Deadly States (Seaforth Files by Nicholas P Clark Book 2) (20 page)

The biggest problem with hired goons was just how unprofessional
and unreliable they could be. Loyalty that was bought was no loyalty
at all—a man would lay down his life for a cause that he truly believed
in; he would lay
down his life for his family; he might even lay down
his life for his country, if the circumstances were right—but no man
would willingly lay
down his life in
exchange for
money. The kind
of
man who said he would lay
down his life in exchange for
money
was
nothing
but
a
dirty
rotten
liar.
Jack
was
often
left
feeling
perplexed by just how much effort some criminal kingpins invested in
protecting their homes;
or armour plating their cars, yet at the same
time they surround themselves with guns for hire who are so incompetent that they
often turned out to be every bit as dangerous to their
employer as any would-be assassin. Many
of them looked the part;
heavy set
men with angry
expressions, but when it came to combat
tactics, unless it was up close and personal, then they were worse than
useless. A potbelly
hanging
over a groaning waistline did not for a
lean, mean, fighting machine, make.

As the
shattered
glass landed
on the floor
of
Jack’s
home, two
thoughts
occurred to him; they are here; and they have no idea what
kind of fight they are walking into. The goons were more accustomed
to dealing with local criminals who were even less organised than

themselves, and not a highly trained British agent and a seasoned Irish
terrorist. If they
had been professionals then the attack would have
come from the front
of the house and the back
of the house at the
same time, and it would have been coordinated to the very last
detail—they would have known how Jack and Barry were going to react
before they had the chance. The two teams would cover
one another
as they assaulted the building and they would have moved swiftly to
ensure Jack and Barry
did not have time to fire so much as a lucky
shot. The men who Jack
encountered back at the
old fertiliser
plant
did not look as if they could move with the speed needed to overpower
Jack and Barry.

Jack and Barry waited. Nothing happened. It was clear that the
attackers were waiting for Jack and Barry to
make the next
move.
No
doubt they were trying to
employ the fox-hole technique, Jack
thought, even if they had no idea that what they were doing had a tactical name. It was simple and effective, in the right hands—enter the
building from one side and have an armed team waiting at the other
side, ready to take them out when they left the house. Like flushing a
fox out
of its den. The only problem with this plan was that Jack and
Barry were not idiots—they
had been there and done that and they
were not going to be taken that easily.

Jack and Barry
readied their
guns, and with
merely
reciprocal
nods
of their heads, they
understood
one another
clearly, and what
their next
move was to be. They covered one another as they
moved
through the house—one running a few yards before stopping to provide cover for the other, until they had made it all the way through to
the room upstairs at the back
of the house, where the weapons were
located. Jack knew that of all the weapons that he had at his disposal,
Barry was the
most
deadly
energy would
end up being
that frightened him
more than the
men assaulting
his
home. A fire
fight would provide Barry the cover that he needed to put a bullet in
Jack’s head—Jack
dying in the cross-fire could not
be used to bring
the peace process in Northern Ireland to an
end. With this thought
calling to him from the part
of his brain that was responsible for self
preservation, Jack once again ignored reason as he acted in an illogical
way in an effort to build trust with Barry. It was out of the box thinkof them all—though where that
deadly
discharged he could not
be sure
of, and
ing; but that was what Jack was good at, and that is why he had stayed
alive for so long. Jack stood guard by the door to the room while Barry
searched through the weapons’ locker. In terms
of
sheer
firepower,
Barry was now very much in charge of their fleeting relationship. The
next few
minutes would disclose what he would do with that
power.
Jack swallowed hard as he tried to ignore Barry—if Jack trusted Barry
without reservation then it would
only
be gentlemanly for Barry to
return the favour. Barry was old school, and that was just the kind of
fuzzy honour that appealed to Barry.

Barry
quickly loaded up with his weapons
of choice and then he
moved back across the room to Jack. He was holding a compact
machine gun. Typical, Jack thought;
once a terrorist, always a terrorist—there was
something very
unsporting about a fully automatic
weapon—it was a weapon that required no skill to use, no finesse; it
was the kind of weapon that twelve year
olds in countries all around
South
Africa were using to massacre village after village of their
own
people—it was a weapon that Jack would never willingly use.

Jack was relieved that Barry
hadn’t
opted for the shotgun. Inside
a
building, with lots
of hard surfaces for the rapidly released bullets
to bounce off, it was never a good idea to let loose with any
kind of
automatic weapon—yet another reason why Jack hated them. There
simply wasn’t the delicate control over such a weapon that a domestic
environment required. The shotgun was very different. One shot, with a
diffuse impact
pattern; and if the target was not
hit then lead shot
rebounding was much less likely to cause serious injury than a single,
hardened bullet travelling at high speed.

Jack loaded the shotgun to capacity and then he filled all the free
space in his pocket with spare shells. He did however leave space in the
inside pocket
of his jacket for a grenade and a surprise.
As he slipped
the surprise into his pocket he looked back at Barry. Barry was looking out
of the room, down the hallway, like a good guard should. Jack
closed the door to the locker and then he locked it. There was
every
chance that the house would look like a bomb had hit it
by the time
this was all
over, and it would be an open invitation to every
kid for
miles around to stop by and do a
bit
of looting. There were enough
deadly weapons in the hands of children in the city without Jack adding to that terrible toll. Jack liked to think of himself as a responsible,
state paid, killer.

Jack moved across the room and he came to a stop behind Barry.
Barry glanced round at Jack. He waited for Jack to suggest what their
next move should be. It was a polite invitation rather than Barry handing control to Jack, but it was a clear sign that some trust was beginning to grow between them, even if it would take a while for that trust
to develop and flower. With history as his
only guide to the future of
their current relationship, Jack felt sure that they were probably reaching the zenith of their mutual trust.

“They will be waiting for us at the back
of the house,
outside the
kitchen door,” Jack said. “They will be expecting us to leave that way,
as far from the implied breach as possible.”

“Aye, so what do you suggest?”
“The broken window was a test. They want us to think that’s where
they will make a full breach of the house. That is where they will be
weakest. The one thing that we can’t be certain of is where the police
are. They will not interfere with Robert’s men; but does that mean that
they will stay in the background, or will they leave the area altogether?
If the police come
down
on the side
of
our friends
outside, then we
don’t stand a chance in hell.”
“There’s one way to find out,” Barry said, as he began to move towards the window. Jack quickly hooked Barry’s left arm and he spun
him around.
“What the hell are you doing?” snapped Barry.
“As soon as you go to that window they will know that we are in
this room.
And that’s when the bullets start flying.
We only get
one
chance to gather intelligence. You look
out from one side
of the window for a second or two, and then I will look out from the other side.
We don’t look out a second time. Agreed?”
Barry nodded his head to indicate that he agreed with Jack’s plan.
“As soon as we have had a quick look outside then we should get the
hell out of this room and down the stairs. After they finish spraying this room with bullets they will enter the house,” Jack added.
“I’ll
provide cover for you then Jack. You’ll forgive me if I
don’t
place my life in your hands again,” Barry added, caustically.
“For god’s sake man, give it a rest.”
A tense moment came and went—the level
of trust was already
starting to slip. Both men kept a low profile as they
moved across the
room to the window. The curtains were not drawn, which was odd, as
Jack was almost certain that they had been left drawn—it had been a
few days since he last checked on the weapons, but he was pretty sure
about
how
he left the room—he
made a
point
of taking a
detailed
mental picture of the room so that he would spot anything that had
been moved while he was out at the office—a sure indication that the
South African spooks were keeping a close eye on him, and not simply
showing a passing interest in what he was doing in the country. The
mystery
of the curtains was suddenly resolved in a reassuring
moment
of clarity—of course, Barry
had been in the house before Jack
got home. He was just about to ask Barry had he opened the curtains
when he thought
better
over was
not what the
inane.
Jack
cautiously
peered
out
of the window. He
kept
his
head as
low as he possibly could; his forehead was as flush with the edge of
the curtains as he could manage. The street below was eerily
empty.
The police would not have interfered with Robert’s men as they went
after Jack, but if Jack and Barry managed to overpower the henchmen,
what would the cops do then? It was highly probable that one of them
would take the opportunity to get into Robert’s good books
by taking
out Jack and Barry.
Any one in Robert’s good books was in for a life
of wealth and power. For the time being
police interference was not
an issue as there wasn’t a policeman in sight. Jack craned his neck as
much as he dared in an effort to see as far into the distance as he possibly could. Barry was growing concerned by the amount
of time that
Jack was spending looking
out
of the window—that was not
part
of
the plan—he was taking much longer than the agreed few seconds. He
was even more concerned by the foolhardiness
of Jack’s actions as he
tried to get a better look outside. Concern turned to mild anger when
Jack appeared to take complete leave of his senses as he stood up and
looked out of the window without inhibition.
“What in the holy hell are you doing?” Barry croaked. “If you want
to get yourself killed then be my guest, but at least give me a chance
to get of here before you do it!”
of it—one
more thing to pick an argument
moment
called for;
especially
something
so