Tidal Rage by David Evans (best big ereader .TXT) 📗

first. Nice little titties: could have had some fun there,” Bauer spat out.

Cutler flicked Bauer’s knee away and brought his own up with force between Bauer’s legs, crushing his testicles. He then pushed Bauer off and Cutler stood up, giving his opponent a few seconds to recover, and taking a breath himself.

“After I’m finished with this piece of shit, you’re next, Werner,” Cutler said coldly as he looked at Werner.

Cutler backed off to the table as Bauer regained his breath and stood, knife in hand, ready to launch another attack. Cutler felt behind him and took a hold of a slate placemat he had spotted when he had placed his gun on the table.

Bauer jumped up several feet and propelled himself at Cutler and tried to stab him on the way down, but Cutler jumped back.

“You’ve been watching Hercules in Troy, you prick! That sort of thing only works in the movies,” Cutler goaded him.

Bauer ran at him with his hand half back, ready to stab at Cutler, who was only showing a side profile. As Bauer got within stabbing distance, Cutler spun on his axis, so the thrust went past his left shoulder. Cutler turned to his right instantly and moved his hand that clenched the slate plate, cutting it across Bauer’s right thigh. Reflexes and self-preservation took over and Bauer dropped his knife as his hands went to his leg. He tried desperately to stem the flow, firstly to stop the bright red, oxygenated blood that was spurting out from his femoral artery.

“I wouldn’t bother, Bauer. You can’t stop it, and you have about five minutes left on this planet. Mark Twain once said, ‘Heaven is for the climate, and hell is for the company.’ I think you’re going to have lots of company, not to mention your boss,” Cutler said, as he walked over to Werner.

“Herr Werner, last time I saw you, you had your throat ripped out by a bullet. Now you are on the floor gasping like a dog in heat. I never seem to meet you when you’re at your best.”

“You want me to put a bullet between his eyes, boss?” Tuck said eagerly.

“No, Tuck, go back upstairs and mix one of our condom balloons. We lock this fucker in a bathroom for five minutes; he can hardly breathe now. A bullet is too good for our Herr Werner,” Cutler said, as Tuck turned and went back up the stairs.

“Cutler, be reasonable. I have money, millions of euros; it could all be yours,” Werner spluttered out in his metallic voice.

“I already have millions, Werner. Who do you think got Richter out?”

Reality hit Werner as Cutler dragged him to a bathroom and threw him to the floor. The bathroom was without windows and was illuminated as bright as daylight with an array of inbuilt LED lights.

Tuck returned. Cutler put a pin prick through the condom and sent it soaring into the bathroom. Cutler slammed the door shut and retrieved a second balloon from Tuck. Toxic chloramine gas from the bleach and ammonia in the condom spread across the bathroom floor and began to rise. Werner choked and began to beat on the door.

“Stay here and check on him in ten minutes. That should do it.”

Cutler took his gun and exited the villa. Cortez lined up Cutler in his sights and saw his hair illuminate in his sights. All four of them had washed their hair previously in tonic water; it gave off an unusual glow through the sniper’s rifle and enabled Cortez to define foe from friend.

Cortez smiled to himself. “Villa One secure,” he said to himself.

Cutler took a quick look through the front entrance door and back out again to analyse what he saw. A second glance told him all he needed to know, and he entered the villa.

Colton was sitting next to Cortez and was administering first aid. He had ripped open the shirt, and Cutler could see that Cortez was grimacing as Colton worked his knife into his shoulder to remove the bullet.

“You a doctor as well?” Cutler said, half in jest.

“You should be asking how we are,” Colton replied.

“I can see how you are; in need of more training, looking at Cortez. And you’re missing a boot and your ankle looks like an elephant’s.”

“It’s not training we need, its bulletproof vests, you cheapskate,” returned the banter.

“Where’s the delegate?” Cutler inquired on a more serious note.

“In the bathroom.”

Cutler walked over to the bathroom, put a pin in the balloon and threw it in as the delegate screamed abuse.

After several minutes, Tuck walked in. “Didn’t take him long to die.”

“Get these two into one of the German’s Range Rovers. I’ll be out in a minute,” Cutler replied.

“What about the bodies?” Tuck asked.

They had previously identified an old water well in the mountains with a domed concrete roof that had not been used this century. The well went down over a hundred fifty metres deep, they guessed, by dropping a coin and counting. It was going to be the counterfeiters’ final resting place.

“We’ve got these two out of action; too much damage, too much time. Change of plan. The delegate is locked in the safe room and we have bodies to move and not enough muscle to get the job done.”

As Tuck helped Colton and Cortez to the car, Cutler removed his short-wave radio and spoke to Shultz. “Can you see the three liquid petroleum gas bottles at the rear of the building between the house and the side of the cliff?” He waited for the reply. “Good, light those up as soon as we leave, should make for a good cremation. Even in the safe room the fire will take out the generators which are pumping oxygen into the room.”

Chapter Thirty-Four

 

Cutler accompanied Cortez,