Smoke and Mirrors Read online

  As hopeless situations went, this was pretty up there as far as he could see.

  Archer felt his heart rate slowing and forced himself to focus. Nothing was ever hopeless; he just had to find his way out.

  Boyle slapped Tracy on the leg to get her attention. She slowly turned her head to look at him. Blood trickled from her mouth and tears stained her cheeks. Her eyes were still defiant.

  ‘Ye’ve got some spunk, girl, I’ll give ye that.’ He nodded with admiration. ‘But it won’t do no good. Everybody talks.’

  He leaned closer to her, looking directly into her eyes. ‘Everybody.’

  Archer ignored the talking and scanned the room, looking for anything he could possibly use, given the chance. He rolled his shoulders as he did so, testing the grip of the two thugs. There was a bit of slack there as they were distracted by watching the main event. He flexed his fingers again to test the bindings for the hundredth time, and as he did so, his fingernail tapped against something hard. Something slightly protruding from the seat of the chair; a nail?

  He felt for it again. Maybe not a nail, but whatever it was it was something, and it gave him hope.

  Boyle stood and went to the pot-belly stove. He took a steel poker from the kindling bucket beside it and jabbed it into the heart of the fire. He returned to his seat and drummed his fingers on the table, fixing Tracy with his gaze again.

  ‘Come on Tracy,’ he urged, ‘cut to the chase eh? Spill and it’ll all be over.’

  ‘You,’ she grated, ‘can go to hell.’

  ‘Aye,’ he acknowledged, ‘I probably will. But I’m not the only one.’

  He returned to the fire and came back with the poker. The tip of it glowed red hot now. Every eye in the room was on him as he sat back down and held the poker up in front of his captive.

  ‘Feel like talking?’ he asked.

  Tracy snarled at him again, and in one quick movement, Boyle leaned past her and stabbed the poker into Archer’s chest.

  Archer bucked in agony as the heat seared through his shirt and pierced the skin, feeling like it drove straight through the core of him. The stench of burning flesh and hair filled his nostrils and he gagged involuntarily. The pain was so intense he wanted to pass out to make it end.

  Boyle withdrew the steel and appraised him.

  ‘He’s a tough cookie, yer boy,’ he conceded to Tracy. ‘I wonder how long he’ll last before I break him?’ He smiled mirthlessly. ‘Or before I break you?’

  Blinding pain seared through Archer’s soul and he wanted to die. He squeezed his eyes tightly and tried to ignore the pain. He forced himself to focus on the task at hand, catching the wrist bindings on the head of the nail and pulling at it.

  Boyle returned the poker to the fire and sat again. He picked up the pliers and showed them to his captive.

  ‘I’ll give ye ten seconds to tell me the truth,’ he told her, ‘otherwise I’ll start me dental work. Ten.’

  Tracy tried to stay calm, but he could see the fear in her eyes.

  ‘Five.’

  Archer tried to catch her eye but she stubbornly avoided him.

  ‘One.’

  Boyle stood and reached for her. The tall man took hold of her jaw in one giant paw and arched her head back. Boyle seized hold of her throat and throttled her until she gasped and opened her mouth. He reached in with the pliers and gripped a molar at the back of her jaw. Tracy’s scream was muffled by the tool.

  ‘Last chance,’ Boyle told her. ‘No?’

  He gripped hard and wrenched the tooth from the gum. Tracy wailed like a newborn and strained against the hands holding her.

  Boyle held the bloodied tooth up to her face and waited for her to stop screaming. Gradually her cries slowed to chest-heaving sobs. Blood flowed down her chin onto the front of her shirt.

  ‘Who was it?’ He leaned down into her face, staring intently into her eyes. ‘And who killed her?’

  Archer willed her to keep her mouth shut. He could feel the strands of the rope giving way slowly as he worked it against the nail head, but he needed more time.

  Tracy’s voice was barely audible. Boyle leaned closer to listen.

  ‘Speak up, Ms Spencer,’ he told her. ‘I need the name.’

  She lifted her head and looked at him through her tears. ‘Livingstone,’ she rasped. ‘I took her over from him.’

  Boyle nodded slowly, his face finally showing a flicker of excitement. He stood and rubbed his hands together. ‘The famous Mr Matthew Livingstone. Now that weren’t so hard now were it?’ He tossed his head to the tall man holding her. ‘She’s all yours, big man.’

  He checked his watch and glanced at Yassar. ‘We’ve got a plane to catch. God, I hate London in the winter.’

  ‘What about him, boss?’

  The tall man indicated towards Archer, who appeared to have gone into a dazed state.

  Boyle shrugged dismissively. ‘Whatever. Kill him.’

  The Irishman turned and headed to the door, where Yassar was waiting. He paused there and glanced back to Tracy.

  ‘All the best, spy lady. It’s been a hell of a ride.’ He grinned coldly. ‘Oh, one more thing.’ He drew a compact Seecamp .32 auto from beneath his shirt and hefted it in his palm. ‘Lovely weapon,’ he commented.

  He turned again and pointed the weapon at Yassar. The Saudi’s eyes bulged and he started to raise his hands.

  ‘Sorry pal, business is business.’ Boyle triggered a double tap and blew Yassar’s brains across the wall behind him. The body dropped with a thud and Boyle gave it another double tap to be sure.

  Gun smoke hung in the still air.

  ‘Whoever said blood was thicker than water obviously never met the Saudis,’ he noted. With that he was gone, and a few seconds later the engine started up again and moved away.

  39

  The three Samoans looked at each other and an understanding passed between them.

  Afa dragged Tracy backwards on her chair to the other wall, facing Archer again. He looked at the white guy and figured he was out of the game. Bloodied and battered and staring dazedly at the floor.

  He gave the shorter man, Hosea, a flick of the head and turned back to Tracy. Solomon, the middle sized man, stayed beside the slumped form of Archer. He fingered the diving knife on his belt and waited impatiently for his turn.

  Afa slapped Tracy’s cheek, hard enough to shock her into focus, and she stared at him with terrified eyes.

  ‘So you don’ like boys, huh miss?’ His teeth gleamed white in the flickering light. ‘We see ‘bout dat, huh?’

  He started to undo his pants, and Hosea chuckled as he watched.

  ‘Heh heh heh, do it boy, do dat!’

  Tracy spat at him and saw the gob slide down Afa’s chest. He cocked his fist and smashed it into her face, snapping her head sideways. Her left eyebrow split and blood cascaded over the eye and down her cheek.

  Just as Afa began to drop his pants, Archer made his move. The last strand of binding round his wrists broke and he shrugged his arms free of the rope round them. Solomon felt the movement and looked down, a second too late to stop Archer from snatching the knife from his belt.

  Solomon grabbed for him as Archer leaped to his feet and thrust the diving knife up in a short jab. The blade pierced the thug’s side below the ribs and drove upwards before Archer yanked it free and shoved him aside. Hosea reacted quickly and came for him, hands out defensively, body position low and wide like a wrestler. He obviously fancied himself with his hands, and thankfully focussed on that rather than drawing his gun. If he’d been smarter, the fight would have ended a lot sooner.

  Archer shifted the knife into a better grip and moved to gain space. The chair was still hanging off his waist by the rope and hitting the back of his legs as he moved. He ignored it and concentrated on the threats around him.

  Afa scrabbled at his pants and tried to turn. As he did so, Tracy drove up and crashed into his side with her shoulder, making him stagger off balance. He thre
w a fist at her but missed, and Tracy continued to drive with her legs, shoving him across the room and into the wall where Archer had sat just moments before.

  Archer dodged around them and Hosea made his move, rushing forward and going for a combination of jabs at Archer’s face.

  The stocky Samoan was more agile than he looked, and he managed to land a glancing blow to Archer’s jaw before the knife swiped across his forearm and opened it up. He pulled back and clasped a hand to the wound, snarling like a dog.

  Afa slapped at the woman pushing against him, turning and trying to grab her. Tracy’s skull came up and cracked him under the jaw, snapping his mouth shut and causing his teeth to chomp into his tongue hard enough to draw blood.

  Archer feinted with a right stab and gave Hosea a left cross to the jaw, not a vintage shot but it kept him at bay.

  Afa’s knees buckled beneath him and he went down. Tracy’s knee smashed into his nose as he slumped to his knees and a fan of blood sprayed out. He fell backwards against the wall and she drove a heel into his face, then again.

  Archer hacked through the twine and dropped the chair, but as he stepped away from it Hosea rushed him again. Archer twisted and slashed at him, managing to grab his shirt as they both went down.

  Tracy screamed and slammed her heel into Afa’s face again, hearing bone crunch beneath her foot.

  Archer wrestled with Hosea as they rolled on the floor, snapping his head forward in repeated attempts to butt him, and scrabbling at his face with his free hand. He got his fingers into Hosea’s right eye and dug in, gouging and scratching. The thug screeched and butted him in the forehead with a head as hard as concrete.

  Lights exploded in Archer’s eyes and the back of his head slammed into the floor with a thud. Hosea took advantage of the moment to back off and wind up his fist.

  Afa flopped sideways to the floor, unconscious. Blood flowed freely from his smashed nose and lips. Tracy drew her foot back and toe-hacked him directly to the Adam’s apple.

  Archer saw the fist coming and half-rolled to the side, letting Hosea’s punch sail past and hit the floor. He shoved and got his knees up far enough to heave the thug off him. Hosea caught his balance on his haunches and came again, throwing himself forward in an attempt to pin Archer beneath him.

  Archer rolled again, kicking free of the ropes and the chair before scrambling to his feet. He spun and delivered a punt to Hosea’s face. The thug fell back, clutching at his bloodied face. His knees were splayed and Archer gave him a second kick, this time to the testicles.

  Tracy cocked her foot and drove it down into Afa’s throat again. A murderous rage had descended over her and she was functioning on auto-pilot.

  Hosea folded at the waist and pulled his knees up. He rolled onto his side and vomited on the floor. Archer stood over him and sucked in measured breaths through his nose. It looked like the thug wasn’t getting up in a hurry.

  As he started to turn to check on Tracy he caught movement from the corner of his eye and snapped back around, instinctively moving to the side. Hosea had his shirtfront pulled up to expose the handgrip of his revolver, and the fingers of his right hand were on it as he started to pull it clear.

  Archer dived forward with the knife outstretched, slamming his bodyweight into Hosea and slapping his gun hand away, ramming the knife into the man’s neck with his other hand. The stocky thug jerked beneath him and a jet of blood spurted across the room from his severed carotid artery.

  He left the knife in place and rolled aside, grabbing the revolver from Hosea’s grasp. Archer fired two rounds at point blank range into Hosea’s face, pushed up and turned towards Tracy. Afa was on his side, clearly dead. Tracy kicked him again and his head rolled loosely from a broken neck.

  There was no sign of Solomon.

  Archer saw the door swinging open and darted to it. The middle sized thug was limping towards the ute, one hand clapped to his side, the other holding his machete. He heard Archer coming and looked desperately over his shoulder.

  ‘No!’ he cried, nearly at the ute now.

  Archer raised the Smith and shot him square in the back. Solomon fell forward against the side of the ute and turned, blood frothing at his lips. Archer came closer and shot him again, this time in the chest. Red speckled the white paintwork.

  Looking down at the bleeding thug, he could see the terror in his eyes.

  ‘I warned you,’ Archer told him coldly. He thumbed the hammer back and squeezed, firing a third shot to the heart.

  Solomon was dead before he hit the ground, and Archer returned to the shack.

  Tracy was sitting again, still tied to the chair. She was facing the lifeless form of the tall man, Afa. Her face was expressionless and bloodied. Her left eye was almost fully closed and horribly swollen. Her mouth was covered in blood.

  Hosea lay still on the floor, the knife in his hand and a fast-expanding pool of blood around him.

  ‘Is he dead?’ Tracy whispered thickly.

  Archer walked to her side and raised the Smith. He pointed it at Afa’s torso and squeezed the trigger. The hammer fell on an empty chamber. Hosea had carried it with only five rounds in the cylinder.

  Archer shrugged. ‘I don’t think it matters,’ he said quietly.

  He recovered the knife from Hosea’s dead fingers and cut Tracy free. She slowly covered herself but otherwise didn’t move. Archer searched the two bodies, found nothing of use, then wiped the Smith and Wesson clean and placed it in Hosea’s hand, wrapping his fingers round the slick wooden butt.

  He wiped the handle of the knife clean too, and placed it near the other outstretched hand. It was a basic attempt to confuse the crime scene, but it should buy them some time.

  He quickly gathered the discarded pieces of rope and shoved them in his pocket, along with the long nosed pliers, the extracted tooth and their passports, before helping Tracy up. She moved slowly and painfully as they went outside to the thugs’ ute.

  Archer helped her into the passenger’s seat, took the keys from Solomon’s pocket, and checked the vehicle. Their guns and phones were on the floor, and Archer took possession of them. He checked the load in his Beretta and re-holstered it. He also found a water bottle on the floor and offered it to Tracy. She washed her mouth out and spat bloodied water out the window before drinking half of the water and handing the bottle back.

  He ripped a piece off his shirt and wet it before gingerly dabbing at the burn on his chest. It stung and throbbed, and he wondered how bad it was. He left the compress on it and held it in place with the seat belt, then drained the bottle and started the ute, manoeuvring round onto the bumpy track and out to the main road.

  They needed to get to safety, fast.

  40

  Half an hour later they entered Apia and dropped the ute in a side street.

  The streets were deserted at this hour and the night porter was asleep in the back office, allowing them to slip past quietly and get to their room undisturbed.

  Archer locked the door behind them and drew the blinds, turned on plenty of lights and then the TV to cover any noise they made.

  Tracy seemed to have withdrawn into herself, so Archer took the lead and organised her. He sat her at the table and fetched the small first aid kit from his suitcase. Kneeling in front of her, he gently took her right hand and placed it on her thigh.

  ‘I’m sorry, this is going to hurt,’ he told her, ‘but it needs to be done. Bite on this.’

  He handed her toothbrush to her and she placed it between her front teeth.

  ‘Breathe in,’ he told her, ‘be strong and it won’t-‘

  He popped her little finger back into place and her face screwed up in pain as she bit down hard. She was still sucking in her first breath when his fingers moved to the next dislocation and swiftly popped it back into place as well.

  A muted scream burst forth from her bloodied lips and tears flowed. Archer shushed her softly and touched her head tenderly, drawing it to his shoulder and letting
her cry.

  Once she had calmed down, he filled a tea towel with ice cubes from the freezer tray and had her hold it to her left eye. He gave her a glass of water to wash down some strong painkillers, then fetched a flannel from the bathroom and filled a bowl with warm water. He gently dabbed at her face and cleaned her as best he could without causing any more pain. She sat quietly and let him work, whimpering occasionally when he hit a sore spot.

  Finally, Archer stood up and brought her a glass of antiseptic mouthwash that he diluted with warm water. He watched as she rinsed her mouth and spat into the sink, cleaning the dried blood from the tooth injury as she did so.

  He took her to the bathroom and turned the shower on. Tracy raised her head and looked at him, questions in her eyes.

  ‘Don’t be embarrassed,’ he said gently, ‘you need help and I’m going to help you. It’s nothing more than that.’ He nodded affirmatively. ‘You can trust me, Trace.’

  She nodded and cradled her injured hand as he carefully undressed her. Once she was naked he appraised her body, looking for other injuries. She was dirty and blood-stained and covered in bumps and bruises and scratches.

  ‘Here.’

  He helped her into the shower and adjusted the heat. He stripped off and put his filthy clothes in a pile with hers, then joined her in the shower. She flinched as he brushed against her and he moved back, giving her space.

  He spoke softly and soothingly as he ran his hands through her hair to wet it properly, comforting her through a process he knew she wouldn’t be comfortable with but that was necessary nonetheless. He washed her hair first and rinsed it out fully, then took the soap and a flannel and washed her back.

  Turning her around, Archer held her by the shoulders and waited for her to look at him. Her eyes were wet and dark, the left one still swollen and painful looking.