Gray Redemption (Tom Gray #3) (22 page)

He staggered to his feet, anger at the senseless murder gripping him like a
vice.  He’d seen death in the Gulf War, but that was usually soldier on
soldier, not premeditated murder.  He tucked the Beretta into his waistband,
pulled the R4 off his shoulder and turned to give chase.

And found
himself
staring down the barrel of a
pistol.

“You know the drill,” Palmer said, and Owen dropped the rifle and slowly
removed the pistol.

“Kick them under the truck.”

Owen swiped at them with his foot, and Palmer ordered him to assume the
position, hands outstretched on the side of the truck.  He expected a
quick frisk but instead felt a prick at the base of his skull and moments later
his legs gave way beneath him.  He scrambled for a hand hold until his
arms also refused to obey his commands, and within a minute he found himself
lying on his back, staring up at the glacial face of his assailant.

“You and I are going to have a little chat,” Palmer said.

He picked Owen up and threw him over his shoulder in a fireman’s lift, and
then carried him to the van, throwing him in through the open doors. 
After grabbing a torch and checking that Littlefield was going to make it, he
went back to the container to finish the job. 

The gas he’d brought along would have been useless if he hadn’t already
wasted it, given the size of the hole the detonation had created in the side of
the container, so he would have to go inside and make sure there were no
survivors.  He pulled the door open and the fetid combination of coppery
blood and cordite hit him square in the face, but he knew the kill had to be
confirmed.  He climbed in, his feet fighting for grip on the blood-soaked
floor, and as he played the beam of light around it was soon apparent that the
majority were dead from a combination of shrapnel and blast concussion. 
He heard a faint moan and moved towards it, where he found a heavily-pregnant
woman cradling her bloodstained stomach.

Palmer stepped over her, ignoring her clutching fingers as he searched for
his four targets.  He moved the light from face to face, until he reached
the pile of bodies at the back of the metal box.

*
* *

Kyle tapped the wheel of the Jeep to the beat of the eighties classics
pumping out of the CD player.  Over an hour after Owen and Harvey had
taken off, the second truck had left the port and he’d followed it up the M4
until it switched to the N2, heading towards King Shaka International
Airport.  As instructed, he’d checked regularly for a tail, but the last set
of headlights had disappeared from his mirror a few minutes earlier, and the
only vehicle ahead was the Wenban Iveco.

With just fifteen minutes before they reached the junction leading to the
cargo terminal, it was a bittersweet moment for Kyle.  The prospect of
easy money for an evening drive was nice, but a part of him had hoped for
something a little more exciting than cruising along at sixty miles an hour
listening to Billy Idol.

The track ended and he returned his attention to the road, spotting the
headlights gaining ground fast.  Kyle watched a blue Mitsubishi Evo with a
yellow stripe on the bonnet power past him and
draw
level with the truck, and his heart skipped a beat as it matched the Iveco’s
pace for a brief moment.  Just when he thought he might be called into
action, the Evo driver hit the gas and the powerful car sped ahead, its tail
lights quickly disappearing in the distance.

Kyle
realised
his heart
rate had jumped by twenty beats per minute, just as it did before combat,
heightening the senses and focusing the mind.  With the excitement over,
he tried to calm himself, skipping a few tracks on the CD until he found a
soothing ballad.  The clock on the dashboard suggested they would hit the
turn off in just over twelve minutes, after which he would return to the city
centre and have a beer in his hotel room before heading back to Johannesburg in
the morning.  Since he wasn’t due back in the office until Wednesday
morning, he could have a couple, perhaps in a local bar where he could look for
some female company…

The truck up ahead suddenly slowed as the brake lights came on, and all
thoughts of a relaxing evening disappeared in an instant.  He couldn’t see
any reason for the driver to stop in the middle of nowhere, which told him
something wasn’t quite right.  He flicked off his own headlights and
pulled over to the side of the road a couple of hundred yards behind it,
navigating his off-road vehicle between two clumps of trees.

Ahead, he saw the driver climb out and walk to the back of the vehicle,
then kick the wheels in frustration before digging out a cell phone.  Kyle
thought about going to offer help, but realised it wouldn’t be the same as
changing the wheel on his own vehicle.  All he could do was keep the Iveco
in sight and wait for the tow truck to arrive.

He debated whether or not to call it in, but in truth there wasn’t much to
report, and he knew Owen and Harvey would probably have their hands full
following the real target.

He decided to wait until either the Iveco was repaired and reached its
destination, or Owen called him to end the mission.  One thing he couldn’t
wait for was the growing pressure in his bladder, so he climbed out of the Jeep
to relieve himself in the bushes.  He glanced up and down the road as the plants
got a watering, and as the moon emerged from behind a cloud he saw something
glint in the road about fifty yards ahead of him. 

Kyle zipped himself up and went to take a look, staying in the shadows as
he advanced.  In the road he saw a triangular tube around six feet long,
with metal spikes protruding from every side.  He instantly
recognised
the stop-stick used by American law
enforcement agencies to halt car chases.  Each spike was a hollow metal
tube which embedded itself in the
tyre
, allowing the air to escape slowly without causing a catastrophic blowout.

He was about to step into the carriageway to retrieve it when the sound of
an engine drew his attention to the approaching headlights.  He ducked
back into the trees and watched as a dark grey van slowed as it neared the
truck.  A Chinese youth, no more than seventeen, jumped from the passenger
seat and picked up the stick, then jogged after the van as it pulled up behind
the stricken truck.

Kyle’s first thought was that this was preplanned rather than a good
Samaritan coming to the truck driver’s aid, and this was confirmed when the kid
dropped the stop-stick and produced a blade from his waist.  The truck
driver immediately put his hands up, expecting to have his load stolen, but the
boy continued to close on him.  The driver backed away, sensing that he
was involved in more than a simple hijacking, but as he backed into the rear of
the truck, the boy plunged the knife into his stomach. 

Kyle watched the man fall to the ground, but the assault wasn’t over. 
He watched the youth strike again and again, hitting the man in the back and
head.  A shout from the driver of the grey van halted the attack, and the
youth wiped his blade on the dead driver’s shirt before dragging him into the
undergrowth.

Another man had appeared from the van’s cab and he approached the driver at
the rear of the truck.  The youth joined them and got a rollicking in
Cantonese from the elder of the trio.  Kyle had no idea what was being
said, but when the boy removed his T-shirt it was obvious that the blood stains
hadn’t been part of the plan.  The chastised teenager was banished to the
van while the other two began opening the container.

Kyle had his Glock 9mm in his right hand while he thumbed through the
contact list on his phone.  He selected Owen’s number and held it close to
his ear, but after five rings it went to voicemail.

“Shit!”

Until he knew for certain that this wasn’t just a violent robbery, all he
could do was watch.

*
* *

Tom Gray screamed as the pain shot up his leg.

“What is it?”  Vick asked, concerned.

“Cramp!”
  He said, gritting his teeth.  He tried
pointing his toes to get rid of it, but as soon as his foot went back to its
normal position, the pain returned.

“Welcome to the annual meeting of the agoraphobic society,” Sonny
deadpanned, but no-one was in the mood for laughing. 

“At least it smells a bit better in here,” Vick said, massaging Gray’s calf
as best she could. 

It was an improvement, but not much.  Two weeks of rudimentary bathing
facilities and a shortage of shampoo meant her
odour
was worse now than it had been during her time in
the jungle, and the others
weren’t exactly smelling
of
roses.

“I’d have happily put up with the stench for a few more hours if it meant I
could lie down properly,” Gray moaned.

“If you ask me, those guys are going overland, which is why we got
transferred into this shoebox.”

Gray knew Len was right.  The cramped air-cargo container wasn’t the
ideal way to travel, but it beat another three weeks in the stinking box they’d
called home for the past fortnight.  According to the research he’d done
before setting off from Port Kelang, he expected them to spend a couple of
hours on the road, an hour or so in the airport and then a further ten to
twelve in the air.  After that it would be around three days overland
before they hit the ferry to Dover, and he hoped the final leg of the journey
would be in more luxurious conditions. 

Once they reached the UK, however, their problems wouldn’t be over. 
He still had to deal with Farrar, and over the last week he’d been formulating
a plan that relied on one man’s help.  Guaranteeing his co-operation
wasn’t a given, but the countless hours spent deliberating had thrown up no
alternatives.  With the man on board, it would be easier to sway the other
players that would inevitably become embroiled, but if he didn’t offer his
support, Gray’s plan would fall apart at the first hurdle.

“Anyone fancy a game of I-Spy?”  Baines asked, breaking Gray’s train
of thought and getting an elbow in the ribs from Vick for yet another poor
attempt at
humour
.

“Can it, Sonny,” she said.  “Or stow it, or whatever it is you guys
do.”   Her lexicon had grown in the last month to include words such
as “tabbing” and “jankers”, but she still couldn’t keep up when the men were in
full flow.  One thing she had learned was the camaraderie that existed
between them.  They might be boastful when recounting their adventures
together, and often disparaging towards each other, but their stories always
hinted at an altruistic bond not found in other walks of life.

She went back to her daydream, picturing herself taking a long, hot shower
in a luxury London hotel, followed by a head-to-toe massage accompanied by a
few glasses of champagne.  She was just about to slip beneath the satin
sheets when the truck juddered and slowed to a halt, shattering her illusion
and casting her back to the present.

“Are we at the airport already?”

“I don’t think so,” Gray told her.  “I think we’ve got a flat.”

“Does that mean we’ll miss our plane?”

Gray thought it unlikely that it would wait for four stowaways, but he
remained hopeful that Arnold Tang would have contingencies in place.  If
his success rate was as high as he’d boasted, he would surely have people en
route already.

“I’m sure we’ll be fine,” he told her.

Minutes passed, and Gray was wondering what the implications would be if
they had to wait for the next flight out of the country when he heard the door
to the main container opening.  Moments later the plastic sheet of the
tiny AKE air cargo container was unfastened and the cardboard box shielding
them from view was pulled aside.  A Chinese face appeared, giving the
occupants a once over, his eyes coming to rest on Vick.  The beginnings of
a smile crawled over his face, revealing yellow, nicotine-stained teeth. 

In an instant it was gone.

“Come!”  He ordered.  “You come now!”

Gray was the first to crawl out of the tight space, glad of the chance to
get his circulation moving once more. The others followed and were shown to the
van, the rear doors held open so that they could climb in.

“See, told you we’d soon be on our way,” he grinned at Vick as he made
himself comfortable on the bare floor.  Vick snuggled up next to him,
while Len pulled out his Kindle and Sonny sat with his back to the cab.

“Ooh, you’re bleeding,” Vick said
,
pointing to
Sonny’s feet.

He looked at the soles of his shoes and saw fresh, red patches near the
heels.  He gave himself the once over but found no sign of a wound.

“Must have stepped in something when we switched vehicles,” he
shrugged.  “Probably road kill.”

The driver pulled away and within seconds the passengers felt the van turn
and bounce across the grassy median, heading towards the centre of the city.

“We’re going the wrong way,” Sonny said, and despite the van having no side
or rear windows, Gray knew he was right.

“Taking a shortcut?”  He offered.