Dead Men's Harvest (14 page)

My eyes went large, fear flaring. His smile flickered, telling me that he wasn’t buying the act. But that was OK. I’d made him pause. He was thinking. But I was already acting.

The obvious play was to go for Baron. The only thing was, as I went towards him, one of the others would shoot me dead. So, I stepped back. My cuffed hands were raised, as though to fend off a blast of his Taser. Then I shot forward at an oblique angle, and rammed the cuffs’ rigid spacer into Drummond’s face. His nose crunched, and blood spattered. His shout of alarm had the desired effect. Instead of anyone shooting at me, they reacted by recoiling in defensive reflex.

I slewed to one side, the penknife I’d dipped out of Charters’ pocket in my fist. My arms dropped over Petoskey’s head, and I squirmed behind him, using him as a shield before anyone in the room could make a move towards me. Next second, the blade was against his throat and I could feel his super-amplified pulse throbbing along the blade and into the handle.

‘Anyone moves and this piece of shit is dead!’

Petoskey stiffened, and I smelled a waft of fear rising off him.

There was a moment’s confusion as Baron, the two other guards and bloody-faced Drummond lifted their guns. I dragged Petoskey backwards, placing him between Rink and the others.

‘Do you want Petoskey to
die
?’

All four guns wavered. I’d have preferred to pull Petoskey’s gun free of his shoulder holster, but that meant giving up the advantage of the knife at his throat. While I tried to pull the gun out, one of them could easily put a round in my head.

Adding potency to my threat, I pushed the tip of the knife into Petoskey’s flesh. Blood beaded out. Petoskey screamed like I’d almost sawed his head off, yanking his face aside. As he did so, my own face made a momentary target for Baron. As fast a shot as anyone I’d seen, he lifted my SIG and fired.

The retort of the gun reverberated around the cellar, the sound amplified by the domed confines. Tatters of a paper wad sifted in the air, coming nowhere near their target. Uninjured, I smiled at Baron before tucking in behind Petoskey.

‘Fucking blanks?’ Baron shook his head in disbelief.

‘You didn’t think I’d risk firing real bullets with so many members of the public around?’

‘You had this planned from the start? You son of a bitch!’

‘Have to admit to winging it a bit,’ I confessed, ‘but I always intended killing this prick.’ I jabbed Petoskey with the blade and he howled. ‘You want me to do it now?’

Baron allowed the gun to drop, and he lifted his other hand, tried to wave me down. ‘Easy now, Hunter.’

‘You don’t get paid if he dies? Is that it, arsehole?’ I jabbed the knife a little deeper. ‘I’ll kill this murdering motherfucker in a heartbeat. You got that?’

Baron’s eyes pinched, and I swear, other than cruelty, it was the first genuine emotion I’d seen crossing his features. Greed was a strong motivating factor with the insipid bastard.

‘Now,’ I said, ‘this is how it’s going to play out. All of you put your guns on the floor. Do it now or I’ll take Petoskey’s head off.’

‘I don’t think so, Hunter,’ Baron said. ‘Or you and Rington will be dead in the next second.’

‘We were going to die anyway. At least we’ll have the satisfaction of seeing Petoskey die first.’

Petoskey was done waiting for Baron to take charge. ‘Just do as he says!’ he shrieked. ‘Baron! I swear to God, if I get injured . . .’

Baron placed my SIG on the ground. Both hands came up empty.

‘The Taser, as well,’ I said. ‘And don’t think you can use that thing to get me. I’ll likely stick Siggy with my first convulsion.’

Baron unclipped the blocky weapon, dropped it at his feet. Then he nodded at his companions to drop theirs.

‘Kick them away, boys,’ I said.

Reluctantly the three of them did so. ‘Good,’ I said. ‘Now, you . . . Drummond? Get over here and undo Rink.’

The bloody-faced man moved towards me, and I edged round so I could keep tabs on what he was doing. Just for effect I dragged the blade down Petoskey’s throat, smearing a trail of blood that began pooling in the hollow below his Adam’s apple.

Drummond glanced at Petoskey, and I could only assume he read dire threats in his boss’s eyes, because he quickly began pulling free the straps from Rink’s wrists. Rink swiped blood and sweat from his flesh, flexing his arms, promoting circulation. It was too early to move. So I waited. Drummond ducked down and undid the straps from around my friend’s ankles.

Rink booted Drummond in the chest, knocking him sprawling on his backside. ‘Stay down,’ Rink told him. ‘Get up before I say and I’ll snap your goddamn spine.’

Baron and the other two men were itching to do something, but indecision made them falter. So did Petoskey’s headshake. Rink stepped up beside me, his hand dipping beneath Petoskey’s jacket and coming out with a handful of semi-automatic, the same gun with which Petoskey had executed Louise Blake.

‘Which of you punks has the keys to Hunter’s cuffs?’

Baron indicated with a raised finger.

‘Sling them over here,’ Rink said.

The keys sailed through space and Rink snatched them out of the air with his free hand. Then, stepping towards the others, he passed them back to me. It was awkward undoing the cuffs. Luckily they’d been placed on me with the locks towards my hands or it would’ve been impossible. I freed my knife hand first, wriggling free of the metal hoop, but never taking the blade from Petoskey’s neck. I left the cuffs hanging from my left wrist.

Using him as a shield, I propelled Petoskey over to the nearest dropped gun. It was the SIG. I racked the slide, ejecting the next round. That was all the blanks I’d fed into the gun; the others were the real deal.

If I was that airplane passenger I mentioned, I was currently in freefall without a parachute. I was sailing on the breeze now, but still had to land on my feet and walk away. Falling isn’t the problem, it’s hitting the ground at speed that can test your mortality. The hardest part of our escape was yet to come.

Petoskey wasn’t a willing hostage, but what could he do? I had a gun under his chin, and Rink watching my back, as we fled up the steps from the basement and into the house. He cried out to his minders, yelling at them to give way, threatening them with instant death with more venom than I could have mustered.

There’s always one in the bunch who thinks they know better than their boss. One man, a swarthy-faced guy who reminded me of the last time I’d fought Hendrickson’s men, thought that I’d be intimidated by the Uzi sub-machine gun he lifted to halt our progress. Under those circumstances, it was a
spray and pray
gun. He wasn’t going to shoot his boss to get at us.

‘You were ordered to give way,’ I snarled over Petoskey’s shoulder. ‘Maybe he’s a complete prick but you should still show more respect.’

I shot the man between his eyes and he crumpled on the hardwood floor.

‘You can’t get the staff these days,’ I said. Petoskey cried out, possibly at the realisation that I was indeed prepared to kill.

Out of the front door, we charged across the grounds. Men milled around us, shouting in confusion. Above them all Petoskey’s strident screams demanded obedience. Up on the roof, a would-be sniper swung his sights on Rink. Rink fired first, and blood sifted like cherry blossom on the wind.

I’d lost track of the time, but by now it had to be the early hours of the morning. It was still dark but the spotlights on the roof made the grounds stark. Beyond the spill of light the shadows were dense. Through the darkness, the helicopter looked like a giant-sized hornet crouching on the lawn.

Harvey Lucas had piloted choppers during Desert Storm.

He hadn’t come to my assistance back in Little Rock, but had stayed back as we had planned. My hope was that the tracking device from Harvey secreted in the waistband of my jeans had done its job, and that Harvey was in position now. Just in case our plan had gone to pot, I said to Rink, ‘You think you can handle that thing?’

I didn’t doubt his ability, because Rink had also piloted a chopper or two in his day. My concern was that Rink had suffered torture for the past two days, and had a wound in one shoulder, so I didn’t know how he was holding up. It was one thing running around and killing snipers when the adrenalin was shrieking through your body, quite another to be at the controls of a highly technical flying machine.

‘Not a problem, Hunter.’

There were beads of perspiration coursing down his forehead but they had nothing to do with the sudden bout of exertion.

‘You sure?’

‘We won’t be in the air long,’ Rink said. ‘Just long enough to get us the fuck outa here.’

I jerked a nod at him, and swung Petoskey between us as we backed towards the helicopter. From the front of the house, Baron and the others came at a run. Petoskey was a big man, but he wasn’t enough for the two of us to hide behind. I angled him so that his body blocked most of Rink’s. I hadn’t come all this way to let my friend perish now. We continued to back-pedal, but I doubted that we could make it to the chopper intact.

The sound of a rifle snapped from behind us. I didn’t glance back because if the bullet had been aimed at me or Rink then already one of us would be dead. I saw Drummond go down, and there was a bloody hole in his chest. Baron dropped to a crouch, his gaze seeking out the shooter. The others had the sense to throw themselves flat.

There was another crack of the rifle and a man on the balustrade dropped out of sight. Permanently.

Harvey, it appeared had come through for us.

‘The chopper,’ I called to Rink. ‘Quickly.’

‘Let me go,’ Petoskey squawked. ‘You don’t need me any more.’

‘No. You’re coming with us.’ If I’d let him go then, we’d have been riddled with bullets. Even if we made it into the air, without Petoskey as a hostage, I’d the feeling that Baron wouldn’t hesitate in ordering the chopper brought down. There were plenty of assault rifles to get the job done. And who knew what other weapons were in their arsenal? There could be surface-to-air missiles hidden under the topiary for all I could tell.

The pilot who’d flown the helicopter here was conspicuous by his absence. Harvey was prone beneath the chopper, a sniper rifle on a tripod trained towards the front of the house. He was dressed in a drab green jumpsuit, his skin streaked with camouflage grease. The skills he’d possessed from back when he was a Ranger hadn’t failed him when entering the compound undetected. He winked up at me, said, ‘If I was a betting man, I wouldn’t have wagered a cent on us pulling this off.’

‘So long as you’re not a sore loser.’ I winked back. Then I covered for him as he rolled out from under the chopper and climbed inside. Rink clambered into the cockpit next to him while I dragged Petoskey into the rear compartment. I left the door open so that his henchmen were reminded of where blind shooting could get them.

My Special Forces training didn’t extend to flying helicopters. I was more used to rappelling from them, or parachuting into bandit country from a high-altitude airplane. The flying was left to those who knew what the hell they were doing, so the routine Harvey went through to get us off the ground was lost on me. All I know is that the blades cut the air, there was a lot of high-pitched engine noise, and we were up and away, drifting on the night breeze like a fleck of lint.

We banked right, then soared up into the sky. Below us in the grounds of the mansion, gunmen aimed useless weapons at us.

‘What are you going to do with me?’ Petoskey asked.

‘Depends.’

‘Just tell me what you want. I swear to God, Hunter, I’ll give you it.’

I considered his offer for a split second.

‘Call Tubal Cain off my brother.’

Petoskey made big eyes at me. ‘I would, but . . .’

‘But nothing,’ I told him. ‘Do that and I’ll let you go. Call off the contract.’

‘I can’t,’ Petoskey yelped. ‘Cain isn’t doing this for
me
. He’s working for Kurt Hendrickson.
Your argument is with Hendrickson, not me!
’

Shaking my head slowly, I stared into his eyes. I pictured Petoskey lifting his gun to the back of Louise Blake’s head. That innocent girl had suffered enough because of Hendrickson. Then, on the bastard’s behalf, Petoskey had put a bullet in her head.

‘You’re right. There’s no argument for what you did to Louise,’ I said.

Petoskey’s face fell. There was resignation there, but it was far outweighed by fear.

My fist connected with his throat. He gagged, bending over, and I grabbed and spun him round. I stamp-kicked his buttocks and Petoskey was propelled out of the open door. He screamed as he fell.

There’s this urban legend about a man falling for thousands of feet, landing on his feet and walking away uninjured. We were only five hundred feet up; so maybe Petoskey would get lucky.

Chapter 20

As emotionless as driftwood, Baron watched Petoskey plummet from the sky.

The Arkansas mobster screamed all the way down then went deathly silent as he struck the roof of the house. He smashed through tiles, made it through the support beams and ended up in the attic space. The blood pouring down the steepled roof was an indication of what would be found when Petoskey was retrieved from the wreckage.