Terror's Reach (33 page)

Priya’s finger wrapped around the trigger. She was smiling.
'They’ll never see me coming, will they?’

Fifty-Four

Joe heard Valentin shouting his name. For a nanosecond he wondered
if he’d dozed off on the couch and Jaden had crept up on him. It
would be typical of the boy to leap onto his chest and playfully strangle
him.
But the weight on his body was immense. The hands around his
neck were thick and meaty and extremely powerful. This was no game.
It was Yuri. Squeezing hard and intent on killing him, while Felton
and Valentin watched from the gallery, enjoying a show which was
about to climax with Joe’s death.
The urge to react was overwhelming. It took every ounce of his
self-control not to open his eyes and try to fight Yuri off. But he had
to be disciplined. He couldn’t afford to squander the one small opportunity
the Ukrainian had given him.
For this was the first time he’d had Yuri in such close proximity,
with his defences lowered. Yuri believed the fight was as good as won;
that Joe would die without ever regaining consciousness.
The pain in Joe’s neck made him want to throw up. His head was
starting to throb and his lungs were burning from the lack of oxygen.
He knew he was in danger of blacking out again. Couldn’t wait too
long . . .
Another second to run it through his mind, visualise the manoeuvre
so it could be performed smoothly and quickly. And then he struck.
He didn’t think he’d ever moved so fast in his life. With lightning
speed his arms flew up and his hands slapped against Yuri’s head.
Anchoring his fingers around the Ukrainian’s ears, he rammed both
thumbs into Yuri’s eyes. Joe heard the tiny exhalation of surprise choked
off by a much harsher sound: an involuntary scream.
The grip on his own neck was suddenly relieved, but Joe knew this
was no time for half measures. He couldn’t afford to be tentative, or
squeamish, or compassionate. He went on digging his thumbs as deep
as they would go, feeling the gelatinous tissues yield beneath them.
With a primal screech, Yuri reared up, swatting blindly at Joe’s
arms. Joe ignored the blows, allowing himself to be lifted by Yuri
until both men were sitting up. Then Joe released his right hand,
his thumb emerging from Yuri’s eye with a wet sucking noise and a
gout of blood.

Joe curled his fingers over and with an upward trajectory he drove
the heel of his palm into Yuri’s nose. He heard a satisfying crunch of
bone and followed through, forcing Yuri’s head back while at the same
time pulling his own body to one side, enabling him to get out from
under the Ukrainian.

They broke apart with another gloopy popping sound as Joe’s other
thumb came out. Joe caught a clumsy punch to the side of his head
and rolled away, quickly jumping to his feet. While he carried out a
swift assessment of his own injuries, he watched Yuri backpedalling,
still blinded, blood gushing from his eyes and nose.
He had to be in agony, Joe thought. Surely this was enough to put
him out of action.

From Felton, there was a bloodthirsty roar of encouragement. 'Go
on! Finish him off!’

Whether this was directed at him, or at Yuri, Joe wasn’t sure. He
spat in disgust at Felton’s depravity even as he saw, to his dismay, that
Yuri had no intention of conceding. Of course not. A creature like
Yuri never accepted defeat.
Felton shouted: 'Fight, you buggers! Fight!’
Yuri nodded. Scraped blood from his eyes and blinked furiously.
The skin around his nose was swelling fast, but he seemed to have a
little vision in one eye, at least. He wiggled his fingers at Joe, taunting
him: Come and get me.
And, like a fool, Joe accepted the bait. He took a few cautious steps
towards Yuri, hands up in a boxer’s stance, thinking he could now
settle this with his fists.
Yuri wiped his eye again, while his other hand drifted behind his
back for a second. For Yuri it was quite a subtle movement, but Joe
spotted the misdirection. He took another step forward, inviting Yuri
to reveal whatever surprise he had in store, then dodged sideways, out
of reach.
As he did, he heard a click and Yuri swung his hand into view,
jabbing at the space that Joe should have occupied. Joe had good
reason to be grateful for reading the move in time, because Yuri was
holding a knife.

Lurking just outside the gymnasium, Oliver watched the fight with a
mixture of fascination and revulsion. There was something extraordinary
about seeing two grown men beat the living shit out of each
other. It had an integrity, he thought. A kind of primitive nobility that
you rarely saw any more.
At least, that was how it seemed until Yuri pulled a knife. A typically
underhand move, and one of which his father would no doubt
approve. Robert Felton appeared to be delighting in the role of a
modern-day Roman emperor. To Oliver it was the final confirmation
that his father was beyond redemption.
Now that Yuri was armed, Oliver guessed the fight was heading
towards a suitably barbaric conclusion. He was debating whether to
stay and watch when he heard a noise from behind him.
He turned, but there was nothing to see. The noise had come from
around the corner. It sounded like someone trying to cross the marble
hall without being heard.
One of Dad’s storm troopers? Maybe, but they had no obvious
reason to be stealthy. They ruled the roost.
With some reluctance, Oliver left the fight and went to investigate.

Felton laughed when he saw the knife, but Valentin was incensed.
You did not say he had a weapon. This is not fair.’
'As it happens, I didn’t know he had it. Anyway, what’s fair is what
I say is fair.’ But a moment later he gestured towards the guard standing
outside the court. 'Give him a racquet.’
Joe frowned. He was trying to follow the conversation going on
overhead, at the same time evading Yuri’s clumsy but forceful attempts
to stab him. The one eye that was working seemed to be having difficulty
focusing, and Joe suspected he had done some serious damage
to the Ukrainian. Only a supreme act of will kept Yuri on his feet,
hence his desperation to finish Joe off with the knife.
Joe was aware of the guard fetching something but had to turn away
as Yuri thrust the knife forward. Once again Joe managed to avoid it,
this time by an uncomfortably narrow margin.
He only has to get lucky once, Joe thought. If he catches me with
the blade, or even gets a hand on me, then it’s all over . . .
Yuri’s momentum sent him hurtling into the wall, but he immediately
rebounded, slashing the blade through the air like a demented
butcher. As Joe backed away, there was a clattering from behind him.
Turning quickly, he saw that the guard had thrown a squash racquet
onto the court.
'Thought that would even the score,’ said Felton.
Joe snorted. 'A gun would be better.’
But after dodging another attack he snatched the racquet up. It was
a good, sturdy model. Not only could it be used to deflect the knife
but, more importantly, it extended Joe’s reach.
He gripped the top of the handle just below the racquet head and
held it at arm’s length, using the head as a shield. Yuri growled in
frustration at this new obstacle, but refused to countenance any other
option but attack.
His face was a mask of blood. His breath rattled noisily in his chest.
He was unsteady on his feet, and yet he kept on coming. Determined
not to be beaten.
As Yuri lunged and overreached, Joe leaned back but kept his feet
where they were, planted well apart. He parried with the racquet head,
then turned his wrist and smacked the butt of the handle into Yuri’s
face. It caught him just below the good eye, where his cheek was
already swollen and purple.
Yuri roared with pain. His knife hand dropped to his side and Joe
danced closer, striking him another half a dozen times in quick succession,
aiming for the face and the neck. Yuri started to buckle, but still
he wouldn’t go down.
Joe swerved to Yuri’s right and stamped on the side of Yuri’s knee.
There was a terrible cracking noise and Yuri’s leg gave way and he
dropped, hitting the sprung floor with enough force to shake the room.
Joe kicked the knife out of his grasp and watched it skid across the
blood-splattered court. Then he looked down at Yuri. At last the
Ukrainian had lost the will to fight. It was over.

Fifty-Five

The prisoners pleaded to be released, even after they’d watched Priya
kill Turner. In her view, they should think themselves fortunate that
she’d spared them from the same fate.
For now, anyway.
As she hurried next door, she pondered Turner’s last words. Could
Liam and Valentin still be alive? And did it really matter? Maybe she
was better off taking his advice and getting out of here. Empty-handed,
but free. Wasn’t that the best option?
Quite possibly. But she couldn’t do it. There were things she had
to know first, things that mattered more to her right now than freedom.
More than life or death.
From the entrance hall, Priya reconnoitred the main living rooms
and found nothing. But she could hear noise off to her left, where
she knew Felton’s little leisure complex was located: a gymnasium
and games room over two floors.
She climbed the stairs, wondering if the main bedroom would be
empty. She felt sure that Felton, having thwarted their robbery, would
be unable to resist gloating over the contents of the panic room.
On the upper landing she heard more activity coming from the
gym. It sounded like a fight in progress. She went the other way,
towards the bedroom. The door was shut and she couldn’t hear
anything, but her intuition told her it was occupied.
She checked the MP5, took a deep breath and opened the door.
She made sure the barrel of the gun went in first, pointing downwards.
She was counting on the guards to recognise the weapon as
belonging to one of their own and relax, just for a second.
The room contained two people, but only one guard. He did relax,
and it only took a second. Priya fired a short burst and cut him down
before he’d even begun to comprehend who she was.
The room’s remaining occupant was cringing on the floor. Slowly
he looked round and stared at her in amazement.
'How did you — ?’
'Sshh.’ Priya kicked the door shut behind her and pulled the knife
from her pocket.

Joe staggered away from Yuri, then grimly awaited Felton’s reaction
to the Ukrainian’s defeat. Before either of them could speak there was
the harsh rattle of gunfire from the other side of the house.
Felton frowned at his men. The one guarding Valentin spoke briefly
into his microphone, waited for a reply, then shook his head. 'Nothing.’
'What’s he playing at?’ Felton murmured to himself. He leaned
over the balustrade and addressed the other guard, who was standing
just outside the squash court. 'Go and find out what that was about.
We can watch Joe from here.’
Joe studied the distance from the squash court to the doorway out
of the gym and reluctantly concluded that Felton was right. There
was no way he’d outrun an MP 5.
Having sent someone to investigate the shooting, Felton’s attention
returned to the court. So did Valentin’s, and for the first time this
evening his mood perked up and he managed a smile.
'My man wins,’ he declared.
'Not yet he hasn’t.’ Enjoying the bafflement on Valentin’s face,
Felton indicated Yuri, still on his back and gasping with pain. 'Not
while my man’s still breathing.’
Oliver followed the intruder at a safe distance, which meant he could
hear but not see who it was. The warning voice in his head grew shrill
as he climbed the stairs. You risked your life to escape from this snakepit,
and now you’re going back in voluntarily . . .
It was a foolish act. Quite reckless. But he didn’t care. If he was
caught, so be it.
He heard the bedroom door open, but by the time he reached the
hallway the intruder had entered the room. The subsequent gunfire sent Oliver dashing into the bedroom next door to hide. The noise
was bound to bring a call for reinforcements.
Sure enough, within seconds he heard footsteps approaching. Only
a single set, though. Clearly his father didn’t want to be dragged away
from the entertainment in the gym.
Pressing his ear to the dividing wall, Oliver strained to hear what
was happening next door. No machine gun fire this time, just several
distinct clicks, followed by a heavy thud. Then voices, urgent and
excited —
'No,’ said Oliver. He clamped his hand over his mouth.
A few more seconds and there was movement in the hall again.
Oliver hurried to the door, opened it a fraction and saw two figures
in black striding purposefully along the corridor. One of them was
Liam, newly released, carrying a silenced pistol.
The other one, armed with an MP5, was Priya.

Joe said: 'I won’t do it.’

'Then you haven’t won,’ said Felton. 'If you want to claim victory,
you have to finish it.’
Joe glanced down at Yuri. He was a pathetic sight, moaning softly,
his one functioning eye flickering like a worn-out TV. He seemed to
be drifting in and out of consciousness and probably had no idea that
his fate was being discussed in such a callous manner.
You want me to kill the man who made all this possible for
you?’

'He’s certainly been useful. But I don’t think you could argue that
he’s anything but a liability in the longer term. Could you?’
Felton looked to Valentin, who spared Yuri a brief, lizard-like
contemplation, his tongue flickering over his lips as he meditated on
his verdict. Observing him, Joe saw a man whose entire outlook was
now governed by one thing and one thing alone: self-preservation.
Then Valentin said: You should kill him.’
'No.’ Joe turned and strode to the opposite corner of the court. The
barrel of the MP5 tracked his movement.
'Sure about that?’ Felton asked.
'I won’t be party to killing a defenceless man.’
'Very well.’
Joe braced himself as Felton turned and whispered something to
the guard, who promptly stepped closer to the balustrade and opened
fire.
The shots boomed like thunder around the tight walls of the court.
Yuri’s body was pummelled by the impacts, the bullets plucking at
his shirt. A spray of spent cartridges rained down on them and Joe
turned away, shielding his face, wondering if Yuri felt it coming or if
it was over too quickly to feel anything; then wondering if he was
about to find out for himself.