Revenge (9 page)

Two men were climbing down the bank, and the other was driving his car along the French owner's driveway toward the villa. They followed Jason behind the villa. The lawn met a grove of orange trees. “Come on. We have to hide.”

They followed Jason into the grove. It ran down the side of the mountain. Jason stopped to take his bearings.

“This way,” he said, climbing up the steep mountain. “The trees will give us cover.”

“No, Jason, we should go down toward Malaga. It will be easier and faster,” Jean replied, grabbing Joanne by the hand.

“No!” Jason was defiant.

“Jason, Mum is right. That's too hard-going. None of us have any shoes on, and it's much easier to go down and try to get help,” Martin said, walking downward. Two gunshots were heard.

“What was that? Are they shooting at us?” Joanne screamed.

“No, that was probably the French lady getting shot. Look, I know it's easy to go down and quicker, but that is what they would expect. Wong Tong says to win a battle, you must do the opposite to what your enemy expects. We go up,” Jason commanded. Reluctantly, they followed Jason, who was running up the steep hillside and keeping close to the thick cover of the orange trees.

After twenty minutes, Jason stopped and sat down cross-legged. The heat was intense, buffeting his face. He examined his feet. The rough terrain of the Spanish mountain was made up of stones, volcanic rock, and dirt. Jason's feet were cut and bleeding. He tried to pull out the tiny stones and sand particles from his cuts. Joanne joined him and checked her feet. She was still sobbing and shaking.

“Jason, just who are you? And who is Wong Tong?” Martin asked, sitting on the ground and panting.

“Wong Tong was my karate instructor in Hong Kong. I was born there and moved to England when I was ten. That's where I learned to speak Chinese.”

“But who are you? You just shot all those men and fought them by yourself,” Jean said.

“I've got a black belt in various styles of karate and judo. I've been working for George undercover.”

“So you are—what? A boy spy?” Martin asked.

“No, I'm—” Jason started but paused. “I don't know what I am. I'm just helping SYUI.”

“You killed back there and I don't think this is your first time,” Jean said, hugging Joanne.

“I was in Jakarta with the Sea Cadets when we were attacked. I was one of the lucky survivors.”

“Oh, that was horrible, you poor boy,” Joanne said.

“Okay, I think we should keep going a bit farther. We need to get help,” Jason said, standing painfully. They followed him farther up the mountain. The pace was much slower now.

The hot Costa del Sol sun dried the air and burned into Jason's back. He and Martin were wearing just swimming trunks. The terrain got rougher the higher they went until they came to the end of the orange grove. Jason stopped and tried to shelter himself from the sun under one of the last orange trees.

“I can't go on. My feet are burning. The stones are too hot,” Martin complained as he sat down next to Jason.

“Jason, I think we should rest,” Jean said, wiping the sweat from her face with her forearm. Jason nodded and looked down. His neck and shoulders were badly sunburned. It felt good to take the weight off his feet.

“You're right. I think we should stay here until its gets dark. We'll be in the open once we move forward. It will be much safer to go on under the cover of darkness.”

“I'm not staying up here all night.” Jean said. “You will have to think of something else.”

Jason looked at her incredulously. “Think of something else? What do you think I am?” He said loudly.

“You're a spy. Dad put you with us to look after us.” Martin snapped back.

“I'm not a spy. I am here for my protection as much as yours. I don't have a plan or any clue how to get out of this. George asked
you
to look after us,” he said gesturing at Joanne.

“Then why did you lead us up here?” Jean said crossly.

“To survive—that's all. To go down would have meant capture and death. Look at me. I have no shoes or shirt. Just a gun stuffed down my swimming shorts. My feet are killing me too. I don't know what to do.” The others went quiet and looked at each other. Jason sat back down with his back to them. Jean sat down next to Jason. She could see he was getting upset. She put her hand on Jason's arm.

“Sorry, honey. We don't blame you. We are all just scared. You saved our lives and got us this far. We will work this out together.”

The comforting words were emotional for Jason. He looked down to the ground and watched a teardrop land in the gravel below him. He wiped his face and eyes and tried to think of something.

After another three hours, the light faded from the sky and an indigo glow descended on the scenery. The relentless heat of the sun vanished. The air became cool and faintly smelled of the sweet aroma from the orange grove.

They continued on and over the jagged top of the mountain. As they started the descent, relief came when the rough rocky surface became damp grass that tickled their feet. Cattle grazed and wandered sleepily on the hillside. In the distance, they could see a faint light of a farmhouse. It took a lot longer than they had first thought to reach the house, but as they got closer, they could make out three buildings. One was the farmhouse, and the others looked like barns. A dog barked as they drew close. Jason stopped to take in his surroundings.

“What's wrong?” Jean asked and put her hand on his shoulder.

“Ouch,” Jason yelped, pulling away quick. “I'm burned.”

“Sorry.”

“I don't really know what the best thing to do is. If we call the police, how do we know Boudica's people won't find us? The local police can't really be trusted. How do we know they're not already here? I think we should hide in the barn for the night and see what's around in the daylight,” Jason suggested, still trying to make out the shapes of the farmyard in the darkness.

“No, I'm thirsty and tired and want a bed. Look, he has a truck. He can drive us to a hotel,” Joanne whined.

“Duh…and pay with what?” Martin interrupted.

“Jason may be right. They killed the poor French lady. They would kill the farmer without hesitation,” Jean said. Her voice was harsh. She was dehydrated and tired.

They followed Jason to the barn. A few chickens clucked as they entered. The fresh smell of straw greeted them. Martin climbed up a ladder to the top of the stack.

“This will make a great bed. A bit prickly but warm.” He grinned as he bounced on his knees. Jason felt around and came across a sink with a water tap. It squeaked as he turned the knob. Warm water eventually spluttered into the dusty sink. He washed his hands and face and bent down and started to drink. Jean and Joanne also drank from it like they had never drank water before.

“It's the best water I have ever tasted.” Joanne smiled, running it over her hands.

Jean found a blanket. It was probably dirty, but it was so dark, who could tell? They climbed the ladder and made a large bed. Jean was in the middle with Martin and Joanne on either side of her, with Jason on the end next to Joanne. They lay close together for warmth, looking at a few stars they could see through a small hole in the barn roof.

“Why did that French lady hit Martin?” Joanne asked. “What did she call him?
Peverto
or something?” Jason looked at Martin and grinned, glad to be alive.

Boudica was hiding out in Manchester. Her underground contacts across the United Kingdom feared her but would never betray her. The Triads protected each other. An enemy of one triad was an enemy of all of them. She threw a raw chicken leg to her leopard. She had not slept much the last twenty-four hours.

The phone rang next to her bed. “Yes?” she answered.

“Boudica, it's Ping Chu. I have some bad news,” the caller said nervously.

“It's all bad news.” She clicked her fingernails on the small table in annoyance.

“George Young's family got away, taking the girl with them. Three of our men were killed, and several others are injured. One is serious.”

“How could this happen?” Boudica shrieked. “She's a stupid housewife with a teenage son. Can't you do anything right?”

“There was someone else with them—someone who speaks Chinese. He questioned our men. He knows it was you who sent them.”

“Young must have hired a good bodyguard, but Kotang will sort him out,” she spat.

“They said it was a boy—a boy of about twelve with blond hair. Boudica, they say he is a demon—that he moved like lightning.”

Boudica stood. She threw a table lamp against the wall and screamed in anger.

“He's not a demon, you stupid man! He's just a boy and sadly still alive. Lin Cho must have missed the little brat. It seems even
I
have now underestimated Jason Steed. I will get a message to Kotang. I want his heart brought back to me for Luke. If it's still beating when I rip it out of his pretty, little body, I will pay an extra fifty thousand. Find out where they are and await Kotang and the others. We must get that girl,” she screamed and then slammed the phone down.

“Don't worry, Luke. Mummy will soon get you another boy to eat. You enjoyed Andrew Cho, didn't you? Well, this one is even younger and much prettier.” She laughed and licked her blood-stained fingers.

• • •

Jean stretched her legs as she awoke in the barn. She turned to her side and looked at Martin. His eyes opened, and he smiled at her. She bent forward and kissed him.

“How did you sleep?” she whispered.

“Like a log.” He yawned. She turned and looked at Joanne and Jason. Joanne was spooning Jason close for warmth. Her face was buried into the back of his neck. They were both still asleep. Jean and Martin got up and climbed down the ladder. It was getting brighter outside. They looked out a small cobweb-covered window but could see no signs of life outside. A cockerel just a few feet away screeched its morning crow, which made Jean and Martin jump.

Jason and Joanne opened their eyes. She had her arm around him and felt him move as he wiped the sleep from his eyes.

“You're nice and warm. I was cold in the night,” she sighed.

“So was I,” Jason said as he yawned.

Jean came back up the ladder when she heard them talking and smiled at them. “You look like two tiny lovebirds. I am going to the farmhouse. There's no one around. I'll see if I can get something to eat. I speak a little Spanish. Martin will come with me,” Jean said.

Jason lifted his head and looked at her. His blond hair was a sticking up in all directions and had straw in it. He thought he should go with them, but he was cold, tired, and happy where he was for now. He enjoyed having Joanne's arm around him. It was the closest thing he had had to a hug for a long while.

Let
an
adult
do
something
for
a
change
, he told himself as he put his head back down.

Sunlight broke into the barn when Martin and Jean opened the door. Then they made their way to the farmhouse. Martin raised his hand to knock, but to his surprise, it swung open. A small, thin man with a sun-cracked face looked at them.

“Hola,” he said and grinned. Jean explained that she and her son were lost, and he invited her in. Once inside, she noticed a man sitting at the table and drinking a coffee. He was huge and looked like a sumo wrestler in a suit.

Jean held Martin's hand. The big man was out of place and she was instantly nervous.

“Just the two of you?” the large man questioned.

“Yes, just me and Bobby,” she lied.

“Bobby? I don't think he's called Bobby. This is the first farmhouse north of your villa. I knew you would come here. George—that's his name.” He put his hand inside his jacket pocket and pulled out a picture with George, Jean, and Martin and then placed it on the table.

Jean pushed Martin to the door. “Run, Martin. Run!” she screamed. Kotang caught her by her hair. He pulled her back and smashed his elbow into her face. Her limp body collapsed on the wooden floor. Kotang moved to the door, pulled out his gun, and fired a single shot that caught Martin in the back. He crashed to the dusty gravel in pain.

Jason and Joanne sat up. Jason slid down the ladder and looked out the window. He saw Martin lying on the ground, trying to crawl away. His fingers plowed through the dirt as he tried to drag his body away to safety. Then he saw Kotang striding toward Martin, the gun in his hand. Jason took the gun from his shorts and ran to the door and fired on Kotang. The distance was greater than Jason had realized. He missed with four shots, and Kotang returned fire. Jason dove back behind the door. Kotang emptied his gun of bullets into the barn. Jason ran to the window and fired again. This time, he hit Kotang in the shoulder. When Kotang fell to the ground, Jason ran back to the door and fired his last shot, his shaking hand causing him to miss again. A cloud of dirt bounced off the ground next to Kotang's leg. Kotang took out a box of .22 bullets from his pocket. He took out the clip from his gun to reload.

Don't let him reload
, Jason told himself as he ran as fast as he could toward Kotang. Kotang fumbled with his gun and dropped the clip, but his swift hands soon scooped it up and slammed it into the handle of the gun. As he turned the gun, it was too late. Jason had launched himself into a flying kick aimed at Kotang's hand.

The kick was perfectly aimed. It threw the gun into the air and twenty feet away. However, Kotang was fast—his left hand catching Jason's foot. Jason fell to the ground. Kotang laughed and started dragging Jason toward him. Jason tried kicking with his other leg. He frantically wriggled, squirmed, and twisted, trying to get away. Kotang's viselike grip was strong. His right hand tightly squeezed Jason's thigh. He pulled Jason close to him, lifted the boy like a toy doll, and then grabbed Jason's throat with his huge left hand.

Immediately, he started to squeeze. Jason felt Kotang cut off his oxygen supply. His face was turning blue as he fought back. He was no match for Kotang's strength. He felt himself getting light-headed, so he closed his eyes and let his body go limp. If Kotang kept squeezing, Jason would soon be dead. He wanted to panic and fight back, but he knew if he did, Kotang would kill him.

Come
on. I'm dead already. Let me go
.

His lungs were bursting for air. He forced himself to stay limp, counting the seconds.

How
much
longer?

Kotang, thinking he had squeezed the life out of the boy, finally let him go. Jason lay motionless on the ground. Kotang pushed Jason's limp body off his leg and climbed to his feet. Slowly, Jason took a gentle breath.

Joanne started to scream. She had run to Martin and found him lying and bleeding. She kneeled down beside him, screamed for help, and pled for Martin to wake up. Kotang walked toward Joanne, holding his wounded shoulder.

“Don't worry. You won't be harmed…much,” he said before he grabbed her by her hair. She turned and punched Kotang on his chest, screaming at him to let her go. She kicked, punched, and clawed at him. Kotang found it amusing. Blood ran down his left hand from the bullet wound in his shoulder. He painfully lifted his hand and grasped her throat—his huge fingers wrapping themselves around her thin, delicate neck.

“Now you be quiet or I will kill you. You're lucky. You're worth more alive than dead. Boudica needs your help,” he joked.

A loud bang echoed across the farmyard, and he released his grip. Kotang's eyes rolled to the top of his head. His legs gave way under him, and his heavy body collapsed onto the gravel. A large hole in the back of his head oozed out life. Jason stood over him, his shaking hand still holding Kotang's gun. Joanne screamed more when she saw the damage to Kotang's head. Jason ran back toward the farmhouse.

A Land Rover barreled around the corner from the back of the house. The farmer, his wife, and two children sped off down the small lane toward the main road in a cloud of dust. Jason ran into the house and found Jean lying on the floor. She looked unmarked. He kneeled down and felt her wrist, trying to find a pulse. She stirred and held her face in pain.

“Martin,” she called out.

“He's hurt but will live. We need to get him to a hospital. Go and get Kotang's car,” he said, pointing out the window at a black Mercedes.

“Kotang?” she asked.

“Him.” Jason pointed at the body. The conversation was stopped by the sound of gunfire in the distance. They all looked down the small lane that led to the main road. Two cars had stopped the farmer's Land Rover and killed the entire family.

A black Mercedes-Benz was fast approaching the farmhouse. Jason raised his gun and opened fire at the car. It stopped, and the occupants ducked down as the windows rained broken glass on them. Jason emptied the gun on the car. By luck, it hit the fuel tank, and a huge explosion at the back of the car blew out a flume of flames. A fist of gray smoke erupted into the clear morning sky. Three men jumped free. One of them was on fire, screaming in agony while rolling on the floor, trying to suffocate the flames.

The other car stayed at the end of the drive. Jason helped Jean carry Martin and pull him across the backseat of Kotang's car. He told Joanne to sit next to Martin and apply pressure to the boy's wound to stop the bleeding. He jumped into the front passenger seat and told Jean to strap herself in.

“Now look at me and listen,” he told Jean. Her hands were trembling. Her nose was still bleeding, and she was sobbing.

“Look at me!” he yelled. She was surprised by his outburst and looked at him.

“Jean, you need to be strong now for Martin's sake. I need you to drive to the nearest police station,” he told her while he reloaded his gun using Kotang's box of bullets. “To the right is a wooden gate leading to the main road. This car should smash through it easily. Don't stop until you get to the police station.”

She nodded and gripped the wheel. “What about you?” she asked desperately.

“Once you get through the gate, drive a few hundred yards and wait for me. But if the car is still following you, just go.”

“I can't just leave you,” she said.

“You may not have to. I hope I can stop the car and join you.” He leaned forward and kissed her cheek. “You can do it, Jean. This is for Martin.”

Jean nodded and gritted her teeth while she clenched the wheel.

A large cloud of dust erupted from the wheels of the car as she drove across the small field and broke through the gates, sending shards of wood up in the air. The two-thousand-pound car made matchsticks of the old wooden gate. As it pulled onto the main road, Jason jumped out, rolled, and ducked behind an olive tree. Jean did as she was told and drove off and stopped out of sight farther up the road.

The Triad's car wheels squealed, spitting gravel and dust as it returned to the main road in pursuit. Jason looked through the dense foliage of the small tree and took aim at the driver.

As soon as he could get a good shot, he let off three rounds. At least one hit and killed the driver. Jason ducked down, but to his horror, the car careered directly toward him. It crashed into the olive tree in front of him and knocked him down before it finally came to a stop on top of him and the tree. He was lying flat on his back under the car. It was a miracle we was not run over by the wheels. His gun was stuck fast under a tire.

He took a deep breath and wriggled his toes and fingers. To his relief, they all worked. His chest was hurting from the blow. It could have been worse. The tree seemed to have taken the brunt of it. A door opened, and he saw a pair of feet climb out of the passenger seat. The person spoke in Chinese to the others but got no response. They were either dead or unconscious.

It took Jason a few moments to come to his senses. He knew his chest was injured, although he was unsure just how bad. But he felt dampness on his leg.

I
hope
that's not blood and I've just peed myself
, he said to himself as he felt the dampness getting worse. As he tried to slowly move, it became obvious.

It's gas.

As fast as he could, he crawled from under the car. The stunned Triad member stepped back as he watched Jason scramble out. He pointed his gun at Jason and gestured for the boy to stand. Jason pretended he was injured and pulled himself up by the rear wheel. He dug his fingernails behind the chrome hubcap and pulled it off. In one movement, he spun around and launched the hubcap like a Frisbee, aimed at the man. It flew and smacked the Triad member in the mouth. The man was momentarily stunned.

Jason pounced in that time and delivered a deadly blow to the man's windpipe. The car started to burn. The gas around him caught fire. Within seconds, the entire car was engulfed in flames. Jason had had a lucky escape. The stench of burning flesh hit Jason's senses. The others in the car were cremated. The smell reminded Jason of what Boudica had done to Kinver.

Jason ran up the road toward Jean's waiting car, holding his chest. She and Joanne had covered Martin's wound with clothing. He was now conscious and groaning in pain. They didn't say anything to Jason as he climbed in the car. They pretty much took for granted that he would take care of the Triad's thugs.