There was an abrupt lull. The sound of war still roared in their ears as the room grew strangely still. Profound tension passed from eye to eye, as quick and as weighty as death and ruin.
A man with short hair and chiselled features walked into view, pushing his way to the front of the veritable crowd of bad guys. Hayden counted fifteen standing, seven on the floor. Good enough on a normal day, but this… this was crazy.
“I guess you’re the girl,” the lead man spoke with an American southern accent and motioned to his men. They stepped forward, took Hayden’s gun and roughly bound her wrists with plastic ties. The lead CIA agent didn’t panic; she still had nightmares about her treatment at the hands of the German, Abel Frey, and in particular, that psycho-bitch Alicia Myles. Hayden kept her focus and remembered her training.
The lead man spoke again. “And we need two more.” He pointed to Kinimaka and one of the agents behind her. “That big bastard we can torture for longer,” he said, his lips curling in a sneer. “And him, he’s the last one standing.”
Hayden whipped her head round and tried to hold in a gasp. Wyatt Godwin stood swaying in position. The other three agents, Bowers, Mawby and Carrick lay prone on the floor, writhing, gasping, having taken bullets.
Men pushed past her and bound Godwin’s hands before shoving him to the ground next to Kinimaka. She saw the men trying to bind the big Hawaiian’s wrists with plastic ties, trying hard to hide the fact that they wouldn’t reach all the way around.
Lead man saw it anyway, eagle eyes everywhere. “Fools. Just keep your guns on the big bastard. If he looks dangerous treat him like a rhino. Shoot the kneecaps.” The warped grin showed how amusing he thought he was.
But even in his sleep Mano Kinimaka looked dangerous. His guards glanced at each other with worried looks.
Now lead man finally turned his eyes towards Hayden. “We don’t have a lot of time, I know that. So you’ll hear it straight. That’s my promise. You will all die. Eventually. These three,” he motioned towards Bowers, Mawby and Carrick with his big Desert Eagle, “are dead already.” A slimy tongue flashed across dry lips. “You three have a choice. Die easy or…”
The man shocked her by suddenly leaping in her face and grabbing her throat in a steel-fingered choke hold. Almost immediately she saw stars, and her legs threatened to give way. But even that wasn’t enough. The man buried his fist into her stomach, grinning as he struck once, twice, three times, and all the while his fingers tightened.
“Name’s Boudreau,” he whispered. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Hayden Jaye.”
He walked away, letting her slither to the ground just for show. Hayden lay there a minute, trying to breathe.
Boudreau came back and stuck a boot before her blurry eyes. “What was I saying? Oh, yeah, die easy… or die screaming, bitches. Your call.”
Hayden began to gain some focus and managed to sit up. She saw that Boudreau’s men had already dragged Bowers to his feet. The tall, good-looking father of two was white with fear and pain, gasping so hard his sides were heaving. Blood soaked through the side of his jacket.
“I doubt you’ll talk,” Boudreau addressed his comment to Hayden. “So this one’s for the fun of it all.”
The leader walked over to Bowers, took out a wicked blade, and cut the agent’s throat before anyone could react. Even then the wickedness employed by their captors wasn’t over. The men holding him deliberately kept him upright and walked him around as his throat sprayed red mist everywhere. Walls. Carpet. Windows. It was a mercy when Bowers finally crumpled and they let him fall to the floor.
Boudreau raised his eyebrows towards Hayden. “Like that? He’s next.” The blade levelled at Mawby, short and stocky and due to be married in eight weeks.
Hayden played for time. “You haven’t even asked a question, for Christ’s sake. What do you want, Boudreau?”
“Not to be played for a fool, Miss Jaye. You see, my boss is, quite possibly the craziest, most dangerous man in the world. And he’s asked me to get answers. So-”
Quickly, Boudreau spun on the spot and threw his knife. It slammed through Mawby’s throat. The agent would have staggered back into the wall if it weren’t for the men holding him. They wasted no time parading him up and down. Hayden turned away from the bloody spectacle, sickened.
Boudreau said his boss was the craziest? The guy was registering high up the whacko-meter himself.
“And so we come to the last,” Boudreau had retrieved his knife and was now winking at Carrick. “Where d’ya want it, son? C’mon. Where?”
Hayden snapped. “What the hell do you want, Boudreau? Our investigation? Details?”
“Now you’re talking.”
Hayden was counting down. Help couldn’t be more than three minutes away.
“The Blood King,” she said cryptically. “We’ve heard about some guy called the Blood King today.”
“You’ve heard of him!” Boudreau’s eyes practically bulged. “Heard! Love of God, no wonder he wants an example made of you all, CIA or not.”
Another minute ticked by.
Hayden said: “Not just the CIA, Boudreau. The American government.”
The southerner’s eyes widened a little and for a moment Hayden thought the crazy, hard-man betrayed a glimmer of fear. “Nothing,” he breathed. “Even that is nothing to the Blood King.”
He spun away and strode over to Carrick. The agent stood half-bowed, blood already leaking from a thigh wound, but his eyes betrayed nothing as he stared the evil man with the knife right in the eyes.
“Good,” Boudreau drawled. “I almost feel a pride in you. Almost-” The knife flashed.
“We know someone’s found the answer…” Hayden cried, desperate and sweating and shaking with emotion. “… to the Bermuda Triangle! We know, you evil bastard.”
Boudreau shot her a smug, evil leer and then deliberately turned and slowly pushed his bloody blade through Carrick’s neck until it emerged the other side. The strength of the man was shocking.
Carrick slumped. Boudreau left the knife where it was and signalled his men. “Double-time. The cavalry’s coming,” he winked in Hayden’s direction. “Don’t fret, dear. Those three got off easy compared to what’s gonna happen to you.”
After they vacated the house the only sound that remained was the slow drip of blood and the gentle whirring of the laptop.
CHAPTER TWO
Ben Blake sat staring at the dark computer screen for a few moments, then started screaming. Within seconds Drake and Kennedy were at the door.
“What the hell are you pissing about at, Blakey?” Drake was carrying a tea towel, a somewhat strange look for the ex-soldier. “Nappy rash playing you up again?”
Kennedy was smiling. “Maybe the Backstreet Boys are getting back together? Again?”
“H… Hayden. She, … ” Ben’s felt a heavy pounding in his head, as if a demon was trying to smash its way through his skull, “… something just ha… happened.”
Drake realised his best friend was terrified. “Hey! Hey, mate, calm down. Just sit back for a sec. It’ll be alright. Breathe.”
Ben took a moment to gather his nerves. “I was just talking to her. Hayden. I think… I think they got ambushed, or invaded, or whatever. There was fighting.” Ben’s voice fell. “Gunshots.”
“No way.” Drake twisted his head to take in the computer screen. It offered nothing but an empty wall that sported a colour so drab and life-sucking it could have been used to decorate a tax office.