Hider/Seeker (22 page)

The sunrise lightened the sky and the dewy scent of lavender breezed through the open windows of the van. A buzz from his wristwatch told him it was time to get going. He relieved his bladder outside the van and then changed into Eden's shirt with the firm's
Livin Satellite TV
logo across the back.

While strapping Monty's snub nose around his right ankle with electrical tape, he spotted an unopened bottle of coke in the back of the van. He took it with him to the driver's seat and drank it while he waited for Peter to pass by on his way to school. If there was going to be trouble up at the house, he wanted to make sure the boy was not going to get in the way.

By seven there was still no sign of Peter or the motorbike. It looked like he was going to be late for school. The early morning chill was melting away under the rising sun, making Harry feel sticky in the van. He cooled off outside and stood akimbo in front of the vehicle.

A car passed by. Just a young mother with children and a friendly smile. He waved and watched them disappear around a bend, the kids making faces at him from the backseat. The road fell quiet again and a glance at his watch told him, Peter wasn't going to school. He turned off his mobile and sat behind the wheel once more. From under the seat, he grabbed the Glock 23 and tucked it into the back of his belt. He put the company cap over his head, and drove towards the house.

When he approached the steel gate, he slowed down; his eyes searching for guards. A cool gentle breeze stirred the branches of the trees as he stopped to talk to the intercom. But there was no reply. Pressing the buzzer again, he waited, glancing up briefly with a smile to the CCTV camera. Still no answer. Bewildered, he got out and yelled he was from Livin Satellite TV; there to re-align the satellite. Nothing. Harry called out Dexter's name, but all he could hear was the cawing of birds and barking of dogs far away.

He thumped his fist hard against the steel panelled gate and felt it give. Using his shoulder he managed to push it open, wide enough to squeeze through. There was no four-by-four Mercedes reinforcing the gate. It was parked next to the perimeter wall, doors left wide open.

Harry froze. At the front of the house were two marked open-back police trucks. The heavy duty Toyotas were unmanned and the lights on their roofs were not flashing. His first instinct was to head straight out of the compound, but it was overtaken by a curiosity to discover what was going on. He'd come too far to back out now.

Under the cover of a row of trees, he crept the fifty yards to the house. A snap of a twig under foot sent birds into flight. But he kept going, hoping to reach the open garage door without being spotted. It just didn't feel right. If this was a raid, there'd be police guarding the grounds. Where were they? The place looked abandoned, but he never went on first impressions. Harry tossed his cap to the ground and drew his gun. He pulled back its slide slowly as he reached the garage. With a cartridge in the breech, he dived through the double doors of the garage, rolling along the floor as he landed. He took cover behind a pillar and looked across the shiny bonnets of two BMWs. His heart missed a beat. On the other side of the garage, were five corpses slumped against the wall. The flies were already stacking above them in a feeding frenzy of congealed blood and body tissue. He knew instantly they were the bodies of Angela Linehan's security guards. They'd been lined up against the wall and shot. No resistance. Just a summary execution.

How quickly conflict changes allegiances. Five minutes earlier, he was ready to take on her men. Now he was wishing they were still alive.

Angela Linehan could already be dead, the boy too. He had to find out, no matter the odds now.

The interconnecting door between the garage and the house was exactly as Eden had drawn it. He could hear soca reggae coming from the other side of the thick door. As he pulled it open, the music was so loud it rattled his teeth.

He hugged close to the corridor wall, taking slow steps in the direction of the music, his gun held out in front of him at arms length ready to fire. The crystal chandeliers in the hall vibrated to the boom-boom of
My Boyfriend Dick
blasting out of the lounge. Spice's music was always loud and he thanked her for it at that precise moment as he drew closer.

Through the open double doors he could see shadows moving back and forth. Harry climbed the staircase because Eden had told him there was a mezzanine gallery that looked onto the lounge. Keeping his head low, he crept to the wooden balustrade and stared down at the room. It had been trashed and stank of weed and stale beer. Bookcases had been pulled apart, drawers emptied, paintings slashed and the plasma TV torn from the wall.

Spread out on the sofa was a black officer in khaki with a bull neck and broad shoulders. The top of his trousers was open and his belly was peeking out from under his shirt. He'd nodded off with a spliff glowing between the fork of his fingers. Next to him on the sofa sat a cushion with a semi-automatic.

Another officer, slumped at the back of the room, could barely keep his eyes open.

They were woken by a third uniformed cop with short legs and a shiny scalp. He turned off the CD player, bringing silence to the room, and then began to shake the shoulder of the big man.

‘C'mon man, we got no time to rest,' he said, shaking him one more time.

‘What's up,' asked the big man, pretending he was awake the whole time.

‘Even in broad daylight I can't find him.'

‘The little runt must be here somewhere. Search again.'

‘He's not here, I tell you. I don't want to do this no more. It's just wasting my time.'

The big man cocked his head, and his eyes settled into a hard stare. ‘I'm not telling you again.'

‘All right, all right. But it's the last time I'm doing it,' said the short man, going outside again.

The door of the study opened and a fourth officer came out with a big grin across his face. He was holding aloft two dresses, still on their hangers. One was long and sparkly for the evening, the other knee-length for smart occasions.

‘Not your colour,' sniggered the officer slumped on the floor at the back of the room.

‘They're for Macey. Should fit her fine – about her size.'

‘You think?'

‘What do you mean by that?'

‘I'm just saying our girls are made different.'

‘Are you saying my Macey's ass is too big?'

‘How can an ass ever be too big, man? The bigger, the better.'

‘You mean something else, don't you?'

‘Tell me what I mean, because I don't know what you're blathering on about.'

‘Macey ain't good enough for a dress like this. That's what I'm hearing.'

‘Maybe I'm saying, dresses like that stick out too much around here. That's all.'

The man holding the dresses took a step towards the officer on the floor and leant over him. ‘So you do mean, she ain't good enough.'

No response.

Holding the dresses under his arm, he began to kick the officer, over and over. Obscenities followed, an endless exchange.

A shot rang out and some ceiling plaster sprinkled to the floor. The man stopped kicking, and turned to the big man on the sofa holding a smoking gun.

‘Boys, boys, boys. Shut it,' said the big man, returning his pistol back to the cushion next to him. He glanced at the man with the dresses. ‘Your flies are undone.'

The man folded the dresses neatly and put them on a sideboard. He plonked himself in an armchair next to the big man on the sofa and zipped himself up. The gun in his waistband dug into him, so he placed it on the arm of the armchair. It was a semi-automatic, similar to the big man's.

‘You took your time in there?' said the big man, looking at his watch.

‘I didn't think we're in any rush as your brother ain't here yet.'

‘We're gonna have to start without him. He's still looking for that English guy.'

‘What about the boy?'

‘Sent Lucky to have another look for him.'

‘Does Lucky want her when he gets back, because I wouldn't mind…'

‘Bring her out. We're getting started.'

‘Mordecai won't like us starting without him.'

‘I don't answer to my brother. So bring the bitch out.'

Angela Linehan was dragged naked into the lounge and pushed onto her knees before the big man. Her hands were tied behind her back and her eyes were unfocused as she tried to look up at him on the sofa. Someone's fist had turned her nose and mouth into a bloody pulp.

On the coffee table next to where she was kneeling was a laptop.

The big man leaned forward to her and said, ‘You know what we want. I explained it to you last night. So just give it to us. Authorise the transfer and it's all over. Starting with the bank membership.'

No response.

He sat upright once more. ‘Eight digit bank code and then a few security checks for you to answer – and we're done here. Be thankful we don't want to take all of it.'

She didn't flinch.

‘If we find your boy, it won't be good for him. We know he's here somewhere. We'll find him. So be a good mamma and authorise the transfer.'

Angela Linehan couldn't reply as she appeared on the verge of passing out.

The big man lent forward again and slapped her face hard. She didn't understand what was going on anymore. They hadn't finished with her. Tears were streaming down her face, but she did not make a sound as she waited for her next ordeal to begin.

‘You're sure you want me to do this to you?'

Her eyes expressed deep foreboding as he stood up, towering over her.

The big man picked up from the floor a long flex rigged to a car battery. He held the bare wires close to her face.

‘You're sure you want us to do this to you?' he asked again, waving the flex in front of her. ‘Okay, let's get on with it.'

She jolted on each prod of the live wire into her flesh.

He glanced across to the laptop and then back to her. ‘Just authorise it and this ends now.'

More volts, more spasms. The screams shriller. There were grins around the room, followed by shrieks of laughter from the men.

‘Now listen carefully,' he said, ‘soon you will not feel your feet, legs or arms and I'll have to try harder. You don't want that.'

She screamed again and again as he prodded her body at random, burning her skin. More laughter in the room; then she passed out. The big man poured a bottle of water over her face. She came to, coughing up the water in her mouth.

He'd made her fear the wire so much that the mere sight of it was instant pain. As he brought the wire closer to her, she twisted and screamed on the floor. She couldn't take any more and with her remaining strength, she lifted her head up to his and spat a mouthful of blood at him, splattering his uniform. His eyes instantly filled with rage. He grabbed the gun from the cushion and held it to her head, cocked.

‘Boss, boss, what you doing?' shouted the officer next to the big man, trying to take the gun away from him. The officer was pushed aside.

‘Stay out of this,' he snapped as he pressed the barrel against the temple of Angela Linehan. ‘I'm not wasting any more time. Tell me the code now or I'll blow your pretty little head off your shoulders.'

The officer tried again to stop him. ‘Think about the money, boss.'

‘We need to bring this to an end,' said the big man. ‘They're going to start wondering where we are.'

She passed out again. Whether she was feigning or was really out cold, Harry couldn't tell.

The big man spat out his final demand, pushing the barrel harder into her head. ‘Tell me those god damn numbers.'

Harry had to stop him or she'd be dead in less than a minute. These weren't turning targets he'd be aiming at on a firing range, but real men. He'd never used Oscar's gun before, and had no idea how the recoil would mess up his following aim. In competitions, he was good at rapid fire. But this was different. These men knew how to kill. They would scatter on the first round of fire, and come back at him with a vengeance.

He knew what he had to do. The big man on the sofa, Baptiste's brother, would get it first because his gun was pointing at her head. Next would be the officer standing by her, as he'd left his gun on the armchair and would need to twist around to grab it. Seconds would count. The man slumped at the back of the room didn't appear armed, and he would be last. Once the first round was fired, the order would make no difference as all hell would break loose and it would be down to instinct rather than planning.

With a two-handed grip on the Glock 23, he brought the weapon to eye level, aligning the white dot on the sight to just under the heart of the man on the sofa. The gun's grip and weight felt good in his hand. He held his breath as he squeezed the trigger. The bullet tore through the big man's chest, causing his head to snap backwards, his face twisted into a rictus of pure surprise. Harry fired the next round at the officer close to Angela Linehan, but missed. The officer grabbed his gun from the armchair and rolled across the floor, scooping up with his free hand the semi-automatic that belonged to Baptiste's brother.

Thut, thut, thut. The wooden balustrade exploded around Harry into splinters and puffs of sawdust as return fire came unexpectedly from the officer at the back of the room. Harry hit the floor. A second spray of bullets from the compact submachine gun made him take cover behind an overturned bookcase. More gunfire, but this time from the officer below, blasting both guns in his hands.

Harry retreated back to the mezzanine stair landing. The Glock in his hand was a thirteen rounder; he'd eleven bullets left to stop three men, including Lucky, who would turn up any time soon. He peered over the staircase's glass balustrade, and was met by three bullets over his head. The two officers were waiting for him at the foot of the stairs. A string of shots ran along the wall, showering Harry's head with white plaster. He returned the fire, losing count of the rounds left in his gun. A deafening exchange of fire followed, lead flying in every direction.