Revenge (16 page)

Jason Steed, we meet again…for one last time.” Jet flexed his muscles and displayed a perfect six pack down his stomach. He raised himself to his toes and started to warm up. Jet Chan was sixteen—four years older than Jason. In Hong Kong, he had trained at a rival karate school. They had crossed swords once and then had met in the Hong Kong's under-sixteen karate championships final. It was a very close, hard-fought fight. Jason had won by one point.

But after the competition, Jason and his father moved to England, and Jet went on to win the world karate under-sixteen championships. Jason hadn't entered, and people in the karate world whispered and wondered who would have won in a rematch.

Slowly Jason removed his shoes and socks. He took off his jacket and shirt, revealing the horrific cuts and bruises on his small body. Since he had left Hong Kong a year ago, Jason had belonged to two karate schools in London, but he had been disappointed with the standard. He was very concerned how he would fair against Jet now. In Hong Kong, Jason had trained under Wong Tong, but recently, Jason's instructors had less knowledge than he had had.

Jason stepped back and closed his eyes, trying to concentrate—trying to remember everything Wong Tong had told him. His heart was beating fast, and he felt nervous as he tried to pump himself up.

Come
on. You have beaten him before. You can do it again.

Jet Chan bowed and then Jason did. They stepped back in an attack stance and watched each other. Without warning, Jet ran forward and threw a dummy kick with his left leg and then quickly switched to his right. Jason should have known better, but he was caught by Jet's heel smack in the center of his nose. He was thrown to the ground, and he cried out in pain. A torrent of blood started cascading down Jason's body. His broken nose was painful enough before. Now the severe pain caused his eyes to well up with watery tears, and blood continued to rain down his face. He quickly jumped to his feet to defend himself despite his terrible pain. His eyes continued to stream tears while blood stained his face.

Jet moved with amazing speed. He was in a combat stance one moment and was a blur of movement the next. Jason felt a foot kick him in the chest. The world spun around, and he was thrown to the ground, winded and bruised. Painfully, Jason picked himself up. Jet smiled and nodded. He lashed out again, throwing fast punches at Jason from all angles. Jason blocked punch after punch. He was finding it hard and kept retreating until he had his back up against the stage and could retreat no more.

Jet's advantage of reach and power was proving too much for Jason. It took everything he had to defend himself. A fast, powerful left fist connected with Jason's ribs, and he felt them crack. Jason tried to move away to the left, but his legs were swept away and sent into the air. It was a move that Jason would normally do to his opponents. It humiliated him to be knocked onto his back.

As Jason landed, he rolled away and sprang to his feet. As he turned, he was kicked again. This time, he was caught in the groin. Jason fell again and doubled over in pain. Jet pounced on him, pinned Jason to the ground, and kneeled on Jason's arm. He was now stuck and unable to defend himself and in unbearable pain. Jet unleashed a savage attack of punches directed at Jason's face.

All Jason could do was turn his head away to protect his face. His ear split open, and his neck sustained a torrent of blows. Blood still poured from his nose but now also his mouth. His arms flopped to the ground. It was nearly over for him. Jet was coming in for the kill. Jason saw it in his face.

“Leave him alone. He's hurt,” Joanne screamed as she ran up to Jet and pushed him off Jason. Jet jumped to his feet and performed a roundhouse kick, catching her in the face and sending her back where she came from. Jason forced himself up from the ground and again stood to defend himself. He was crouched over, his right arm down by his side, trying to protect his ribs. Jason concentrated, trying to induce an adrenaline rush into his body. He knew he didn't have long left. He grew angry at Jet—angry at himself and Boudica.

George looked away from the fight. He felt helpless and guilty as he watched Jason slowly being beaten to death yet courageously fight on to the end.

Jet attacked again, performing high kicks, trying to catch Jason's face. Jason moved away, still blocking and defending himself. Then out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Joanne. She sat on the floor, holding her face. She was crying and bleeding after Jet's kick. Jet again attacked Jason, but this time, Jason blocked and pushed him off easily. His mind was elsewhere—his body instinctively going through various karate blocks. His body took over as he stepped outside himself. Jet still attacked, jumping from right foot to left foot and throwing everything he had at Jason.

“Don't you know it's wrong to hit girls?” Jason murmured.

Jet paused and stood back, still bouncing back and forth on his toes.

“What?” he asked.

Jason took a good look at Joanne, and he started to shake. In his mind, he could hear Wong Tong telling not to fight in anger, but it was too late. Seeing Joanne crying with blood on her face incensed him. Jason glared at Jet. He rose up on his toes. His pupils dilated and turned black. He walked forward, gritting his teeth. For the first time, Jason attacked. He changed style from tae kwon do to kung fu and then to jujitsu—moves that Jet had not encountered before. Jason moved in close to take away Jet's reach advantage and used his speed to attack Jet.

Jet was now trying to block Jason's punches. Jason used the pain in his body to induce an adrenaline rush. He hit faster and faster. Eventually some got through and connected with Jet's face. He continued on faster and faster. His mind blocked out everything around him. He hopped from one foot to the next. His legs catapulted out with terrific speed and accuracy. Jet was getting hurt and continued to retreat.

Jason threw an avalanche of punches, followed by high kicks. He grunted like an animal as his lungs gasped for oxygen to feed his hungry body. His arms felt like lead, bruised and battered. His mind tried to block out the pain. Moving quick as lightning, Jason swept Jet's feet away from him, sending him awkwardly to the ground. Jet had been in this position before. Only this time, he twisted and landed on his front. He hoped to get up quickly.

Jason didn't give him the courtesy of a break. He followed Jet down to the floor and swiftly wrapped his right elbow under Jet's neck. Jason's left hand grabbed the side of Jet's head, and he pulled. Jet couldn't move. Apart from the rasping sound of Jason's labored breathing, the entire room fell silent.

All Jason had to do now was twist, and he would break Jet's neck and kill him. Jet knew it. They all knew it. Jet went limp and opened his fists and laid his hands palms down on the ground in surrender. Jason looked around the room. He spoke loudly and directly at Low.

“Too many have died over this. It's over. I have no fight with Jet. My fight was with Boudica, and now she's gone. I will spare his life in return for my own. We have all lost enough. Let it be over.” Jason looked up at Low.

Low looked up and down the table at the others. They nodded.

“You are a brave warrior but foolish. I told you the simple rules. To win, you must kill the opponent,” Low repeated.

Jason released the grip on Jet's head and neck and forced himself to his feet. Jet spit up blood, and Jason glanced at Joanne, who ran over to help him stand and support his weight.

“Those are your rules, not mine. I was right the first time. You are a bunch of cowards,” Jason spat.

He helped Jet to his feet. Jet was embarrassed. He couldn't look Jason in the eye.

“Take them away,” Low ordered.

All three were taken by armed guard at gunpoint to a cell deep below the castle. George and Jason were to be executed the following morning. Low would contact Joanne's father and agree to hand her over once he released the Triad's money.

The cell was cold and dark. A small light bulb hung from a wire. Jason found the cell freezing, damp, and smelling of mold and urine. He immediately took in his surroundings. He paced around the cell, looking for a way out, thumping the walls, stamping on the floor, trying to find a hollow sound.

“Jason, son, give it up. It's over. There is no way out of here. I have been in here for two days,” George said glumly.

Jason continued to pace up and down.

Joanne walked toward him and caught his arm. “Sorry you got into this, Jason. My people are barbaric,” Joanne cried.

Jason stopped and held her. “No, your people are very proud. Your father is a good man. There are just a few bad ones,” he said, holding her tight. Eventually he sat down on the floor next to her, defeated.

Jason was not a religious boy. He never really liked going to church and kept his views to himself regarding his faith and what he understood about it. He believed someone was watching over him—maybe his mother, God, or Jesus—but whoever it was, that idea gave him comfort. He closed his eyes and thought of his grandparents and his friends, namely Scott and Catherine. Then he thought of his father and started to quietly cry. Joanne tried to comfort him. It was a pathetic scene. The once-proud and -confident Jason Steed was now broken. George felt ashamed of himself that he had brought the boy into the case. He tried to ignore Jason's whimpers.

A scuffle was heard outside the cell door. The keys were put in the lock, and the door opened.
Are
they
here
to
execute
us?
Jason wondered. A man walked in and shone a flashlight in Jason's face.

You'd better not be crying. I just risked my life to break you out. At least let me see you're worth it,” Jet Chan said, holding out his hand.

“Jet?” Jason asked, wiping his face.

“Come on. We don't have much time. Follow me and keep quiet.”

Jason, George, and Joanne followed him to the cell door. Jet stopped and looked at them.

“Not the girl. She stays. Don't worry. She won't be harmed. She is too valuable. Just you two,” Jet said, pointing at Jason and George.

“No, she comes with us, Jet. I won't leave without her,” Jason said, holding her hand.

“Jason, I've never liked you. I doubt I ever will. You are always so…noble,” Jet said and then sighed. “Whatever…just be quick.”

Outside the cell, the prison guard was lying on the ground, motionless, with a small amount of blood from his nose. His neck had been broken. They stepped over the body and followed Jet up the many stone stairs to a dark oak door.

“On this other side of this is an armed guard and then freedom. Get as far away as fast as you can, and if you get caught, it was not me who released you,” Jet said slowly as he unlocked the door.

The bright light stung their eyes as the aged door creaked open. Jet went first, followed by George. A startled guard on the other side turned and pointed his gun at Jet. When he saw George following, he approached. Jet sprang into action and attacked the guard, knocking the gun from his hand with a high kick.

“Run!” Jet shouted as he fought with the guard.

George, Jason, and Joanne started to run away from the castle toward the square. A gunshot rang out. Jason turned to see Jet holding his gun, blood oozing from a wound from the fallen guard. As he closed the door, his eyes met Jason's. They both nodded at each other. A single nod, but it meant a lot to both boys.

The alarm sounded. The doors opened, and armed guards swarmed out of the castle. George, Jason, and Joanne had almost made it to the town square. A wedding was taking place at the church. A newlywed couple was walking down the stairs toward an awaiting, shiny, vintage white Rolls-Royce convertible.

A car screeched to a halt, and more guards climbed out and followed on foot. George shouted to onlookers to call the police. A few gunshots rang out, and some of the townsfolk screamed. Jason ran for the Rolls-Royce, tugging Joanne with him. He climbed over the door and opened the driver's side for George.

“George, get in and drive,” Jason shouted.

Joanne had been with Jason long enough to read his mind. She had already jumped in behind him. Jason snatched the chauffeur's keys from his hand and threw them to George while the stunned chauffeur protested.

The twelve-cylinder Rolls-Royce engine roared as George put the accelerator pedal to the floorboard. The wheels squealed as they spun and tried to grip the damp surface of the road. The Rolls-Royce sped off away from the church to the sound of angry protests from the congregation, although they went silent and started running back in the church when they heard gunfire.

The white luxury car sped along, closely followed by three black Mercedes. George crunched his way through the gearbox.

“Faster, George. They're gaining on us!” shouted Jason, who was kneeling on the front passenger seat and looking at his pursuers. The large, wooden-spoked wheels and thin tires on the vintage Rolls-Royce were no match for the modern tires of the Mercedes. They got closer and started shooting. Joanne screamed and lay on the floor between the front and backseats.

As much as George tried, he could not get away. He risked taking a corner too fast and skidded off the road. The Rolls hit a small wall and flipped over. Jason was thrown into the air and landed awkwardly on his right leg, spraining his ankle. George and Joanne stayed with the car as it rolled over twice and ended on its side, now covered in mud.

Jason lay on the damp, snow-covered grass on his back, looking up in pain. Clouds swiftly moved across the sky, which gave him a spectacular view of Mont Blanc. Then something dark and heavy passed over him, and the figure was quickly followed by another. The wind whisked up the light covering of snow all around him.

Two helicopters landed next to Jason. The French police working with MI6 and Interpol were there to storm the castle. An unfamiliar face bent down and pulled Jason to his feet.

“Nice to finally meet you, Jason. Simon Caldwell, SYUI. We spoke on the phone.” Caldwell introduced himself.

“You're the guy who wanted me shot,” Jason snapped back, giving Caldwell one of his evil looks.

“I was following orders, Jason. Anyway, looks like it turned out okay in the end—what, what?” Caldwell replied in his upper-class accent.

Jason didn't reply. Instead, he looked for Joanne. He limped over to the ambulance, where they were treating her cuts. Simon Caldwell gingerly followed.

“What the dickens are you doing here?” George asked when he saw Caldwell.

“Hello, George. When my top man is involved, I pull out all the stops. It's not just MI6 that can work on international affairs.”

“Good, maybe you can get me a job in the Virgin Islands,” George joked.

“I need to debrief you and Jason. We have it from the highest authority that the Chinese are sending their top agent to meet Joanne and escort her back to China. You three can accompany me to the airport. It should be safe now, but you can never be too sure,” Caldwell ordered.