Slash and Burn (20 page)

‘You ain’t as tough as you think you are, Tito,’ Larry said. Then he hauled him up, transferring his hand from wrist to crotch so that he had Tito extended above his head as if he was a barbell. He held him there for a long three count while the man squirmed, then Larry threw him down. He barely felt a twinge in the wound in his shoulder – that was the amped-up power of adrenalin for you, he thought.

Tito hit the floor flat on his back, almost as though Larry had slammed him directly through the pavement. He didn’t move. But Larry wasn’t finished. He lifted a heel and stamped on the man’s chest for good measure. Wind whooshed between Tito’s teeth, but there was no corresponding intake of breath afterwards. His sightless eyes rolled back in his skull.

Larry leaned down, dug a hand into Tito’s pocket and extracted the fifteen hundred dollars. He also picked up Tito’s weapon. A girlie Glock 19, but still another worthy back-up weapon. Then he tugged out Tito’s keychain and inspected the keys. He smiled.

He drove the Cadillac out of the lot just as the other four men came boiling through the front doors. Larry shouted wordlessly at them, flipping them the middle finger as he shot by. The two with guns lifted them, but didn’t shoot. Next second they dropped the guns by their sides and ran round Minnie’s to check on their boss. Larry wondered which one of them would be the new resident ball-breaker if he ever passed this way again. Maybe the one with the squint eye, he thought. God help us!

He drove the Cadillac east towards Dallas.

The car was a tank, but it was a reliable old workhorse and it covered the miles easily. Larry thought over what had just gone down. He was well armed now. Other than his cab fare and tip to the driver, he hadn’t spent a cent. If Tito hadn’t been such a greedy asshole it would have been different. But Larry had known from the second he pulled out his wad of notes that Tito wouldn’t be happy until he’d taken it all away. In the end, his greed cost him everything: the guns, the money, the Cadillac, and probably his life.

He sent the Cadillac plodding north, up the 35E, and joined route 77 past Lewisville Lake and Corinth, then headed east at Denton to pick up the road that would take him up to Pilot Point and into Grayson County. He’d been there before, running shotgun with Jim Aitken. That time he’d travelled with Aitken in one of Huffman’s private jets, but he wasn’t complaining. The Cadillac was a cool set of wheels. He was on his way to Quicksilver Ranch. Exactly the place he expected to run into Joe Hunter.

Chapter 29

I’ve trained in defensive driving. It’s standard for any soldier engaged in counterterrorism, but on those occasions I was generally driving a bullet-proof sedan, or a hummer or jeep. In comparison the Saturn was like cheesecloth on wheels. The men firing at me could have been throwing stones and they’d have still put holes in the ten-year-old car.

The men in the Land Rover seemed more intent on putting bullets in me than those in the chopper did. They preferred to use the helicopter to bring me to a halt. The pilot kept dropping the chopper into my line of vision, forcing me – they hoped – to swerve or brake. I just aimed the Saturn directly at them; they weren’t going to wait until I crashed into them – they wanted to be paid for killing me and the cash would be no good to them if they were dead too.

Eighty miles an hour turned out to be more than fast enough. Even on a smooth blacktop it’s a reckless speed if you’re swerving to avoid a 4×4 attempting to ram you. On this road, where there were as many potholes as there were patches of asphalt, it forced me to slow down to sixty just to stop the car flipping and rolling. As it was, the Saturn bounced along the trail, kicking up dust and gravel in its wake.

The rifleman in the 4×4 kept up a steady volley of shots. The back window was history after the first two bullets and there were holes through the passenger seat now. I should have fired back at them, but I hadn’t yet.

My SIG was right there on the seat beside me, but for the time being it was prudent to keep both my hands on the steering wheel. I kept moving, heading west, trying to lead my pursuers back to an area where I could defend myself.

South Highway 377, the road from Pilot Point to Collinsville, was somewhere ahead of me, but right then all I had were fields and the occasional stand of trees. Nothing I could use as cover from the chopper or where I could lose the men in the more powerful Land Rover. I needed built-up streets and brick walls. But I had grass and trees and herds of cattle.

Risking taking my hands off the wheel, I jabbed the speed dial on my phone. My words to my friends were straight to the point, ‘Guys, I need you back here now!’

‘On our way,’ Rink said in return, and I heard the sounds of Harvey spinning the Windstar in the road.

‘I’ve two in a Land Rover and the chopper’s back and they all have rifles,’ I shouted over the roar of the Saturn’s tyres on loose dirt.

That was it as far as the report went. Rink and Harvey would be coming after me now. The only problem was there were probably four or five miles between us. Even if I stopped now, it would take them too long to get back to help me. I had to do something to slow the pursuit, while keeping myself alive.

First thing I did was hit the brakes. The Saturn screeched along the road, back end fishtailing, sending up clouds of dirt. The Land Rover roared in, its front grille ramming into the back of my car. The Saturn leaped forwards at the collision, back wheels bouncing and grabbing the earth for traction, and I dropped gear and pressed the throttle to the floor. As I raced on, I searched for the Land Rover in my mirrors and saw that it was concealed in the cloud of dust. That was good, because it meant they couldn’t see me. I braked again, pushed forwards immediately after. Another gout of dirt rose up into the air. Immediately I braked, twisting on the steering wheel, sending the Saturn in a sidelong skid. As soon as the car came to a shuddering halt, I snatched up my SIG and leaped out the door.

I was no sooner clear of the Saturn than the Land Rover rocketed out of the cloud of dust. I had a split second of eye contact with the driver before it hit my car. The Saturn was blasted into smithereens, huge chunks of metal erupting as though a grenade had gone off inside. Something hit me on my shoulder, spinning me to the floor. But even as I went down, I was twisting like a cat, bringing round my gun. I saw the Land Rover rise up into the air, the front wheels caught on the wreckage of my car. Then it continued upwards, and began to list to one side. The list became a full roll to the side and the Land Rover went through a complete torque before crashing to the earth. The heavy vehicle didn’t stop. It hit the soft verge and rolled again, and kept on rolling. This time it was the 4×4 casting off large chunks of metal. I saw the passenger flung from the wreckage, wheeling his way across the grass, his body a series of disjointed shapes that didn’t resemble a human being any longer. I couldn’t tell what had become of the driver, but I hoped he’d be as dead as the rifleman.

Coming painfully to my feet, I searched the sky for the helicopter. Dust and smoke obscured my view. There was a terrible stench in the air, a mix of fuel and burning plastic and eviscerated bodies. I could hear the chopper, but I couldn’t see it. That meant they couldn’t see me either. Stooping, I ran for the wrecked 4×4. I searched for the dropped rifle but couldn’t locate it. All I found was the driver hung up in his seat belt. Blood covered his face, but his eyes were open. He was dazed, but he caught movement in his peripheral vision and snapped his face towards me. I didn’t know the man, had never seen him before, but right then we were mortal enemies. He was a professional hit man who was trying to kill me. I shot him once between his eyes. It was cold, yes, but I couldn’t leave him alive.

I looked for the rifleman who’d been thrown from the wreckage. He was a steaming bundle thirty yards away. He wasn’t moving. So I turned my attention back to the chopper.

I didn’t have long to wait.

The chopper came roaring overhead and I was battered by the downwash of its rotor blades. Smoke from the demolished vehicles swirled round me. I used the cover to run back to the other side of the 4×4. Lifting my gun, I fired two rounds through the undercarriage. Chances of hitting the pilot were slim, but I needed them to move away from me so I could get a clear shot. Two 9 mm Parabellums through the body of the craft did the trick. The chopper swooped away, heading to a distance of a hundred yards or so before the pilot swung it round. The rifleman was now facing me and he fired a round. The bullet passed directly through the body of the 4×4. Then it continued on and I swear I felt the heat of its passing.

Rising from a crouch, I fired at the rifleman. It was a hurried shot and I didn’t expect it to hit. But as the rifleman flinched back inside the craft, I scurried to the far end of the wreck. His next round went through the space I’d just vacated. I waited. I could see the chopper through a gap in the wreckage begin to drift towards me. Holding my breath, I aimed my SIG, waiting for just the right moment.

Then something happened that I didn’t expect. The helicopter dropped so that it was only a yard or so above the field. A side door was thrown open and two men jumped to the floor. They immediately fanned out, then they dropped to crouches, levelling M16 assault rifles at the wreckage I was behind.

My guess was that after the first two had checked me out, they had realised I was the man they were looking for and had hurried away for extra firepower. The two in the 4×4 had possibly been out at the perimeter of Huffman’s land watching for anyone coming in that way and the chopper pilot had directed them to me. They thought that six men had more chance of taking me than two. They were probably right.

I wondered how far away Rink and Harvey were.

Too far.

Then I had no more time for idle thought because the two on the ground opened up with the assault rifles and the wreckage around me was being torn to shreds. I flattened myself to the ground, began rolling side-over-side, keeping as low a profile as possible. Hot metal churned the air. A lot of the rounds were stopped by the wreckage, but as many were getting through. Bullets punched the earth close to me. All I could do was to continue rolling and trust to some higher being to get me out of there alive.

I made it to a shallow ditch at the shoulder of the road, dropped into it, and then began crawling as quickly as I could out of the line of fire.

The two men were inching forwards, continuing to unload rounds through the 4×4. Some of their bullets must have been tearing the dead driver to pieces: that only showed me how determined these killers were to finish me. The chopper took off again, flying high, the pilot taking a look to see if I was dead before the two on the ground would move in.

Catch 22. I could fire at the chopper, or I could fire at the men on the ground. Either way I’d give up my position and the others would vector in on me. If I stayed where I was and did nothing, the chopper crew would see that I’d moved away and it would only take them seconds to find me again. Then the men with the assault rifles would move in to flank me and I’d be back to square one. Whatever way I looked at things my position was pretty dire.

Snatching a quick glance along the road, I hoped to see a Windstar heading my way, but the road remained empty. It was down to me to get out of this alive.

Pulling out the Glock 17 I’d liberated from the man I’d shot at the restaurant, I readied myself. In a situation like this, I could only hope to even up the firepower a little. I raised my head just high enough to see what was going on.

The chopper passed over the 4×4, turning slowly in place as the rifleman strafed the ground where I’d been hiding. The smoke boiling from the wreck was still my ally, but that would only last until the downwash blew it apart. Rising up quickly, I fired at the rifleman. My bullet hit him, cutting a chunk from his left shoulder. The man bobbed back inside the craft and the pilot must have grabbed at the controls, as the chopper dipped violently away.

I’d hoped to kill the rifleman in the chopper, force the pilot to keep well away from another shot, effectively halving the odds against me. But I’d only winged the bastard. Cursing under my breath, I looked for the men on the ground. One of them was hidden by the smoke, but I saw the other running at a tangent across the field, seeking to cut me off. Firing at him, I forced him to the ground. The man rolled as I’d done earlier. Then on his belly he returned fire. He looked like he had military experience. I fired again and my round dug a clod of earth from in front of him, causing him to jerk back.

Immediately I began crawling again. Worst-case scenario was being caught in this ditch with a man armed with an assault rifle at either end while a third gunman hovered overhead. Making it to a point east of where the nearest man was, I again swung up on to the edge of the ditch, firing at him. As I’d been moving, so had the man. He was ten yards closer now. He fired at me; a burst of sustained fire. The earth and grass around me exploded, dirt pushing into my eyes, making me fall back down into the ditch. The son of a bitch was a decent soldier. Quickly I scrambled away. Then I rolled on to my back. The second gunman was coming along the ditch towards me.

We both fired.

A bullet scorched my left thigh but my bullet caught him directly in his stomach. The man doubled over, his forward run bringing him closer to me. He crashed to the ground and his M16 flew from his hand. He wasn’t dead yet. He scrambled to grab at a sidearm strapped to his hip. I put another round through his head and this time he fell still.