The Killer II (22 page)

‘
Good night Miss Valley of the Wolves.’
There was nothing else to say.
The gesture aroused him, yet it was so innocent at the same time.
He threw an arm around her and was almost instantly asleep.
When he awoke the next morning she was gone, but the scent of her hair lingered on the pillow.
He stretched slowly, wincing at the taught skin of his lower legs, but he felt wonderful.
He had just had the most restful night’s sleep he could remember in many years and there wasn’t even a shadow of a nightmare remaining.
The pattern of the following few nights was the same, but then she was gone again and he felt incredibly lonely without her as his dark dreams returned.

A couple of days later, which he thought was probably Monday though time seemed of little importance here, he was walking slowly round the garden carefully flexing his knees and ankles when he saw her through the kitchen window.
By the time he made his way there she had gone.
At meal times, which he now had at the large family table, she served him and her brothers, but then left.
By evening he was confused, thinking he must have done something to offend her but at a loss as to what.
That night he settled down in bed, staring into the darkness, and knew that sleep would not come.

A faint noise alerted him and then the light flicked on.
She walked across the room, the heavy nightgown covering her from head
to toe.
‘You are feeling much stronger now I think,’ she suggested.

‘
Yes.’

‘
Good.’
She loosened the fastening of her nightgown and it fell slowly down to the floor revealing perfectly formed, firm little breasts that bounced slightly and glistened with a light sheen of sweat.
As his eyes gazed down the length of her body they widened in amazement.
He had never seen this before.
She didn’t have any pubic hair.
Nothing.

She caught his surprise and spoke shyly.
‘Most of my clients prefer it this way.
Is that a problem?’

The penny dropped and everything fell into place.
‘You are a prostitute?’ he asked softly.

Her words came hurriedly in explanation. ‘I work just the weekends and it is a very good house, a very clean house.
My brothers, they hunt sometimes and they sell cigarettes, but I must bring some good money, some regular money.
I hope I don’t disappoint you
Mr.
Darren but, yes, I am a prostitute.’

‘
And I am a killer.’
He smiled slowly and held out his hand to her.
‘The pleasure and the pain.
What a pair we make.’

He removed his own nightclothes as she climbed into bed beside him.
‘Does it still hurt?’ she asked softly.

‘
Here is not too bad,’ he smiled, indicating his stomach and she bent to kiss it tenderly.
‘And everything feels fine a little lower down,’ he assured her as her caresses
followed his direction.
‘God, you have some sweet mouth on you,’ he sighed.

A few moments later
Montse
made her way back up the bed and he started to roll over.
‘No, you lie still,’ she told him, her shy smile giving way to an elfish grin.
She moved to
kneel,
her legs either side of him, and then lowered herself.
‘There, does that make you feel better?’

‘
Jesus Christ I
fuckin
’ love Spain,’ he grinned as she slowly made love to him.

The following morning he awoke to find her still lying next to him and he breathed in her sweet scent.
She stretched lazily as she turned to him and cuddled into his arms.
They made love again and then lay silent for a while until
Montse
announced, ‘I think you are very nearly recovered,
Mr.
Darren.’

‘I think I need a little more therapy yet,’ he laughed.

‘Yes,’ she giggled before adding more seriously, ‘but one day soon you will go.’

‘Aye, soon,’ he agreed sadly.

‘You will go back to your people in England and begin killing the bad men again?’

He propped himself up onto one arm and looked into her eyes.
‘There are some bad men I have to deal with,’ he confirmed, ‘but no,
Montse
, I am not going back to England.
I have some friends here in Spain and I will go to them.
They think I am dead so it will be a shock, but it won’t be the first time.’

‘What?’

‘Nothing, that’s not important,’ he said hurriedly.
‘
Montse
I have been doing a lot of thinking while I’ve been here.’

‘About killing bad men?’

‘Aye, but more about my life.
I need to find Darren again.’

‘I don’t...’

‘No, it is very complicated.
There are some men I used to work for and then there are other men I worked for, and all the time I did what they told me to do.
But I’m not going to do that anymore.
Now I am going to work for myself and, when I have finished, there will be no more killing.
I know you can’t understand.’

‘I think your mind is very complicated, but I understand your words.
I have very good English, no?’

‘You have excellent English.’

‘It is my clients.
I like Englishmen.
I like you.’

‘I’ve told you before – I’m Irish.’

‘It is the same, no?’

‘Oh
Miss Valley of the Wolves, you couldn’t be more
wrong.’

23

Dreams of a Spanish Girl - Interrupted

May drew to a close and by early June Darren was feeling strong and his legs were supple once more.
Montse’s
ministrations had worked wonders and he had full movement to well below his knees.
His ankles remained a little tight as the skin there had burned quite badly and left some ugly scars, but Darren already had plenty of those and wasn’t bothered by a few more.
Every day
Montse
applied her ointment to his skin and every night she applied her balm to his soul.
He knew he would be leaving her soon, heading into the mountains to find Rosa and her boys, but he would be back.

The sun shone brightly through the bedroom window and they lay together considering a few more minutes’ sleep.
Darren was contentedly daydreaming about the woman at his side when they heard a loud crash downstairs followed by angry shouting.

Montse
cursed her brothers.
‘I’m not taking any more of it,’ she spat.
‘They go out all night getting drunk and now they’re bringing their stupid friends back with them.
I’ll kill the pair of them.’

She was out of bed and pulling on her nightgown as the sound of heavy feet came
running up the stairs.
‘Don’t you dare come into my room,’ she began but was unable to finish the scolding as the door crashed open and four armed Guardia Civil officers rushed in.

‘You, get dressed,’ ordered one in a heavy Madrid accent as he trained his pistol at Darren’s head.

‘What the fuck do you want?’ asked Darren, leaping from the bed.

‘Now!’ yelled the officer, who seemed to be in charge, and Darren had no choice but to obey.
The moment his clothes were on he was handcuffed and he watched as
Montse
was similarly restrained.
‘You are under arrest on charges of international terrorism,’ the officer continued.

Darren was momentarily struck dumb, but then the horror of the situation mobilised him.
He tried to fight against his bonds in an attempt to reach
Montse
as her eyes shone in panic.
‘Leave her alone,’ he screamed.
‘She has nothing to do with any of this.’

There was no answer, just a gun in his back as he was forced downstairs and he heard
Montse’s
sobs behind him.
‘Leave her alone,’ he yelled again, but it was useless.

In the kitchen he saw Alex and Esteban also in handcuffs and he gave them a strained look of apology.
They averted their eyes and then he was bundled out through the door and into a waiting Toyota, followed quickly by the senior officer and one of the guards.
He looked through the window to see the remaining guards roughly pushing
the two brothers and their sister into a second car and
Montse’s
sobs were now a gut-wrenching howl.

‘Keep that cheap wailing slut quiet,’ ordered the senior guard through the car window.

‘You
fuckin
’ bastard,’ Darren spat at him, but his words were lost as the Toyota was thrown into gear and sped off down the lane, dirt and gravel flying in all directions.
They flew along to a junction and took a sharp right onto the main road.
As Darren looked behind them he saw the second car speeding off in the opposite direction.

‘Where are you taking them?’ he cried, but the fight was leaving
him
as he knew it was hopeless.
He threw his head back in the seat and the tears were prickling at his eyes.
It was a sensation he hadn’t experienced since he found his mother’s brutally murdered body five years earlier and he felt completely useless.
There was nothing he could do to help the woman he loved, for he did love her.
He knew that now and
he was overwhelmed by a deep
, sickening despair.
He hardly had the strength to consider what was happening to him and he didn’t care.
He’d heard plenty from
Vassi
about the brutal treatment of terrorists at the hands of the Guardia Civil and he was immediately resigned to that, but
Montse
…
He couldn’t help her and that was a fate worse than death.

The car swerved quickly off the road and threw him on his side, breaking into his
distress.
What the fuck?
The four-wheel drive vehicle headed out into fields and Darren was quickly alert.
He had expected a long ride followed by even longer questioning, but now it seemed it was to be a short drive followed by a bullet in the head.
It was the only conclusion and he had to fight hard to hold back the tears.
He couldn’t let these men see his weakness, but for it all to end like this was just beyond belief.
All those years of fighting and it was to end in some
fuckin
’ farmer’s field in the middle of nowhere.

The bumpy drive continued for a few minutes more and then the car came to a sudden halt outside a large hut.
The senior officer was out in an instant, flinging open the back door and pulling him from the car.
He landed in a heap before strong arms forced him to his knees and he felt the gun at the back of his head.
So this was it then.
He vaguely registered a sound in the distance but closed his ears to it as he gritted his teeth and silently prayed.
He knew he didn’t deserve any grace from the Lord, but it was all he could do.

As the bullet didn’t come immediately and the sound grew louder, Darren slowly recognised the whir of a helicopter.
He doubted that God had acted so quickly and sent help, but he looked to the sky to see the unmistakeable markings of an R.A.F. chopper descending.

‘
On your feet,’ ordered his guard.

‘
What?’

‘
I don’t know who you are,’ the officer spat, ‘and I don’t like you, but we have our orders.
We were instructed to put on that little show back there for those peasants you were living with.’

‘
What?
What will happen to them?’ Darren shouted now as the sound of the whirring blades began to drown out the conversation.

‘
They will be questioned and released,’ came the yelled reply.

‘
So why?’

The chopper landed then and swallowed the guard’s words, but he thought he heard him say ‘Senior Colonel’ in English, which didn’t make any sense.
Why would he suddenly speak in English?
Or was it – did it sound more like ‘
Señor
Turner’?
He had no chance to consider that as he was manhandled unceremoniously towards the waiting bird and the rotors continued at full speed as rough hands reached out to haul him inside.
They were airborne again within seconds and Darren didn’t have time to take in his surroundings as he fell to the floor and the helicopter soared away.

‘
Mr.
O’Neil,’ he finally heard above the din.

He looked up into a scarred face that seemed familiar but he couldn’t quite place it.
Then the fog cleared.
‘You,’ he spat as he finally recognised the British soldier who had left him alone in Ireland after his mission to take out Mad Dog.
‘What the
fuck are
you doing here?’

‘
Orders Paddy, and don’t think I like ‘
em
.’

‘What?
Why?’

‘Don’t ask me.
God knows why a wanker like you is so important, but they’ve pulled out all the stops to find you and get you back.
Think you’d got out, did
ya
, you dumb Irish prick?’

‘
Whose orders?’ demanded Darren McCann as he glared at the British soldier and Liam O’Neil braced himself for the reply.

‘
Oh, didn’t I mention it?
Mr.
Turner says
Hullo
.’

‘
Turner?
Bollocks.’

The End…

But the Beginning

of
the Final Reckoning