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

outwards, away from the ship’s side, hanging in the air for the blink of an eye before he plunged towards the waves some thirty metres below.

It was like a flash of lightning, so quick it was impossible to catch on camera, so fleeting was that moment in the air before plunging into the depths. Lachiman had spent years training for such a moment.

In his time in the army, he had been deployed to Iraq. It was not fulfilling, as it was hard to kill men who were running away from you.

Today he had met an opponent, a worthy enemy, who had hurt the Gurkha and whom he had hurt in return. His mission was to protect the investigator, and he had failed. The least he could do was kill the perpetrator.

The transitory period that Sebastian hung in the nothingness was all that the Gurkha needed to launch his ornate khukuri. He aimed it below Sebastian, his training taking over, and his brain calculating the position of the falling assailant.

The khukuri buried itself deep into Sebastian’s left shoulder, down to the hilt, such was the force it entered his body. He fell the thirty metres into the moderate swell, his reflexes moving his body into position to reduce the impact, not sure if he was going to live or die.

Chapter Thirty-Three

The stars pulsated in the clear sky with the thin, reflected line of the moon stretched across the bay’s calm waters. The air was still and warm, and the lights of the small fishing vessels plying their trade blinked on and off. It was a perfect evening to visit an excellent restaurant, eat mezze, and drink ice-cold beer. Cortez, Shultz, Tuck, Colton, and Cutler checked each other’s equipment on the villa’s rooftop, and food was the last thing on their mind.

Once the equipment check was completed, they gathered around Cutler for the final briefing. Cutler went over the plan again. It was the tenth time, but they were all professionals, and accepted the need for repetition. When the briefing was completed, Cutler asked Shultz to stay with him while Cortez, Colton, and Tuck departed in separate cars hired from the local village.

“Fabienne telephoned me a couple of hours ago and I was considering not telling you until after tonight’s operation. However, if I do not pass on the information it may destroy your trust in me, Manfred,” Cutler said.

“What information? Is it about my wife?” Shultz guessed.

“Your wife and my sister. Between Fabienne, her computer, Stahmer, and Ghislaine, they have come up with a strong link to many missing or suspicious deaths. In short, they have a name, and Stahmer is over there now interviewing him.”

Shultz was quiet and moved around the rooftop, shaking his head while thinking.

“He killed my wife and your sister? Stahmer should have waited until you and I could get over there. I will get the truth out of the bastard. What’s his name?”

“And he’s linked to many more. It would have been better if Stahmer had waited, but we must deal with the situation as it is now. I want to get my hands on him as much as you. His name is Sebastian McKenzie, and he is a ship pianist.”

Shultz stood still, thinking back to the ship, to the piano bar, and the pianist she insisted on listening to each night. “There was an Asian guy, a great musician and singer; my wife could not get enough of him. Weird hair, though.”

“That’s him,” Cutler said coldly.

“So, what happens now?” Shultz asked.

“You can go now. There is a flight out at midnight. Or you can wait until tomorrow and fly with me if we are both still alive. I have already spoken to Cortez and Colton, and they are okay with tidying up after the job and returning the weapons. Your choice and no flak if you decide to go.”

Shultz had taken several minutes before he answered. “We go tomorrow, on the proviso you let me kill the bastard.”

“As long as you do it slowly, I have no problem with that.”

“Believe me, it won’t be quick,” Shultz spat out.

Cutler and Shultz packed the equipment into the car and sped off, driving away from civilization around the bay. They passed the steep lane heading up towards the two villas perched up on the mountain and took the next lane up. The lane was steep, and it had last seen paving many years before. The stones bounced off the chassis continuously.

When they reached the top of the lane, they parked by a building that had once been a shelter for the olive pickers, now it had not been used for over a decade.

Shultz climbed up on Cutler’s shoulders until he got a handhold on the huge boulder and climbed to the top with some difficulty. Once he had mounted the rock, he threw down the nylon rope he had tied around his waist. Cutler tied the handle to the sports bag, and it was hauled up.

Cutler manoeuvred the vehicle back down the lane and returned to the village, taking the road that led up over the back of the mountain. He turned off a small, deserted lane that was used for maintenance vehicles to service the tall airport location beacon that flashed its red light throughout the night. He removed a black hooded sweatshirt and put it on, which blended in with his dark trousers. He then went through the same process as the other four earlier and blackened his face with the boot polish they had bought from the local shoe shop.

Cutler used the ladder that the others had left there to climb over the metal fencing surrounding the beacon and met up with Cortez, Colton, and Tuck. They had used the metal railings to secure two abseil lines down to the villas some sixty metres