It had taken fifteen minutes for Stone to work his way carefully through the woods. The crossbow was cocked and ready for use, but with the safety on. He held it over his shoulder, to avoid it accidentally snagging on a branch. He had gambled that the woods would not be patrolled or alarmed, and it seemed that he was right.
Initially his progress through the thick undergrowth had been painfully slow, particularly without the aid of a flashlight. After a while, he had spotted a path in the dappled moonlight, and his pace improved. The path was really just a track, a slight gap pushed through the bramble and bushes. Stone imagined it had been created by the regular passage of some medium sized animal, perhaps a badger, or a fox. In any event, it cut a useful swathe through the undergrowth that led him directly to the clearing.
Peering through the last row of trees, Stone could clearly see Simon Cartwright’s house in the distance. From his position, he could see the rear of the main building, and some sort of barn or garage. At the front there was a graveled parking area containing six vehicles. He recognized two of the cars from the earlier altercation at The Oracle. He could see the dented Toyota that Kitten and Bunny had driven, and a black BMW — the same car that had abducted Linda. Any doubts that Stone may have had about the validity of the operation were now gone.
The house was a large brick built bungalow with a wide tiled roof. Between the barn and the rear of the house, there was a cylindrical tank for storing heating oil. Towards the left, mounted on a metal post in the ground was a huge satellite dish, perhaps eight feet wide — the source of the Wrecking Crew’s broadband. There were three windows and a French door facing the rear, all were showing that the lights inside were on.
He watched the house for a full two minutes, but could see no obvious signs of movement outside. Using the sights on the crossbow, he studied the building and its surroundings more closely. Towards the front of the house, there was the occasional hint of a frosty breath, or perhaps some cigarette smoke. Looking to the rear, he twice saw someone’s shadow briefly pass across one of the lighted windows. Although there was no obvious sign of any external security cameras, Stone knew that modern cameras could be small and difficult to spot. He would just have to take a risk. It was time to move.
Brightly illuminated in the moonlight, the field ahead looked like one-hundred yards of soft rolling waves of snow. A person standing in that field would be as obvious as a muddy footprint on a white carpet. The only obvious break in the gently waving grass was the continuation of the animal track that Stone had followed through the wood. His dark clothes would help to make him less visible, but he would need some camouflage for when he got nearer to the house. Assuming he lived that long. Using the hunting knife, Stone cut a large branch off a leafy bush and dropped it over the fence. Then he picked up the crossbow, climbed through a gap in the railing and silently slid into the long grass.
Laying prone on the animal track, Stone held the branch in his left hand so that the foliage was directly in front of his face, and partially draped across his back. He hoped that anyone casually looking towards the field might have thought they were seeing a bush gently waving in the breeze, but they would not notice the man lying prone in the grass behind. At least that was the theory.
Holding the crossbow in his right hand, low to the ground, but ready to use, Stone began to silently belly-crawl forward. He began with his left arm out straight, holding the bush upright. As he moved forward, he kept the bush still by gradually bending his left elbow. When his left hand touched his shoulder, he slowly extended the arm, moving the bush forward again. Each time he crawled to the bush, he moved forward half a yard. He repeated the bush/arm/crawl maneuver, repeatedly, slowly following the track towards the house.
Bunny checked his watch. It was time to begin. He had his orders, and as always, The Fixer was very specific about what he had to do. He’d been looking forward to this all afternoon, particularly because he knew that he was going to get a special bonus. He opened the door to the conference room. Gordon, Peter, and Norris were huddled around the coffee machine. Becka was sitting with her feet up on the conference table.
“The Boss wants you three boys downstairs. There’s a job needs doing.”
He stared at Becka.
“You need to stay here.”
She slowly stood and gave Bunny the finger. Ignoring the insult, he spun on his heel and left the room. Gordon McIntosh followed immediately, Peter White and Norris Halpin exchanged a glance and a shrug, and then trotted on behind. They knew that you obeyed Bunny, unless you liked pain. Becka casually turned her back on the door and selected another pastry.
They followed the bodyguard down into the basement. Sharing nervous glances, they waited alongside the weight training equipment, and coloured tea chests, while he opened the gun locker. Bunny carefully selected a handgun; it was a Colt .38 super automatic. He expertly checked the mechanism, loaded the clip, made the gun safe, and then handed it to Gordon.
“The Boss says you’re to wait out the front with Kitten. Watch out in case someone comes.”
“Got it.”
Gordon took the gun and left without another word. He had learned not to argue. Bunny reached back into the gun locker and withdrew his favourite gun. It was a Sig Sauer P226. He slowly and deliberately attached a silencer, and checked that the gun was loaded with a full clip of 9mm Hydra-shok explosive bullets. He looked over his shoulder and smiled reassuringly.
“Right, you two come here.”
Halpin and White moved a little closer, and as they did, Bunny turned and shot them both in the head. The gun coughed twice in under two seconds, making a sound no louder than a dropped phone book. The two men barely had enough time to register what was about to happen, before the bullets struck and they slumped to the concrete floor. Bunny came forward and nudged them experimentally to check they were dead. There was no doubt. The hydra-shok is a devastating bullet, and the spreading pools of blood and brain matter told its own story about the ruthless efficiency of Bunny’s work. Taking care not to dirty his shoes, he walked around the bodies and up the stairs to the conference room. Becka was still waiting.
As soon as the big bodyguard opened the door, Becka realized that she was in a world of trouble. The silenced pistol was still in his hand and his face spoke clearly of his intentions. He walked purposely forward. As he drew near, Becka snatched the coffee pot and threw it as hard as she could. It was a poor throw, with more hatred than accuracy, and Bunny easily sidestepped the attack. Desperate to escape, Becka ran, side-stepping to the left to try to slip by, but Bunny was too fast. He grabbed her by the hair and pulled her close, jamming the gun under her chin so hard that she almost fainted from the pain.
“If you struggle or scream I will kill you,” he hissed in her ear.
“You can’t do this — he’ll punish you when he finds out.”
“You’re wrong you little bitch,” Bunny said with sickening finality, “he… said I could have you.”
Realizing that she really was facing a fate worse than death, Becka started to struggle and kick as hard as she could. Laughing at her ineffectual efforts to fight him off, Bunny lifted her up by her hair until her feet were clear of the ground. He reached back with his other hand and slapped Becka across the face with his pistol, as hard as he could. Then he did it again, and again.
Stone was about fifty yards from the rear of the house when he heard two dull thumps in short succession. To him it sounded like someone slamming a door or bursting a balloon under a blanket. He stopped moving and cautiously raised his head. A moment later, he saw the silhouette of a skinny looking man walk from the front of the house. Stone watched carefully as the man put a handgun into his pocket, before lighting a cigarette and then casually strolling along the road to the east. Confident that the man was of no immediate threat, Stone continued to crawl towards the house.