Authors: Peter Flannery
‘He didn’t stop, you moron!’
snapped the ex-cop. ‘He’d already paid for the ticket.’
The younger man seemed puzzled as
the security barrier came down in front of them. For a second the ex-cop
considered breaking through the barrier but in addition to the barrier he
spotted a steel panel crossing the driveway ahead of them. They might get past
the barrier but that steel plate would flip up and stop the Volvo in its
tracks. With an animal growl he slammed the car in reverse only to find that
two cars were now sitting behind them waiting to exit the lot. One of them
honked its horn impatiently.
‘For the love of God!’ swore the
ex-cop.
Then, rummaging in his pocket, he
fished out a handful of cash thrusting it at the younger man who seemed stunned
at how quickly they had got themselves into this predicament.
‘Go find a ticket machine!’ he
commanded. ‘And make it fucking quick!’ he added as the younger man jumped out
of the car.
With a groan of angry frustration
the ex-cop thumbed the radio on the dashboard.
‘Car 1 to control…’ he began.
‘Go ahead, car 1,’ said the
familiar female voice.
‘Control… we’ve lost them,’ he
said heavily. ‘I repeat… we’ve lost them.’
*
‘Smooth, Mr Brennus… Very
smooth,’ said Psimon as they accelerated away from the parking lot.
‘It helps when your intelligence
comes from a bona fide psychic.’
‘Quite,’ said Psimon.
‘Of course,’ Steve went on.
‘That’s the point where we’d normally open up with the M16s and a truckload of
claymore mines. But in this case,’ he added with a self-satisfied smile. ‘I
thought a well designed security exit would do the trick.’
The two men glanced at each other
and laughed out loud. Then Steve caught sight of the chopper in his mirror and
a more serious mood descended once more. They were not in the clear yet.
*
‘Control to helicopter N27484,
come in please.’
‘2-7 here control, go ahead.’
‘Ground unit has lost visual on
target. Stay tight on target until car 1 can reacquire.’
‘Will do, control. Any word yet
on authorisation to detain.’
‘None as yet, 2-7. The Director
has been informed. We should have an answer in the next few minutes.’
‘Jesus!’ swore the helicopter’s
co-pilot. ‘They’ve gone right to the top… This must be the real deal.’
‘Will do, control,’ said the pilot
into his microphone. ‘Target has just turned onto West Broward Boulevard. Looks
like he’s heading for the highway.’
‘Understood, 2-7. Control out.’
*
Steve turned north onto highway
95 driving as fast as he could without drawing any additional unwanted
attention. Beside him Psimon was craning his neck round in an attempt to see
the chopper.
‘Do you think we’ve lost it?’ he
asked.
‘Not a chance,’ said Steve. ‘But
we need to before that Volvo can get back on our tail.’
‘And can we?’
‘Oh yes,’ said Steve with a smile
which, despite the concern on his face, told just how much he was enjoying
this.
‘How?’ asked Psimon.
‘Patience, boy,’ said Steve.
‘Just another mile.’
A few minutes later and Steve
switched to the inside lane, while ahead of them loomed a vast ten-lane
overpass.
Psimon had a sudden insight into
what Steve had in mind and he could feel the anticipation in the ex-soldier
sitting beside him. But then another more disturbing image came to him.
Everything was not as Steve thought it was. Something was wrong.
‘Steve,’ said Psimon as they
closed on the overpass.
‘Not now, Psimon,’ said Steve
distractedly.
‘But, Steve…’
‘Not now,’ snapped Steve.
The Chevy slipped under the
overpass and Steve brought them to an abrupt halt on the verge beside the highway.
Ahead of them a bright red Hyundai was parked well up on the verge. However,
pulled up close behind it was a considerably less shiny pickup truck, the
drivers of which seemed to have taken an unhealthy interest in the unoccupied
Hyundai.
‘Shit!’ breathed Steve slumping
back in his seat.
‘I tried to tell you,’ offered
Psimon.
Steve paused for a second. He
grabbed his overnight bag from the back seat and thrust it into Psimon’s lap.
‘Take this,’ he said. ‘And stay
in the car.’
Using the pickup to conceal his
approach Steve closed quickly on the Hyundai. One guy was sitting in the
driver’s seat. The other was leaning in through the door. Neither would see him
coming. Steve made his move.
‘Can I help you gentlemen,’ said
Steve confidently as he came up beside the bright red rental car that he had
parked here just a couple of hours before.
The reaction from the men was
startling. The man leaning in the driver’s door straightened up suddenly and
Steve found himself looking down the barrel of Glock 9mm handgun.
*
‘Control to helicopter N27484,
come in please.’
‘2-7 here, control. Go ahead.’
‘Car 1 is now mobile. ETA on your
position four minutes.’
‘Roger that, control. Target has
stopped under the overpass at West Sunrise Boule…’
‘One minute, 2-7…’ cut in the female
voice.
There was a pause of several
seconds before the voice of control returned.
‘Be advised 2-7… authorisation
has been granted. I repeat… authorisation to detain subjects has been granted.
Car 1 will be at West Sunrise overpass in four minutes…’
*
Steve sighed as the barrel of the
gun came to a halt just inches from his face. But his sigh was one of annoyance
and not fear. He should have anticipated that even a city as shiny as Fort
Lauderdale had its seedier side.
The individual holding the gun had
the hard, gaunt face of a man who was no stranger to Florida’s judicial system.
White, unshaven and grubby-looking he was of slight build and a good deal
shorter than Steve, while the man in the driver’s seat cast an altogether
larger shadow.
For a moment the man seemed
unnerved by the lack of reaction from Steve. He looked into Steve’s eyes and
the gun’s barrel wavered slightly.
Behind him Steve heard the door
of the Chevy open as Psimon disobeyed his command to stay in the car. The
car-jacker’s eyes flicked past Steve’s shoulder and in that instant Steve’s
hands lashed out with blinding speed. In the blink of an eye he had disarmed
the car-jacker and turned the gun on its owner.
‘Easy now, man,’ beseeched the
car-jacker quailing before the gun that was now pointed at his head.
The gun was rock-steady in
Steve’s hand.
‘You, out of the car,’ said Steve
to the man in the driver’s seat and out climbed a great hulk of a man in torn
overalls that were thick with oil and grime.
‘Over by the truck,’ Steve ordered
the two men, and over his shoulder… ‘Psimon, get in the car,’ he called.
Psimon moved quickly round to the
far side of the Hyundai but he hesitated to get inside. His heart was pounding,
not because of the scene being played out before him but because he could feel
their pursuers getting closer.
‘Steve, they’re coming,’ he said.
‘I know, Psimon. Now get in the
car.’
The two car-jackers hovered
edgily near their pickup still no more ten feet from Steve. Anger had replaced
fear in their mean, reckless minds and Steve could see that they were beginning
to doubt whether he would actually use the gun. He knew he would not but he
could not take it with him and he was damned if he was going to leave it for
them. Quickly he grabbed the barrel of the gun popped the round out of the
chamber, ejected the magazine and disassembled the gun. Then he threw the parts
into a nearby storm drain.
The car-jackers were less than
pleased.
‘That was a mistake, friend,’
said the small wiry man producing a knife from nowhere and starting towards
Steve. Meanwhile the big guy reached into the pickup’s cab and pulled out a
large pick-axe handle.
‘Get in the car Psimon,’ said
Steve as the smaller of the two men closed on him.
Psimon did not move as the
violence began and time slowed to a crawl…
As the knife flashed towards
Steve he blocked the attack with his left hand and slapped the skinny man in
the throat with his right. The slap appeared ineffectual but the man’s body
tightened with a spasm and he fell, twitching, to the floor.
Steve took a step forward to meet
the downward blow of the axe handle as the big fellow launched a mighty
overhead swing. He caught the descending club; his hands closing over those of
the heavier man and with a savage twist Steve flipped him onto his back.
There was a grunt and the sound
of something snapping.
Then, before the big man could
regain his feet, Steve crouched down behind him, one arm going round his neck
the other round the back of his head. His left hand was clasped firmly in the
crook of his right arm. The headlock was secure, and then he began to squeeze.
The big man was strong but Steve held him down and did not let go.
‘Steve…’ protested Psimon when he
saw what was happening.
But still Steve did not release
his hold. He just squeezed… and squeezed until suddenly the big man went limp
in his grasp and Steve dropped him in the dirt. Then without a backward glance…
‘Psimon, get in the fucking car!’
Finally seeing the truth of what
had just happened Psimon jumped in the car and barely had chance to close the
door before the wheels spun noisily in the verge.
‘You didn’t kill him,’ stated
Psimon as he reached back to pull on his seatbelt.
Steve kept his foot to the floor
looking for a gap in the traffic.
‘Of course I didn’t kill him,’ he
said, sounding somewhat insulted. He pulled back onto the main road and by the
time the Hyundai emerged from the overpass it was moving at the same speed as
the rest of the traffic on the highway.
‘Believe me,’ added Steve,
checking his rear-view mirror. ‘It takes a lot longer than thirty seconds to
strangle a man. I just cut off the blood supply to his brain. He’ll come round
soon feeling happy as Larry.’
Steve remained in the inside lane
and took the exit immediately after the overpass.
‘But you did break his wrist?’
insisted Psimon.
‘Well, he shouldn’t have been so
fat,’ said Steve.
The slip-road curved round a
small circular lake, bringing them up onto West Sunrise Boulevard and passing
directly over the Chevy that now lay abandoned under the bridge.
‘And what about the other guy?’
‘Jiu-jitsu move,’ said Steve. ‘A
Japanese master gave us a demonstration in the Regiment. Don’t ask me how it
works but if you get it right they’re out for a few minutes, wake up with a
headache.’
‘And you got it right…’
‘Didn’t I just,’ said Steve with
an immodest grin.
Psimon smiled at this flash of
bravado. Steve had earned it. He had done enough to secure their escape, enough
and no more. Psimon settled back in his seat. Their excursion to America was
over. He had done what he came to do. Now it was time to leave the bright
sunshine and return to the UK where the shadows waited to engulf him. The
novelty and adrenaline of the day had proved a useful distraction but now it
was time to go back and Psimon could feel the fear lurking on the edge of
perception threatening to poison his resolve and crush his will in its
merciless jaws.
With a weary sigh Psimon turned
his face to the window.
Steve noticed the sudden change
in Psimon’s mood. He felt a surge of concern but he sensed that this was a
personal battle that Psimon needed to face and he remained silent. He
manoeuvred across the lanes of traffic, heading for the left-hand filter lane
that would bring them back onto highway 95 going south. Meanwhile, a thousand
feet above them, a helicopter circled the overpass waiting for a blue Chevy
Cobalt to emerge and, as a silver Volvo disappeared beneath the overpass, a
bright red Hyundai cruised south heading for the airport.
Chapter 16
Friday March 4th
Lucifer felt cheated.
The delusions of normal life had
kept him too long from the accused. Now the heretic was close to death and had
not yet been cleansed. He hung from the wall still. His torn hands encrusted
with blood, his naked body pale and slack, his head hanging forward in oblivious
stupor. Only the faint, rasping grate of his breathing and the occasional
delirious moan suggested that he was anything more than a corpse.
No, this would not do at all.
Those in dominion would not be appeased. The inquisition must be consummated.
The heretic must meet his end with open eyes, must confess his sins as the
breath of life was taken from him.
The heretic must wake, before he
is allowed to die.
*
The late evening skies over
England were a world away from the wide sunlit blue of Florida; the low dark
clouds illuminated with a lurid orange glow from the lights of the city.
Steve could not say that he was
pleased to be back. The only message waiting on his mobile was from his bank
manager. A deposit of fifteen thousand pounds should be enough to prevent the
bank from foreclosing on the house immediately but they might still insist on
the sale of the property to repay the remainder of the outstanding debt. No,
their Virgin Atlantic 747 was not the only thing to have come down to earth
with a bump and Steve turned moodily to see if Psimon had finished the call he
was making.
‘Your girlfriend?’ he asked when
Psimon finally joined him outside Terminal 2 of Manchester Airport.
‘No,’ replied Psimon putting away
his mobile phone, the smile on his face still lingering from the call.
‘Actually it was a woman I’ve not spoken to before.’
‘Well you seemed to be getting on
well enough,’ said Steve sourly.