Thirty-Three
The colonel’s men returned fire using the machine guns we had found. That bought us some distance from our pursuers.
Rothmann moaned as I dragged him along. One of the Indians came up and lifted his legs so at least his wounds weren’t put under any more pressure-not that I cared. Looking ahead, I saw that the door was metal and there didn’t seem to be a handle. Great.
‘See here,’ Colonel Singh said, trotting up beside me. He was holding three grenades.
‘Do you think they’re full charge?’ I asked.
‘There is only one way to find out.’ He handed his Kalashnikov to one of his men and ran forward, his portly form silhouetted against the fiery backdrop. He made it to within a few yards before a burst of fire sliced across his legs.
‘Shit!’ I stopped to leave Rothmann with the soldier carrying his legs, then waved more of the turbaned men forward. ‘Cover me!’ I put down my Kalashnikov and charged to the door. Bullets ricocheted from the steel surface, whistling past me.
Colonel Singh was clutching his legs and groaning. I grabbed him by the shoulders and dragged him away, then went back for the grenades, which had spilled from his grip. There was a heap of earth about ten yards from the door and we took cover behind it.
‘You play cricket, sir?’ the colonel asked, extending an arm.
‘Not since school. Why?’
He took one of the grenades and pulled the pin with his teeth. ‘Leave to me, then. I am superb fielder.’
I took his word for it and watched as the grenade looped through the air. It exploded just before it reached the metal panels.
‘Good shot!’ I said.
‘Not good enough.’ The colonel pulled, waited and threw again.
The blast was centered on the door, but it still didn’t break it. The firing behind us seemed to be increasing in ferocity.
‘Last chance,’ he grunted, then dispatched the third grenade.
This time the door swung open in two pieces.
‘Go,’ Colonel Singh said, signaling to his men. ‘We will cover you.’
I wanted to thank him, but there wasn’t time. I heaved Rothmann over my shoulder. It was only when I reached the door that I realized I’d left my Kalashnikov behind. A rattle of shots made me keep going.
Beyond the exit, there was a lift similar to the one on the other side. It was striking that there were no men in fatigues waiting-perhaps nobody had given us a chance against the defenders. I hit the call button. The mechanism kicked in immediately.
Rothmann was panting, even though he hadn’t been carrying any heavy weights recently. I swung him to the floor, opened the door to the cage and pulled him in. The only option apart from H for Hades was G, which I presumed was ground level. We were there in less than a minute. I opened the door and was confronted by another steel panel, but this one had a button to the right-hand side.
The door opened onto a patch of muddy ground. The pale light of early morning was trying to break through a layer of mist. Although we were inside the compound, there was only a low wall in front of us. I picked Rothmann up again and ran toward it, levering him over. When I joined him, I saw a large yellow digger straight ahead of us, and the fence about thirty yards beyond it.
‘Can…can you…drive that thing?’ Rothmann asked, as I jogged toward the vehicle with him on my shoulder.
‘Oh, yes,’ I said, thinking of my friend Dave Cummings. He had owned a demolition company and had given me sessions on his various machines. I scrambled into the cab and hauled Rothmann up beside me. As was often the case with heavy equipment, the keys had been left in the ignition. I fired up the engine, struggled a bit to find a gear and then veered toward the fence.
‘More speed!’ Rothmann yelled.
‘Fuck you!’ I replied, the gas pedal already on the floor.
We had enough speed, though we took a long stretch of wire with us. Alarms started honking and I heard some shots in the distance, but we were clear. I stood up in the cab and tried to get my bearings. A line of trees in the distance looked like they might be alongside the road, so I headed for them. Sure enough, the SUV Sara had been driving soon came in sight through the mist. In a couple of minutes, we were there. I stopped the digger and killed the engine, then jumped down.
‘Well, well,’ said a familiar voice. ‘If it isn’t James Bond the Second.’
Gordy Lister had appeared from behind the Highlander, a machine-pistol in one hand and a snub-nosed revolver in the other. Mary Upson was at his side-at least she didn’t seem to be armed, but there was blood on her shirt.
‘Hold it right there!’ Gordy ordered. He glanced up at the cab. ‘That goes for you, too, Master.’ He pronounced the title as if he’d just sucked a lime.
‘Come over here and help me down,’ Rothmann said. ‘I’m wounded.’
‘Like I give a shit.’ The diminutive man turned back to me. ‘Where’s the bitch?’
I was looking at Mary. She seemed less than connected to what was going on-hardly surprising after what she had been through in the rite. I turned back to Lister. ‘You mean-’
‘I mean the blonde bitch who killed my brother.’ The machine-pistol was waving around in his grip.
‘Dead,’ I said, pointing to my fatigues. ‘This is her blood.’
Lister stared at Rothmann, who confirmed what I’d said. ‘Where are you going, Wells?’
I was heading for the SUV. ‘He needs to get to hospital.’
‘Help me down, Gordy,’ Rothmann said, easing his legs toward the ground and gasping. ‘Now, man!’
I had opened the door in advance of moving the Highlander closer to the digger when the shot rang out. By the time I turned, Rothmann had slid to the ground, blood pumping from his head. Mary started to cry and I went over to her.
‘What the fuck did you do that for?’ I demanded, shading Mary’s line of sight.
‘He’d lost it completely,’ Lister said. ‘Fucking Master of the Antichurch of Lucifer fucking Triumphant. Last thing I needed was him spouting all kinds of shit about me to the Feds. Besides, if I’d never hooked up with him, Mikey would still be alive.’ He paused, staring toward the camp. ‘Who the hell are those guys?’
I looked past Mary’s head and saw a group of turbaned troops exiting the camp by the hole I’d made in the fence.
‘Indian Army,’ I said.
‘Say what?’ Gordy ran to the car I’d seen him and Mary in before. ‘Geronimo, my ass.’
He disappeared into the mist.
Jimmy Vlastos raised the blind in his bedroom and looked out over the rooftops of Astoria. It was a clear morning and the sky was pale blue, thin layers of cloud furrowing high above the planes taking off and landing at La Guardia. The sound of bouzouki music drifted up from the apartment below-his neighbors were economic refugees from the fatherland who were still homesick. Vlastos stretched his shoulders and saw an elderly woman staring at him from the opposite block. He looked down, suddenly aware of his nakedness and his half-mast morning glory. He kept his arms high and grinned at the peeper. Then he remembered the last time he’d been naked in front of a fully dressed woman.
Who was she, the blonde with the knife and the Ruger? He’d put the word out, but nothing had come back. Obviously she was a pro, but why would a pro have been hired to tell him about the scumbag who had raped his cousin Eleftheria? The more he thought about it, the more he was convinced that she had acted independently. But why? As it turned out, things had fallen neatly into place. His relationship with the Colombians had been getting problematic-they didn’t like the credit he gave some customers and he was tired of being pushed around. Taking the wire cutters to Alonso Larengo’s nuts had been a big risk, and letting Ria watch could have made things worse. As it was, the Colombians had been happy to get rid of the increasingly erratic Larengo, who hadn’t been seen since he staggered out of the repair shop off Hazen that Jimmy had taken over for the night. He was probably in bits in the East River by now.