On the Hunt Page 10

  “No one else will.”

  “Exactly. Anything upstairs we can use?”

  Danny twisted his lips. “’Fraid not. I’ve battened down as best I can, but this place wasn’t exactly designed as a stronghold. Have you set up any other surprises?”

  “One or two, but they’re pretty basic. Might fool a raw recruit, but no one with any field experience.”

  “Given the way Nemeth and the two idiots in the compost blundered around, they didn’t seem like well-trained military types.”

  “We can’t rely on the next wave being such amateurs. Before I move the Triumph around to the back, what can you tell me about the battleground. I didn’t have time to scout the area, but I’m guessing you did?”

  Danny breathed deep. At least he hadn’t ignored one of the first basic rules of fieldcraft—scout the terrain.

  “The area’s rural.”

  “Yep, I noticed that on the way in.”

  “Nearest village is four miles southeast. Closest neighbour’s a farm, half a mile to the west. One road in and out. Fields all around, and a few farm tracks.”

  “West is downwind, that’s good,” the captain said through another grim smile.

  Was he actually enjoying himself? Looking forward to the battle? Surely not.

  “Good?”

  “We won’t be disturbed. Less likelihood of causing collateral damage, and few people around to call the police. We don’t need the local plod stumbling into a battle and getting themselves hurt.”

  “Yes, okay. On the negative side, we have no idea of the enemy’s strength or the firepower they’ll bring along.”

  “Agreed. However many men there are, they’re unlikely to have access to serious artillery, they’ll be in the open, and they won’t know who they’re up against. I’d rather be in here than out there in all that open space. All we have to do is hold out until reinforcements arrive. I asked Corky to brief Cough and Stinko on what they’re rushing into. They’ll come armed and ready for war. Now, what’s our position in terms of weaponry?”

  Danny pulled out the Beretta, both Sigs, and the H&K he’d lifted from Zapata. The Sigs’ mags held ten rounds each. One was fully loaded, but Blondie’s held nine. The H&K had its full load of thirteen, and the Beretta still held fourteen shots.

  “Forty-six shots in total. Enough firepower for a decent little skirmish.”

  The captain pulled three spare mags from his pockets, one for the H&K and two for the Sigs. “I suppose you were a little preoccupied to search the casualties.”

  Danny grimaced and added a shrug.

  “Things have been a little fraught, Captain. Thanks for saving me a job. I imagine you want the Sigs?” he said, offering them up.

  Ryan Kaine was rated as an expert in most of the weapons used in the field, but his first choice would likely be a Sig P226. At least that’s the make and model he’d used most often recently.

  “Sig, H&K, matters not to me. You can keep the Beretta though. Barrel’s too short to guarantee accuracy over twenty-five metres.”

  “Are we likely to shoot over that distance?”

  “Not really, but I do like to be prepared.” He pointed to one of the chess pieces that doubled as an occasional table. “I found an old reel of fishing line in the potting shed. Looks thick enough to have a decent breaking strain. While I move the motorbike out of sight, do you fancy setting a tripwire on the staircase in case anyone gets past whoever’s guarding the upstairs?”

  Internally, Danny winced. They both knew that the only way an intruder would make it past the upstairs defender would be if that defender was dead.

  “Sounds like another decent plan to me.”

  “Yep, I’m full of them. Be right back.”

  The captain headed for the front door but stopped when one of the mobile phones they’d taken from the Hungarians started vibrating. It rattled against the others in the pile they’d made on the floor at the foot of the stairs.

  “Should we answer it?” Danny asked.

  The captain scratched his beard. “Let’s leave it for now. No point tipping our hand just yet. Best to keep them guessing for as long as we can.”

  The phone vibrated ten times and stopped. Seconds later, another mobile started vibrating. They let it ring.

  “They might be able to trace the phones. Shouldn’t we turn them off?”

  The captain shook his head. “If the men switched off their phones in the middle of a job it would definitely raise alarm bells. You never know, this way it might appear that they’re too occupied to answer. We need as much time as we can.”

  “Okay, makes sense.”

  The captain left and Danny set to work.

  The fishing reel was old and pitted with rust, but the nylon line it held looked in decent condition. The label showed its diameter as 0.20mm. It looked pretty strong but, a city boy born and bred, Danny knew nothing about fishing and had no idea of the actual breaking strain of a 0.20mm line.

  Outside, the captain fired up the Triumph. Its engine note thundered and faded as he rode it around to the back of the house and out of sight of the entry gates.

  Danny tied one end of the fishing line to the newel post with a slip knot and pulled hard. The line snapped, but only after he’d used most of his bodyweight. Probably strong enough, but to make certain, he doubled the line and anchored the tripwire to the metal spindles twenty-five centimetres above the third tread from the top. He climbed to the top of the stairs. From the first floor landing, the fishing line was pretty well invisible to anyone who didn’t know it was there.

  That’ll do.

  Danny returned to the ground floor, taking care to step over the line on the way down. In his time, he’d seen raw recruits come a cropper that way, and didn’t fancy doing a header into the chessboard floor. Apart from the utter embarrassment, tile floors were pretty unforgiving.

  Running footsteps crunched over gravel. A car door opened and closed. Another engine started and Lajos Pataki’s SUV rolled away in the same direction as the Triumph. As usual, Ryan Kaine thought of everything, as he needed to. His ongoing freedom and his life demanded it.

  At the foot of the staircase, Danny doublechecked his handiwork. The translucent fishing line reflected almost no light, which was the whole point. Even though Danny knew it was there, the trip wire wasn’t easy to spot in the diffused light of the entrance hall.

  Good enough for government work.

  More running footsteps and the front doors opening announced the captain’s return.

  “Hope you wore your helmet, Griffin,” he said, smiling and using the name for Marian’s benefit.

  “For that little ride? Didn’t bother.”

  “You old rebel.”

  “Less of the ‘old’, Sergeant.”

  “What’s the weather doing.”

  The bright light that flooded through the windows earlier had faded since the brilliance of the morning.

  “There’s a weather front moving up from the southeast. We’ll have a squall soon. Anyone outside’s going to get a tad damp.”

  A mobile on the floor started up again—the one they’d taken from Lajos.

  “Time?” Danny asked.

  The captain nodded. “I think so. Have you thought about what you’re going to say?”

  “Me? You think I should—”

  “As I said earlier, Sergeant. This is your gig. I’m just offering a supporting hand.”

  Fuck.

  Danny had no idea what to say. He bent to pick up the vibrating mobile and checked the screen. Unknown.

  Helpful.

  “Remember, Sergeant. We have Lajos Pataki.”

  Danny nodded, cleared his throat, and hit the speaker button so the captain didn’t have to strain to listen.

  “Hello. To whom am I speaking?” he said, using his father’s telephone voice and heading towards the kitchen and away from Marian in the salon. The captain followed.

  A couple of minutes later, he ended a rather unhelpful
conversation with, “Are you, indeed? Better come prepared, Vadik Pataki. See you soon.”

  “That didn’t go particularly well,” the captain said, a master of understatement.

  “No,” Danny agreed, trying to think three steps ahead. “It certainly didn’t.”

  Leading a team into battle wasn’t the same as following, and Danny didn’t feel up to it.

  “So much for Lajos being our ace in the hole.”

  “Doesn’t look like there’s much love lost between our two brothers.”

  “Half-brothers,” Kaine said, spreading his hands in a shrug.

  “Ah, yes. Makes all the difference, I suppose. How long do you think we have?”

  “No idea. Not long, I imagine. Better do what we can while we wait for backup. If you like, I’ll take another quick tour of the grounds and the downstairs.”

  The captain was actually deferring to him. Would Danny ever get used to the captain asking his permission?

  Not a chance.

  For want of a better idea, he nodded.

  “Er, yes please. I’ll pop upstairs again. Those mattresses won’t move themselves.”

  “Good idea.”

  They separated. The captain headed outside, one of the Sigs drawn and primed. Danny climbed the staircase, negotiating the trap. He made straight for the third bedroom, which contained the two single beds. A room for young guests. Both mattresses were heavy and densely sprung. Not brilliant, but they might stop a bullet that had passed its peak velocity. It certainly wouldn’t stop a bullet fired point blank. Still, as Marian’s protectors, their job was to make sure the opposition didn’t get close enough to do any damage.

  Danny hefted the mattress nearest to the door, balanced it on his head, and carried it to the balcony—no point in creating work for himself. He tossed it over the handrail, making sure it missed the chess pieces and landed well clear of the blood pool left by Nemeth.

  Nemeth!

  Christ, that first, short-lived fight seemed like such a long time ago, but it had been less than three hours. So much had happened in the meantime.

  “What the hell have you stumbled into, Danny?” he muttered, shaking his head.

  He returned to the bedroom, repeated the process with the second mattress, and carefully jogged down the staircase. He retrieved the first mattress and lugged it into the salon.

  Marian sat with her feet tucked under her bottom, hands cradling her belly. She glanced at Danny then turned to stare blankly at the TV screen when he passed behind her and stacked the first mattress on top of the settee. He made sure to leave enough room for her to hide beneath it when the time arrived. If the time arrived.

  Of course, there was always a chance that Vadik’s threats were nothing but bluff and bluster. Even now, the murdering savage could be scurrying back to Hungary, tail between his legs.

  Yeah, fat chance.

  An ice cube’s chance in a furnace.

  The captain had told him—in concise detail—of the cold, determined expression on Vadik’s face when he’d sidled alongside Robert Prentiss, spoke gently for a while, and then shot him in the head. As blood and brain matter flew, Vadik didn’t bat an eyelid. According to the captain, Corky’s video showed it in crystal clarity.

  The video evidence meant one thing, Robert Prentiss’ death could never be passed off as a suicide, not when Corky sent the recording to the police and the media.

  No doubt about it, the Patakis’ plot was dead in the water. Even without Marian to cry foul, their illegal acquisition of Prentiss Haulage Limited would be quashed in the courts. Danny knew it, and Vadik Pataki knew it. Soon enough, everyone who mattered would know it, too.

  There would be no real point pursuing the matter, but Vadik Pataki would come. He would definitely come.

  The man would want to exact a vicious revenge. Given the chance, he would kill Marian and anyone who protected her out of pure spite, and to cement his position at the top of the family tree.

  A man in Vadik Pataki’s world couldn’t let the people who’d foiled his plans live to shout about it. If he did, his position as a leading thug would become untenable. His underlings would start circling, looking for a way to improve their place in the pecking order. They’d look for an opening, a kill. When one man fell, another would rise to take his place. The way of their world.

  A shitty world populated by shitty people.

  After stacking the second mattress in front of the first, Danny returned to the entrance hall. What had he forgotten? There had to be something.

  The captain stepped through the front door and headed for the kitchen. Water needed heating.

  Time to check the upstairs again. He left the salon and climbed the stairs one more time. If nothing else, the exercise was keeping him in decent condition.

  “Danny!” Marian yelled.

  The fear in her voice sent a chill running down his spine. He reversed his direction and sprinted to the salon. The captain burst from the kitchen and followed close behind.

  Marian stood, pointing a trembling finger at the TV.

  “Danny. The power’s gone off!”

  Chapter Twelve

  Wednesday 3rd May – Vadik Pataki

  Amber Valley, Derbyshire, UK

  Vadik Pataki stared at the screen on his portable phone. No answer. No fucking answer?

  “Hülye kis vándor!” he snarled, and ended the connection.

  Stupid little wanker!

  He scrolled through the portable’s directory and tried two other numbers in turn. Neither Bence nor Milán answered. It wasn’t like them to go dark in the middle of an operation. Both were a damn sight more reliable than Lajos.

  Christ, a fucking gerbil was more reliable than Lajos, the moronic dwarf.

  What the fuck’s going on?

  One simple thing was all he had to do. One simple thing. Kill the woman and Nemeth. Make it look like a home invasion gone wrong. Nemeth had plenty of form for such crimes. The British bobbies would lap it up. The only reason Vadik had sprung the paedophile bastard from jail in the first place was to set him up for murdering the Prentiss woman. It had been one of Vadik’s many contributions to the overall plan—one that Papa admired so much.

  Nemeth, the musclebound imbecile, had been so pathetically grateful for his unexpected release, Vadik and Papa had laughed about it behind his back. Oh, how they laughed. Lajos had joined in and tried to take credit for the idea. The damnable creature. As though he could have come up with such a brilliant concept.

  Now, it looked as though something had gone wrong. Such things were bound to happen when one gave idiots like Lajos important tasks to perform.

  One simple thing. That was all he asked of Lajos. The dwarf could not be trusted to do anything more complicated. If Vadik had his way, they would have left the runt in Győr, playing with himself or making good use of the girls Papa kept around the compound to service the men and generate some loose change. But no, Papa insisted he bring the runt of the litter along for the ride.

  Papa wanted Lajos to learn the ropes, but the buffoon was led by nothing but his dick. The fool did not have a single working brain cell in his primped and styled head.

  Why were the fuckers not answering their damned portables?

  During his earlier call, Lajos claimed they were about to deal with the woman and Nemeth and would set up the scene as agreed. Yes. It would not be difficult to fool the British bobbies who could not find their pricks with both hands unless they were given a route map and a compass.

  It would not surprise Vadik to learn that Lajos and the others had decided to make use of the Prentiss woman before ending her life.

  Yes, that was probably the reason they failed to answer his calls. Stupid bastards. All three would pay for ignoring him. And the punishment would extend all the way to Lajos.

  Papa might explode, but it would not be for the first time. Vadik could handle Papa these days. Age had dulled the fire in his belly. Papa, the “Giant of Győr”, had lost much of h
is fearsome power. And besides, Vadik was the elder son and the likely heir. Papa would come around soon enough.

  Papa knew the value Vadik brought to the family. Intellect, strength, and respect. Lajos, on the other hand, brought nothing but humiliation.

  The cretin brought absolutely nothing of value at all. The dwarf was nothing. Never was, never would be. Illegitimate or not, Vadik would be the next in line.

  He leaned forwards in his seat and tapped the driver’s broad shoulder.

  “Farzin, call yourself a driver? A blind man could do better! Faster, idiot. We are not tourists on a sightseeing excursion.”

  Farzin pressed harder on the accelerator and the big BMW powered ahead, thrusting Vadik into his seat. The hired man in the front passenger’s seat whose name Vadik hadn’t bothered to ask, threw a hand up to the grab strap, but kept his head facing forwards. Quite right, too. Whoever the shaven-headed fucker was, Vadik didn’t want to see his ugly black face. Local mercenaries, English fucks, recommended by Cousin Ido and hired by the day, did not need to know where they were going or why. They were only required to do as they were told.

  Farzin threw the BMW around a tight right-hander, fast enough to push Vadik into the side column. This was more like it.

  “Faster, Farzin. What is the matter with you?”

  “These shit roads, főnök,” Farzin shouted in deference over the snarl of the high-powered engine. “They are more like the farm tracks back home. I thought England was supposed to be a wealthy country.”

  He fought the wheel and centred the SUV into the middle of the potholed and gravel-strewn lane.

  “How far to the house?”

  “Ten kilometres. Maybe fifteen.”

  “Get a move on. I want to wrap things up this afternoon and be back at the depot this evening, before the corpses are cold.”

  “Yes, főnök.”

  Although Farzin said yes, he pushed the SUV no faster. Vadik took it to mean the driver was already working the car to its limits for the conditions. No matter what Vadik said or thought, Farzin would take no unnecessary risks with the life of his főnök.