Gray Redemption (Tom Gray #3) (24 page)

Kyle applied the handbrake and
jumped out.  He fired off three quick shots at the Mitsubishi and the
driver got the message, hitting the gas and speeding off into the night.

With the immediate area clear,
he checked inside the van, gun up and ready for any surprises.

There were none, apart from the
amount of carnage.  Three bodies were quite clearly dead, and one wasn’t
looking too clever.  The three walking wounded regarded him dolefully, as
if at the end of their tether.

“You guys okay?”  Kyle
said, focusing on the lady.

Smart was relieved to hear an
English voice, but the questions began piling up in his head.   What
was he doing here?  How did he know they would be in the van?  Who
was he working for?

“Depends who’s asking,” he said.

“I work for the government,”
Kyle told him.  He lowered the gun and looked at Gray.  “How’s he
doing?”

“He’s out cold and his arm needs
attention.”

Kyle disappeared and returned
moments later, carrying a first aid kit.  He began to open it but Sonny
stopped him.

“We need to get out of here,” he
said.  “Let’s load him into your car and get as far away from here as
possible.”

Smart liked the plan, and they
carefully carried Gray to the Jeep before Ackerman could have his say. 
Sonny climbed in the back seat and pulled Tom in, then Smart joined him and
they rested their friend on their laps.

Vick got in the front passenger
seat and fastened her seat belt. 

“I’m Kyle,” Ackerman said, and
the others introduced themselves.

“Who’s your friend?” 

“That’s Tom,” Vick said.

“It’s Sam,” Sonny corrected her.

Ackerman looked in the mirror
quizzically.

“It’s complicated,” Smart told
him as he extracted a bandage from the first aid box and began tending to the
wound on Gray’s arm.

Ackerman shrugged.  Their
names didn’t concern him, but the lack of contact with Owen and Harvey
did.  If he’d found the people they were looking for, and the bad guys
were dead, what in God’s name had happened to them?

Gray gave a moan and opened his
eyes tentatively.

“How’re you feeling?” 
Sonny asked.

“Like I was run over by a
train,” Gray said, trying to focus.  “Where are we?”

“We’re heading towards...hey, Kyle,
where exactly are we going?”

“I’m going to drop you off at
the hospital,
then
I have to go and help my
friends.  They went after the other truck and I think they’re in
trouble.  They’re not answering the phone.”

“Who is this guy?”  Gray
asked,
his head still groggy.

Sonny filled him in on what had
happened while he was out cold, and asked Kyle to give them the bigger picture.

“Dennis Owen asked me to provide
backup for his operation.  He and Andrew had intelligence that you four
would be on the cargo ship and that someone had been sent to intercept and kill
you.  They didn’t know which container you were in, so they followed the
largest one and I was asked to follow the truck you were in.”

“Who’s Dennis Owen?”

Ackerman explained that Owen was
his boss at the Trade and Investment department, and what their real role
entailed.

“What’s Andrew’s story?” 
Sonny asked. 

“He’s based in England,” Kyle
said.  “Five would be my guess.”

Gray was still trying to clear
his head, but the mention of MI5 suddenly brought clarity.  He sat bolt
upright.

“Are you talking about Andrew
Harvey?”  He asked.

“That’s right,” Ackerman told
him.  “You know him?”

Gray didn’t answer.  He was
too busy trying to digest the news. 
Andrew Harvey, in
Durban?
  Someone sent to kill them?  A Chinese kill team?

He needed answers, and only one
man could provide them.  “Forget the hospital, we need to find Andrew.”

“Are you sure?”  Ackerman
asked.  “That wound looks pretty nasty.”

“I’ll live,” Gray said. 
“Where is Andrew now?”

“They were following the other
container to the depot.  I expect they’ll be there or thereabouts.”

“Then that’s where we go.”

*
* *

After double-checking every
corpse, Ben Palmer knew he’d followed the wrong container.  He whipped out
his camera and thumbed through the images he’d taken on his last visit until he
found the itinerary for the other truck.  It had been due to leave the
port an hour after the first, which meant it would be en route right about now.

Catching it up shouldn’t be a
problem, but having been surprised by the two men who’d jumped him, he was
beginning to have doubts about the whole mission. 

Another glance at the itinerary
told him the other container was going to the airport, and if it boarded a
plane he could lose it forever.  Carl Gordon might be able to get into the
airport servers and follow the trail, but he would only pursue that once he’d
finished with his interrogations.

Palmer moved to the container
doors, stepping over the pregnant woman who once again cried for his
help.  He ignored her pleas, climbing down and closing the container
door.  His first stop was the office, where he kicked in the door and
found the CCTV equipment.  He extracted the VHS tape from the machine and
took it back to the van, where he found Owen unconscious.

He realised the gas hadn’t fully
dispersed, which meant using the van was out of the question.  He knew his
attackers must have come in their own vehicle, but with both out cold, he could
hardly ask them where it was.

Palmer went over to where
Littlefield was lying next to the unconscious man.  Sean was fading fast,
the blood still seeping from his wounds despite the tourniquet.  There
wasn’t a lot Palmer could do for him, but he didn’t say as much.

“I’m going to find their car and
get you to a hospital,” he lied.  He would take Littlefield from the
scene, but only so the connection between the two men couldn’t be
established.  If Sean’s body was found, one of the first things they do
was a forensic sweep of his farm, a building riddled with Palmer’s
fingerprints.  Although he religiously wore surgical gloves on every
mission, he hadn’t used them during his recent visit.

He moved over to the motionless figure and slapped him on the face. 

Nothing.

He tried harder and this time got a reaction, a moan and shake of the
head.  Palmer glanced around, looking for some water to splash on the
man’s face,
then
remembered the coffee pot in the
office.  He got up to fetch it just as the headlights appeared on the road
a few hundred yards away.

It wasn’t a well-travelled road, just a spur off the highway that led to
the industrial units and beyond that a small village a mile or so further
on.  Palmer had to make a decision, and he erred on the side of caution,
sprinting back to the truck where he found the R4 rifle.  A quick check
revealed an almost full clip, and he carried it back to the front of the rig,
staying in the shadows with a clear view of the main gate.

The vehicle cruised past at barely fifteen miles an hour.  That in
itself meant nothing, Palmer knew.  It could be locals being cautious
after a few too many beers, or one of the many gangs casing the area for
something to steal. 

As the vehicle neared, Palmer could make out the driver and a female
passenger, though he couldn’t tell if there was anyone in the rear as the
windows were tinted.  The driver didn’t seem to be paying the compound any
attention, his focus on the blonde sitting next to him. 

The Jeep continued down the road until the lights disappeared around the
corner and the sound of the engine eventually faded.

Palmer waited a few moments.  Once he was satisfied that it had been a
false alarm, he ran back to the office and grabbed the coffee pot, which he
emptied out and filled with water from the cooler.  He took it back into
the yard and poured half of it over the supine figure’s face, shaking the man
from his deep slumber.

Harvey shook his head, which felt heavy, turgid.  He opened his eyes
but they refused to focus, the world a blur of dark shapes and flitting
movement.  A dark shadow moved over him and morphed into the shape of a
human head.

“Where’s your car?”

Harvey fought for clarity, but it was a long time coming.

“Where is it?”  The voice repeated.

“I...
er
...”

Palmer gave him another slap, gentler, just enough to get the man to
focus.  He squatted next to him, the rifle on the floor replaced by his
silenced pistol, which dug into Harvey’s ribs.

“I haven’t got all night,” Palmer said calmly.  “Tell me where your
vehicle is, or lose a kneecap.”

He moved the gun to Harvey’s knee and began the countdown, while Harvey
frantically tried to get his bearings.  Palmer reached four when he raised
his hand and pointed towards the gate.

“It’s behind that building,” he said, his voice sounding alien in his own
ears.

Palmer grabbed Harvey’s collar and dragged him to his feet, pushing him
towards the main road.  Bending down to retrieve the rifle, he spotted
movement from the corner of his eye, in the direction the Jeep had
disappeared.  He walked nonchalantly behind the van,
then
got down to see if he could see anything out of the ordinary. 

He saw nothing apart a few bushes swaying in the breeze, but to be on the
safe side he let off a couple of three-round bursts. 

There was no return fire, and no screams, and Palmer chastised himself for
jumping at shadows.  He got back to his feet and walked around the van in
time to see Harvey stumbling towards the main gate, his legs barely obeying his
commands. 

Palmer realised this one could be trouble once he fully recovered from the
effects of the gas, and decided he could get the information he needed from the
one who was still in the van.  He raised the rifle and fired a round an
inch above Harvey’s head, causing him to stop in his tracks.

“Just give me the keys,” he said, and Harvey patted his pockets in a vain
attempt to find them.  It took a few seconds for him to realise he didn’t
have them.  He explained this to Palmer, who responded by raising the
rifle.

“Drop it!”

The voice came from Palmer’s right, and he moved his head to see the slight
figure advancing towards him, a Glock held in a double-handed grip.

“Looks like we’ve got ourselves a standoff,” he smiled, keeping the R4
pointing at Harvey’s lower back.  “Aren’t you a bit young to be out so
late?”

“One last chance,” the newcomer said, continuing to close on his target.

“That’s far enough, sonny.  Stand down —”

The first bullet tore through Palmer’s skull, the second, redundant round
hitting an inch lower.  He collapsed in a heap and Baines held the gun on
the corpse until he was close enough to confirm the kill.

“Only my friends call me Sonny,” he said, and then turned to check that
Harvey was okay.  He seemed a little confused, almost as if he were drunk,
and Baines told him to take a seat on the ground.

“How many more?”
 
he
asked, but
Harvey was still catching up on events, his brain having difficulty maintaining
a normal pace.  Baines gave up and signaled Smart to join him, indicating
that he should use the rifle to help clear the area.

A minute later, two others helped Harvey to his feet.  One he didn’t
recognise
, but the other was strikingly familiar.

“Sam?”  He asked quizzically.  “Sam Grant?”

“Hello, Andrew,” Gray smiled.

“You know me?”

Explanations were put on hold as Baines and Smart returned with news of the
carnage at the rear of the compound.

“We also found someone in the van,” Sonny told them.  “He’s out for
the moment, but no sign of injuries.”

Harvey started towards the Mercedes and Gray offered him a shoulder. 
They got to the rear doors and saw Owen lying on his back.

“We’d better get out of here,” Sonny said, and Gray agreed.  He asked
Harvey where their car was and it took a few moments for him to clear his head
and pass on the information.  Smart grabbed the keys from Owen’s pocket
and trotted off while Kyle and Sonny pulled Owen from the van and laid him on
the floor.

“We need to know who this guy is,” Harvey said, pointing to Palmer’s
corpse. 

Kyle checked the man’s pockets and came out with a wallet, then pulled out
his phone and took snaps from several angles.

“Do you need fingerprints?” he asked, but Harvey decided that what
they had was enough.

When Smart returned with the BMW, they loaded Owen and Harvey inside,
then
drove down the road to where Vick was waiting in the
Jeep, while the others made their way back on foot.

“Where do we go from here?”  Sonny asked once they’d all assembled.

“We’ve got passports for you and Len in Pretoria,” Harvey said, beginning
to get his head together.  “We also have one ready and waiting for Sam,
though we need a new photo.  We didn’t know who the fourth person would
be, but it won’t take long to knock one up.”

Gray introduced Vick, and it took Harvey a few moments to realise that Vick
was the Victoria Phillips he’d been asking questions about a week
earlier.