“Will it hold?” I ask, stepping onto the shore. My boots land a few feet away, courtesy of Goldie, followed by James’s and Brad’s too.
“Pray,” he grunts, and I do, stepping on board to help Otto drag the loaded ski closer.
“What’s inside?” he asks, steadying it as I reach for the catch at the back and release it.
“I don’t know.” I let the hydraulic levers slowly hiss their way up.
“So it’s like a Pick N Mix for criminals?” he asks, and I chuckle, but quickly stop when I remember . . .
“Fuck off,” I snap.
“Easy, son,” Otto mutters, pulling out a harpoon.
Son? My nostrils flare, and I grab an AK47, pointing it his way. It’s not loaded, but he’ll get the gist.
“Boys!” Goldie hisses, smacking my gun away, followed by Otto’s harpoon. “I’ll kill you both myself.”
I snarl, as does Otto, and we get back to business, passing back all the weapons and loading up. “Higham’s five minutes away,” Ringo says, holding his phone between his teeth while he slips bullets into a magazine.
I start jogging along the shoreline, getting more charged the closer I get to Winstable. A few times, I lose my focus and cast my eyes out onto the ocean, seeing me, a young lad, recklessly riding across the water. Then I see me, a grown man, kissing a woman. Then being blown up. Fuck. I realign my focus.
We make it to the shore, and I spend a moment taking in the drastic change in the landscape close-up. It’s derelict. Tidy, sparse, the land clear, except for the hangar, which makes hiding impossible from this side. The dense bushes and trees remain on the entrance side, hiding the hangar from the road. I hear Ringo’s phone chime quietly and look at him. He nods. Everyone locks and loads and moves in.
Then James holds his hand up and we all stop. A man appears, lighting a cigarette. He looks up, spots us, and just as I’m about to fire, James moves in, forcing me to lower my gun. In one swift, stealth move, he grabs the man, applies pressure to his neck, and he’s soon crumpling to the ground, unconscious. We all crowd around his lifeless body. “Don’t ever do that to me,” I say, hearing Brad chuckle. “Wait, I know that face.”
“The Chameleon.” James looks down at him, his face expressionless but deadly. “So your hunch was right. They’re operating from here.”
I blow out my cheeks, an icy chill tickling its way down my spine as I kneel and pat down his body. I pull out a VP9. The fuckers. I was right. I was fucking right! I’d love nothing more than to put a bullet between his eyes, but for the sake of keeping our presence undetected, I resist the urge.
We move forward again, James now leading, and I’m fine with that. The bloke spent years in the shadows, unseen, unheard, and I’m not arrogant enough to admit I could learn a thing or two from The Enigma. And that move back there? He’s showing me how it’s done. It could come in handy when my wife won’t heel.
“Right,” Otto says flatly from behind me, and James is suddenly moving again, stealth as fuck, somehow making it behind a tall, lanky fucker before he has a chance to raise his gun. He drops like a sack of shit and his Glock lands in James’s waiting hand before it hits the concrete.
“Good catch,” I say quietly, moving forward, poised, wondering what the fuck Higham is playing at. “Wasn’t he supposed to distract them?” I ask.
“Left,” Goldie mutters, making James turn quickly, sweeping his leg out, taking another man off his feet. He hits the deck on his back with a thwack, and everyone winces at the sound.
“I’m changing his name from Rambo,” Brad says. “Meet Bruce.”
“Wayne?” I ask, accepting the Glock James hands me and dipping, throwing a brutal punch, knocking out James’s latest victim and taking his gun too.
“Wayne?” Brad asks. “No, Bruce Lee.” He claims the second Glock. “Who the fuck wants to be a rodent?”
I shrug, just as Otto raises his gun at me. “Are you for real?” I ask, standing taller, raising both of my guns too.
He steps a fraction to the side and fires, and I flinch, the whoosh of his silencer short and sharp. I look to my right, seeing a pool of blood growing near my feet. “This does not mean you can date my mother.”
“I don’t want to date her, you moron,” he grunts, pushing past me.
“Oh, right, so what? You want to love her?”
He stops, his whole body twitching. “Doesn’t she deserve that?”
“Yes, she deserves that, but from someone worthy,” I hiss.
“And who would that be?” he asks, facing me. “In your world, Danny, who the fuck do you expect to swoop in and take care of her? A school teacher? An accountant? Need I fucking remind you who you are?”
I snarl, raise my gun . . . and get tackled from the side by Ringo. I stagger a few paces but remain on my feet. “Calm the fuck down and save it for later.” He gets up in my face, furious. “I wouldn’t mind leaving here intact.”
“Fine.” I push past him, my attention shooting to Goldie when I hear her sharp inhale. She’s opened a door, and whatever is on the other side has stunned her. “What is it?” I rush over, everyone else on my tail, and cautiously peek through the small gap. “The fuck?” I breathe, seeing two rows of beds, perhaps ten in each row, many with women on the dirty, bare mattresses. All with lines into their arms. “Jesus.” I stand, stock-still, and all I see is my wife. My wife as a young girl, and my mum.
I’m consumed, ruled by the anger rising. “Get them out,” I say on impulse, counting the occupied beds. Ten.
“Danny, how?” Goldie asks, sounding so fucking torn and disturbed. It’s a fair question. There are too many. Most completely spaced out, drugged up to their eyeballs. They’ll need carrying, and there’s not enough of us.
“Fuck,” I hiss, moving deeper into the room, feeling everyone at my back, armed, poised, ready to fire, whereas my gun is limp by my side, shock keeping it there.
“We can come back,” she says, an attempt to pacify me.
“We can’t come back.” James steps forward, assessing the lines of beds. “There’s two unconscious men and a dead body out there.”
I look to my left when I hear a murmur and see a young woman writhing on a bed, distressed. I stalk over and remove the line from her arm, bending over her body. Her eyes open and widen, disturbed when she sees me. “No,” she mumbles. “No, please.” Her accent is thick, but I can’t place it.
I hush her, trying to settle her down. “You’re going to be okay.”
“We have to let the police take them in,” Otto says.
“Agreed.” James moves in. “But in not so long, we’re going to be discovered and all these young girls will get caught in the crossfire.”
“So, what?”
“We take them,” I say, starting to work my way through the young women, gently pulling the lines from their arms one by one, being left no choice but to leave each of their punctures exposed and hope they don’t bleed too much. “Call Doc. Have him ready at the house. We’ll deal with the police when I’ve cleared my head.”