Adrian Magson: Retribution

Now it was all his.

‘ Brace! ’ the pilot screamed as the machine’s tail dipped. There was a loud bang and the helicopter was wrenched violently to one side, as if swiped by a giant hand. Electronic alert signals began sounding and lights flashing, and he heard someone scream. He hoped it wasn’t him.

So be it, thought Kassim, and raised his gun. And as the great machine tilted sideways and hung for a moment above the trees, defying gravity, he looked across at Kleeman and murmured a brief prayer for Aisha recalled from his childhood in the valleys below.

He pulled the trigger.

The Black Hawk pilot was already dropping his machine towards the ground as the stricken Super Cougar plunged out of the sky, the fuselage turning lazily as the pilot fought vainly to keep it level. A heavy worm of black smoke from the remains of the tail rotor trailed the helicopter’s descent.

‘Brace for landing!’ A crew member shouted a warning through the intercom as the ground came up to meet them with dizzying speed. Three hundred yards away the Super Cougar rolled lazily on its side and hit some trees with a crash, debris arcing into the air and one of the five rotor blades spinning away like a giant boomerang. Then the fuselage sank out of sight into a large gully.

Harry and Rik were out of the Black Hawk before it touched down and running towards where a plume of black smoke was rising into the air. The tops of the trees where the helicopter had impacted were burning, emitting a crackling sound as oil-fed flames ate into the wet branches.

Behind them, Rekker and his men broke wide to approach the crash site from the side and give covering fire, while the crew member and medic brought fire extinguishers in the hope that they might be of some use.

Harry arrived at the lip of the gully and stared down at a spot a hundred feet below, where the wreckage of the helicopter had finally come to rest. Held in place by two enormous pine trees above a series of waterfalls and a deep gully, it was lying on its side, the fuselage bent and torn with great gashes along the side.

For a moment nothing moved, save a piece of damaged rotor swinging in the wind and a renewed surge of dark, oily smoke from the remains of the rear assembly. Then the remains of a side window in the forward section popped out, and a figure in a flying suit emerged and rolled down the damaged fuselage. Another man followed and they both took off flying helmets. It was the pilot and co-pilot. Both appeared injured but mobile.

A third figure appeared in the main doorway of the machine, his face covered in blood. He wore combat gear and was holding a submachine gun.

Kassim.

There was too much vegetation in the way for a clear shot, and Harry began a cautious descent of the steep slope between the trees, aware that if he slipped, he wouldn’t be able to stop until he landed right in front of the helicopter. He kept his eyes on Kassim, who seemed unaware of how close the pursuers were, and was struggling to get clear of the wreckage.

Then Kassim looked up and saw Harry and Rik, and to one side, Rekker and one of his men.

He tumbled from his perch on the fuselage, his weapon sweeping towards them.

His first burst sprayed through the trees, clipping off branches and chunks of wood. The second burst caught one of the men as he moved down, throwing him on to his back.

It was Rekker.

Kassim switched his attention to Harry, sending a burst of fire past him, one round tugging at his sleeve. It was enough to spin him off balance, and he slammed against a tree, feeling the rough scrape of bark against his face.

‘ Down! ’ Rik shouted, and Harry dropped to the ground just as Kassim took aim again.

Rik fired two three-shot bursts. The second caught Kassim in the chest. The impact flipped him over and out of sight down the slope, his submachine gun falling to the ground.

Harry skidded the last few feet down to the Super Cougar and looked beyond it, to see Kassim’s body floating in a pool of water fifty feet below. He reached up and hauled himself over the lip of the helicopter’s main door, and stared down at two figures lying against the other side of the fuselage. Both were covered in blood. He recognized Anton Kleeman. The other was a crew member.

Rik joined him, coughing through the smoke. ‘They dead?’

‘Can’t tell,’ replied Harry. The air inside the cabin was thick with the powerful stench of aviation fuel and the sickly smell of burning rubber. He handed his MP5 to Rik and slid inside the helicopter, the movement producing a rasping groan of metal as the machine slipped against the trees.

He bent to check the crewman. He was barely conscious, with a serious gash across his chest and a bullet wound in one shoulder. A steady flow of blood was pumping from the chest wound, and Harry knew they hadn’t long to get him some help.

‘Get the medic,’ he told Rik, then turned to Kleeman.

To his surprise the envoy was conscious, his eyes watching Harry but dulled by shock. Harry checked him over carefully and found a bullet wound in the man’s side. Kassim must have shot them both, the intended coup de grace.

‘Get me. . out. .’ Kleeman breathed hoarsely, his skin white and greasy. He tried to pull himself up by using the injured crewman as leverage, but his leg was caught under the bench seat that had collapsed under the craft’s impact. ‘Damn you. . get me out! You can see to him later.’

Harry felt a cold anger clutch him at the man’s selfishness, and wondered if Kleeman had ever shown true compassion about anyone. Somehow he doubted it.

He bent and grasped the bench seat and braced himself, then heaved upwards, feeling the metal beginning to straighten. It moved sufficiently for Kleeman to pull his foot clear, and the envoy scrabbled away, gasping and coughing.

‘Who. . who was that man?’ he asked, touching his side and inspecting his bloodied fingers. He seemed surprised to see the splash of red, as if he’d never considered that he might bleed like anyone else. He slumped against the crewman, eyes rolling, and waved away a spiral of smoke drifting across the cabin.

Harry stared at him. ‘You don’t know?’

‘No — should I?’ Kleeman coughed again, and a small spot of blood appeared on his lip. If he noticed, he made no sign.

‘But you remember the compound at Mitrovica,’ said Harry.

Kleeman’s gaze faltered, eyes moving away. It was as if the envoy had decided that, for once, silence might be safer than words. It might have worked had he not said, ‘You knew that crazy bastard was coming after me! I saw him at the airport, yet you did nothing to stop him — any of you!’

It was enough. Suddenly Harry knew — knew without a flicker of doubt that Kleeman was responsible. It was in the air around them, in the sickly pallor of the man’s face, in the expression of his eyes, the set of his mouth.

‘You raped her,’ Harry muttered softly, his words dropping dully into the cold air of the fuselage, loaded with contempt. ‘A child. You stuffed a beret in her mouth and raped her. Then you carried her outside and tossed her over the perimeter fence like a bag of dirty laundry.’

Kleeman’s eyes flared in defiance. He gasped and clutched his side as a sharp pain coursed through him, and tried to struggle upright, away from Harry’s accusing words.

‘You’re mad, Tate.’ Kleeman’s smooth veneer had gone, replaced by the ferocity of a snarling animal at bay. ‘You fucking moron . You don’t know what you’re saying — I’ll have you put away for this!’ As he moved again, the fuselage shuddered and tilted with a sickening lurch, emitting a loud groan of tortured metal as it shifted against the trees holding it up.