Search and Destroy (8 page)

Ten minutes later the battered Honda Accord rolled to a stop next to Tansen’s own vehicle. The dirt-encrusted import looked like a thrift-store reject next to the gleaming bronze of the H1 Hummer.

Tansen tipped his tan Stetson back on his head and spat out a chewed matchstick. From his vantage point he looked down on the three occupants of the car as they disembarked and approached his home. The single-storey house was built in the style of an old cattle ranch but no livestock had ever been kept there. The original nondescript building had once served as a way station for Wells Fargo Bank, but Tansen had done extensive renovation work, transforming it to resemble the idealised structures he’d seen on
Bonanza
and
The Virginian
.

He squinted at the three figures. One was a woman he didn’t recognise, with blonde hair and a trim figure. She was clutching a rectangular padded bag, and even from a distance, Tansen recognised the expression on her face. He knew fear when he saw it. The other two he knew all too well. Clay Gunn, tall and broad, his hair close cropped. He’d have words with that cowboy. And behind him the smaller figure of Danny. He grinned. He’d first met a young Daniel Gunn while serving with the British Army as part of the Royal Gurkha Rifles, alongside the Royal Green Jackets, Danny’s regiment. The Green Jackets were skirmishers, frontline shock troops like his own Gurkha brothers. Under a blazing African sun the two men had stood together, low on ammunition, against a superior force, yet neither had backed down. Gunn had dropped target after target, choosing each shot with care. One bullet, one kill. Tansen too had made each and every shot count. Between them they had killed seventeen enemy combatants. The last two Tansen had cut down with his kukri, the fearsome curved knife carried by every Gurkha soldier. Both had held their nerve. Both had lived to fight another day.

He slipped down the weathered rock.

* * *

Clay’s spirits rose as he saw Tansen approach. To a casual observer, his old friend might pass as a Native American, with his broad flat face and brown skin. But Tansen had been born and raised on the other side of the world.

“Howdy.”

“Right back at ya, Tan-man.” Clay stepped forward, hand extended in greeting. He stood immobile for long seconds before Tansen’s hand met his. Behind him, he heard Danny let out a held breath. Although rather portly in stature and standing no taller than five-three in his cowboy boots, both brothers knew that the man before them, when pushed, was a stone-cold killer.

Tansen’s features softened and a smile not unlike that of the Cheshire Cat spread across his face. “You look like a bear ate you up and shit you out!”

“Well, we’re trying for the grunge look. I hear it’s all the rage with the kids these days,” replied Clay.

Tansen removed his hat revealing his jet-black hair, cropped short as always. “Did you bring it?”

“No I haven’t got it with me.”

“Shame. We could have settled it once and for all.”

Clay shrugged. “It’s already settled in my mind. You won. I was being an ass.”

“Yes.”

“Call it national pride. You know how patriotic we get… and I guess Texans are the worst of all.”

“Yes.”

“Tansen, old buddy, we need your help.”

The smile crept into Tansen’s deep-brown eyes. “Come on in. I’ve got fresh coffee if you want to sit awhile.” Andrea hung back as Clay and his friend went into the house, Clay’s arm slung around the shorter man’s shoulders. The older Gunn brother towered over the other man, yet Tansen’s presence easily matched that of the muscular Texan. She whispered to Danny, “Is it going to be okay?”

“Looks like it. They just needed a minute.”

“Who is he?”

“Tansen, an old Gurkha friend of ours.”

“Like in the army?” Andrea had a vague mental picture of dark-skinned men in green fatigues. “Are they the ones from Nepal?”

“That’s right.”

They followed the others into the house. Andrea noted that Tansen was dressed like an extra from an old Western, in dark jeans, a red check shirt with a faded leather waistcoat. Intricately embroidered cowboy boots with ornate steel caps at the end of the toes completed his ensemble. Inside, the house was a shrine to the Wild West. Dozens of vintage revolvers sat in display cases both free-standing and wall-mounted. Andrea knew very little about guns but stared with interest at the nearest weapon. The small brass plaque at the base of the weapon told her it was a Colt 1851 Navy Revolver. The barrel was the longest she’d ever seen on a handgun.

“Tansen has got the biggest collection of Old West memorabilia that I’ve ever seen. The museum in Dallas could learn a thing or two from this man.”

Tansen grinned appreciatively at Clay’s comment. “Best in the West…”

Andrea smiled a hint of a smile, not knowing quite how to respond.

“We’re sorry to land on you Tansen, but we’re in a real hole,” offered Danny.

Tansen waved his hand to dispel the apology. “Now, who is your lovely lady friend?”

She stepped forward. “Andrea Chambers.” She smiled, caught unawares as their host kissed her hand as she extended it to shake.

Tansen waved for them to sit and then busied himself in the kitchen area. Minutes later he placed four steaming mugs of coffee on the table, which was made from an old wagon wheel capped with a sheet of smoked glass. The cavities between each spoke of the wheel were filled with spent bullet casings. Andrea tried not to smile, thinking of
When Harry Met Sally
. She thought it best not to ask if he’d gotten it from Roy Rogers’ garage sale.

“Now then, what brings you to my neck of the woods?”

Andrea sank back into the sofa as Danny told their story, letting it wash over her. Tansen did not speak until Danny was finished, only nodding occasionally, his face stoical.

“So what can I do to help?” he asked. Andrea noticed that his Nepalese accent was hardly perceptible.

“We need to lie low while we figure out who these guys were and just what they were after,” Danny said. “They were well trained and well equipped. I’m sure if they had just wanted to kill us and not take Andrea alive, we’d all be taking the longest dirt nap in the desert. One of the shooters said Andrea had something that didn’t belong to her but she’s got nothing.”

“Could you have had this ‘something’ and lost it?” asked Tansen, turning his dark eyes to Andrea.

Andrea sat up. “I really don’t know. They came out of nowhere and started shooting. They could have just pointed their guns at us and we would have given them anything they’d asked for.” The memory of Greg’s dead face made her fall silent again, her stomach churning.

“Well, let’s look at what we know.” Tansen counted off the points on his fingers. “One: They were well trained. That probably means military or ex-military. Two: they had the latest professional equipment. That means they are well financed. Three—” he turned to Andrea again “—they killed at least three people that you had contact with, one of them a cop. And they tried to kill Clay and Danny too. So they are prepared to do anything to achieve their goal. Four: whoever went to the trouble of employing a fire team to capture you will not just give up. Whoever is behind this probably has the resources to send out more teams.”

Andrea brushed her fingers distractedly through her dirt-encrusted hair. “I still don’t understand why this is happening to me.”

Danny finished the dregs of his coffee. “Well, if we come across any more of these fuckers I’ll be sure to find out.”

“You can all lie low here for as long as you need. You can get cleaned up and Danny and I will go into town and get some new clothes for you all. It’s probably best if the pair of you—” he nodded at Andrea and Clay “—stay here.” Andrea saw Tansen eye Clay’s considerable bulk and was suddenly keenly aware of her torn and dirty clothing. “You two are more noticeable.”

Danny smiled. “Are you saying that I’m a plain Jane?”

“No, I’m saying that people are more likely to notice beauty and the beast if they wander around in Castillo.” That made Andrea feel a little better.

Tansen pointed the way to the bathroom, handing her a towel and first-aid kit. Accompanied by the steady timpani of running water, Andrea let the last of her tears fall to mingle with the blood and dirt. The water was the colour of weak tea as it swirled down the plughole. She rubbed scented shampoo deep into her hair, enjoying the smell of apples, rinsed and repeated. She examined her scrapes and cuts, which stung sharply as the hot water and shower gel made contact. The wounds on her leg and ribcage were still so painful she could barely touch them. The torn skin on her ribs was red and puckered and her leg burned in a strange numb way. After long minutes of standing immobile, head bowed, she turned off the water.

She towelled herself dry, taking extra care around the more painful areas. She delved into the industrial-sized first-aid kit Tansen had provided and wound a new length of bandage around her leg, then added a couple of large Band-Aids to her ribs. Her thoughts crept to her parents back in England. Had the news of Greg’s death reached them yet? Probably not. How would they cope when they did hear? Her mother cried at Red Cross commercials, for God’s sake; this would break her. Maybe she could phone home and at least let them know
she
was still alive. She decided she would ask Tansen later.

She didn’t want to dress in her soiled clothing but had no alternative. Everything she’d brought with her was in the rental Jeep. All she had left was her MacBook, which was probably broken anyway, and thirty bucks plus change that had been stuffed in her trouser pockets. She didn’t even have her phone, for God’s sake.

Shit. What a nightmare. Again she found herself looking down at her countless scrapes. She would have been dead for sure if she hadn’t found the Gunn brothers. The two men had proved very resourceful.

Yet what did she know about them? Next to nothing. They called each other brother yet Danny was clearly Scottish and Clay was Texan through and through. Even when they’d had time to talk they had not revealed much about themselves. All that she’d gleaned was that Danny had recently been in the Middle East. He hadn’t elaborated as to which country. Her journalistic instinct stirred. Maybe she’d get more information now they were safe at this strange ranch.

Which was another question in itself: what the hell was a Nepalese Gurkha doing out in the American desert, miles from the nearest town? More questions than her mind had patience for.

The long shower had revived her somewhat and she realised how hungry she was. She hadn’t eaten anything for over twenty-four hours. The breakfast buffet in the Vegas hotel seemed so long ago. As if on cue, her stomach rumbled.

A light knocking at the door brought her back to the moment. Tansen’s voice enquired, “Are you okay in there?”

Andrea pulled on her clothes. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

* * *

In the living room the men downed their third coffee. Danny was explaining to Tansen how they’d raced away from the burning RV, all three perched on the quad bike. They’d driven flat out any time they’d been on blacktop, with frequent detours to avoid oncoming traffic, veering onto a path that ran parallel to the road. After catching four hours of sleep on the hard ground, Clay had hot-wired a car in a motel parking lot. One guest would be wondering who had enough bad taste to pilfer their beat-up jalopy. With any luck it wouldn’t have been reported stolen until this morning. Danny and Andrea had travelled in the aged Honda while Clay had followed them on the quad bike. He’d then abandoned it in a low depression out of view from the road. That way the two vehicles were less likely to be linked by the cops, or more importantly, any operatives on their trail.

As Andrea emerged from the bathroom the three men stopped their conversation mid-flow. Although still dressed in her tattered clothes, her face was almost unrecognisable, free from blood and dirt. She was attractive in a natural and unpretentious way. Clearly a little self-conscious at the stares, she took a seat next to Danny on the sofa.

Danny was the first to catch himself. “Feel any better for that?”

“Almost human again.” She smiled, with her mouth if not her eyes.

Danny motioned to Clay. “You go next if you want, I’m going to check out the news. See if we’re on it yet.”

Clay shrugged himself out of his seat and moved towards the bathroom without further comment.

Tansen handed Danny the remote control for the wide-screen television. After clicking through a dozen channels, bypassing obligatory reruns of
Judge Judy
and
Everybody Loves Raymond
, he found the local morning news. After a short feature on a supposed military victory in Libya, the next story made him sit up. A blonde news anchor was doing her utmost to project gravitas. There was footage of Highway 375 and Officer Ryback’s patrol car. Her report was full of key media buzzwords—
murder
,
missing suspects, death toll
,
terror, destruction
—without giving any real facts. Two men found dead at the scene were as yet unidentified, she said. The camera panned in for lingering close-ups. Their bodies had been covered with sheets; only their boots could be seen.

The third victim
had
been identified. A formal picture of Officer Ryback in uniform flashed on the screen. Then a picture showing the dead trooper standing with his wife and a young boy, all three smiling broadly. Andrea shifted in her seat. Danny could see she was upset—after all, the cop had died because
she
was a target. It wasn’t her fault but Danny knew that wouldn’t stop the guilt. Then again, what did he really know about her?

The story flashed back to the anchor, her eyes opening dramatically as she picked up her dialogue. She promised the viewers that they would be going live to that location after the commercial break.

Danny switched channels as the Nesquik Bunny broke into a song about chocolate milk. The next news channel had more information. Police were searching the area for the occupants of the Winnebago, now feared dead. No names were given, only that there were thought to be at least two men involved. There was no mention of Greg and Bruce. Clearly the police hadn’t connected the two crime scenes. Danny frowned. Unless the first crime scene hadn’t yet been found. He turned off the TV and turned to Andrea.