Search and Destroy (3 page)

The gunman known as “Mark” watched as his target tumbled out of view with a screech in an uncoordinated somersault. Another man joined him, looking over the drop. The night-vision goggles they wore turned the vista an unearthly green. They watched as the woman bounced and tumbled down the steep incline. Even from their elevated position they heard a resounding crack as she hit a rocky outcrop. Then she disappeared from view.

He sucked air between his front teeth. “She’ll be a bag o’ bones at the bottom.”

“You were supposed to shoot her in the leg, and only if absolutely necessary. She’s valuable until we have the package.”

“I did. Well, I clipped her, anyway.”

“You’d better shape up, Mark. Topcat will tear you a new one if we don’t deliver on this. You’d better not have killed her.”

Mark shrugged, trying to feign nonchalance.

“And your radio lead must be loose. I could hear static bursts all the way over from my position.”

Mark tapped the walkie-talkie unit at his waist. The resulting
csssht
made him wince.

The other man raised his own walkie-talkie. “This is Matthew. Bring up the ATVs. The target went over the edge. We need to get to the base of the hill and collect the package.” He turned to Mark. “Search the vehicle.”

As Mark started going through the Jeep’s contents, he heard a low growl of engines. Thirty seconds later, two Kawasaki All Terrain Vehicles rolled to a stop behind the Jeep.

Matthew spoke. “The two males are down. The girl took a swan dive over there.”

The two men driving the quad bikes were dressed in almost identical clothing to Mark’s: dark-grey camouflage trousers and jackets. The webbing packs they wore held numerous pouches and a compact sub-machine gun lay slung across each man’s back. Their night-vision goggles were pushed back high on their heads. They both nodded without speaking.

Mark gestured to the Jeep. “There’s nothing in here.”

Matthew gave him a hard stare. “Look again, just to be sure.”

Mark clenched his jaw muscles but he did as he was told. As he carefully rechecked each bag in the Jeep he tossed them out into the dirt. He swept his hands under the seats, rifled the glove compartment and checked behind the sun visors.

“Nothing.”

“Come on then. We better get down and finish this. Find her, get her to talk, terminate her.”

Mark looked over at the man he knew as “John”. All four of them had been assigned tags by their employer, who himself used an alias. Topcat was one of those people that seemed to have been created in a military test tube. Every other word out of his mouth was delivered in grunt-speak. It was all military acronyms, abbreviations and warrior philosophy. But as long as he paid as well as he did, Mark would endure his staccato Patton-esque speeches. Plus, the guy knew his stuff.

The ATVs rumbled as the two men designated as “Luke” and “John” revved the powerful engines. Matthew clambered onto the back of John’s Kawasaki, pushing his stubby Heckler & Koch MP5K firmly against his hip to stop it bouncing. Mark rode pillion with Luke, his eyes searching for any sign of movement that would indicate the woman’s location.

The rugged treads of the ATVs kicked up a cascade of dust as the four-man team powered down the hillside.

The dregs of his fourth beer had formed a small, damp Rorschach pattern on the chest of his grey T-shirt. Danny paid it no attention. He was enjoying the down time with his brother way too much to let spilled beer bother him.

Clay grinned and continued his story, “So then the guy comes back into the bar with a six shooter and starts getting all Clint Eastwood on us.”

“What… just because he got a slap from a bouncer?”

“Yeah.” Clay took another long pull on his beer.

“So what happened to quick-draw McGraw?”

“Well, Patty makes a chilli that you can grease an axle with. So when he passed by Buffalo Joe, he got a face full of it. I grabbed the gun and Joe landed the hammer on him. That was pretty much the end of him. The sheriff rolled by ten minutes later and hauled his ass off to jail.”

“You still keep in touch with Joe?”

“I see him now and again on the rodeo circuit.”

“I liked him. Plus he’s the only Indian I’ve ever really talked to.”

“We say ‘Native American’ these days.”

“Whatever, I remember he had hands as big as a gorilla.”

“Yeah, he’s a tough one, all right. He took a lot of crap in the army on his way up. Good in the field though. For a big guy he never made a sound when he was on duty. He’d just turn up out of the darkness like a ghost.”

“Well, Casper he ain’t,” Danny mimicked Clay’s southern drawl perfectly.

“You got that right.”

Danny drummed his fingers on the neck of the bottle. “Talking of things that go bump in the night, what do you reckon about Area 51?”

“What, about the UFOs?”

Danny nodded.

“Well it’s an Air Force base and testing range, one of the biggest in the world. People are bound to see lights in the sky. You know how people are. I don’t doubt there’s some secret shit going on in there, but little green men? I don’t think so.”

“We say ‘Alien Americans’ these days,” Danny smirked.

“Wiseass.”

“Still, I’m looking forward to seeing the alien café tomorrow.”

Clay stretched out his long legs, sliding lower in his seat. “They do a good burger. And the folks of Rachel are friendly enough. Probably sick to the back teeth of sky-watchers, though.”

“You want another?”

Clay emptied his bottle and nodded. Seconds later another cold one was in his callused hand.

As Danny sat down he again favoured his right side. Clay looked on, his face impassive, only his eyes displaying concern for his younger brother. “How you feeling now?”

“It hurts like a son of a bitch. But I’m still alive and kickin’… and still got all of my pieces. That’s more than I can say for some of the boys over there.”

“Why don’t you end that shit an’ come and live with me? I thought that when you left the army, you were done. Yet here you are, still yomping around with the private sector.”

Danny looked down at his hands; they were clean but not too long ago they hadn’t been.
His left hand closing over the sentry’s mouth as his knife slipped deep into his kidney. Once, twice, three times to be sure. The body stiffening, high on tiptoes; then falling as a loose pile of limbs.

“Ground Control to Major Dan…”

Danny gave a weak smile. “I’m not ready to settle down yet. But I do appreciate the offer.”

“Consider it an open invitation. I can get you as much work as you want. The studios are always looking for ex-servicemen to act as extras and I’m good friends with Harry H. He knows good men when he sees them and he uses them in all the movies he works on. The pay is good, and there’ll be no more of these to contend with.” Clay traced the jagged scar that ran from his hairline down to his left eyebrow.

Danny’s mouth twitched as he remembered.

* * *

He is sixteen—just a few weeks away from joining the army—and using his last days as a civvy in the Scottish town of Dumfries to try to get into Cindy Howard’s pants.

Cindy is a great-looking girl and rumoured to be free with her favours to the right boys. But she also has an on-off boyfriend, Steve Grayson. Steve is two years older and fifty pounds heavier than Danny.

The couple happen upon Steve and five of his friends at a local shopping arcade. It is early evening and the cold night air has just started to turn their breath to mist.

“Wha’ the fuck’s goin’ on here, eh?”

Cindy backs up a couple of steps. “It’s no’ wha’ it looks like—this is Danny. We went to school together for a while.”

“Why’s he got his arm ’round you?”

Danny quickly takes his arm from Cindy’s shoulder. “Steve, we’re just friends, just larkin’ around. Cindy tol’ me she had a boyfriend, I wa’ just teasing her, that’s all.”

“Well, she’s got a fuckin’ boyfriend!” Then Steve plants a head-butt full into Danny’s face, sending him tumbling to the ground. He’s on the verge of blacking out. When he manages to struggle to his feet, he sees Steve laughing, leading Cindy away.

“You bastard.” He wipes blood from his face.

“Want some more, eh?” Steve cocks a fist back level with his shoulder. He charges.

Danny tries a kick to the groin but Steve’s fist crashes into his already bloody nose, knocking him down again. He plants kick after kick into Danny’s kidneys. Then his friends get in on the action. Within seconds, kicks are raining down from all sides.

Danny has taken karate lessons for almost a year, but it’s no help once he’s down. He’s outnumbered and outclassed. The gang leave him in the street. He can’t open his right eye and every breath sends shards of pain lancing into his ribs.

He lies curled in the foetal position for long minutes, then walks home. It usually takes ten minutes; tonight it takes over an hour. He hides his face in primitive boyish embarrassment. Being beaten is bad enough, but being pointed at is somehow even worse.

He reaches home and sees Clay parking up his motorbike at the kerb. His older brother is swinging his leg free from his motorbike as he turns and sees Danny, sees Danny’s face covered in dried blood, his jacket torn.

“What the hell happened to you?” His voice a Texan drawl.

Danny just shakes his head and goes into his uncle’s house. Clay is staying there while on leave in the UK and Danny is there for a month, rather than following his parents to Germany again. One last attempt at reconciling their marriage would only be hampered by having Danny under their feet. Clay follows him in.

“Danny, what happened?”

Danny doesn’t want to look at him; tears well up in his eyes, shame plucking at him.

“Hey, it’s all right, little brother. Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”

Danny lets himself be led to the bathroom. Clay washes the blood from his face.

Clay is six years older and has been a US Army Ranger for two years. To Danny he seems like the toughest man in the world.

“At least your nose isn’t broken. Mind you, it’s swollen pretty bad. You’ll feel like death tomorrow.”

“Thanks for that.” Danny tries to smile but his teeth hurt too much.

“Now, who did this?”

“Steve Grayson, Cindy’s boyfriend.”

Clay frowns. “He’s a big fucker for you to tackle. What happened?”

Danny hangs his head. “He saw me trying it on with Cindy and put the head on me.” Danny’s pronunciation of “head” comes out “heed” in his broad Scottish accent.

“And…?”

“When I tried to go back at him, he put me down and then his friends joined in…” Danny sweeps his hands down his face and body to indicate the results.

“So it wasn’t one on one.”

“No’ for long,” Danny spits a glob of congealed blood into the sink. “Truth is, Steve had already fucked me over before they joined in.”

“That makes it worse, not better, in my book. Anybody can get beaten in a straight fight. But spineless pricks who put the boot in afterwards, they’re the ones that really get me riled.”

“I just want to go to bed.”

“You can’t, not yet.” Clay stares deep into his brother’s eyes. “We’re going to go and sort these fuckers out.”

“Clay, I feel like shite.”

“You’ll feel ten times worse in the morning. Every muscle will be as tight as Uncle Adrian’s ass and your face will feel like it’s been run over by a truck.”

“You’re not helping.”

“If we don’t go tonight, you won’t want to go tomorrow. Then you’ll regret it for years to come.”

“It’s all right for you. You’re bigger than me, tougher than me…”

“None of that matters. It don’t matter how big or strong you or your opponent are; it’s how you handle him that makes the difference.”

“How?”

“By not doing what he expects you to do.”

“How d’you mean?”

Clay sighs. “Danny, you know this already. You don’t go toe-to-toe with a big lump like Grayson, you outflank him; hit him when he’s least expecting it. The only time a fight is fair is in the ring. Outside, anything goes.”

“So what are we gonna do?”

“Go get changed. Put on your boots. Where do these boys normally hang out?”

“Down at the car park by the river.”

They leave the house, Danny’s legs unsteady.

“If they’re there, just wade into Grayson as hard and fast as you can. Aim for his eyes and his balls. Don’t worry, I’ll be watching your back this time.”

“He’ll just kick my arse again.”

Clay stops dead, holds Danny’s injured face in his big shovel hands. “That’s not going to happen. He was in charge last time. This time you’re in charge. When we get close I’ll slap your back. That’s your signal to attack, and you don’t stop until it’s done.”

Danny sighs, but with a newfound resolve. Butterflies dance the rumba in his stomach and he feels bile in the back of his throat. As they walk at a brisk pace, Clay repeats his simple instructions several times.

Ten minutes later, Danny sees them, nearly twenty young men, clustered together. Some are drinking beer from cans while others are just loitering and jostling. One of the gang seems intent on giving every passing motorist the finger.

Danny spots Grayson in the crowd. He’s sitting on a bench eating chips from a takeaway carton, laughing and gesticulating. Cindy is nowhere to be seen.

Danny begins to walk faster. Takes a deep breath and holds it.

Grayson glances up but doesn’t register the young man stalking towards him.

He doesn’t wait to feel Clay’s hand on his back—the signal. Danny has already exploded forward.

Grayson looks up again, just in time to take a boot in the face.