Island of the Hunted
The Beginning
Assassins of Fortune Series
By
P.B.Thompson
Bonus Material:
Psychic Knights - The Beginning – SciFi/Action series
A short story created from the first three chapters of the book Psychic Knights - Reformation which is the first book in the Psychic Knights series. This story introduces the reader to the five characters that make up the Psychic Knights and follows them on the rescue attempt that culminates in a significant event in their fight against the dominating TechPsychers.
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Copyright 2011 by P.B.Thompson
Chapter 1
This time of year in England the weather was unpredictable. Come to think of it, any time of the year in England the weather was unpredictable. But if you ever wanted to holiday there when it was going to be hot and sunny you'd have a better chance winning the lottery. Fortunately, for Christina Ober this wasn't going to be a problem. She was going back home for the summer break. She'll spend most of it on her dad's yacht cruising around. Maybe head off to Europe; Monte Carlo, Cannes, Monaco; mix with the stars, do some shopping. Yes, I need some new shoes and clothes she thought to herself. I'm sure daddy won't mind.
''Where's that chauffeur?" Christina was getting agitated now. Twisting her long auburn hair around a skinny finger, she sat in her room away from the groups of students saying goodbye to each other. She hadn't made any friends during her time at the University. She felt a bit of an outsider. She hated it here; hated the students, hated the lecturers, hated the weather. She couldn't wait to get on her father's private jet and escape this god forsaken place.
She saw another stretch limo come and go taking away more of the students. The grounds were becoming quieter and quieter relieving Christina of the laughter and tears that precluded it. Then a recognisable number plate came into view.
"At last!" she growled through gritted teeth. Christina stormed up to the man getting out of the driver seat.
"Where the hell have you been? I've been waiting over thirty minutes for you. I'm almost the last one here."
The man gave no response. He was a well-built man with chiselled features; more akin to a bodyguard than a chauffeur. He opened the door for Christina.
"You're new aren't you?" she asked forcibly. "Well when my father hears how you kept me waiting you won't be in a job for much longer. Go and get my cases. They're in the third room on the right." With that she got in the car and slammed the door.
The man clenched his fists and gritted his teeth. He walked away taking deep breaths. His teeth were still clenched as he was putting the cases in the car. Walking back round to the driver’s seat he scowled as he sat down. Not long he thought. You can be restrained for a little while longer.
The burly man swung the limo around the sharp corner. Christina was playing her music so loudly it shook the car. Fortunately the glass partition muffled most of the sound, but the hypnotic beat that sent vibrations through the car was beginning to annoy him.
"Damn music," he mumbled in his American accent. "The sooner this is over with, the better it will be for my stress levels."
Christina had lit a joint and she opened the blacked out window to let the smoke out. The passing fields held her gaze in a hypnotic trance. She felt the car slow down and turn right onto a bumpy road. Opening the window on her right she could see a small plane coming into land on a grassy airfield.
"This isn't Heathrow," she said to herself. Banging on the glass partition she shouted, "Driver! Driver! Where are we going?" There was no response. She pressed the switch to lower the partition. Nothing happened. She started banging on the glass again. "Driver, I demand you stop this car right now." Still no response. "When my father hears about this your life won't be worth living."
The car pulled into a small hanger and came to a halt beside two men. One of them opened the passenger door.
"Out, little missy."
Christina scrambled to the other side of the car and opened the door. She was going to make a run for it. She didn't know where she was going, but anywhere was going to be better than with those two. As soon as she got out WHACK! The back of a right hand came across her face drawing blood from her bottom lip. She fell against the car holding her face.
"You stay there ya goddamn bitch." The driver had managed to get round the car before Christina got out. This time she stayed put. Scared and crying. The other two men joined the driver.
"Now listen carefully and you won't get hurt. We're going on a trip in that plane over there." The speaker motioned to the twin propeller plane. "We're going to take you to a little hideaway until your father gives us what we want. If you do everything we say and your father co-operates, you'll be home in no time. If you cause us any trouble, my friend here, as you've already experienced, doesn't mind hitting women. Nod you're head if you understand."
Christina nodded, shivering with fear. The man led her by the arm to the plane and they boarded. When he was seated he pulled out his phone and pressed the speed dial button.
"We've got the girl and are making our way to the cabin. I'll ring you when we get there."
* * *
The mansion stood atop a small hill giving it breathtaking views of the surrounding countryside; the lush grass covering the ground peppered occasionally with healthy trees of apples and olives. All surrounded by the distant mountain range.
This was the home of James Ober. The place he had worked his whole life for. The reason he had laboured so hard, passed away not quite a year ago. His dear wife. She had succumbed to the cancer she had spent two years fighting. It had ravaged her body and left her in agonising pain. It had gotten so bad, in the end he was praying for the Lord to take her life. He did. On the sixteenth of October Alice Ober breathed her last breath to release her from her mortal pain.
Today he was welcoming back his one and only child from schooling abroad. It was a hard decision to send her to another country for her education. A discussion he had had with Alice on numerous occasions. He knew deep down it was the best thing to do. To give her the best chance in life. But the thought of her being away from him for most of the year was very difficult for him to come to terms with. In the end it was Alice who provided comfort and reassurance that allowed him to let go of the emotional tie.
About twenty miles away a white stretch limo was gliding along the road; moving purposefully in the direction of the mansion. Inside sat a lonesome figure immaculately dressed in a white suite topped with a white Stetson; sunglasses resting on his nose. One hand was clenched around the top of a cane. The other was dialling a number into the car phone.
"Sir, there is a gentleman on the phone who wishes to speak with you. He says he is a friend of your daughters." The butler had interrupted James during his morning massage.
"Tell him to phone back later. I'm busy right now," he replied sternly.
"I did say that to him, sir, but he was very insistent."
After a short pause James got up, annoyed. He took the mobile off of the butler.
"Yes, how can I help you?" The tone in his voice couldn't be masked.
"Good morning Mr Ober. I will be arriving at your house in the next thirty minutes. Please have your gates opened to allow my driver in. We are in a white limousine," came the voice.
"I beg your pardon." James's tone changed immediately.
"I have some important information regarding your daughter and you would be advised to do as I say." The line went dead.
"Hello! Hello!" James put the phone down and a feeling of dread flooded his body. He quickly dialled Christina's mobile number and was directed straight to the answer phone. "Get Kyle and Dempsey to meet me in the study in ten minutes." He stormed out of the room leaving the butler to carry out his instructions. "And get the gates open, now!"
The mansion came into view of the limo as it passed silently through the open gates. It drove slowly up to the front of the house. James and his two men were waiting at the door. The look on his face couldn’t disguise how he was feeling inside; the fear, the dread, the anger. So many emotions at once brought on by that single phone call.
The driver opened the passenger door and out stepped the white suited man.
"Who are you?" James demanded. "What's happened to my daughter?"
"All in good time. Shall we go inside?" The white suited man motioned with his cane towards the front door.
"Not until you tell me what's happening." James nodded to his guards who started towards the man. Instantly the driver pulled out a handgun. The guards stopped abruptly slowly raising their hands.
"It doesn't have to be this way. Now am I going to have to instruct my man to shoot or shall we go inside."
James cursed himself in his mind for not arming his men. "Follow me," he said. He turned and led everyone into the house.
Inside was a tribute to the lady of the house. When she was alive, Alice adorned the walls with the paintings of the greatest painters there ever was. Monet, Constable, Rembrandt, Van Gough. She collected and displayed sculptural masterpieces. Vases and ornaments from as far back as the Ming dynasty. She had an excellent eye for art and would, on occasions, create her own masterpieces. Some of these were proudly displayed by James in the main entertaining room where all five men now stood.
The man in the white suit looked around admiringly. He walked over to a small statue of a young girl.
"Now would this be Christina as a little girl?" he asked.
"Get to the point. What have you done with my daughter?" James said ignoring the question and beginning to get a little frantic.
The white suited man slowly turned, still admiring the art on the walls. He made his way to the nearest chair and with the aid of his cane, sat down. He looked James in the eyes. He saw a man in his fifties, slender build, and average height and still with a full head of black hair. Dyed, no doubt, he thought.
James could only see a reflection of the light from the window on the white suited mans sunglasses.
"Your daughter is safely located quite a few miles from here," the white suited man began.
"How much do you want?" James interrupted.
The white suited man sat bolt upright. "Do I look like a man who needs money?" he responded angrily.
James took half a step back, startled.
Composing himself, the white suited man continued. "As I was saying, your daughter is safe. Money is not the reason she is being held. I have something else I would like you to do for me." The driver gave James a briefcase. "If you look inside you will find a dossier on a group of men. It details everything about them. From their childhood right up until the present."
James opened it. He thumbed through the pages. He didn't recognise any of them. "Who are they?" he asked.
"That’s not your concern. All you need to know is they provide armed services for people like you. They dispose of, shall we say, irritations to your business. Blackmailers, rival drugs empires."
"I don't deal in drugs," James responded angrily.
"Whatever it is you do, you can afford to hire these guys."
"And why would I want to do that. Apart from find my daughter and kill you."
The white suited man smiled. "I want you to hire them to track down and kill the terrorist group that have been causing trouble for you in your overseas businesses. They are located close to a small village in China. They are believed to have been hired by one of your local rivals."
"Who?" asked James.
"It was me actually, but the story you will give will indicate your rival. In the side pocket of the briefcase you will find full details of the plot. It describes how you found out about it and gives you all the proof you need. They are very thorough in their background checks so I've included all the details you need."
"You have been busy. What about my daughter?"
The white suited man ignored the question. "As well as paying for their services, you will offer some vacation time on a little island that you and I both frequent."
James's face changed. He looked like a man who had been caught by his wife having an affair. "What island is this?" he questioned meekly.
"Come now, James. Do you think, having looked through the documents in the briefcase, I would not have done the same detailed homework on you. I must say, your handiwork with a knife rivals my very own." A brief pause. "Baring this in mind, do you not think it best to do exactly as I say."
James's heart began to pound. The full realisation of the sort of danger his daughter was in hit him. He never thought that his inhuman pleasures would ever cross into his family life. The island was such a release for him; and a well hidden secret. For the past eight years he had made time to release the devil inside himself on the island. His dear wife never found out. It would have destroyed her if she had. There was only one person who knew. The man who had introduced him to this playground for the rich. A close friend and business partner for many years.
"Once you have got the men to the island you will be reunited with your daughter. You will make your excuses to the men and leave. You will never hear from me again." The white suited man got up and walked over to a painting on the wall and studied it for a while. It was one he hadn't noticed when he first came in.
"How do I contact these people?"
"All the information you need is in the briefcase. I suggest you study it well. I will contact you within the week to make sure everything is going to plan." He made his way to the door, the driver close behind. "If you ever think of crossing me, remember how you leave your masterpieces on the island. Your daughter can easily be left in the same way."
The words resonated down James's spine as the images of his handiwork flooded his mind. He stood at the window and watched the car pull away. Only when it had gone through the gate did he turn, pick up the briefcase and sit down to read. "Pour me a drink," he told one of his bodyguards. "With ice."
Chapter 2
Rennold Walker locked away his equipment. The trip back was tiring and he just wanted to crash out for a few hours. He was getting a little weary of catching sleep whenever and where ever he could. Seems like time was catching up on him. Though his looks and physique belied his 44 years of age, the constant demands he made on his body were starting to niggle at his joints and muscles. He just started to notice the old bullet wound in his leg beginning to ache. Always did after a gruelling mission. He poured himself a glass of rum, Barbados's finest, downed it in one and made his way to the bedroom.
The hut was sparsely furnished, as they all were in the camp. A living area with a couple of chairs. A small drinks cabinet, a small fridge next to it. A toilet and shower room and a bedroom. Not a place he would pick for his holidays, but it was enough for what he needed just after a mission and just before one.
As he lay down, he caught the sight of a spider crawling across the wooden ceiling, heading for its web in the corner of the room. I must complain about the maid service, he thought wryly as wh
at constituted as a smile formed on his face. He closed his eyes and immediately images of maps, gun fire, men shouting during battle invaded his mind. This was the residual effect of any mission. It happened every time. It was like the mind didn't want him to forget. Thankfully it only lasted for a few weeks. Usually the rum would help cloud the images allowing him to eventually drift off to sleep. It did its job as a gentle snoring emanated from his nose.
* * *
Distant gun shots gently woke Walker. He turned over and checked his clock. Nine thirty. A full eight hours sleep. I haven't done that in a while he thought.
More gun fire. Someone's out early this morning. The sun shone through the cracks in the shutters leaving stripes on the bed. The dust in the air glittered as it danced.
Walker pulled back the covers and got out of bed scratching the back of his head. As soon as he stepped down he felt a throb from his wound. He walked to the fridge with a slight limp and got out a bottle of water. There was more gun fire as he took a swig from the bottle. Then, an explosion. Jees! Have they used enough explosives? The sarcastic thought disappeared from his mind as soon as he heard the banging on his door.
"Walker! Are you awake?" came the voice behind the door.
"If I wasn't, I am now," he replied as he opened the door.
"The Commander would like to see you for a de-briefing." Paul Womble was an average build, annoying arsehole of a man who nobody liked; least of all Walker. From his stupid bald head to his highly polished boots, there was nothing to like about the man. Even his pencil moustache made you want to grab him by the throat and strangle him.
"I'll come and see him after I've eaten."
"Make sure you do." And with that he marched off.
Walker mumbled, "Wanker," and closed the door.
Island of the Hunted - The Beginning Page 1