes stung from sweat. He fought the temptation to wipe his face in case the movement gave his position away.

  He could hear the gunman moving up the hill, more than once he caught the sound of his feet slipping on the damp, loose earth and an occasional expletive thrown in. Andy lost concentration for a second and wiped the sweat from his eyes. As soon as he’d done it, he knew he’d cocked-up.

  The gunman stopped moving.

  Andy held his breath in case even his slowed breathing would give away his position.

  The sounds of movement below him resumed and slowly receded away. Andy stayed motionless for a few minutes and started to breath slowly.

  Certain the gunman had moved on, he ever so slowly raised his head above the log and peered down the hillside. He looked left and right searching for anything out of place or signs of movement.

  It looked clear.

  Andy slowly rose to his feet. His legs felt unsteady and he lost his balance. He quickly grabbed a tree trunk and stopped himself from falling.

  He stood fully upright and held the tree tightly. After a moment he felt strong enough to move. He walked in the general direction of the hut, veering uphill to create more space between him, the river and the gunman.

  With each step, the slippery roots and twigs underfoot jabbed at his already bruised and sore feet. He continuously scanned the area around him and listened for any sounds of the gunman. After ten minutes Andy stopped and knelt next to a tree trunk to observe the area and listen. He recalled his training at The Farm and opened his mouth slightly to improve his hearing. He couldn’t remember why it helped, it just did.

  Still no sign of the gunman. Andy stood, and continued slowly.

  A minute or so later a slight movement caught his attention. He stopped and squatted before focusing on a spot a few hundred meters away, on the edge of a clearing between the bush and river. The gunman had set himself up in a good position on the edge of a clearing. If Andy made a move through the open ground between the hut and river, the gunman would shoot him from the flank.

  Smart move.

  Andy stood and walked slowly across the side of the hill, keeping the gunman in his sight in case he suddenly decided to change his position or looked in Andy’s direction. At this distance Andy was confident he was outside of the gunman’s range, but he didn’t want to test that out.

  After five minutes, the tin roof of the hut came into view downhill at the two o’clock position. He checked what the gunman was doing. When he saw he hadn’t moved, Andy carefully started the tricky descent using the trees for concealment, protection and extra stability as he moved on the steep, slippery ground. His feet were going to be in pieces if he got out of this alive.

  The hut occupied a sheltered position in the bush on the valley floor, but not
far from the clearing the gunman was covering. Even from this distance the small hut appeared a little run down and by the looks of things, it was the least maintained of all the huts Andy had seen today.

  He concentrated on the hut, looking for any signs of occupation, like smoke rising from the chimney, the smell of food being prepared or the sounds of conversation. Nothing. It appeared clear.

  The entrance had a large sloping roof covering wooden planks on the floor. To the right of the door, a woodpile and large wooden slab against which rested a heavy woodsman’s axe for chopping firewood. Above the woodpile a thin blue rope had been tied and used as a washing line for hut visitors to hang their wet clothes. A thin green sleeping bag was draped over it.

  Andy made it to the hut without disturbing the gunman, stepped onto the wooden floor and reached for the door handle which opened easily. He quickly entered and closed the door behind him, thankful that the hinges had been oiled.

  The interior of the hut was rundown, but clean, and somewhat dark. Andy allowed his eyes to become accustomed to the dim light while he took his time to look around and familiarize himself with the layout.

  To his left was a metal bench used for food preparation, a sink, a cast-iron wood burner and a table and chairs. To his right were wooden sleeping bunks on two levels along the entire wall. The plastic covered mattresses were pushed up against the wall. Andy stepped further into the hut and found a stack of tinned food underneath the food bench along with a set of pots and pans. Shit! The sleeping bag hanging up and now the food indicated at least one person was using the hut and they could be returning anytime soon, which was a bad thing with a ruthless killer nearby.

  A pair of walking boots had been left to dry in front of the wood burner, next to which lay a small pile of kindling and an old, well used tomahawk axe. An idea started to form and he needed to act quickly or his ride out would be arriving in the middle of a load of trouble.

  Being careful not to make too much noise, at least for now, Andy went to the nearest bunk and set a mattress down flat on the wooden frame. He grabbed a second mattress and placed it on the first, but leaned it an angle against the wall. He took the boots from in front of the fire and placed them on the flat mattress, pushing them into the improvised shelter, making sure the soles were just visible.