DELIVERANCE: a gripping action thriller full of suspense (16 page)

After five seconds he hears the guy on the other side fire, and then a third of a second later, his boot is blown across the ground by the impact from the bullet. As soon as the boot moves, Marshall launches himself across the full width of the back of the car.

Time seems to slow down as he twists his arm round towards the front, and fires two rounds just as his shoulder hits the earth. The first round is too low and thuds into the dirt eight feet short, but as his shoulder connects with the ground it nudges his aim upwards slightly and the second bullet finds its mark.

Two dead. Two left inside the vehicle.

He crawls back around the rear of the car, and then along its length. He then raises himself up on his haunches and peers into the driver’s window where he sees a woman dragging Charlie’s daughter across the centre console into the front seat by her hair, presumably to use her as a human shield.

Marshall does not hesitate.

He stands his full height at the right edge of the window and fires two consecutive bullets at a deep angle. The first ricochets off, cracking the glass; but the second blows through the glass and into the woman’s abdomen. Marshall smashes the remains of the weakened glass with the pistol and pulls the door open from the inside. He immediately grabs the woman’s short hair and smashes her face into the steering column three times as hard as he can.

‘Get your hands off my niece,’ he shouts at her.

However, as he releases his hold of her head, he realises she can’t hear him. Her neck is broken along with the majority of her face.

So three dead. One further inside.

He turns to the back seat, fearing he will be too late, but there is no further hostile inside the car.

‘Where is the fourth one?’ he asks the girls quickly.

‘He went into the airport and hasn‘t returned,’ Sarah responds, far too calmly.

‘We need to move, right now,’ Marshall instructs. ‘Everyone out through the passenger door and follow me.’

Marshall returns to each of the three bodies outside of the car and collects their weapons. Two Glock-17’s from the men, and a Glock-19 from the female. He takes a mental inventory of the ammunition, and places the two Glock 17’s in his belt. Then he offers the Glock-19 to Sarah.

‘Do you know how to use this?’ he asks.

‘Yes,’ Sarah replies, matter of factly.

‘Do you want it? The more armed people, the better.’

‘Of course,’ Sarah says, taking the gun from his hand. She ejects the clip and checks it for ammunition. Then she tests the firing mechanism, reloads the clip and chambers a round.

Marshall is impressed.

‘Let’s go,’ he says.

He arranges them into formation as they walk along the narrow pathway to the personnel gate. Sarah leading, Jane and Phoebe side by side and Marshall to the rear.

‘If I shout
down
, I need you all to hit the floor immediately,’ Marshall orders. ‘Do not think about it, just do it.’

‘Uncle Marshall?’ Phoebe asks. ‘Where is your shoe?’

Marshall looks down to see he is still wearing his remaining boot, and therefore walking strangely. He bends down and unties his right boot. Then he kicks it away leaving him walking in just socks.

They continue along the pathway, which in Marshall’s mind seems to take forever. When they arrive at the gate, Charlie is not there, but an MP is.

Great
, Marshall thinks. After all they’ve been through, now he has to deal with the Military Police.

‘Marshall?’ The MP asks.

‘Depends who’s asking,’ Marshall says.

‘This is no times for games, son,’ The MP warns, placing his hand on his weapon.

Marshall has had some experience with the Military Police. Occasionally he has worked with them well enough, but mostly they’ve been a massive pain in his ass. There is an unspoken rule in the military: never volunteer information.

‘I'm not playing games, Lance-Corporal,’ Marshall responds, ‘I’m just asking you who you are.’

‘My orders are to meet John Marshall here at this gate, sir,’ the MP advises.

‘On whose orders?’

‘By Stephen Avens, sir.’

‘Good enough for me,’ Marshall states, relieved. ‘Lead the way.’

As they begin to follow the MP in the same formation, Marshall traces the fingers of his left hand across the handles of the two Glocks secured in the back of his belt.

Just in case
, he thinks. After all, why should he trust anyone in this godforsaken place?

The MP leads them into the airport complex along the military route and stops outside a door marked
Private
.

‘A room full of new recruits I’m guessing?’ Marshall jokes.

‘No,’ the MP replies, without the slightest smile.

‘It’s nice to see the MPs haven’t grown a sense of humour in my time away from the services,’ Marshall sneers.

‘You will go in now,’ the MP advises flatly.

‘And you will open the door for me.’

There is a moment of hostility, but then it passes.

‘Certainly, sir,’ the MP says, smiling benignly and throwing a salute.

Perhaps he does have sense of humour after all
, Marshall thinks.

The door is opened, and Marshall peers inside with a hand on one of the Glocks, prepared to draw and fire. Inside the small room is Charlie, a Captain, a badly beaten man dressed in black – presumably the fourth person from the car, and a Lieutenant baring a striking resemblance to Avens.

‘I see you found the fourth guy then,’ Marshall says directly to Charlie.

‘Well I got to the gate and this guy stuck a gun in my face,’ Charlie says, kicking the man dressed in black. ‘You know how rude I find that sort of thing.’

‘You must be Stephen,’ Marshall says to the Lieutenant. ‘The skydiver.’

‘Yes,’ Stephen replies. ‘My brother has told me all about your troubles. Where is he?’

‘On the way to the hospital by now. I called in an
officer dow
n code, from his radio. He was hit with a car. A couple of broken bones I’m afraid, but he’ll be okay.’

‘Thank you,’ Stephen says before gesturing towards the captain. ‘This is my superior officer, Captain Tyomi. He and I have organised you a ride out of here on the next commercial flight, but there’ll be a bit of a wait I’m afraid.’

‘Great news.’ Marshall says, relieved. ‘But when does it leave?’

‘Four hours,’ Tyomi states. ‘Sorry there‘s nothing sooner.’

‘Thank you, guys’ Marshall says. ‘It‘s great news. But what do we do until then?’

‘I‘ve arranged some secure rooms for you all to rest in.’

‘Thanks. Any stops on the flight?’

‘Yes, five hours in Germany, but that is all.’

‘Thank you for all your help. I really can’t thank you enough.’

‘We’re going to need your weapons though, Marshall,’ Tyomi warns.

‘Of course, I understand,’ Marshall says, nodding wearily. ‘But you know anything can happen in four hours. Have them when we board, please.’

‘You will be safe here,’ Tyomi advises. ‘But I do understand your caution. I’m guessing Australia won’t feature on your top ten list of favourite countries ever visited.’

‘I've been to worse,’ Marshall answers, thinking of Africa.

Chapter Twenty-one

Sarah, Jane and Phoebe are taken to the secure rooms whilst Marshall chooses to remain in the office to think.

He is transported back in his mind to his mother’s house, and the images of Saunders that still haunt him.

He remembers when he inserted the second DVD that had been delivered to his mother and waited for the horror to begin. The snow screen had appeared, like with the first disk, and was quickly replaced by the image of the same man.

Captain Adam Saunders.

Still strapped to the table, his head lolling from side to side, lost in delirium.

You would think that once a person has had their tongue cut out, they will be unable to talk, but this is actually incorrect. They can still vocalise, even if they are unable to pronounce many words. Saunders was screaming ‘help me’, but it sounded like ‘happy’ without the use of his tongue.

Then the torture continued.

The boy reappeared and Marshall studied him. He was no older than twelve or thirteen and there was definitely something familiar about him. Marshall felt he could almost place it, but not quite.

The boy had a large machete which glinted in the low lighting from the single bare lightbulb above Saunders head. The blade looked razor sharp as Marshall forced himself to keep looking at the screen.

‘Choose,’ the boy said to Saunders calmly.

Saunders looked blankly into the boys eyes.

‘You have four limbs,’ the boy told him. ‘Choose one.’

Saunders looked at the large blade and shook his head.

‘Then I choose for you,’ the boy said, and suddenly raised the machete up and around in a large arc over his head, and then swiftly downwards again, cutting straight through Saunders’ left knee cap, and landing with such force that the knife ended up buried in the table.

Marshall realised he could not even begin to imagine how much pain Saunders was in at this point. It was beyond all comprehension.

‘You are stupid,’ the boy on the tape told Saunders, still terrifyingly calmly. ‘If you had chosen a limb, I would have cut it higher. But now your cowardice gets you two cuts to that leg.’

Saunders was screaming the word ‘fuck’ over and over again. It could be clearly heard and understood. The boy then called something out over his shoulder. It sounded like ‘Sasa’, which Marshall thought sounded like Swahili perhaps, but he didn’t know what it meant. A man then appeared on the screen carrying what looked like a thin metal pole. Marshall looked at it with a creased brow for a moment before realising what it was.

A blow torch.

The man then fired up the blue flame, and used it to cauterise the wound on Saunders knee joint.

Marshall was stunned. The pain must have been excruciating.

‘You will not bleed to death yet,’ the boy told Saunders, or what was left of him.

‘Not for at least three days. My mother’s orders.’

‘Shit,’ Marshall says, back in the present day.

‘What is it?’ Sarah asks him as she steps quietly into the room.

‘Couldn’t sleep?’ Marshall asks.

‘No. But what’s up with you?’

‘Not only have I met Quinn before,’ he tells her, ‘I’ve seen her son as well.’

‘Really?’ Sarah asks.

‘Yes,’ Marshall answers. ‘Do you recall me telling you about the DVD’s of Saunders?’

‘Vividly,’ Sarah says as a shudder passes through her entire body.

‘That was Quinn’s kid.’

‘Are you sure?’ Sarah asks.

‘Almost positive,’ Marshall responds. ‘I was just running over it in my mind and the likeness between them is undeniable, but it wasn’t until I remembered him mentioning his mother’s orders that it clicked.’

‘Well I’m not blessed with the memory you have, Marshall, but I remember enough of what you told me to know that Saunders was severely brutalised before his death. So I’m sorry you have to relive it.’

‘Cursed, more like,’ Marshall says under his breath.

‘What?’

‘I’m cursed with the memory I have,’ he explains. ‘Not blessed.’

Sarah sighs sympathetically. She makes to reach out and touch him, but then stops herself, and takes a step back from him. ‘Anything I can do?’

‘Yes,’ Marshall answers. ‘Leave me alone to think for a while longer. Africa seems to be the only link I can find to what is currently happening, so I need to go through it all in my mind a while longer. Please find Tyomi and ask him about the plane. What type it is, how many others on-board, and any unknowns.’

‘Will do,’ Sarah says, and turns to leave.

Then at the door she stops and looks back at him. ‘Anything else?’

‘Yes,’ Marshall says, with meaning. ‘Keep your eyes open, Sarah. We are not out of the woods yet.’

Sarah nods solemnly and heads out of the door as Marshall settles back down into the chair.

Alone.

Sarah is looking for Tyomi and Stephen, who are sorting out a secure passage to the airliner. Jane and Phoebe have gone to rest. Charlie is questioning the fourth member of the attack party, whom Marshall would feel sorry for if the guy hadn’t been sent to kill them. Charlie’s questioning techniques are a little unorthodox.

Alone to think.

Except he isn’t alone; not really. He’s surrounded by the ghosts of past events. He closes his eyes and thinks back to what he saw in the DVDs.

The rest of the second DVD showed the boy dismembering Saunders limb by limb. The left leg obviously receiving two cuts. After each cut, the blowtorch was used to seal the wound. Then the disk ended with the footage being replaced by a snow screen.

Marshall then recalls the third DVD.

The same fuzzy snow screen showed for a few seconds, and then an image of Saunders appeared, or at least what was left of him. He was now essentially just a head and torso; no limbs. He had been left overnight like that: the clock in the corner of the screen displayed this as being the next day.

Marshall’s mind raced to get ahead. What the hell else could they do? But it was no use; his mind did not function like that of a torturer. He had to wait and see.

The boy arrived back on the screen and displayed something to the camera. The light shining off it made it impossible to make out for a moment, and then the boy moved his hand slightly and Marshall could see what is was.

Razor blades. Six of them.

The boy positioned them between the bent fingers of both hands, and then displayed them to Saunders.

‘You will never have felt pain like this,’ he said coldly.

Then he began to slowly run his hands diagonally across Saunders body.

The blood began to flow immediately.

Marshall noticed that Saunders head was propped up on several hard pillows to make him watch as the boy sliced his body.

‘Do not close your eyes,’ the boy commanded.

Saunders did well for almost a minute, but eventually the pain got to him and he shut his eyes tight to keep from screaming.

Wrong move.

The boy immediately released all but one of the blades from his right hand. Then with his free hand he pinched and lifted up each of Saunders’ eyelids, before slicing them off.

‘I told you not to,’ the boy said smirking, and then, once all the blades were back in place between his fingers, he resumed slicing up the skin of Saunders’ torso.

This continued until Saunders body was a mass of thin slices and running blood – not quite enough to kill him, but enough to cause the maximum amount of pain.

Then the boy left again, and Marshall was forced to watch a full twenty minutes of Saunders writhing in agony before the screen again turned to snow, and then went blank.

The fourth and final DVD was surprisingly brief.

The clock in the corner at the start showed that it was now the third day.

Nothing happened for ten minutes or so; it was just a long shot of Saunders moaning in pain and delirium. Then the boy entered the room with a machete in his hand. He stood over Saunders completely motionless for a few moments, and then with a sudden movement, he raised the machete above his head, and then quickly brought it down hard into Saunders’s neck, severing his head with the one blow.

Then it was over, for Saunders at least. But it was just the beginning of the horror for Marshall.

As he sat numbly staring at what was left of Saunders and began to plan his vengeance, the screen went blank for a moment… before a slide show began.

Marshall sat with his mouth open as the pictures appeared on the screen; each remained for a few seconds before they were replaced with the next.

The pictures were of Marshall’s friends and family.

All in all he counted fifty separate photographs of fifty individuals. Their ages ranging from two months to seventy-five years. His sister, brother, cousins, nephew, uncles, aunts. Friends of his and friends of other people he knew only slightly, but all of them people he cared for; all appeared on the slide show.

Fifty people in total.

Then the last screen showed eleven simple words:

Forget it. Or they are next. An eye for an eye.

A small package arrived in the post two days later. Inside the brown paper was a small box, and inside the box was an eyeball.

No anthrax this time though.

The return address said simply,
Saunders
.

Marshall senses someone in the room with him as he returns to the present day. He opens his eyes to see Sarah standing next to him waiting patiently.

‘I have the information,’ she states.

‘Tell me,’ Marshall orders.

‘The plane will be a Boeing-747. There will be two hundred and thirty-four passengers aboard along with us. They have cleared most of first class where we will be travelling with a few others. All passengers have been security cleared to level eight according to Tyomi, whatever that means.’

‘It means they know everything about all two hundred and thirty-four passengers, right down to where they ate breakfast this morning,’ Marshall states. ‘Perhaps we can talk more on the flight if you don’t mind.’

‘Can't wait,’ Sarah says sarcastically, and leaves the room.

Marshall tries to focus on a mission objective. When they touch down in England, there will be five of them, which is too many. He needs to lower the number, but how?

Germany.

There will be a stop off in Germany. Perhaps he can find some way to leave Jane and Phoebe somewhere safe there? Munich maybe, or Berlin? He heads for the door to see about organising it, but then stops. No, he can’t separate the team. There is nobody else that they can trust. Besides, separating Charlie from Jane and his daughter would only serve to split his focus. They must all stick together now, whatever happens. So five it is.

He checks his watch. Just over two hours thirty to go. He could do with a little more sleep.

He draws on his training to relax every muscle in his body. It’s not easy, given the pressure, but he does so. He will rest until Tyomi or Avens collect him. He closes his eyes and begins to drift into a light sleep.

But it’s only a minute or two later that the police radio in his pocket crackles into life.

Inform request for Avens-335. This is Robertson-229. Registered vehicle has been sighted. Stationary at large warehouse on A6 towards West beach, copy?

‘Copy,’ Marshall responds wearily.

He glances at the large map behind Tyomi’s desk. It isn’t far, but can he risk leaving the girls alone? They can’t trust anyone else. Then, as if to help him decide, Stephen Avens and Tyomi re-enter the room.

‘How are you holding up?’ Tyomi asks.

‘I was okay, but now my brother or I may need to leave here for a short while.’

‘Why would you leave?’

‘There is something that needs sorting out.’

‘Such as?’

‘It would be best if you didn’t know. But let’s just say that I would be haunted by a grieving father if it isn’t done.’

Tyomi nods. ‘Ok then. What do you need from us?’

‘I need to speak to my brother.’

‘He’s two rooms over.’

Two minutes later, Marshall opens the door of the make-shift interrogation room. Charlie and the guy in black are inside the room. The guy dressed in black is clearly dead. Marshall looks at Charlie with a raised eyebrow.

‘He had a kill pill,’ Charlie exclaims.

‘What?’ Marshall responds shocked.

‘He had a cyanide pill, or something similar,’ Charlie explains. ‘He wasted a shit load of time feeding me bullshit information, and then when he realised I wasn’t buying any of it he crunched his teeth and died.’

‘Ok. What size shoe is he?’

Charlie squats down and inspects the guys boot. ‘Size twelve’

‘Excellent.’

Marshall claims the dead man’s boots before continuing.

‘I need your help,’ he tells Charlie as he triple knots the laces. ‘This organisation that is after us is built upon three legs.’