Search and Destroy (7 page)

Mark tucked the weapon tight into his shoulder as they drew level with the cabin of the RV. “He’s already dead, he’s just too dumb to realise it.” He looked into the wide eyes of the driver—a big man with close-cropped blond hair—his finger hovering over the trigger.

Then the bulk of the bus lurched into a tight arc towards the bike. Mark grabbed onto Luke’s back as the wheels of the Kawasaki passed momentarily under the scarred aluminium body. He felt rather than saw the bike break free with a shriek of grinding metal. He heard shots and Mark felt a heavy calibre bullet pass dangerously close to his head and steadied his own weapon as best he could. A tight three-burst round succeeded in reducing the right wing mirror to a twisted spur of metal. He aimed along the weapon’s stubby barrel.

Danny was thrown off balance as the Winnebago slewed from side to side, its suspension worse than useless, every minor bump in the road making it lurch and shudder. The stream of enemy bullets was keeping Clay on the defensive and he could see his brother constantly overcorrecting his steering. The RV was fishtailing in ever-widening arcs; it seemed only a matter of time before they crashed or Clay was shredded.

Danny shouldered open the rear window in the dining area. He could now see their pursuers: two men on a high-powered quad bike. Using the window frame as support he shot with the MP5K. The gunman riding pillion turned, scowling at the new threat. He leaned back and sent a flurry of rounds at Danny, who dropped to his knees, then rose to return fire. Both men unleashed staccato bursts of lead. Neither was successful in hitting their mark. Then the front rider pulled his own sub-machine gun and fired a burst. From his vantage point Danny could not see the shots hit home, but the sudden jerk of the RV nearly knocked him flying. They had taken out the front right tyre. The crippled vehicle skidded a quarter turn and with a squeal of metal, shuddered to a halt.

There was a roar as the bike came alongside, then the crack of shots. More holes appeared in the walls and Danny threw himself to the floor. He turned his head to see Andrea’s face pressed hard against the vinyl floor tiles. The cushions around her spat out wads of stuffing.

Something in the galley kitchen burst into flames, sending sparks and orange tendrils down towards the woman’s head. Danny scrambled up.

“Over here!” He beckoned to her, then leapt over her. Standing momentarily on the seats, he planted a boot into the rear window.

The latch of the window popped under the sudden pressure and he rolled sideways through the improvised exit. Andrea didn’t need his words of encouragement to follow, her laptop bag swinging behind her. Another two booming shots sounded from Clay’s revolver then he too tumbled bodily from the window. But where Danny had landed with feline grace, Clay fell sideways as a tuft of hair was sheared from his head by a wild ricochet and he landed heavily on his back. Danny grabbed his older brother’s arm and hauled him to his feet. Bullets continued to rip through the body of the RV as the three crouched and ran towards a shallow culvert at the side of the road.

* * *

The two gunmen met at the front of the Winnebago and watched the spreading flames with satisfaction. Mark scanned the road either side of the ruined RV as Luke speed-changed his magazine and emptied it into the vehicle on full auto with a roar of angry contempt. His head snapped up as a blur of movement caught his attention. He slapped Mark’s shoulder and made two brief chopping motions in the direction of the blur. Both men advanced as one. Luke sighted down the stubby barrel of his weapon, eyes straining in the darkness. Mark moved low and quick, aiming too into the roadside. Nothing moved, no target presented itself. They knew better than to try a blind charge. Luke reached into a pouch at his waist and pulled his night-vision goggles clear. The night turned a curious hue of green. He scanned the roadside from left to right.

There!

Thirty feet away. The woman crawling away, moving fast despite her ass being stuck way up in the air. Where were the men from the RV?
Make sure they’re dead, then pick up the girl
, Luke thought.

Move!

A brief flash from his left flank and a round entered Mark’s neck just below the ear. In a moment of curious detachment Luke realised that it must have been a big one. A fist-sized chunk of blood and bone was ejected as his comrade pitched onto his knees. Then he slumped forward, forehead hitting the asphalt.

Luke pivoted towards the sound of the shot and pulled the trigger, emptying the magazine into the darkness.

* * *

Danny emerged from cover as the gunman let the empty magazine clatter to the ground. He put a three-burst into the man’s right shoulder from his MP5K, knocking him to the ground. The man was still valiantly trying to swap his weapon to his left hand as Danny pressed the muzzle into his ear. “Enough!”

The gunman released his weapon and clamped both hands over his right pectorals. Blood seeped between his fingers.

“Aye, you’ve been shot, fucknuts!” Danny’s Scottish brogue was thick with contempt as he kicked the man’s sub-machine gun to one side. “The cops should be along soon, but between now and then we’re going to have a wee chit-chat.”

Clay appeared from the darkness. “Chit-chat my ass. I’ve got one left in the chamber for this asshole. I say we ventilate his head just like his buddy, make a matching pair.” Clay levelled his huge revolver at the injured man’s face.

“You’ve got one chance or it’s the end of the road for you,” warned Danny.

The man gasped for breath, a bloody froth at his lips.

“You’ve taken one in the lung. Pretty soon you’ll be drowning in your own blood. Not a good way to go. Now, who sent you and what do you want with the woman?”

The response was a blood-choked gurgle. The gunman spat out a gobbet of blood then began to talk, his voice barely above a whisper. “She’s got something that doesn’t belong to her…”

Behind them, the RV was now sheathed in flames, acrid plumes of smoke tainting the night.

“And what
has
she got?”

The words were quieter again, barely audible. Danny, on one knee, leaned in a fraction to hear. Then a switchblade that had been concealed in the gunman’s chest webbing ripped up at his exposed throat. The blade nicked Danny’s cheek as he snapped his head away. He slammed the stock of his weapon into the man’s mouth. The knife dropped.

Danny looked back at Clay and shrugged. “You try to be civilised…”

The gunman launched into a torrent of vile language, some English, some French, all unmistakable in context.

“One last try. What has the girl got? Why do you want her so bad?”

“Fuck you! Burn in hell. Burn in hell!”

“Are there any more of you out here?”

“Burn in hell!” The man repeated the fiery mantra over and over.

Danny saw his hand feeling for the switchblade and hauled the man to his feet by the throat. “You’re going to the electric chair for this.”

The gunman’s left hand snaked to his collar and another blade flashed, but this time Danny was ready. He pivoted into a classic combat throw. Locking his opponent’s extended elbow over his own shoulder, Danny snapped the top half of his body forward. The man was pitched bodily into the blacktop. His head and neck snapped back with a crunch of separating vertebrae as the rest of his body tumbled over in a loosening of limbs.

Clay sauntered over and regarded the twisted body. He looked into Danny’s eyes but said nothing. Sometimes no words were required.

“Are they both dead?” asked Andrea. She had appeared at Clay’s side.

“As disco-dancing dodos. Serves them right for what they did to my bus.”

“What do we do now?”

Both men turned to look at her. She was covered in blood and dirt. Her pale-blue eyes reflected the flames licking out of the Winnebago.

“Two choices: stay and wait for the cops, or put as much distance between us and them as possible,” Danny replied. He tapped the dead man’s face with his foot. “I thought heading for Rachel was best, but if there are more of these out there, I vote for heading south as fast as we can hustle.”

“What about the police? Won’t they be after us as well?” Andrea asked.

“For questioning? Definitely. But I think that once they see the video from Ryback’s car they’ll know that we weren’t the bad guys here.” Clay pointed back down the road. The red and blue lights still flashed in the distance.

Danny touched the bloody nick on his cheek. “I’d rather explain from another state. Just in case we meet any overzealous troopers before this gets sorted out. Jail time in Nevada is no joke. Not something I’d like to sample while the lawyers duke it out.”

“Prison? Why would we…” Andrea gripped Danny’s arm, her eyes wide with dismay.

“Because they’d bang us up in the state pen while they sorted through all of this, just to be on the safe side.”

“But they did this to
us
…”

“
We
know that, but the investigation could take months,” warned Danny.

“Years, even. These Nevada boys aren’t the quickest out of the stalls,” added Clay.

Andrea’s expression was one of incredulous disbelief. Then she shook her head. “No, I’m not being locked up for any of this. No way! Once they see what those lunatics did, the police will understand.”

“Yes.
Eventually
. That’s my point. In the mean time we’ll be wearing orange jumpsuits and hiding our valuables up our arses.”

“But I’m English—” she turned to Danny “—and you’re Scottish, aren’t you? Are they allowed to put us in an American prison?”

Clay laughed at her naivety. “There’s people locked up in this country for looking the wrong way at the judge. Besides—” he gestured at Danny “—we’re both half-breeds. Dual citizens. He’s just got a dumb accent.” Danny’s expression made Clay laugh louder.

“But…”

“But nothing; trust me, you do not want to spend any time in a Nevada clubhouse. They make Shawshank look like the Marriott.”

“So what am I supposed to do?” asked Andrea, her face contorted with worry. “I’m just here to do a story for a magazine. Now I’m supposed to go on the lam with two men I’ve just met?”

“
Two
men who’ve just killed the
four
men that were trying to do God knows what to you!” spat Danny. He felt the muscles in his jaw bunching in annoyance.

“I know I’d probably be dead if you hadn’t picked me up. I know that. It’s just that this is fucking crazy.” Andrea wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. Her shoulders slumped. “I’m just a features journalist. Film reviews and the odd city guide, for God’s sake. I’m not an investigative reporter. I don’t understand why anyone would want to hurt me!”

Danny relented. “He said that you had something that didn’t belong to you. Have you taken anything that you can think of… stolen anything?”

“Stolen? I’ve never stolen anything in my life.” Andrea’s voice rose in pitch. “I never did anything to those men.”

“Okay, look we can thrash this out later. First we better hit the road and get somewhere safe,” Danny cut in, placing a hand on her shoulder. He looked deep into her eyes, and could imagine what she saw—his face streaked with blood, probably almost as terrifying as the men they’d just killed. If she was smart she would be thankful that he and Clay were on her side.

“So where can we go?” asked Andrea. “And how do we get there?”

Danny pointed to the gunmen’s abandoned quad bike. “Did you ever see that old cartoon
The Hair Bear Bunch
?”

Clay shared the joke and nodded. “Three on a bike, right?”

“Not the most comfortable wheels ever, but it’ll get us on our way. We can boost a car further on down the road.” Danny dropped to one knee and rolled the dead man, relieving him of his backpack and searching through his chest webbing. “Clay, go see what the other joker has on him. We can’t carry more than two of the subs on the bike, but any extra ammo or pistols could come in handy.” As Clay walked to the other body, Danny took a Glock 37 and its holster from his dead opponent’s hip, pulled its twin from his waistband, and put both in the backpack, along with the spare ammunition and satellite phone. He pulled the walkie-talkie from his belt and tossed it to the ground, then picked up the man’s MP5K and slung it across his back with his own. Clay returned, carrying another Glock and two MP5K magazines. He was chewing a Butterfinger.

“We should send these guys a thank-you letter for all this free hardware,” he said between bites, putting his haul into the backpack.

“Not to mention the candy.” Danny grinned.

“So again, where can we go?” asked Andrea. “All I have is my MacBook, for all that’s worth. I left everything else, my phone, my passport, my money…” There was a hitch in her voice. “My brother…”

“But you’re still alive,” said Clay. “That means you’ve still got a chance to put things right.” He turned to Danny. “I say we head for Tansen’s place. He lives so far out no one will find us. It’s a long haul but he has a lot of resources. If we need to, I’m sure he could set us up to fly down to Mexico until we get this sorted.” He grinned wryly. “Let’s just hope he’s forgiven me for that incident with the bowie knife.”

Danny grinned at his brother. “Agreed. And I think you should go up front. Be our windbreak.”

Clay mounted the bike and revved it experimentally. “Three-quarter tank. We’re in luck.” Andrea took her place behind him, and slipped her arms around Clay’s wide torso. Finally, Danny, with the backpack and looted weapons slung over his shoulders, took up the rearmost position.

Slowly at first, then accelerating rapidly, Clay took the road south.

Tansen Tibrikot watched the approaching car with a detached interest. Almost no one drove out to his house; at least not on purpose, and not this early. From the red stone boulder upon which he sat, he had followed the vehicle’s progress along the single-track road for most of the four miles that it stretched from the main highway. Tansen’s only regular visitors were UPS drivers, and the deep-blue saloon didn’t much look like it was in the parcel-delivery business. The morning sun provided a pleasant warmth on his back and he was loath to leave his position. The surface of the rock had been eroded by wind and rain over millennia into a natural curve that served as a perfectly comfortable seat.