Silencer (3 page)

‘Hey,
hombre
… We got movement.’

My eye shot back to the optic as Dino began his running commentary. ‘I’ve got the door open – you copy? It’s on,
hombre
, it’s fucking
on
.’

The lens steamed up. I rubbed it with my thumb. ‘Yep.’

‘I’ve still got no wind. And I’ve got movement inside.’

I watched through the curtain of rain as the Wolf’s two little girls tumbled out onto the veranda. They had their hair in pigtails. Both wore shorts and Disneyland T-shirts and were barefoot. They ran straight to the rail and stuck their hands out into the torrent cascading from the roof, playfully flicking water at each other.

‘Nick, I got the target. It’s fucking on …’

A pair of adult sandals appeared at the threshold. The Wolf had rolled up his baggy jeans above the knee. A very hairy gut hanging out between his waistband and a blue T-shirt completed the look.

‘Yep.’

I eased the aiming post up to where his collarbones met, a centimetre or so higher in my sight picture than the two little heads bobbing up and down in front of him. The Wolf took a cigarette from his mouth and flicked it past them into the mud.

My finger took first pressure.

Holding the post level on the centre of his chest I let out my breath and held it. Then his wife entered my sight picture. The
Wolf scooped her up in his arms and they kissed. Her loosely tied hair brushed her shoulders, and the hem of her plain blue dress rode up her thigh. I began to see what Dino was so excited about.

Arms still full, the Wolf turned back towards the door. I took a gentle breath and kept first pressure – but knew that if I put a round into the target there was a good chance it would also drop her. That wouldn’t be good: someone would have to look after those fatherless kids.

The couple disappeared back into the shack with the two girls in tow, but the door stayed open. At least the kids were out of the killing area. To hear a gunshot and then discover that your dad is dead is bad enough; to be standing next to him as he goes down would not be the best day out.

I knew Dino was pissed off. Maybe he thought taking a shot at this range was as easy as Arnie made it look. ‘Fuck,
hombre
, maybe a change of angle …?’

‘No.’ I gripped his arm. ‘The rain’s easing. He could be out again any minute. We stay where we are.’

He slumped back into the mud, muttering to himself like a down-and-out.

We were well concealed, with a great arc of fire. No one was going anywhere. I breathed slowly and deeply, keeping a nice, easy rhythm so I could control the weapon at any moment.

Dino shook his head to clear his ears and wiped them with the back of a muddy hand.

‘Dino, we got movement.’

The Wolf and his wife appeared on the veranda again. He was now carrying a furled red-and-white golfing umbrella.

Dino resumed his commentary. ‘Still no wind …’

I had him at the same point of aim as he called back into the shack, probably yelling goodbye to the kids. Only one problem: Mrs Orjuela’s very attractive head was at the centre of my target. All I could see of the Wolf was his gut ballooning either side of her small frame, like the human version of a solar eclipse. I waited for her to move. I wasn’t sure if Dino was waffling or not. My brain had shrunk and pushed itself into the optic.

I breathed out; held it; took first pressure. All she had to
do was move one step left or right and I’d take second pressure.

‘Stop, stop!’ Dino’s hand fell onto my right shoulder.

I couldn’t see what was wrong. The couple were still on the veranda. She was still obstructing the shot.

‘Fuck … They—’

I didn’t need to know the reason. ‘Shut up. Just tell me when.’

I waited on the target, top of the aiming post still where it needed to be, rising up gently as I breathed in. I’d also have him if he moved towards the pick-up, as long as she got the fuck out of the way.

Still nothing existed in my head but the sight picture, the water pounding on my back, and the wait for Dino’s OK.

I held the weapon firmly but gently, not wanting to grip it so tightly that my muscles started to shake. I just wanted to keep the weapon as it should be: a natural extension to my body. I took slow, deep breaths to keep myself oxygenated, ready for when I stopped breathing and squeezed the trigger.

It didn’t take long to see what the closedown was about. Just beyond the target, inside the shack, the kids were criss-crossing the doorway in some sort of game. There were three of them now. The boy was a lot bigger than his sisters.

‘Here we go.’

‘What?’

I realized I’d spoken aloud.

I wiped as much rain as I could off the optic without shifting my elbows from their anchor points and returned to the firing position. The Wolf took his wife’s arm.

‘Nick, she’s going with him. She’s in the fucking way … The shot, she’s in the way …’

The target held the umbrella at an angle to protect them as they emerged from cover. They moved down the steps together. The pick-up was only three or four paces. It was parked nose-out from the shack, which meant if I couldn’t take the shot before he reached the cab, she’d still be in the way.

I crawled out of my position.

‘Nick … What you doing, man?’

There was no time to explain. I started legging it to the right, but the mud tugged heavily at my Rohan tourist-on-safari shirt and trousers. Maybe I could put a round through the windscreen. Hugging the high ground, I tried to protect the weapon as I tore
through the foliage. I didn’t want to damage the optic or dislodge it and fuck up the zero.

I was starting to breathe heavily, and that could jeopardize the shoot as badly. But I didn’t have a choice. I had to keep running to get ahead of the target.

I reached the treeline again, overlooking the valley. With luck, I’d be in front of them, or at least at a better angle to take the shot. My lungs burned; my throat was dry.

I was in time to see them dodging puddles beside the pick-up. She had the umbrella now. The Wolf was between her and the driver’s door. The height of the vehicle meant that he was completely obscured, but I had an angle on the windscreen.

I fell into the mud, trying to slow my heart rate, trying to stop my chest heaving, then realized I didn’t have enough muzzle clearance. The slope wasn’t steep enough. All I could see through the optic was a haze of green.

I got to my feet again as the driver’s door opened. I couldn’t see the Wolf. The umbrella was still up and static.

I ran to the nearest tree, jammed myself between two of its buttresses, arse in the mud, back firmly against the trunk. Heels dug in, elbows inside my knees, I tried to make a quick but stable platform for the weapon.

Dino crashed down the other side of the buttress, his breathing noisier than the water still pouring from the canopy. He pressed the range-finder button. ‘I got four—’

‘Dino, shut
up
.’

Eighteen years in the military gave me enough experience to know that this was a bit further than 447, but no way was it 500. I’d still aim a fraction higher. There was no time to mince about, bring the weapon out of the aim and adjust the sights. I kept the aiming post slightly above the steering wheel as the Wolf fell into his seat.

I waited. My chest heaves slowed as I took control of my breathing. The wife closed her door.

‘Nick, take the shot! He’ll be gone …’

I waited. Two seconds later, the massive V8 engine roared into life. Smoke belched from the exhaust.

‘Nick – fuck …’

I breathed out, moved the centre of the top pad of my right index finger gently against the trigger. The windscreen wipers began their sweep and cleared my sight picture for me. The post was slightly lower than it needed to be. I adjusted up a millimetre so it rested dead centre of his collar.

I took three deep breaths. If you’re not oxygenated you can’t see correctly and your muscles start to tremble. I squeezed until I felt resistance; second pressure. I emptied my lungs and stopped breathing in order to steady the weapon.

And then I took the shot.

I didn’t even hear the crack. I was too busy maintaining concentration while the firing pin struck the round and the expanding gases forced the bullet up the barrel and out towards the target. But the parakeets heard it. They screeched and catapulted from their perches high in the canopy as the weapon jumped up and back into my shoulder.

The aiming post fell back to the neat hole at the centre of the spider-webbed screen. The parakeets regrouped and flew in bomber formation, metres above the F150, as they escaped down the valley.

No one emerged from the cab.

I’d kept my right eye open throughout, followed through the shot, watched as the point of aim settled once more on the centre of the target.

Dino mumbled unintelligibly. I couldn’t work out if he was excited or terrified. Then he blurted, ‘Did you get him, Nick? Is he dead?’

He probably thought the shot had been loud enough to get the whole village pouring out of their shacks. But it was nothing compared to Mrs Orjuela shrieking at her children to stay inside the shack. She slipped over in the mud, dropped the umbrella, then struggled to her feet.

‘Nick, she’s running, man. You got him!’

She slithered and slid towards the shack.

‘Let’s go, man! We’ve gotta go!’

I kept my eye glued to the optic as she reached the steps.

One of the little girls ran out onto the veranda, looking confused. Her mother continued screaming at her to go back, took the three steps in one bound and shepherded the child into the safety of the house.

‘I don’t get it, man. What the fuck we doing?’

I stayed in the fire position and watched the shadowy blob behind the wheel as the windscreen wipers bumped over the spider-webbed glass.

Dino was behind me now, maybe thinking that if he got the hell out of there, so would I.

‘He’s still moving.’

I braced my elbows to maintain the fire position and used my right forefinger and thumb to push the bolt handle up and back to eject the round.

‘Grab it.’

Even empty cases left with us.

I pushed home the bolt to pick up another 7.92 round from the five-round mag. As the round found the chamber the driver’s door opened. With agonizing slowness, the Wolf slumped sideways. I pulled the bolt handle down to close the action and got treated to a running commentary on the fucking obvious.

‘He’s under the truck, Nick. He’s fucking crawled under the truck. What we going to do?
Fuck
…’

I watched the rain-stitched mud, hoping to see Orjuela try to crawl, walrus-like, towards the shack. But he wasn’t that stupid.

I sprang up, keeping eyes on the truck, scanning for movement. So far there hadn’t been any sign of it from any of the other shacks along the river. They probably did enough hunting around there not to worry about a gunshot. ‘Dino!’

No answer.

‘
Dino!
’ I didn’t look round, just thumbed back the way we’d come. ‘Go to the RV. Remember the road junction? Go there and we’ll meet up. Go there now.’

He swam into my peripheral vision. ‘Why, Nick? What you doing?’

‘Making sure he’s dead. And that doesn’t need two of us. Go, fuck off.’

He was more than willing to take that order and I was more than happy to see the back of him.

I scrambled faster and faster down the hill, then slid on my arse across the wet grass, all the way to the valley floor. The rain was still hammering down. I could hear cocks crowing and, further along the valley, could see smoke belching from the stone chimneys and settling across wiggly tin rooftops like a pall. There was still no breeze to pick it up and take it away.

Less than fifty metres now to the F150 … I stooped as I ran towards it, weapon in the shoulder, always checking the gable end shutter, expecting it to open any minute, or the wife to storm back out onto the veranda and start shooting.

The Wolf was still under the vehicle. I could see no movement, but that meant nothing. I could hear the kids howling inside the shack, which was good. I preferred sobbing to shooting.

I dropped down next to the wheel arch. The Wolf was wedged by the driveshaft, his eyes glazed as he bled out into the mud. His retinas looked as dead as fish on a slab. I couldn’t see any chest movement, any twitching. But I’d long since stopped taking anything like that on trust.

I crawled in next to him and pressed my middle and forefinger into the fatty folds of his neck to feel for a carotid pulse. There wasn’t one. The round had entered high in his right shoulder and blown a king-size exit wound through his lower back.

I reversed out into the daylight and turned back towards the high ground, aiming for the cover of the canopy. As I started to move, something caught my eye at the gable end of the shack. The shutter was open. I swung up the weapon, using the crown of the optic as a battle sight.

The Wolf’s son stood there, framed by the window. He had clear olive skin, short dark hair and eyes like saucers. He stared at me, unblinking. He wasn’t scared. I could still hear his sisters wailing, but he looked like stone. His eyes bored into mine. They told me that while I might feature in his three a.m. nightmares, he would take his place in mine.

Then his mother appeared, her mud-covered arm reaching across the boy’s shoulders – not to move him away from the threat of my raised Mauser but to bind them together. Her gaze was as dark, unblinking and devoid of emotion as her son’s.

I lowered the weapon and broke into a run.

PART TWO

26 August 2011

11.27 hrs

Life as I knew it was about to end.

I stared at my reflection in the triple-glazed, floor-to-ceiling balcony doors overlooking the Moskva River and Borodinsky Bridge, but my eyes kept being tugged back to the one of the swollen belly on the sofa behind me. Four weeks to go, and Anna was so heavy with our unborn baby she found it hard to stand, let alone walk. It was like she was on the sea-bed in an old diver’s suit and lead boots, hardly able to put one foot in front of the other.