Authors: Matt Hilton
The white man was obviously ex-forces, maybe even an armed cop; from the way he stood he’d been on sentry duty more than a few times during his career. He’d be dangerous. Then again, so could any of the others. Many cartel fighters were soldiers or police who’d switched sides. He had to treat each as a potential danger, including the woman. He had decided against a full-frontal attack earlier, but now, armed with a pistol in each hand, he fancied his chances. Fuckers wouldn’t know what had hit them until he’d dropped at least four of them; then he’d do the others while they were still trying to aim their weapons at him. He put away his knife, replacing it with a gun he’d taken from an earlier victim. He took a calming breath, centring himself, finding that Zen tranquillity necessary for cold-blooded slaughter.
A shout rang out from the far end of the alley.
Through the gloom he was happy he couldn’t be seen, but he could make out the forms of two figures moving beyond the back wall, near to the row of vehicles. Apparently the last man he’d knifed to death had been discovered. He didn’t concern himself with that. He had to ignore what was going on back there, concentrate on what was ahead. He straightened, his chest swelling as he prepared to go into action. But something stayed him, a subtle instinct for caution.
He’d seen the white man place a hand to the side of his head.
He was receiving a message over an earpiece, and Rink recognised the change in the man’s demeanour. This wasn’t good. The man was receiving a warning, most likely that an enemy was nearby, and that worsened the odds. The guy stiffened, and his gaze flicked towards the group of cartel foot-soldiers. Rink cursed under his breath, losing the recent calm in a wash of adrenalin that set him on fire.
Shoot now or abort, those were his only options.
He began to move, swinging out from the corner of the building, both guns coming up.
But he was a second too late.
The soldier was already sighting his machine-gun and he let rip with a burst of rounds that tore through flesh and bone.
Stunned by the impacts, Rink staggered.
His brain was edged in scarlet, the flash of gunfire causing mini-explosions in his vision.
The five cartel footsoldiers, grouped so closely together, were torn to shreds by the soldier’s bullets. Three men went down, and another, knocked backwards by the impact, caromed off a parked car before sinking to his knees and butt as though praying for mercy. A burst of bullets tore his chest to ribbons. The woman had also been hit, and she was holding up the palm of an empty hand, as if it were enough to halt the jacketed rounds. The next burst of gunfire picked her up, made her dance a maniac-jig and then she slapped the ground as a wet tangle of shredded limbs and clothing. The soldier strode forward. One of the first three to fall writhed on the floor. He was dying, but still attempting to bring up a gun. The soldier calmly executed him with a short volley of bullets that smeared his cranium across the dirt.
Rink was confused by this sudden turn of events, but he was committed now to forward movement. His enemy’s enemy was not necessarily his friend. He levelled both guns at the soldier, who was still not aware of his presence. Yet still he held fire.
A sixth sense warned the soldier of impending death and he spun quickly, sighting along the barrel of his rifle.
He didn’t fire.
‘What the fuck just happened?’ Rink didn’t relax a mote. His index fingers were flexed on the triggers of both guns, a hair’s breadth from shooting.
The soldier checked him out, eyelids pinching.
‘You’re the one that was with Hunter,’ the man said. ‘We thought you’d be dead by now.’
‘Do I look dead?’
‘Do you want to be?’ asked the soldier. His finger was also tight on the trigger.
‘Do you?’
The soldier relaxed almost imperceptibly, and the gun lowered a touch. ‘I’m not your enemy, pal.’
‘I take it you ain’t buddies with Molina no more?’ Rink nodded briefly towards the steaming corpses piled nearby.
‘Never was friends with the bastard,’ said the soldier. ‘Glad I finally got the order to take these fuckers out.’
Rink had no idea what was going on. There was some sort of double-cross in play, and he wondered if Marshall’s team had been preparing for this moment all along. It didn’t matter. Just because the man had turned on the cartel fighters didn’t mean he’d become Rink’s ally.
‘The fuck you gonna do now?’
‘I’m going to go inside,’ the soldier said, ‘and help get your friends free. You’re welcome to join me, I could do with someone watching my back in there.’
Using the gun in his left hand, Rink waved the man towards the door. ‘Right behind you, buddy.’
Chapter 42
James Lee Marshall drove in with the commando dagger a second time. His first cut had parted the rope and dropped me to my knees, but it required some sawing to free the loops from round my wrists.
‘What’s going on?’ I managed, my brain swimming as I clawed back from unconsciousness.
‘What have you been told about looking a gift horse in the mouth?’
‘Believe me, I’m grateful, but I wouldn’t mind an explanation.’
‘Shut it.’ Marshall held me in place while he cut through the final strands of rope. My wrists popped wide as the stress went off them. The rush of blood to my previously constricted muscles brought new levels of stinging agony. But the pain was something I’d endure without complaint, because it was a good sign that my bindings hadn’t cut off the blood completely. Worst-case scenario was that my hands had necrotised while bound. I brought my arms to the front, my hands forming claws close to my chest. The returning circulation made my fingers numb, then sore, but the sensations wouldn’t last.
‘Can you stand?’ Marshall toed me with his boots.
‘I’m not dead yet.’
‘That’s not what I asked. Molina gave you a severe beating; has he broken anything?’
‘Only the record for being the world’s biggest arsehole.’
‘Knocked you off your perch then?’
‘Ha! Funny, Marshall. Just give me a second or two. Can’t feel my legs yet, and my hands are still asleep.’
‘We don’t have a second. If we’re caught in here, we’re fucked. Get up.’
Marshall gripped me under my right armpit, lifting me to my feet. I tried to help, but I was numb from the waist down, my feet skirting clouds instead of firm ground. Marshall steadied me, his left hand offering support. His right held the dagger, its needle point an inch from my liver should I try anything stupid.
‘Relax. I’m in no shape to do you harm.’
‘Why would you when I’ve just saved your arse?’ Marshall allowed the knife to drop away, but I could feel the tension in him, knew that he was still evaluating his decision to free me.
‘If you’d cut me loose the first time you paid a visit you’d have saved me a fuckin’ beating.’
‘Thing was, back then I had no idea that we’d be joining forces.’
‘We are?’
‘Yeah.’ Marshall twiddled the blade around in his fingers. ‘Unless you have other ideas.’
‘What’s the deal?’
‘Hold on. I’ve something to do first.’ Without waiting for an answer, Marshall released me and I swayed in place, stumbling to find my footing. Marshall tapped an ear/throat mike. ‘Code Red.’
It had to be a prearranged signal. Muffled by intervening walls came the rattle of a machine-gun.
From nearer still a double pop of a handgun.
‘Who the fuck are you?’ I asked.
‘You know who I am.’
‘Don’t be a dick. You know what I mean.’
‘Military Intelligence.’
‘Six?’
‘Who else?’
‘You’ve been playing both sides? Molina and the CIA?’
‘Not
the
CIA; only a rogue faction within it.’
‘You were sent here to derail Regis’s plot to set Molina on the cartel throne?’ The tingling in my extremities was growing to a buzz that had me twitching, but the signs were good that I’d be able to move within seconds. ‘Or was there more to it than that?’
Having learned that Regis – under orders from someone higher up in the Agency – had been guiding Molina like a puppet, ensuring the CIA gained influence with any fledgling government should the impending takeover occur, it wouldn’t surprise me if MI6 had similar designs.
‘Does it matter why I was originally here? Things’ve changed, Hunter, that’s all you need to know. Now if you want to free Kirstie and the others, I suggest you get your act together. The fighting’s started and will be here any second.’
‘Back on the road . . . first time you saw me when you launched that ambush . . .’
‘Yes. I recognised you and backed down. I’ve been protecting you ever since.’
‘What about McAdam? He seemed determined enough to kill Rink and me. Is that what you call protecting me?’
‘I couldn’t control him the way I wanted to. McAdam went ahead of the rest of us, and, yeah, don’t forget he had a boner for you, Hunter.’
‘Over knocking his teeth out all those years ago?’
‘No, it was for fucking him up in that alley in Hermosillo. He didn’t know I was Six, or what the real mission was. He was a merc, and he was in it for the money. Far as he knew he was going to earn a large bonus from Regis if he managed to kill you guys. He wanted to shoot you that time on the hill above Molina’s place, but I stopped him. Couldn’t do much with him when he got ahead of the pack. It was unfortunate.’
‘For him, yeah.’
‘When I knocked you out in the mountains? Believe it or not I was trying to save your life. Regis was going to blow you away so I had to act quickly. Hope you don’t hold that egg on your skull against me.’
‘It’s small payment for letting me go now.’ I touched the raw swelling on the back of my head, surprised to find sensation in my fingertips. My feet too could feel the floor beneath them. The downside was that I could also feel every other inch of my frame and there weren’t many places where it didn’t scream in pain.
‘I’d have released you last time I was in here, but we weren’t ready. I had to wait for the right opportunity.’
‘So . . . like I asked earlier . . . what’s going on? Why turn on Molina and Regis now?’
‘Regis received word that his boss – Thomas Caspar – has been found dead. Someone almost took his head off his shoulders with a wire garrotte. Regis’s line to the CIA has been severed as effectively as his boss’s throat. He’s fucked, Molina knows it, and it’s only a matter of time before that mad wet-back fucker turns on us all.’
‘Hold on. You’re not telling me that Regis
ordered
you to free me?’
‘Regis doesn’t give a damn for anyone but himself. He doesn’t even know I’m here. Right now he’s trying to distract Molina from killing him by urging him to take out his frustration on Kirstie and your mates.’
‘I understand why you might want to help an old friend. Your team could have walked away though. Why help us now when they could all get killed?’
‘Regis was their direct line to Thomas Caspar’s wallet, but Caspar’s dead. Now that none of them is going to get paid, they owe Regis nothing. The lads took a vote and agreed that getting you all out might just hold some sort of reward.’ Marshall winked at the cleverness of his ploy.
‘Fucking mercenaries, eh?’
‘Some of them are actually decent guys, trying to make a living during a difficult time.’
‘If any of them do help I’ll see that they get compensated,’ I promised. I was certain that Walter would find some cash from one of the shell company accounts that financed his Arrowsake endeavours.
There was another burp of distant gunfire.
‘They’ve already got started. I suggest we do too. You good to walk yet?’
‘Wait up.’ I staggered to the sink and hose and turned on the tap. Gratefully I slurped cool water direct from the nozzle. I threw some of it over my face and hair, scrubbing the accumulated crap from my nostrils and mouth. ‘Now I’m good.’
From inside his jacket, Marshall tugged out my SIG. ‘Thought you might want this. I picked it up off the road after you were captured. Before you check, I already cleaned and reloaded it.’