Casanova (25 page)

Erico the donkey and his sausage fingered friend had not moved from their seats at the table. They both still held their cards. They weren’t thinking about me, they were concentrating on their game. They were gambling. This gave me the advantage.

I came around the corner unseen and reached the table before either of them reacted. Erico was the closest so I hit him first. My fist shot out from my waist, twisting through the strike. The knuckles of my index and middle fingers sank deeply into his temple. It knocked him off his seat. Sausage Fingers dropped his cards and grabbed for his gun. It was beside him on the table, covered by a napkin. I hadn’t known it was there. He remained seated and tried to target me. I reached him easily. I twisted his gun hand away and employed my knuckles again on his fat nose. It flattened and exploded downwards in a gush of blood. He was strong and tried to grab at me with his free hand. Standing above him, I had the physical advantage and it was simple for me to twist his arm further and force him off his seat onto the floor. He lost his grip and the gun hit the floor. Without releasing his arm, I stamped on his throat. He gasped from the pain and opened his mouth. Blood ran in and he choked. I stamped on his belly and he convulsed like a salmon in the mouth of a Grisly. I twisted his arm even further, almost beyond breaking point, and despite his throat, he managed to scream. I planted my standing leg and then volleyed his jaw into the roof of the net. His eyes went out and his head smacked the floor. It was then that I realised Erico had picked up the gun.

Erico the donkey was on his knees. Amazingly, his baseball cap was still on. He was unsteady and looked concussed. His gun hand wavered uncontrollably while his other hand remained flat on the floor. It was the only thing keeping him up. He tried to target me. I rushed him. He fired. I hadn’t reached him in time. Although his hand was flapping like a distressed damsel’s handkerchief, I still felt the bullet pass close to my face. The gunshot was loud; too loud not for anyone else in the house to hear. I pulled the gun from his hand and hit him with it, hard across his head. He went over. His face kissed the floor. This time he was staying down.

Before I could do anything further, the kitchen door opened and two men entered the room. This was exactly what had worried me earlier. They both held guns and neither of them was about to ask me if I wanted a pre-dinner cocktail. I didn’t want the firefight. I ducked out. My springy legs carried me behind the counter before they fired their only shot. A second later, I was back in the laundry room. This time it was the window or nothing. I shot out the sealed unit on the move and followed it with a heel kick. The shattered glass rectangle fell out and I threw myself through. I landed awkwardly but managed to roll to my feet. The pain in my abdomen made me hunch and suck air. I rapidly searched for an escape. My two gun waving pals could only be seconds behind. The walls were high, too high for me to get over unaided. In the corner was a wooden arched doorway. I tried the metal handle and pushed but the locked door was solid. Knowing I mustn’t let them catch me in the open, I sprang back against the wall of the house beside the window and waited. One second later, a gun appeared through the opening, followed by an arm and then a head. I grabbed the extended forearm with both hands and yanked. It pulled the man off balance and he flew through the window, hitting his back on the smashed frame. He finished face down on the ground. I stamped on the back of his head and felt his face grind into the hard dirt. Still holding his forearm, I quickly stepped back against the wall. The man’s body turned with me and I stamped on the back of his head again to make sure. I pulled the gun from his hand and let his arm drop. He remained horizontal, with his face in the dirt. He was almost out and he made noises like Marley’s ghost.

His friend was now much more cautious. Instead of poking himself through, he took up an angle against the inside wall and tried to target me. I had to step away, further along the brickwork, to remain out of sight. During those couple of seconds, I considered my predicament. Even if I managed to overcome this second man, my only route of escape was back through the house. It was not an appealing prospect.

Then I heard a sound that worried me. I looked up. Someone was opening a second floor window. I saw a hand holding a pistol, and then the courtyard wall beside my head clicked and a powerful white lamp came on. The brilliance seemed to dazzle. I moved instantly. The courtyard had become an illuminated shooting gallery and I wasn’t going to be the duck, sitting or otherwise.

With one gun in my waistband and the other in my hands, I squeezed off three shots at the man in the laundry room, while I moved to the window and threw myself through. Luckily, the cover shots worked. The man had stepped back from the opening into a defensive position. It gave me the second I needed. This time, I came out of my tuck and roll properly balanced and was able to swing a leg. The scything arc made contact and the man’s feet went. He tumbled and I was on him. I landed two fast blows to the side of his head, followed by a karate chop to the back of his neck. I pushed my foot hard down on his lower back and pulled the gun from his hand. I hit him with it on the back of his head.

It was time to move and move fast. If I was ever going to get out of this house, I had to do it in the next minute. I moved. The third gun I’d collected went beside the other in my waistband.

Inside the kitchen, Erico and Sausage Fingers were still down. I went straight to the door. It led to a reception room. I travelled. The door in the far wall was open. I entered an ornate lobby. There was no time to admire it. My feet flew across the marble, and the chandelier could just as well have been a single bare light bulb. I ignored the double front doors and headed for the long corridor. I wanted to make distance and I wanted a quiet back door to exit that would give me the time I needed to vanish.

The corridor turned. I followed it round. At the end was an outside wall. I was on the far side of the house, a long way from the kitchen. I went through a closed door into a study. The light was gloomy. On the floor and wall, I saw silver and shadows. There was an outside door. Moonlight streamed through the glass panels. It lay across the carpet like an uninvited guest. I knew how it felt. I tried the handle. A lock held the door shut. I gave myself ten seconds to find the key. It only took five. It was in the first desk drawer I opened. My luck was holding. I opened the door and went outside. Two things happened, neither of them good. An alarm sounded and a sensor activated light came on. I realised the alarm system would probably indicate which door had been opened, giving away my location, and the motion-sensor lighting would illuminate the way. I held the gun ready to use and scanned the outside area—which way to go? There was a flower garden, bushes and trees, what looked like a pathway, beyond that more trees, a long tall hedge and a high wall. I needed to reach cover, and fast. I avoided the gravel and ran across the grass to the edge where the pathway turned. I ducked into the bushes, stopped and listened. The light reached to the trees and I could see the wall was too high for an easy escape. It was then that I heard the dogs. A low whine and a growl; it came from behind the hedgerow. There was panting and then a yap followed by a slow long growl that ended in a series of barks. There were two of them and both were warming up nicely. I held my position. What was the procedure for defeating two attack dogs? I didn’t know. If I ran, they would chase me and catch me. If I didn’t they would most likely attack anyway. It could only be seconds before men with guns arrived. Perhaps armed guards patrolled the grounds, and they had been responsible for releasing the dogs. I was in trouble. My luck had run out. I had one chance and only one. It was to make it back inside the study before the dogs caught me, or anyone shot me. I flew out of the bushes and sprinted for the house. I heard the dogs break through the hedgerow and their excited whine sounded very close. They covered the ground much faster than I did. I heard the dirt fly from their paws like greyhounds round a track. I was too far from the house to make it. I turned. The lead dog was close. I completed the turn and started running backwards. The dog leapt and I fired. He was close enough for me to feel the flying spittle. I aimed for the breastplate. The shot was true. He went down. The second dog was right behind. I was still running backwards. I instinctively aimed. The dog leapt and I remember seeing his wet bared teeth. In the exact same moment, my heel caught something raised in the ground and I stumbled. My shot missed and I fell. The dog loomed in my face. He had caught me. I heard a low sound. The dog was on top of me. I automatically braced for the fight but he wasn’t savaging me. Then, I recognised the sound I’d heard. It was the noise made by a rifle fired through a suppressor and then I realised the dog was dead.

I pushed myself free from the lifeless animal and sat up. Blood and tissue matter covered my face and chest but it wasn’t mine. The rifle shot had struck the dog in the head and its brains had splattered freely.

I was in the open. I didn’t have time to look. I heard running feet from beyond the house. It came from the far end of the trees. I turned and jumped up into a squat position. Dirt flew up behind me and peppered my back and I heard the unmistakable clatter from a light machine gun. I ran. At the same time, I heard my name called. I looked.

‘Over here, this way.’

In the shadows, above the wall I could just make out the dark shape of a person. The figure held a rifle and they were signalling to me with their arm. I changed direction like a chased jackrabbit, and headed for the wall. A rope ladder unrolled and dropped. I adjusted my run and jumped at it. My hands and feet found the wooden struts and I climbed. Above my head, I heard the rifle fire twice more, one shot after another. Then I was at the top and threw myself over. A raised platform waited for me. I dropped down, below the parapet and out of sight. The person, dressed in black and wearing a balaclava, still holding the rifle dropped down beside me. I recognised who it was from the eyes. It was Xing.

She called down to the driver in rapid Cantonese. I recognised the head sticking out; it was one of the ducklings. The hydraulic platform lowered. We both jumped off and got into the cab. The duckling drove us away.

Xing pulled off her balaclava. She fixed her eyes on me. She seemed happy and worried, both at the same time. She didn’t speak.

‘Have you got some water?’ I asked.

She produced a plastic bottle.

‘...any painkillers?’

I swallowed the pills and drank the bottle dry. She watched me.

I studied her outfit and the belt and webbing that she wore. She carried a backpack. There was a Type 56, which is a Chinese manufactured AK-47 over her shoulder and the sniper rifle was still in her hand. She was carrying the combat weapons and ammunition of an operational commando.

‘You were going in,’ I said, ‘on your own.’

She didn’t respond.

‘...to rescue me, save me?’

‘I need you,’ she explained.

‘On your own,’ I said again, to make the point. ‘There’s a high probability you’d have been killed.’

‘Jemima wouldn’t allow any of his ducklings to go with me, and there wasn’t enough time to get anyone else. It was me, on my own, or no one.’

‘Jemima was right not to allow it. It’s what army people call a fool’s mission. You had no idea of the layout, no idea where I was, no idea how many you were going up against and no idea how to get out once you were in.’

Xing ignored me and said, ‘You’re covered in dog’s brains.’ She produced a cloth from somewhere and started to clean my face. I knocked her hand away.

‘How did they know about the supermarket?’ I asked. ‘It was your idea; you chose the supermarket, so how did they know?’

She took her hand down.

‘They didn’t know. They were watching Erico. He must have been in communication with them. He told them. They were after me, but they couldn’t get me so they took you instead.’

‘How did you know I wasn’t dead, and how did you know where they’d taken me?’

‘I didn’t, but Jemima did. He was still following you, not him but one of the ducklings. The duckling saw you carried out and then followed the car back to the house. He said you were unconscious but he didn’t think you were dead. Something about the way your head moved when they carried you.’

She began cleaning my face again. This time I gripped her wrist. She didn’t struggle. We stared at each other. She broke the silence.

‘How did you get away?’ she asked.

‘The chair I was sitting on broke. It had a
Made in Hong Kong
sticker on it.’ She didn’t get the joke.

‘What happened in there?’ she asked.