No Man's Land - A Russell Carter Thriller (28 page)

11

Djoran lay on his back strapped to the galley table, stripped naked, staring wide-eyed at the wooden ceiling, awaiting his inevitable fate.

Almost as soon as he’d sent the text message to Carter, Samudra had caught him in the rear cabin, still holding the cell phone.

The keys and tea had been a trap.

Sweat trickled down his armpits. His breath came in short, sharp bursts and he was on the verge of hyperventilating.

He looked out the window at a bank of grey clouds floating high in the pale blue sky. Like them, his life would soon blow away and dissolve when his fleeting time on earth was over.

His training as a Sufi had taught him to recognize that a man was not his body. The body was merely a vessel for the soul. Whatever happened on the physical plane, his spirit would live on for eternity.

Above all else, he needed to remain true to the values and principles of his god. This was the core of his religion and the fundamental belief underpinning his life.

His spiritual practice and principles were about to face the ultimate test.

Death, he knew, was not far away.

He recognized three sets of footsteps treading down the stairs.

Samudra, Jamal and Akeem assembled around him, exuding the clinical calm of zealots who believed in the righteousness of their cause.

He swallowed hard and repeated his mantra over and over in his mind.

I am not my body.

Samudra leaned over him, so close he could smell his bitter breath.

“For the final time, will you admit the error of your ways, confess everything you have done and beg forgiveness for your sins?”

Djoran said nothing.

Samudra lifted himself up to his full height. “I am very disappointed in you. I’d hoped with all my heart that you were one of us, a true believer. But your spirit has been corrupted.”

Djoran turned his head to the right and looked through the window at a lush emerald headland. A soothing calmness descended upon him.

Samudra sighed. “So you are going to be stubborn.”

He heard the
click, click, click
of a cheap cigarette lighter and breathed in the acrid smell of tobacco smoke.

Rough hands held his forehead.

Samudra placed electrical tape over his mouth, forcing him to breathe through his nostrils.

Jamal and Akeem stood back.

Djoran thought he detected excitement in their eyes, which saddened him. When he’d first met them, they were simple villagers with good hearts.

He closed his eyes. He knew what was coming and prayed to Allah for strength and compassion.

12

Dusk was fast approaching when Carter settled behind Erina in the black double sea kayak moored in a protected cove at Rushcutters Bay, about a hundred and fifty feet from the Cruising Yacht Club of Australia.

He ran his fingers over the aluminum paddle lying across his lap. A gentle swell rocked them up and down. It was 8.37 p.m. They planned to begin their half-mile sprint to Fort Denison at 8.40 p.m. before the first round of fireworks blasted off at 9 p.m.

Both wore lightweight black wetsuits, neoprene skullcaps and snug Vibram shoes. Water police IDs hung on lanyards around their necks. The IDs enabled them to move freely along the foreshore and through a barricade blocking an entrance to the harbor.

The water around them was calm, protected by the imposing Darling Point headland, where crowds were gathering to watch the fireworks. Out in the middle of the harbor, however, foaming whitecaps suggested that the predicted strong southerly change was well on its way.

The intermittent tinkle of loose rigging sounded through the still air, underscoring the distant murmur of the crowd. The lights from the tall masts of the hundred or so moored yachts shone across the smooth surface of the water, creating a pale yellow glow.

Erina brushed her right hand through the water alongside the kayak, then twisted her neck from side to side and stretched her arms out wide. Since they’d left the apartment an hour ago, she’d barely uttered a word. Like Carter, she preferred a period of introspection to focus her mind before starting out.

He scanned the waters and shoreline of the enclosed cove. Nothing appeared to be out of the ordinary.

He squeezed his knees together against the SIG and the Magnogun resting between his legs, covered by a dark blue beach towel. Then he reached behind and patted his daypack, sitting in the scooped-out locker. It contained the Glocks, night-vision binoculars, gaffer tape, a bottle of acid, a lighter, the star knives, wire-cutters, throwing knives, C4 explosives and detonator caps. The thirty-foot nylon climbing cord with attached hook was wrapped over his left shoulder.

His gaze shifted toward the expanse of the harbor, where the bridge and Opera House sat remote and aloof, dominating the darkening skyline.

It was 8.39 p.m.

The countdown before setting off created a small adrenalin rush. He felt like a foot soldier in the trenches, preparing to fix his bayonet and charge across the foreboding terrain between enemy lines.

He leaned in close to Erina’s ear. “Ready?”

She nodded.

He dug his aluminum paddle into the murky water and pulled back hard. She did the same and they glided toward the winking lights of the fleet gathered on the harbor in front of the bridge.

As always, it felt good to get started.

13

Just under nine minutes later the kayak drew level with the tip of Fort Denison. Carter steered into the lee of the island, giving them some protection from the wind whistling overhead.

The kayak bobbed up and down, smack bang in the center of thousands of pleasure craft of all shapes and sizes, ranging from luxury yachts to stand-up paddleboards. They’d arrived in the middle of a floating carnival.

Carter laid the paddle in his lap. Neither of them uttered a word, using the last few minutes before the final countdown to tune into their surroundings, bringing themselves fully into the moment, ready for whatever came their way.

Ragtime jazz, occasional bursts of laughter and a constant stream of chatter drifted across the water from a party being hosted on Fort Denison.

The expectant buzz of the surrounding crowd reminded Carter of how little New Year’s Eve usually meant to him. He’d never been one for public celebrations. New Year’s had always been just another day.

He promised himself that next year, if there was a next year for him, he’d dive into the New Year’s festivities and find out what all the fuss was about. He might, with a bit of luck, share it with Erina.

He pushed all thoughts of the future and what might or might not happen to the back of his mind. It was 8.56 p.m. and the clock was counting down.

Several spitting drops of rain landed on his face, followed by a sudden downpour. Concentric circles rippled across the surface of the water, radiating outward.

Then, just as suddenly as it’d begun, the rain stopped. He sensed this was the prelude to a full-blown southerly buster.

At 8.59 p.m. the music and party noises began to peter out and an expectant hush fell over the harbor.

Erina turned and they exchanged a nod. They were both set.

He closed his eyes.

The crowd took up the ritualistic chant.

Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four …

Carter’s blood pumped faster.

Three, two, one …

A series of ear-piercing bangs ripped through the night as the first fireworks whooshed and then exploded overhead.

The crowd responded to the massive choreographed dance of color and light with a symphony of oohs, aahs, cheers and squeals as millions of dollars went up in smoke.

Carter rocked back and forth in his seat, stretching his legs, arms and shoulders, enjoying the energy building up in his muscles.

The aerial explosions continued one after the other, as they would for the next eight minutes. The smell of gunpowder filled the air. He ran his left palm over the kayak’s smooth deck as if calming a horse, his eyes still closed tight.

He felt neither cocky nor afraid.

Just ready.

14

A series of loud explosions jolted Djoran back into full consciousness on the galley table, back into a world of physical pain.

What sounded like a rocket whistled through the air and exploded in the distance. Bright colored light streamed through the windows.

For a moment he thought Samudra had succeeded in blowing up the bridge, but he soon realized it was just fireworks and gave thanks.

Warm blood flowed down his face into his right eye and his mouth.

Samudra had twisted and broken two of his fingers and smashed a fist into his nose. It felt like it’d been both splattered across his face and driven into his tortured skull, stabbing into his brain. Samudra had also crushed burning cigarettes into his chest, cheek and genitals.

Thanks to a power greater than himself, he’d remained silent throughout this violent torture and revealed no knowledge of the exact whereabouts or intentions of Carter and Erina. Nor had he renounced his steadfast faith in a loving God.

A feeling of humility and gratitude flowed through him. An unseen presence had protected his spirit and helped him tap reservoirs of courage he never knew he possessed.

Thanks to the divine strength bestowed upon him, he could return to his maker, join his beautiful wife and the spirit of his unborn child and rest in peace for eternity.

Stopping Samudra was now beyond his control. It rested with Carter, Erina and ultimately almighty God to determine the outcome.

He’d only met Carter and Erina briefly but had been struck by their presence and strong characters. If anyone could stop Samudra, they could, God willing.

He blinked the blood out of his eye, turned his head, stared out the window and recalled two of his most cherished lines from the work of his favorite poet, Rumi.

What strikes the oyster shell does not damage the pearl …
What have I ever lost by dying? Why should I fear the next death?

Again, the familiar footsteps trod down the stairs toward him.

Flanked by Jamal and Akeem, Samudra stood over him holding a silver knife in his right hand.

Djoran knew his death was only moments away.

Strangely he felt nothing but love and pity for the three men who were soon to be his executioners. As the great prophet Jesus had said on the cross, “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.”

He closed his eyes, not wishing to look upon their faces again before he passed through the veil of death to the hereafter.

The sharp knife struck his throat. A moment of intense pain was followed by a feeling of drowning in his own blood.

He gagged and his body started to shake.

He took one final breath, and on the exhalation, a peace that surpassed all human understanding flowed through every fiber of his being.

Like the mystics of old had written, a man could transcend the suffering of the physical world and enter the world of spiritual ecstasy and eternal peace.

Allah akbar.

15

Eight minutes after the first rocket exploded, the noise from the fireworks ceased.

The sweet sounds of silence descended over the harbor.

After a few seconds a collective sigh was breathed and the harbor erupted into a symphony of raucous clapping and cheering. The crowds thronging the foreshore whooped and shouted, and the boats packing the water tooted their horns.

Carter’s eyes snapped open.

Two lightning bolts ripped through the night air, illuminating the bridge’s arch like a scene from a horror movie, followed by a violent double clap of thunder that silenced the crowd.

It struck Carter that nothing human beings conjured up could match the power, majesty and violence of the natural world.

Then, the sky opened.

Sheets of rain bucketed down, providing the perfect cloak for their run to the bridge – like the heavens had their backs covered.

Another bolt of lightning ripped across the sky, followed by a dark clap of thunder.

Erina turned to face him. Her eyes shone like twin flames, lit from within.

She was ready.

In perfect unison they dug their paddles deep into the choppy waters and pulled back hard.

Small orange lights lit up both ends of the walkway they were heading for, providing a beacon through the driving wind and rain that lashed them from behind.

—

“
Stop paddling!
” Carter yelled to be heard above the raging elements.

The kayak glided into the deep shadow of the massive bridge, directly underneath the maintenance walkway. The bridge’s dark underbelly protected them from the torrential rain, but the driving wind, which had been at their back coming down the harbor, now buffeted them from the south-east, pushing them in a westerly direction beneath the bridge.

Carter dug his paddle into the water and executed a perfect J stroke. The bow swung a hundred and eighty degrees to face the Opera House and the teeth of the howling gale.

He needed to stall the kayak long enough to fire the Magnogun accurately, so that the magnetic pad would attach itself to the bottom of the three-foot-wide walkway.

Erina swiveled around in her seat at the bow and faced him. They both dropped their legs over the side to stabilize the craft.

It reminded him of being in the surf at Lennox when the wind blew strongly onshore and only the most desperate surfers ventured out.

“You think Alex might’ve planted snipers underneath the bridge?” Erina asked, almost shouting to be heard over the wind.

“We’ll find out soon enough,” he yelled.

He reached into his bag, grabbed a harness and handed it to her. She slipped it over her shoulders and buckled it up. He lay back and stretched his torso along the sleek deck of the kayak.

Once settled, he placed the stock of the Magnogun to his shoulder, lined up a metal panel on the bottom of the walkway roughly a hundred and fifty feet above them, and pulled the trigger.

The recoil jammed the butt into his shoulder, pushing his end of the craft into the water. The metal pad flew through the darkness toward its target, the nylon cord uncoiling behind it.

The Magnogun-TX 7 was designed to propel the pad with tremendous force, allowing it to cut through the most turbulent weather.

After counting to ten, Carter sat up and pulled down on the cord, hard, hoping the first shot had stuck. The sooner they got onto the bridge, the better.

The Magnogun held firm.

He laid the gun on the kayak deck and took the climbing cord and hook off his shoulder and handed it to Erina. She put it over her head so that it hung diagonally across her body and secured it off with a rubber tie so it wouldn’t unravel.

While she got herself organized, he clipped on his harness, slung his daypack on his back and fastened it tight.

The stern faced west, the most likely direction for a sniper. That meant his back created a human shield protecting Erina.

He handed her a phone in its waterproof case. “If anything happens to me, call Watto. The number is preset. Just press 1.”

She strapped the phone onto her arm. “Will do.”

Without needing to say anything, they shuffled toward each other, still sitting, until their knees touched in the midsection of the kayak.

They clipped their harnesses onto either side of the Magnogun.

He double-checked everything was secure and gave the cord a final pull. “All set?”

She nodded. “Beam us up, Scotty.”

He shouldered the SIG and pushed the green button on the side of the Magnogun, activating its internal drive.

The cord tightened and pulled them closer together. They each held it in one hand to steady themselves.

Slowly, the device lifted them into a standing position before pulling them off the kayak and upward into the night.