Rise of a Phoenix: Rise of a Phoenix (30 page)

“Where to?” McCall asked, looking at Steel in the rearview mirror.

“Head up town, I have a place.” Steel replied. She nodded and pressed her foot on the gas. With a screech of tires, they took off. Tooms didn’t know where they were going but he knew they need a little more firepower than the weapons on them—they needed an army. Luckily, they had one and as he dropped off to sleep in the back of McCall’s car, the words his friend had said days before came flooding back to him:

“What I do know is, if you’re in the shit this is the man to have at your back.”

Tooms felt some reassurance from that thought, but he knew tonight would get bloody.

SIXTY

As McCall drove the street lights seemed to blur into one, and the sky above was a strange watercolor mix of blues and purples. The sun was setting, but this evening was not blessed by its normal fiery display. However, she did not take any notice of the scenery: McCall was transfixed on getting to that hotel and ending the crisis.

She looked in the rearview mirror and saw that Steel had fallen into a deep sleep, and she smiled. Just seeing Steel like that made him seem just a little more normal to her. The man had had so much shit thrown at him lately she was surprised that he could sleep so soundly.

Tooms, who was riding next to her, looked behind and saw that Steel had wedged himself into the corner while Tony was happily doing something on his cell phone; he turned back and pulled out his weapon. Sliding out the magazine he pushed down on the top round to check the pressure of the spring inside to be sure that there’s be no loading problems. Happy that his clip was full and working, he reinserted the magazine and returned the weapon to its holster under his arm.  “I radioed through,” Tooms told them. “The Doc is in custody, they found a car with him tied up in the trunk on the freeway, but no sign of Brooks or the two goons.”

McCall didn’t seem surprised at the news.

“Do we know what to expect when we get there?” asked Tony, who was now checking his back-up weapon. The baby Glock was ready to go, and replacing it back into his leg holster he felt a little better.She shook her head. “No not really, but I can guarantee one thing—”

Tooms turned slowly to look at her.”—We are going to ruin somebody’s day!” And with that she put her foot down on the gas and sped off with purpose.

SIXTY-ONE

It was a bright summer’s day with a light breeze that made the trees sway, and birds chased each other across a cloudless sky. In the grounds of an English grand mansion a party was in progress. Friends and family laughed and joked amongst themselves, children ran round playing, all dressed up in clothes their parents had forced them to wear.

The grounds were large with a long lawn in which a marquee had been erected to house the tables and chairs for guests to be seated later in the evening. Next to it wooden panelled flooring lay to serve as a dance floor, and above hung a string of lights in a cross pattern, held aloft by four large pillars. The grounds were enclosed by a wooded area as though a piece had been cut out of the woodland and the lawn placed into the gap.

Wading through the guests, waiting staff hurried carrying trays of drinks or canapés.

At the back entrance of the mansion lay a large gravelled area enclosed by a balcony of stone that stretched round from both sides of the house, only broken by the white stone steps. Music blared from two large speakers that stood close to the rear doors; on the floor trailed a cable to a microphone and stand—this stood beside a large stone vase that was part of the magnificent stone balustrades.Two men stood on the graveled area talking. One of them was tall and broad shouldered, and his thick black hair was starting to grey at the sides. The other man stood a few inches smaller and his build was slimmer than the others, his blond hair was cut neatly, and while the taller man had a beard this man was clean shaven. Both wore tuxedos as did the other male guests, and the ladies all wore new-looking cocktail dresses .

The smaller man gave the other a friendly pat on the left arm and hurried down the steps to a party of people who were deep in conversation.  The tall man picked up the microphone and turned to the DJ, who was hidden behind a makeshift booth at the far end of the gravel courtyard. He tapped it, sending a loud screech through the speakers, making everyone wince. He smiled like a naughty schoolboy.

“Sorry, sorry!” His British accent was playful. “Hello everyone, my wife and I would like to thank you all for coming this afternoon, we are here to celebrate two things; firstly the latest blow to the gun trafficking this morning, when the special unit made a bust that was estimated to be valued at around four million pounds”

There was an explosion of noise as everyone cheered and clapped.

“But also, more importantly, the safe return of our son.” He raised his glass to the crowd but his eyes were transfixed on a beautiful woman. She stood elegantly, wearing a white dress, her dark shoulder-length hair crowned by a diamond tiara. She smiled at him, her eyes full of pride and happiness. Next to her stood their son Thomas, who was a dark haired twelve-year-old who had his father’s looks, and their daughter, a pretty thing no more than ten years old but looking like a reflection of her mother: they were even clad in the same style of dress. It was a little joke that they liked to play on the lord. The young Miss Sophie smiled at her mother and squeezed her hand, and Helen Steel looked down at her daughter and winked.

A waiter walked up to the man at the microphone and whispered something into his ear, causing him to smile.

“Ladies and gentlemen, it would appear the problem with holding a surprise party is that one never knows when the guest of honor will arrive. So seems the case, it appears.”

The crowd laughed as the embarrassed host grinned and shrugged apologetically.

“However, I don’t think he would mind if we started without him, what do you say?” Again, he raised his glass.

“I couldn’t agree more, Lord Steel,” said a voice from behind.

A tall blond-haired man approached. His large solid form was packed into a black uniform, and his greased-back hair glistened in the afternoon sun.

“Who are you, and what do you want here? This is a private party,” said the lord, and the mercenary smiled and walked up to him.

“I’m afraid, Lord Steel, your party is over. And one more thing: my employer sends his regards.” With that, the stranger turned to the crowd as if to make an announcement, taking the microphone from Lord Steel’s grasp. He raised it up to address his hostages.

Suddenly from nowhere six shots rang out. The blond mercenary turned to see a large bald military looking man with a menacing grin on his face. His large gun was pointed at Lord Steel, as he dropped to the ground. His wife and children had watched in horror as red eruptions exploded from his back until he fell to his knees, and, with a final shot to the head, he rested in a dark red pool that crept across the ground. Their shock was broken by the sound of automatic gunfire from the wood line. People were being cut down by random gunfire, women and men running for cover only to be slain by a loose round.

Helen Steel watched in horror as she saw a group of four men heading for the marquee, and moments later there were mixed screams followed by gunfire. Her eyes grew wide as she saw holes appear as projectiles were being punched through the sides of the marquee, then there was silence. She grabbed her children’s hands and ran for the safety of the house. A woman dressed in black ran with them, her long brown hair flowing behind her.

The bald mercenary smiled as he saw them and shook his head, as the blond mercenary raced up to him. He grabbed the man by the arm and yanked him towards him.

“This was not the plan, you moron, now we have to finish this,” he snapped at the bald guy. “But remember none of the families are to be harmed, the man wants them alive.” The hairless man wasn’t listening, so the blond shook him again, shouting: “Am I understood?”

He was answered by a false smile as he headed into the building with a group of other men.

A taxi pulled up to the long driveway. Inside a soldier sat listening to the driver go on about the state of affairs in far-off lands, and the passenger, weary from the long travel, just looked out of the window and gazed upon the green fields of his home. He wore his camouflaged BDUs, the creases on his sleeves stood up like blade edges. He had been away for a long time and now it was time to come home. He did not want any fuss, just a quiet time with his wife and the rest of the family, but he knew that his dad would come up with some homecoming event.

It all seem quite surreal to him being home, after spending so long in a land that was barren of luxuries or even trees and grass as he knew it, so he had to readjust his thinking. Was this a dream? Would he suddenly wake up and find himself back in the hell he had left? He slowly touched the car’s window glass, hoping it would actually be there and it wouldn’t fade away as soon as he laid fingers on it. He smiled as the feel of the cold glass sent a tingling sensation down his spine,

He rested his warm cheek against the window and closed his eyes. “Oh that feels good,” he said, and the cab driver looked at him through the rear view mirror and shook his head. As they neared the house loud pops could be heard. Steel opened his eyes with a start and shot upright.

“Stop the car!” the soldier ordered, but the cab driver paid no attention.

“Stop this car now, God damn it!”

The car came to a screeching halt.

“What is wrong, you crazy man?” said the Indian driver, and the soldier got out of the cab and listened. Loud cracks echoed through the trees followed by screams: something was terribly wrong.

“Get the hell out of here and call the police, tell them there are shots fired at this estate, have you got that?” The driver nodded and sped away, leaving the soldier to dart into the woods.

Making his way slowly through the woods towards the rear of the house, the soldier had not gone far when he saw a figure all in black holding an automatic rifle; he was a sentry, put there to ensure that nobody got away. This was not a robbery, this was an execution. Looking round he crept forward behind the man.

The guard had been standing for what seemed hours, he had no real idea why he was here or who these people were. All he cared about was that he was getting a lot of money.

Suddenly there was a loud crack behind him, so he ducked down and trained his weapon. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, the adrenaline surging through his body. He blew out a lungful of air as a large rabbit hopped by. He stood up and laughed and turned, then gasped as a figure stood in front of him and punched him in the throat. The mercenary dropped to his knees clutching his throat, a gargling sound emanated from the man before he dropped to the ground and the sound ceased.

The soldier stripped the man of his tactical vest and checked the ammo content of the rifle and the pistol: they were both full. He smiled an evil smile. “Payback time,” he thought. The radios on his vest crackled to life as the teams were giving
sit reps
.

He knew he had to find his family, plus any survivors, and take as many of these bastards out as he could. Moving quietly and stealthily he made his way along. Before him knelt another man. The soldier watched the man looking here and there, sensing that the mercenary was jumpy and on edge and was aware that he could use this to his advantage. In front of the man stood a group of his colleagues, laughing as they shot at the feet of a couple of people, making them run back and forth.

The soldier, whose name was John Steel, crept between the mercenary and the armed group and then suddenly he stood up. The mercenary yelped in surprise and opened up with his weapon, and the soldier dived out of the way just in time as a hail of bullets slammed into the armed men before him.

The newcomer watched from his hiding place as a fire fight killed both groups of mercenaries. Grinning to himself, the soldier moved forwards and grabbed the dead man’s ammo.

As he watched, the group of scared guests made it to the woods and disappeared to safety. He returned to searching the dead guard more carefully, which awarded him with a smoke grenade. He frowned as he surveyed the carnage before him. Who were these men and what did they want?

He had too many questions but now was not the time to ask them. He knew he needed to cut down their numbers, and if he could do that without being seen, then all the better.

After all, he reasoned, he was no good to his family dead. A large group of armed men stood at the bottom of the steps to the house, put there to make sure nobody got in or out. Steel tossed the smoke grenade playfully in his hand and hatched a plan. Moving carefully around the marquee to the end that was secured by guy ropes, he cut the canvas, using the knife in his vest pocket, and crawled in. The large tent was empty apart for a group of corpses who appeared to be huddled together. His anger raged.

There was cutlery on the tables and many of the candles were decorated with pretty bows. He undid some of the ribbon on these and pulled out the grenade, then took out one of the magazines from the pouch on his vest. Sliding out enough rounds to cover the green cylinder-shaped grenade, he began to strap them to the explosive, using the ribbon.

Outside, the group of mercenaries heard someone calling: “Help! Help me please!” The voice was fading and the herd of killers headed for the tent, fired up with blood lust.

Ten men entered the marquee in search of the wounded man, weapons trained in search of a target as they crept in deeper. The rear man walked backwards covering their retreat. He suddenly stopped as his foot was hit by something, and he tried to yell before the room was filled with smoke. The group started to cough and splutter from the fumes, their vision impaired, arms swaying, trying to find the edge of the tent.

Then, as the container began to get hot, the rounds began to fire off. Loose rounds flew all over, causing the group to stop and start to return fire, not caring that they couldn’t see their enemy. Other men rushed to their aid but only found death as stray rounds burst from the tent. Men fell screaming, holding their wounds.