Deadly States (Seaforth Files by Nicholas P Clark Book 2) (17 page)

for
the time being,
though he did
the guard’s head as he fell.
In an instant, adrenaline raced into every
cell in Jack’s
body. He
had seconds to save himself from the gunman on the other side of the
gates, and the door protecting him from certain death lay wide open.
The door closed would never stop a determined attacker, but it might
just slow him down enough for Jack to make it to somewhere where
he was a little less vulnerable. Jack looked behind him towards the
houses. They were too far away—he would be shot in the back before
he made it to cover. Jack dragged himself to his feet. His left arm hurt
like hell and his left leg was numb from the pain. He nursed his arm
and dragged his leg as he limped towards the
open
door. With both
hands, and screaming internally from the pain his actions caused, he
pulled the door towards him. It would not close. He quickly scanned
the door for any signs of damage that might have been caused by the
explosion. Looking down he saw that
one of the dead guard’s feet was
getting jammed in the
door. He
dragged the
man’s leg
clear
of the
door as two bullets whizzed past his head. He didn’t hear the sound of
gunfire, but he knew what a bullet flying past his head sounded like.
The third round slammed into the
door when it was almost
closed,
pushing it
back a few inches and preventing the locking
mechanism
from engaging. One last
push and the door was closed. Jack slumped
against the door. He quickly
moved clear
of it when two rounds impacted the door with threatening thuds. The assassin was not giving
up that easily.
Jack
drew in a
deep breath and turned towards the houses. His
training had taught him that a deep breath could be used to alleviate
a small amount
of
pain, and so he timed his steps to coincide with
deep breaths as he moved. This was a well-used technique of midwives,
but it also applied to all kinds
of
pain, and not just childbirth. With
each faltering step he grew stronger. By the time he
made it to the
first house the pain was bearable. Jack dived for cover behind a black
Mercedes which was parked up in the driveway
of the house. The car
was the last word in luxury
but it was not armoured. He needed to
get back to his own place. He had a small arsenal in a hidden locker in
one
of the back bedrooms. It was the
only room that he kept locked
whenever he was entertaining, even though the heavy metal door with
its combination lock was not likely to fall to the curiosity of even the
most determined snoop.
As Jack began to jog towards his house he could hear the sound of
sirens in the distance. They were definitely getting closer. If the gunman didn’t act in the next few minutes then he would not get a chance
to act at all. A few more minutes of evasion and he would be safe; but
Jack knew better than most that a few minutes under fire can seem like
an eternity. The two hundred yards to the relative safety
of his house
stretched
out
before
him
like
a
heaved and hauled his
body from
never-ending
highway.
Jack
one
house to the next, taking a
moment’s
shelter
behind cars and bins, as he looked back nervously
towards the guard’s hut.
Thick
black smoke
bellowed from the
other side
of the security
gate and the smell of acrid, burning fuel, wafted delicately through the
air—the wind was blowing the smoke in the opposite direction which
was one small mercy. The sound from the sirens grew louder. It would
only take a few
more minutes and he would be safe. Jack continued
as another jolt
of
energy carried him the last few yards to the front
door
of his house. He fell against the door
before searching through
his pockets for the keys to the house. He scanned the neighbourhood as
he searched frantically for the keys. He could not see the gunman but
something was still terribly wrong with what he was viewing. It took
him a little while to work out what was wrong, and during those few
moments of intense concentration, his search for the house keys came
to a
halt. He had it. With the explosion and the gunshots and the
smoke and the sirens, someone in the complex should have been curious as to what in the hell was going
on. Not
one
of his neighbours
was
out in the street. He couldn’t
even see a set
of curtains
or blinds
twitching nervously as one of them dared to have a quick look out.
Jack finally whipped the keys from his pocket. The keyhole was at
a slight angle which normally made slotting the key into it a little bit
awkward,
but for some reason, in his heightened state of anxiety
he
managed to get the key into the hole the first time. He flicked his wrist
and threw his shoulder against the door. The door gave way with ease
and Jack spilled into the hallway.
As
he lay
on the floor he turned and
kicked the door closed. Jack took a deep breath and then he scrambled to
his feet
before hurrying up the stairs and
on through to the small
bedroom at the back of the house. A wave of relief momentarily overwhelmed him as he sensed that safety was now his.
The clatter
of thoughts he was processing at lightning speed momentarily
paralysed his higher brain functions as he stared absently
at the numbers
on the combination lock. A smile accompanied the
mild anger that he felt when the combination finally
through to the fore. 0007. It was a
bit
on the nose,
made it unlikely that anyone would guess it, even if they
did suspect
him of being a spy—spies were not known for their sense of humour.
Jack stabbed the numbers into the
keypad with
his index finger. A
small
click from the locking
mechanism acknowledged Jack’s legitimacy. Jack pulled the heavy
door
open. A six-foot
door
of three inch
steel took some effort to move,
even though it swung uninhibited on
four oversized hinges. Jack scanned the array
of weapons. There was a
gun for every
occasion, not to mention the knives, grenades, gas masks
and two small canisters of knockout gas.
He selected a
pistol in
case someone should
make it inside
his
home, and the pump action shotgun to make sure that
didn’t happen.
He was just about to reach for the weapons when he felt something
familiar and alarming press against the base of his skull at the back.
The click
of a trigger
being
cocked confirmed what Jack suspected.
Automatically Jack raised his hands. The person holding the gun on
Jack took a few cautious steps backwards. Jack took this as a silent instruction for him to turn around. The blood drained from Jack’s face.
The gunman was
much
older now than the last time Jack had seen
him, but that wasn’t the main reason why Jack was alarmed. How he
had aged at all was the question to which he needed an answer; after
all, dead men don’t grow old.