The Godson (46 page)

This time Les's challenge was answered by two spurts of orange flame and the crashing chatter of Liam and Tom's sub-machine guns.

‘Holy fuckin' hell!' yelled Les. He dropped his drink and hit the ground as a fusillade of bullets screamed past his head and smashed into the gatepost. ‘Shit!' Another two bursts of machine gunfire spurted along the driveway and into the gatepost, showering him with gravel and splinters of wood. Fuck this, thought Les. On his hands and knees and moving like a lizard, Les scurried back along the driveway to the house. When he reached the car he stood up and broke into a crouching run.

‘Did we get him?' said Tom.

‘I don't know. I don't think so. Damn!' cursed Liam.

‘What do you suggest we do?' asked Robert.

Liam thought for a moment. ‘We go after him same as before. But stop at that gate first. See if we can spot where the bastard went.'

Norton's adrenalin was racing and so was his anger when he made it to the side of the house. He crouched down behind the station wagon, his mind going ninety to the dozen. That fuckin' Peregrine, he cursed to himself. Dopey fuckin' pommy
cunt. I always said he was an idiot. Sending postcards to his dopey fuckin' sheila. They should have let the prick drown. Fuck it! Now they've found us! He wiped some pieces of gravel and wood splinters from his tracksuit. One thing's for sure, whoever's out there isn't here to hand out the
Watchtower
. Jesus! What am I gonna do? And prickhead's sound asleep. Hah! Just as fuckin' well. He'd only get in the road anyway. Christ! There's no phone: I can't ring the cops. I don't know how many's out there. Why isn't bloody Eddie here? Eddie! The gun. Norton darted across to his room and got the blue bag from under the bed.

The Irish raced up to the top of the driveway and crouched down by the two gateposts where Les had been standing.

‘Can you see anything?' Liam said to Robert.

‘There's music coming from that light at the back of the house. I thought I saw movement.'

‘Well don't just look at it,' snapped Liam. ‘What do you think you've got that gun for?'

Robert raised the bullpup and fired a long burst towards the barbecue area. Brendan and Tom Mooney did the same.

Norton came out of his bedroom holding the overnight bag. He snatched up the torch from the table and reached across to turn out the light. As he did a hail of bullets blasted noisily around the barbecue area. Norton gave a yelp and rolled on the ground under the table. Several hit the station wagon, several others ricocheted off the walls behind the fridge and smashed into the ghetto-blaster spinning it off the table in a shower of broken plastic.

‘Fuck!' cursed Les. ‘There goes my $300 radio-cassette.' He lay under the table in the sudden, darkened silence for a moment, then made a sprint for the stairs at the rear of the house. He took them in three bounds, burst through the door, slammed it behind him and jammed a chair under the handle. Crouching low he did the same to the door facing the driveway and the one facing the front gate. Norton's hands were shaking slightly as he opened the bag by the soft light of the torch. One clip was empty, but the other was still full. Thank Christ we didn't start firing bullets all over the place. There's still about two hundred rounds there. He jammed the full clip into the butt of the Robinson and took it and the bag over to the kitchen window.

Thumbing bullets into the spare clip, he stared out of the window trying to spot the Irish — when the clip was full he placed it near the kitchen sink. S'pose I'll have to break
the bloody glass to get a shot at them, he thought. Oh well, here goes the bond money. He brought the butt of the Robinson down hard against the window. Instead of smashing, it just made a dull, thumping sound. Huh? Les was more than just a little mystified. He brought the butt of the gun down again — harder. Still the same dull sound. The windows downstairs were all glass. What's going on here? Then it dawned on him. The
Playboy
article. Cedar Glen was built like a fortress. That colonel must have used some sort of reinforced glass or perspex upstairs. And the only way in was from the outside. Even if the Irish got in downstairs, there were no stairs, they couldn't get to him. Behind the bulletproof windows set in logs and huge reinforced beams in the top half of the house Les was relatively safe. Norton's stocks rose a little. But how do I take a shot outside? He snapped his fingers. The air vents. The latches on the sides of the windows. They doubled as rifle holes. Harcourt, you're a deadset American genius. Les opened one of the latches and poked out the wire mesh. Ah yes. This is a bit better.

Norton's eyesight was good and in the faint starlight he thought he could detect movement near the gateposts. Oh well. Better let the boys know Uncle Les means business. He aimed the nose of the Robinson in that direction and squeezed the trigger.

‘D
O YOU THINK
we got him?' asked Robert.

‘How could you tell? It's as black as the devil himself out there,' replied Tom Mooney.

‘We must have knocked out the light,' said Brendan.

‘Brilliant deduction, Brendan,' said Tom.

There was a sudden burst of orange flame from the top corner of the house and a spray of bullets slammed into the gateposts and ripped up the driveway sending the six Irishmen sprawling for cover. ‘Jesus Christ!' cursed Liam. ‘The bastard's got a machine gun up there.'

Another burst from the house hit the gateposts and sprayed gravel over the Irishmen. Brendan let out a yelp of pain.

‘Oh fock! I've been hit in the leg.' He cursed again.

‘Is it bad?' asked Liam.

Brendan felt round the blood soaking into his trouser leg. ‘It's not too bad. Just gone through the calf muscle. I can bind it up with my hanky.'

‘Those shots came from the upper right hand corner of the house,' said Logan.

‘Is that a window up there?'

‘It is.'

‘All right, all of you,' said Liam. ‘Aim for that window. Give the sonofabitch something to think about.'

The Irishmen took aim and the bullpups opened up into a hammering roar as they each emptied almost an entire clip at the window. There was a lot of noise and great shards of wood ripped away but definitely no sound of breaking glass.

‘What the fock?' said Liam. ‘Again.'

Once more the bullpups erupted in sheets of orange flame and an almost deafening din. Still no sound of breaking glass.

‘What in God's name?' said Logan.

‘Christ! What sort of a place is this?' said Patrick.

N
ORTON HEARD
B
RENDAN'S
cry of pain and grinned to himself. Yeah. How did you like that, you potato-eating bastards? Want to kill Uncle Les, do you? Well like my old grandma said, you can't eat a mango without getting some juice on your chin. Les moved away from the latch, slipped another clip into the Robinson and began reloading the other one. He'd just started when he heard the bullpups open up and what sounded like an unbelievable hailstorm hitting the side of the house. The window bucked and rocked as the bullets thumped against it and into the side of the house; but it held firm. There was a pause for a few seconds then another burst hit the window and the house, several came in through the latch and pinged around the shelves in the kitchen. Norton winced and pulled his head in. But his stocks rose slightly again. Behind these logs and beams and the bulletproof windows there was a possibility of surviving. If he could just keep them at bay with the Robinson. He had less than two hundred rounds and dawn was a long way off, but at least he had a chance till he could think of something. And what did Eddie once say at work about firing machine guns in combat situations? Short controlled bursts. Well righto, fellahs. Here's a couple right now.

Les crept across and opened one of the latches behind the study facing the front verandah. He poked the Robinson out and fired two quick bursts in the direction of the gateposts.

‘Jesus! They came from the other end of the house,' said Tom.

He fired a burst at where he'd seen the jet of orange flame as Norton's volley smashed into the driveway around them. The others opened up as another burst of gunfire from the house pinned them down behind the gateposts.

‘The bastard knows what he's doing, too,' said Logan.

‘There's something strange about all this,' said Robert. ‘Something bloody weird.'

Beneath his balaclava Liam was starting to sweat a little now. He ground his teeth and spat onto the ground. ‘Patrick,' he said. ‘You and Robert make a dash for beneath the house. Get inside and see how you get upstairs. We'll give you covering fire. You right then?' The two men nodded. ‘Okay, go.'

Robert and Patrick sprinted for the house. Les spotted them and emptied the magazine. The bullets whacked and whined angrily as they kicked up sparks around the shrubs and rockeries. Next thing Les heard a rattle of gunfire and the sound of smashing glass as the two Irishmen got in downstairs. Well, that won't do you much good fellahs, he mused. There's no way up. Les reloaded the Robinson and fired another quick burst at the gateposts then kept an eye on the back door just in case they came up the stairs.

‘Christ! It's as black as pitch in here,' said Robert.

‘Keep your bloody voice down,' replied Patrick.

Finger on the trigger, Patrick nosed the bullpup down the tiled hallway towards the Davy Crockett room. Robert started searching around the other room. Outside they could hear Les firing from upstairs and the returning fire from the gateposts sounded as if the whole side of the house was being blown away as the bullets slammed into the walls above their heads.

‘What's down there?' said Robert when Patrick returned.

‘Nothing. Just a bathroom and bedroom. There's no stair-case.'

‘There's nothing here, either. I just climbed those steps there and there's nothing up there but some sort of a bed.'

‘What's through here?'

With Patrick leading they crept into the laundry. Outside more bursts of gunfire came from the house and the gateposts. Patrick opened the laundry door, stepped outside and had a quick look in Norton's bedroom then came back.

‘What's there?' asked Robert.

‘There's no staircase. The only way up is from those stairs at the front and those ones there.' He motioned with the bullpup to the staircase running up from the barbecue area. ‘I think
there's another set of stairs where that side door is too. Come on, let's get back to the others.'

‘Good idea. I don't like it down here,' replied Robert.

There was another burst of gunfire from the gateposts, then silence. Les heard the crunching of footsteps on broken glass downstairs and raced to the latch near the study. He was just in time to see two shadowy figures racing for the gateposts. He raked them with machine gunfire and an angry, satisfied grin creased his face as he heard an oath of pain.

‘Shit! I'm hit.' Robert dropped his weapon and clutched at his ribs as he and Patrick sprawled behind the gateposts.

Liam saw the blood seeping through Robert's fingers. ‘How bad is it?'

‘It's gone through my side. But I'm all right.'

‘Shit! So what did you find under the house?' Liam asked Patrick.

‘There's no way upstairs from beneath the house,' gasped Patrick. ‘You have to use the outside stairs.'

Liam listened as Patrick told him what he and Robert had found under the house. He cursed his luck. No easy access upstairs. Apparently bulletproof windows. Two men down. This ‘dead easy' operation was starting to get out of hand. He spat an oath and turned to the others.

‘Right,' he said. ‘This has gone fockin' far enough. When I tell you, I want you to give me all the covering fire you can.' He picked up the RPG-7, made sure the rocket was secure in the muzzle and checked the rear sight. ‘Okay, Mr Norton, or whatever your name is,' he said, shouldering the weapon as he took cover behind the gatepost. ‘Let's see how you like this.'

The spare clip was by the other window. Les retrieved it and the bag still sitting in the middle of the dining room and started reloading in the study. He was feeling a little more confident now. He was certain he'd got two of them. His ammo was still holding out. They couldn't get to him without one hell of a fight. Norton slapped one clip into the Robinson and put the other in his pocket as an intense barrage of bullets sprayed the side of the house. He stood up to return the fire through the latch when the house was rocked by an ear-splitting explosion and the kitchen lit up in a sheet of orange and purple flame. The concussion thumped around the room, hitting Norton in the face and knocking him right off his feet. His head spinning and his ears ringing, Les rolled into the dining room.

‘What the fuck was that?' he spluttered.

Temporarily deafened, Les blinked through the smoke at the kitchen. The window was blown out, shelves were torn from the walls, and pots, pans and broken crockery littered the floor. A few tongues of flame crackled briefly before extinguishing themselves in the specially treated wood. Although the window was gone, most of the damage was superficial and the wooden beams and foundations had held firm. Les shook his head and his hearing and senses returned just as another volley of bullets came through from where the window had been, slamming off the walls and up into the ceiling. Norton let out another oath as his head cleared. Don't know what that bloody well was. But at least I'm still alive. The Robinson was still in his hand. Les looked at it for a second then shook his head. Better let the bastards know it. He got up, poked the barrel out of the latch in the study and let go another burst at the gateposts.

‘I
RECKON THAT
might have got the sonofabitch,' said Patrick, smiling towards the house.

‘I should damn well think so,' replied Liam. He was about to get to his feet when Norton's volley of bullets tore up the driveway. ‘Jesus Christ!' he roared, dropping down behind the gatepost.