Crisis Four Part 19

I started moving toward her. Her jeans were on the floor, crumpled, as if they'd just been pulled down and stepped out of. There was a bedside cabinet with some water and headache pills by the lamp.

I was going to have to grip her so hard that she thought there were twenty people piling in on her. I had to confuse her, scare her, faze her, because I knew that, if I didn't, she was more than capable of killing me.

moved toward her, Tazer in my left hand, pistol in my right, flashlight in my mouth, adjusting my head to keep the beam pointing into her face.

The sound of the rain hitting the window was louder than my footsteps.

She started to turn, and her eyes reacted to the light as I moved the final pace, dropped the pistol on the bed, then smacked my open hand over her mouth. She gave a m.u.f.fled scream and fought against me and her mouthful of bloodstained glove. The Maglite got knocked sideways, sc.r.a.ping against my teeth, as she thrashed about. I heard the pistol fall off the bed and onto the floor. I hit the Tazer's "on" b.u.t.ton and her eyes widened as she saw the current crackling between the metal p.r.o.ngs, inches from her nose. Then she hit her own "on" b.u.t.ton and began struggling so violently I thought she was having a fit.

She got the good news in her armpit. The 100,000 volts shot through her body and f.u.c.ked her up big time. With her body jolting up and down, I was finding it hard to keep my hand on her mouth to dampen the scream.

The bed springs sounded as if she was having s.e.x. Five seconds later she was a rag doll, just a little groan as she fell back onto the bed. It wouldn't last for long.

I needed the pistol. I got the flashlight out of my mouth and retrieved the pistol from under the bed, shoving it into the waistband of my jeans.

Next, as weak coughing told me she was starting to regain her senses, I got out the two sleeves I'd cut from my s.h.i.+rt. She coughed again and I looked at her. The bedclothes had been kicked off during the struggle, and she lay spread out on the mattress like a starfish, in just a white T-s.h.i.+rt and white panties. Outside, the wind had come back. I could hear it thras.h.i.+ng the rain against the windows even more now.

With the Maglite back in my mouth I was soon dribbling and breathing like the Bossman downstairs. I prized open her jaw and started ramming the first sleeve into her mouth. She was just conscious enough to realize what was happening, and tried her best to resist. I had to give her another two or three seconds with the Tazer, getting my hands out of her mouth just in time as it snapped shut in the first of another series of convulsions.

When she relaxed, I stuffed in the material until it must have gone halfway down her throat. I then got the second sleeve, placed it over her mouth like a conventional gag and tied the ends tightly at the back of her neck with a double knot. There was going to be no noise from her now.

I pulled the belt from her jeans and used it to tie her hands together, front loading her. She was now ready to go and so was I nearly. All that was left was to gather up as much of her ID as I could find. A T104 meant leaving no trace, which wasn't going to be easy. I didn't know where all her stuff was. I hoped it wouldn't be too much of a drama if anything was left behind; with any luck she'd be using cover docs that she'd got by chatting up some gay woman in an Australian bar.

I found her bag on the floor near the bottom of the bed. It was a small black nylon affair with a shoulder strap; inside was a nylon sports-type purse, pa.s.sport and a few loose dollar bills. I quickly scanned the rest of the room with my light. A green sports bag lay open on the floor, and clothes were strewn all around it. A glint of metal caught my eye. I shone the light beyond the bag and saw the barrel of an HK53. Its black Parkerization had been worn off over the years. I also saw four mags, taped together to form two sets of ammo.

She started moaning and retching, trying to expel the material from her mouth. She still didn't know who was doing this to her; it was too dark, and even if she could see straight at the moment, all she was getting was a powerful beam in her eyes as I moved toward her, putting her bag strap over my head.

It was time to grip her and get the f.u.c.k out of there before the authorities screamed in or whatever was going to happen after 5 a.m. I got back to her, switched off the Maglite and put it in my jeans. With my left hand I got hold of her at the point where the back of her head met the neck, and banged the web of my right hand hard up under her nose. I felt her jolt as it slammed into her face. Bending my legs, I pushed up with both hands, making sure that all the pressure of the lift was against her nostrils. Her hands raised, then fell again. She couldn't resist, she had to go with it, her moans of pain getting louder.

I got her sitting bolt upright, and put the crook of my left arm around the front of her neck, jamming her tight against me. Her face was still tilted upward. With the pistol in my right hand, I moved my right forearm behind her neck to complete the head lock, and stood up. She was fighting for oxygen. No way was she not coming with me.

I started to move and she didn't like it at all. Her back arched more as her legs. .h.i.t the floor and she tried to take more weight off her neck. She was recovering quicker now that she was in pain, but I had total control. If she fought back too strongly I'd just give her another bulletin with the Tazer, but that would be a last resort. I wanted to move quickly, not be dragging a dead weight.

I made my way across the room and, checking the pistol's safety with my right thumb, opened the door. The corridor was still dark and silent. I reinforced my hold on her by jerking my knees and gripping her neck more tightly. She seemed to be concentrating on holding on to my left arm so that she could relieve some of the pressure on her neck, probably too worried about being asphyxiated to resist.

I stepped out into the corridor, her head still jammed against my chest, the rest of her body following behind me. She gave no resistance at all, and once we got past the table I understood why. She started to buck and spark up, her legs kicking out as she held on to my arm for even more support.

She kicked the table sideways, knocking the lamp onto the floor. Its stained-gla.s.s lampshade shattered across the floorboards.

It had gone noisy; no need to tiptoe around anymore. I started to motor toward the stairs, dragging her with me. At first she continued to buck and kick, her feet banging on the wooden flooring, then she must have realized that if she didn't help herself by trying to keep her back arched and her legs on the floor, she could break her own neck.

We got to the staircase, and I was just about to turn right and go down when I heard the sound of a latch lifting to my left.

I swung around as the door opened and light burst from the room.

Sarah swung with me, a m.u.f.fled scream coming from her throat as the movement wrenched her neck.

It was the American. His reactions were quick. I fired into the door as he shoved it closed. I gripped her and started moving aggressively down the stairs.

The American was thumping on the floor, screaming, "Wake up! Attack, attack! Wake up!"

Sarah's heels and calves were taking a good hammering; she was squealing like a stuck pig inside the gag, and trying to tense up her muscles to help with the pain. We were sounding like a herd stampeding, with my heavy footsteps and her feet bouncing off the wood.

I didn't look behind me, I just ran for it. I wasn't going to head for the fire exit on the next floor as I'd thought I might. There were too many rooms on either side of that corridor, and I had no idea if there was anyone else in the building that I hadn't accounted for. The way my luck was going, there was bound to be. My new plan was to get down to the garage, a route I knew, then just make a run for it.

I turned right to go down the next flight of stairs. As I took the first few steps I could see that the second floor corridor below me was now lit up like a football stadium.

Above me the American screamed, "Sarah! One of them has Sarah!

They have Sarah!"

From below me a voice shouted above the babble of the TV, "Where?

Where are they? Help me here."

I froze no more than six feet from the bottom of the stairs. It wouldn't be long before these two got their act together and I'd be dead. I just wanted five seconds in which to calm down and think.

A shadow approached from the left on the corridor below. It turned into Bossman, now in jeans and carrying an HK53. f.u.c.k, how did he get free so quickly? I kept looking down on him, weapon in the aim, gripping Sarah even tighter to stop her disrupting my sight picture.

He turned and looked up. I blatted three quiet rounds until he went down, not dead, just screaming and writhing on the ground. The 53 clattered down the stairs to the floor below.

Above me the American half groaned, half yelled, "What's happening?

Talk to me. Someone talk to me here."

I went down more stairs, stopped short of the corridor and, still holding Sarah with my left arm, put my pistol around to the left and loosed off the rest of the rounds blindly. Being suppressed, it wouldn't have quite the same effect as rounds going off with a loud report, but people would hear them splintering the woodwork and get the general idea. I willed Bossman to carry on screaming and scare the s.h.i.+t out of anyone listening. Maybe it worked, because there was still no firing back at me. Either that, or there were no more people.

I ran out of rounds and started to change mags. Pressing the mag release catch I jerked my hand downward to help the mag fall out. It hit the stair and bounced down, onto Bossman's back. I looked at him, facedown on the floor, his blood spilling across the polished wood. Then, turning to look up the stairs, waiting for the American, I placed a new mag into the weapon right next to Sarah's face. As I turned back to check the chamber, we had eye contact for the first time. The shock of recognition was plain to see; her eyes were wide with amazement and disbelief. I looked away, more concerned about the job in hand.

I moved straight across the gap without looking, just making sure I didn't trip over Bossman, whose screams were fading. I rammed down the last flight of stairs, feeling and hearing Sarah b.u.mping down behind me, sometimes lifting up her feet to take the strain, sometimes stumbling.

I carried on straight across the room toward the garage stairs, pa.s.sing Too Thin To Win and his friends. Shouts and screams came from the TV as we pa.s.sed the kitchen door.

Just as I neared the bottom of the flight and was about to enter the garage, I heard shouting upstairs, and then four or five rounds went off.

I wondered what the American was firing at, then I realized: he'd probably run downstairs, seen figures by the TV in semidarkness and fired off at them straightaway without looking. The flickering light from the screen, and the scariness of the situation, had probably got him jumping.

It certainly had me.

I closed the door behind me to add a bit more to the confusion. He wouldn't dare barge straight through; he couldn't guarantee what was on the other side. We moved alongside the Explorer, and I could hear the American's voice above me. I couldn't make sense of what he was saying, but he didn't sound too happy about the way his day was shaping up.

The rain stung as it lashed my face. It was then that I remembered the bergen, but it was too late now. f.u.c.k it. I turned left, toward the other house, and had taken no more than three steps when the proximity lights came on. With my head down I started pumping, but was restricted by the weight I was dragging.

I'd covered maybe ten or fifteen meters when the first burst from a 53 was fired from one of the upper floors. Its short barrel and the power of the round makes the muzzle emit a fearsome flash; it's the only weapon I'd ever seen that looks like the ones you see in films. It was great for closeup work as it scared the s.h.i.+t out of people. I kept on running; I'd be out of the light in a few more strides.

As soon as we hit darkness I glanced back. All the lights in the house were blazing. Smoke was drifting from the windows on the second floor.

It looked almost like that house in The Amityville Horror, shrouded in rain and mist, except that it wasn't mist, it was cordite from the rounds.

A couple of lights were on upstairs in the place next door. My new plan was to get in there, point a big fat gun at them, take their pickup and f.u.c.k off. The next thing I knew, however, the external light on the family's 4x4, mounted on the driver's side wing, burst into life, and a million-candlepower beam sliced through the darkness toward us. A man's voice shouted a warning: "Don't come near stay away! I'm armed I've called the police!"

For good measure he whanged down a couple of rounds at us from a rifle. He probably had "My land, my country, my gun" on his b.u.mpers, and a few other stickers that he'd bought at Jim's, but he was protecting his family, and that was a fair one.

I felt a thump as one of the rounds rammed into the ground far too close to me. Either he was good, and he meant to aim a warning shot, or he was trying to hit us and this time we'd been lucky. I didn't want to find out which. I jinked left and ran between the two houses, uphill, toward the dirt track. Change of plan again: we were going to make it on foot back to my car, as I'd been aiming to do all along, but without all this drama.

Another rifle shot rang out, but this time I didn't hear the answering thud. There was the burst of a 53; f.u.c.k knows where that went.

I got to the track, crossed it and stopped to try and a.s.sess the situation.

We were in darkness and on higher ground. I heard shots and saw a couple of foot-long muzzle flashes coming from the direction of the target house, and more from the area around the pickup. Shotgun Ned must be zapping and shouting at anything that moved. His spotlight swept left and right, looking for targets.

It wasn't the only light I could see. Red and blue flas.h.i.+ng lights were glistening in the rain on the other side of the lake and I suddenly realized that I stood more chance of being struck by lightning than I did of getting back to my car. Acting as the situation demanded, I changed plan again.

We were going to get out of here on foot. I stood still, knees bent, waiting to regain my breath. It was colder than before, and the wind and rain were loud against the leaves.

I started moving through the forest again. Sarah's bare flesh was getting zapped left and right by branches, and I could hear her suffering. I put my head down and pumped uphill, leaving everybody down there to get on with it. It seemed that my lucky number for house clearing was the same as for shopping trolleys: zero.

gripped Sarah and plunged on, slipping and skidding on the wet mush, stumbling over rocks and fallen branches, nailing to regain my footing.

She was screaming as best she could beneath the gag, partly because of the tree branches that whipped at her bare body and the ground cutting her legs, partly just trying to keep her airway clear. At least I knew she was breathing.

I tripped again and went down. The pain as my knees. .h.i.t rock made them feel as if they were on fire. She moaned loudly under the gag as she took the brunt of my fall, and she had to arch her back to relieve the strain on her neck. I stayed on my knees, s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g my face up as I took the pain, waiting for it to die down. There was nothing I could do but accept it. I just hoped I hadn't smashed a kneecap. My chest was heaving up and down as I tried to catch my breath. Sarah gave up the struggle to keep her body off the ground. She collapsed in the mud beside and slightly below me, her head, still in the neck hold, resting in my lap and moving up and down in unison with my breathing.

There was plenty of commotion going on behind, the odd rifle round and automatic burst, followed by shouts. Looking down and behind me through the trees and rain, I could make out the lights of both houses some 150 meters away. I wasn't in dead ground yet, and it was going to be light soon. I needed to get distance.

Shotgun Ned was having a ballistic fit, screaming and hollering, like something out of one of the movies for guys who like guy movies. I couldn't tell whether he was enjoying it or hating it, but he was vocal, that was for sure. I got myself to my feet, pulling Sarah upright with me, and started moving again.

I could hear rotor blades in the sky behind. Moments later a blindingly bright Night Sun searchlight penetrated the darkness and began to sweep the area toward the houses as the helicopter hovered over the lake. It wasn't venturing too near the scene just yet, probably for fear of someone taking a potshot.

More gunshots echoed in the background. Almost immediately I heard returned bursts of fire and saw the brilliant, almost white, muzzle flash of a 53.1 turned back and started to move off.

My throat was parched; G.o.d knew what Sarah's was like. She must be in s.h.i.+t state. I kept checking behind me as I moved and could see the lights in the houses slowly fading into the dark and rain. We would be in dead ground soon. As I moved, the Night Sun briefly lit up the area around me as it realigned itself while the heli orbited the lake, making hundreds of shadows in the trees as the rotor blades groaned, trying to keep it in a stable position in the wind. The campers were no doubt outside their tents, trying to watch the reenactment of the Waco siege from the safety of the other side of the lake, pleased that their washed-out holiday had turned out quite exciting after all.

Below me I could see only the flat roofs of the two houses. More blue flas.h.i.+ng lights cut through the trees, but this time on my side of the lake, coming from the left along the track. Yet more police vehicles were also arriving in the car park across the lake. They'd all got here too fast. My guess must have been correct. My report must have confirmed Elizabeth and Lynn's speculation about what was going on, and they wanted Sarah out before the seventh cavalry moved in. It seemed that I'd f.u.c.ked that up a bit; it wouldn't be long before the area was choked with police and FBI trying to stop the Third World War.

Shotgun Ned would be a national hero after this. He'd probably be given his own f.u.c.king talk show. The police, however, had mortgages and kids to think about; while it was dark they would do no more than contain the area. By first light, however, they'd have all their s.h.i.+t together, maybe even have the Army or National Guard on standby.

I crested a rise, and as I moved downhill it blocked out all the noise behind me. My first priority was to put as much distance as possible between us and the target before first light.

As I moved, I could feel Sarah s.h.i.+vering and shaking beside me, screaming inside her gag. If I was feeling bad, she must be in s.h.i.+t state.

I crossed another small ridge, started to move downhill, and lost my footing in the mud. As I slithered and tumbled Sarah fought to break free and save herself. I had a split second in which to decide whether to hold on to her or let go.

The decision was made for me. We took another half tumble and slide and came to an abrupt stop against a tree trunk. I'd landed on my back, with Sarah on top of me, her wet hair in my face, breathing hard through her nose like a Grand National winner. My pistol, which had been pushed into the front of my jeans, had gone.

I let go of Sarah; she wasn't going anywhere, the weapon was the priority.

I never wanted to be without one again. Maglite in hand, the bulb covered by my fingers to minimize the spill of light, I crawled around on my hands and knees sifting through the leaves and mud like a kid searching for a lost toy.

My knee caught a metal edge as I moved. I picked up the pistol, wiped off the worst of the mud and shoved it back into my jeans. Scrambling back toward Sarah, I noticed she was breathing much more loudly. That wasn't right. Then I heard a loud, hoa.r.s.e whisper, "What the f.u.c.k do you think you're doing? Get this belt off me now!"

She had somehow untied the gag, and was coughing and trying to relieve the soreness in her mouth.

"Come on!" She lifted her hands.

"Get this f.u.c.king thing off!"

She couldn't see it, but I was trying to hide a laugh. People with accents like hers shouldn't swear, it just doesn't work. Besides, she was practically naked, streaked with mud, yet trying to order me around.

"Do it, Nick. Hurry, we must keep moving!"

There were no more weapon reports from behind us, and a megaphone was now being used, probably to give instructions to anyone left in the house. The rain prevented me from hearing what was being said. The heli was out there somewhere, the throbbing of its rotors carried in on gusts of wind.

What did she mean, we need to keep moving? I looked at her, and couldn't help it I started to laugh, and that p.i.s.sed her off even more.

"Don't be ridiculous, hurry up and untie me!" She held her arms out.

"Get me out of here before this becomes even more of a nicking fiasco!"

The rattle of the helicopter getting closer made us both shut up. It was hard to tell which direction it was coming from. I was peering up, but could see jack s.h.i.+t.

"Come on, get this belt off me and give me your coat!" She started to use her teeth to pull the knot apart. It wasn't working. The leather was too tight and wet, and she was s.h.i.+vering too much to get a good grip.

The helicopter roared overhead. I caught a glimpse of its navigation lights through the trees. At least it wasn't hovering, or moving in a search pattern not yet, anyway. I guessed it would be soon. I could see the glimmer of first light beyond the canopy.

She wanted my attention again.

"Nick, get this off me and give me your coat. Please." Her arms were still thrust toward me. I grabbed hold of the belt and started to drag her along in the mud.

First light had started to penetrate to the forest floor, relieving the gloom just enough to show my footprints. The rain was starting to ease off; the noise of it hitting the leaves was dying down, along with the wind in the trees. I was starting to feel depressed; I was soaking wet, cold and confused. What was worse, we were leaving an unmissable trail in the mud.

She could obviously see that I was in no mood for discussion as we moved and she shut up. We came over another rise. Down below us, about one or two hundred meters away at the bottom of a steep gradient, was a river. Maybe thirty meters wide, it was in full flood, a maelstrom of fast flowing water and foam.

As we scrambled downhill, all I could hear was the rush of water in front of us. Sarah called out, "Slower, slower," trying to get her footing. I wasn't listening. We had to find a way across. With luck it would be the psychological boundary of the search; hopefully they would start from the house and fan out as far as the bank, a.s.suming that no one would be mad enough to try and cross.

At that moment I had to be the only person in the world with a good thing to say about El Nino. In theory, it should have been nice and sunny at this time of the year in the Carolinas. Conditions like this would slow the searchers down, and if the weather closed in any further the heli might not be able to fly.

Closer to the water the tree canopy started to thin. Out in the open it was virtually daylight, and looking up I could see a really thick, gray, miserable sky. It had stopped raining, but in dense woodland you'd never know that; all the moisture is held on the leaves and it still works its way down to the floor. What the f.u.c.k, I was soaked to the skin anyway.

Sarah's hair was wet and flat against her head. Dried blood ringed her nostrils; I must have slammed my hand into her face quite hard on the bed. She was bleeding from several cuts on her legs, with goose b.u.mps the size of peanuts, and in any other circ.u.mstances she'd have needed hospital attention. She was covered in mud, sand, bits of leaves and twigs, and s.h.i.+vering uncontrollably in her drenched and now transparent underwear and T-s.h.i.+rt.

I let go of the belt and studied the river, trying to look for a safe place to cross. It was pointless. If I'd doubted the strength of the current I only had to look at the chunks of uprooted tree that were surging downstream and cras.h.i.+ng over the rocks. Wherever I chose, it was going to be a major drama. So what was new?

Sarah was switched on; she knew what I was thinking. She sat in a fetal position against a rock on the bank with her arms wrapped around her legs, trying to cover her body for warmth. She looked at the river, then at me.

"No, Nick. Are you mad? I'm not going, not here. Why don't we " I cut her off mid-sentence, grabbing hold of the belt and dragging her a short distance back into the canopy for cover. I didn't talk to her; there was too much stuff churning around in my head. Instead I started to pull out my s.h.i.+rt from my trousers, then the bottoms of my jeans where they'd been tucked into my boots. I undid the cuffs on my jacket sleeves until everything was nice and loose and water could flow more freely around me. If your s.h.i.+rt is tucked in when you swim, the weight of trapped water that collects can slow you down, then it might drown you. The gloves came off; it was pointless wearing them at the moment, and besides, they looked ridiculous. Sarah was all right, she had f.u.c.k-all on anyway. I stuffed the phone and all my docs, plus hers, into one of the gloves, then pushed that inside the other one and put it back in my jacket. I wondered about the bag; f.u.c.k it, I'd have to take it with me. I didn't want to leave any more sign than was necessary.

The wind had started to gust strongly and the trees at the top of the canopy on the opposite side of the river were bending and swaying. I looked at Sarah hunching down behind a tree for shelter. Only feet away the water crashed angrily against the rocks.