Authors: Graham Lancaster
Lydia
frowned and looked away. Of course she knew what Maddie was saying was right, but it was something she still hated to confront. The bankruptcy and public humiliation
had
been too much, and he had fought back in the only way he knew how. In the way Banto was also responding to the unspeakable things that had happened to him. Payback. Pure, cathartic, time-honoured revenge. Maddie
was
right, of course she was. And the best thing that could happen now was for Tom’s SAS people to arrest her father, smash the evil things he was planning—and then get him some medical help.
After
a further emotional half-hour, Maddie left at last to change and Lydia, her head now spinning, went through a mental check-list of what she had to do. An inveterate list-maker, she now tick-boxed briefing Maddie. Earlier on a recce she had, as instructed by Tom, found the underground plant room. However, the claustrophobic place was noisy and smelled of nauseous hot machine oil. No way could she spend any time down there. Hunting around for an alternative, she finally discovered the entrance to the labyrinth of wine cellars her connoisseur father had built down there. That would be much better. It too could be locked inside and out, with a strong, fire-proof door.
The
thought of all the potential dangers, of what could go wrong, suddenly reminded her of her responsibilities to the other man in her life. Taking out her smart phone, she found the number and dialled out. It was night-time, and the old security man would be on.
‘
Is that George?’ she asked.
‘
Who’s this?’ The Welsh accent was obvious even over just two syllables.
‘
It’s Lydia Barton. I’m abroad. Down Mexico way. Sorry to call at this time, but how is he?’
‘
Oh, Oliver’s just fine. Don’t you worry none, miss. He howled when you left him. As usual. To make you feel bad, see? But within minutes he was right as rain. Leaving his calling card everywhere, barking to let everyone know who’s top dog.’
She
smiled, relieved. Tom or no Tom, Oliver remained no less important to her. ‘George, I don’t know how to say this, and please don’t ask me anything—but I’m involved in something a bit dangerous down here. I mean, I’m just being melodramatic, I’m sure. But if anything happened to me, you’d see that Oliver was well looked after for me, wouldn’t you? There’d be plenty of money to help, but I still haven’t got round to putting anything in my will.’
The
old man knew something was very wrong. Lydia had been taking Oliver to the kennels for over six years, several times each year for her many overseas business trips and holidays. She, and he, were popular and valued customers. ‘Miss, if it pleased you, I’d look after Oliver myself if, Lord forbid, anything happened. It’d give my Jack Russell something to think about—having Ollie living with us!’
Hugely
relieved, her eyes were moist at the thought of Oliver there, sleeping in his run, nuzzling the old comfort blanket from his puppy days that she always left with him. She tearfully thanked George profusely, and then began finally to think about her other charge. Yet another man now in her life.
When
the shooting started, she was not happy about leaving Banto exposed in that ground-floor tool room. His place was below ground in the wine cellar, with Maddie and her. She would move him out right now, and lock him down there, while the guards were distracted on other security duties.
As
she hurried on, tension mounted inside her at the thought of all she had to do. And at what was facing Tom—so much in the front line of things. Tom, the reluctant hero, on whom so much now depended.
Mitchell had completed the legal niceties. The Chief of Police in Lisbon, sitting with the head of SIS Lisbon Station, signed over control of the raid on the Oeiras Temple Bio-Laboratories to the SBS Commander at 17.02 GMT. Listening in over the radio links at the Belize Defence Force Ladyville barracks was Belize’s Deputy Prime Minister, a role also encompassing that of Minister of National Security, Attorney General and Foreign Affairs. With him was his National Security Adviser, the BDF Chief of Staff along with the Chief of Police. Also there was the British High Commissioner, up from Belmopan. At 17.14 hours, the Chief of Police, following a last-minute heated discussion in the room, also signed over control of the San Ignacio raid to the SAS major.
SBS
and SAS, through the Mitchell’s ops centre, now had full authorisation to prosecute the assaults. Nothing could stop them.
Mitchell
wanted Belize successfully under way before instructing the SBS to go into Oeiras. He put them on stand-by as he at last gave the operation theatre to the SAS major.
This
was the drama silently unfolding when, at gone nine o’clock, Barton gathered his Alliance guests on the terrace. Vintage champagne was flowing as the guards completed another tour of the ranch perimeter, confirming that all was quiet. The men in the watch-towers were equipped with state-of-the-art night-surveillance equipment as well as radar and searchlights. And in turn the rest of the private security personnel of the Alliance members were on full alert as their charges mingled together outside, on the cloudy, starless night.
Barton
seized the microphone and called for their attention. ‘Alliance brothers, you have today done me a great honour, making me in effect a full partner. I will not fail you. And I pledge that my protection will be the best 0.1 per cent you ever invested. For you and your families. And so, as part now of the Alliance family, let me introduce you to my own family. First may I present my beautiful wife. Lady Barton. Madeleine to you all. Maddie, come over here, please!’ To loud applause she walked across, looking at him curiously, shell-shocked by the man’s irrepressible showmanship. Lydia had told her to dress sensibly, knowing what they may have to face later if things went wrong. She had chosen a simple black shift dress and flat velvet pumps, and his look showed his disappointment at her unaccustomed lack of glamour. ‘Next, I have my darling daughter here, Lydia. Our twins are with Nanny back at the Manor. Lydie, come and say hi!’
Lydia
did as she was instructed, unlike Maddie entering into the spirit of things, not wanting to create any distractions. Taking the mike she called out, ‘Hi, everyone!’ and waved, like some air-head game-show hostess.
‘
And finally, someone who’s about to join my family. You know Tom Bates as my assistant. Our financial genius. Well, pretty soon he’s going to become even more important to me. When he marries Lydia. Folk, please raise your glasses in a toast. To Lydia and Tom. And all the grandchildren I know they’ll soon be giving me! Lydia and Tom!’
Tom
took his cue from Lydia’s play-acting, and with an embarrassed smile, he went over and theatrically kissed Lydia, lifting her off her feet and swinging her round. There were cheers and some ribald shouted remark from Dino, as Barton got the four of them to link arms for a happy family photograph. As Tom’s hand was releasing Lydia’s he squeezed it gently, and gave her a smile several degrees braver than he actually felt.
‘
Now, friends, before our very special gala dinner, I have what I’m promised will be the most spectacular display of pyrotechnics ever staged. That’s fire-crackers to you, Dino!’ he explained, to good-natured laughter. ‘Recharge your glasses, take a seat over there, and in just a few minutes—enjoy the show!’
Tom
was by now plain scared. He had been given the simple-sounding mission to get Barton back in the ranch and keep him there. How exactly he achieved that was his decision, and it had been worrying him incessantly. Tricking him into the study and locking him there would not be enough. He could easily escape from the large windows, or call for help. As for knocking him senseless, Tom did not much like that as a route, figuring he would either not hit him hard enough, or far too hard, killing the man. And if it came to a brawl, with Tom attempting to tie and gag Barton, he was far from sure he would win. This was still a fit and powerful man.
Instead,
he had decided the best plan of action would be to lure him down to the cellars.
Palming
the transmitter behind his handkerchief, Tom spoke into it, pretending to wipe his mouth. Then he drew Barton over to one side. ‘James,’ he whispered urgently. ‘Before you give the signal to start, you need to see something. Urgently.’
Barton
was on a high, adrenaline coursing through him. ‘You take care of it,’ he grinned. ‘Like a good son.’
Not
this time,’ Tom replied, a worried look on his face. ‘You’re not going to like this. You’d better come see. Decide what you can salvage.’
‘
What is it? What’s happened?’ he demanded.
‘
Don’t get too mad now, but there’s been an accident in the wine cellars. Your sommelier just told me. Too scared to tell you himself. The place is flooding for some reason. Under about three foot of water already, and rising fast. You need to get a team down there and tell them which expensive vintages to get out first.’
Barton
howled, ‘They’re
all
expensive vintages!’ and started to run into the ranch. ‘Come on!’
Seconds
later, he flung open the cellar door, and raced down, throwing the switch to the intentionally very dull lighting. His eyes tried to adjust to the gloom. But his feet crunched on the gravel. Dry gravel, he realised, as he picked up a fistful. ‘What...? There’s nothing wrong down here!’ he roared, partly in relief, and partly in anger at having his time wasted like this.
The
crash of the heavy door slamming, and the rifle-shot sound of the lock being closed stopped him dead. ‘Tom!’ he roared. ‘Tom! Get down here. NOW!’
Racing
up the stairs he pummelled the door with his fists, the sound echoing through the rabbit-warren of dark cellars. But he knew it was hopeless. Tom had already noisily closed the cellar-access door to ground level. No one would be able to hear a thing. All kinds of permutations raced through Barton’s mind as he attempted to make some sense of what had just happened. Was Tom blackmailing him for a share of the Alliance billions? That
had
to be it. Money on that scale did crazy things to people. He, of all people, knew that well enough. That had to be it. That—or Tom was some kind of informer. Was he working for the police? The taskforce? Or was it one of the Alliance competitors? Whatever it was, he would somehow be able to fix it. With money. With charm. It had always worked in the past. It would again now. Nothing to fear...He was a survivor.
Then
he heard it. From one of the distant cellars behind him. The sound of feet crunching on the gravel. Wide, bare feet...approaching slowly.
*
Tom’s heart was racing so much that he had to fight to seem normal when he returned to the terrace, standing by a light to show himself to the watching SAS men. This was their signal. He had already been mightily relieved to see Lydia rushing back inside, as instructed, with a white-faced Maddie. To make absolutely sure the men had seen him, he again risked a quick word into the transmitter through his handkerchief. Slipping momentarily back into the darkness he mouthed, ‘Barton inside and secure. Do you read me?’
‘
I read,’ the Major replied. ‘Take cover, Bates. One hundred and twenty seconds, and counting...’
Just
two minutes before all hell let loose. There was nothing more he could do out there. He may as well take cover himself, down in the plant room, with Lydia and Maddie. Walking rapidly back, fighting the urge to run, he already sensed confusion and suspicion growing amongst the Alliance members and their security people. At Barton’s sudden disappearance, and now that of his family. ‘Hey! When’s the show start, Bates?’ yelled Dino.
‘
Any second. We’re just sending the crew the message to begin!’ Tom shouted back. ‘Take a seat. Enjoy!’
Once
inside, he ran down to the plant room, and was surprised to find the door open. He had expected to have to yell at them to let him in. And he was even more surprised to find the place yawning empty inside. Letting fly a stream of expletives, he looked at his watch. A minute maybe to go! Where the hell were they? Running back upstairs he jogged quickly through ground-floor rooms, and then back to the terrace, desperately searching them out.
*
Barton felt as though his head was being ripped off his shoulders.
The
native’s baseball-mitt hands had shot out from the darkness and seized him from behind. Thrown to the ground by the unearthly power of the tiny man, Barton looked up terrified into Banto’s searching stare. The native was carrying out one final check, to make absolutely sure this really was the big
kepala
. The image in the picture he had carried for so long. The face he had given to his daughter. Then, after just a few seconds more, a small smile came over his face. It was.
It
was the
kepala
.
Time
for Payback.
But
as Barton recovered from the shock, he also prepared to attack. Banto was the height of a mere child. And seemed unarmed. At six foot two and sixteen stone himself, he was damned if he was going to be over-powered by the little warrior. It was inconceivable that this diminutive man could defeat him.
Grabbing
a wine bottle with his outstretched hand, Barton whipped it viciously across, catching Banto on the side of the skull. The bottle did not break, and sent him floundering on the gravel. But now Barton deliberately smashed it against the wall and stabbed at his head with the jagged bottle neck. Banto’s hand deflected Barton’s arm just enough to avoid it gouging his eyes, but instead it tore deep into his right cheek, carrying a wide strip of flesh with it. Roaring in pain, the native sprang to his feet, and disappeared again into the gloom.
‘
Come on!’ screamed Barton, pumped up for the kill, his fat arms beckoning like a street fighter.
But
there was only silence from the long rows of dusty wine bins.
The
two men then froze, as they heard the sound of people outside. Lydia had opened the ground floor cellar door and was leading the way for Maddie. ‘Close that after you,’ she called. ‘And then be careful. It’s pretty dark once you’re in the cellars. Even with the lights on.’ She then ran noisily down the stairs and snapped open the lock in the door, the sound echoing inside like a rifle shot.
Barton
and Banto, both now in the shadows, watched as the outside light briefly shone in.
Barton
immediately recognised them. ‘Lydia, Maddie! Get out. Fast!’ he yelled, rushing over to escape with them. ‘Dad?’ Lydia called out, shocked and disorientated.
‘
James. Is that you?’ Maddie followed up.
Just
feet from them now, Barton cried, ‘The door. Keep the door open!’ His feet slipped and stumbled in the gravel.
Banto
had silently climbed on top of the tall bin nearest the door, also recognising Lydia. More confirmation that this was the
kepala
. Nestling in his hand was the only effective weapon that he had been able to find during his time alone in the cellar. But what a weapon. The jeroboam corkscrew had a spiralled, blackened draw, designed to penetrate the long necks of the huge bottles. With no hesitation, he threw himself down at his enemy. Hitting his back with his dead weight, he floored and winded Barton, and in one smooth movement pulled the dazed head back exposing the throat. The metal flashed down, sinking deep into his neck before he immediately ripped it out again. Lydia and Maddie looked on, numbed in horror, as they were sprayed with blood.
‘
Payback!’ Banto roared, blood from his own torn cheek still pouring down his chest. Flipping over the body like a rag doll, he next sank the screw, double-handed, time and time again, ferociously, in and out of Barton’s lower stomach, disembowelling him as, still alive, he mouthed silent goldfish screams.
Maddie
was the first to fight off the shock rooting them both, and flew at Banto, kicking and clawing his semi-naked body, gouging at his eyes. Anything to stop him. This also got Lydia moving, and she ran forward, grabbing a bottle. The screw flashed defensively into Maddie as Banto fought her off to go in for the final kill on Barton. Maddie screamed and fell back, clutching her stomach, blood spurting through her hands.
Lydia
put all her weight behind the blow, and Banto dropped, his face drowning in Barton’s gaping stomach.
*
‘Nightbird. What is your ETA?’
‘
21.07.’
‘
Thank you, Nightbird. Stand-by Unit. Activate now, now, now!’ the major called.