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“Let her calm down. She will be back.” Will she? I’m not sure. The only thing I do know, is that my head is a mess.
“Tonight, we sort the business. Tomorrow, you sort your woman.” He taps me on the shoulder, leaving me to my thoughts. She has until tomorrow to come to her senses, and then I will be claiming what is mine once and for all.
Hours later.
We’re in the cockpit of the ship, waiting for the inevitable. Everyone is ready. I have 50 men with enough ammo to wipe out the whole of Italy. This ends tonight. Marco goes over the plans one last time with the captain and crew. They are to wait in here with the doors locked until Marco or I come back with the password.
*Boom* They’re here. All power is cut, the engine is off, and the emergency lights take over, casting a red glow throughout the room. Marco looks even more like the devil now.
“Showtime!”
The plan is to wait until every intruder is on the ship. We don’t want anyone getting wise to the situation and taking off. The more we have to torture, the more information we will find out. This may, of course, mean losing some of our men, but that can’t be helped, unfortunately. Marco and I make our way through the hallway to the storage cabins where our cargo is usually stored. Only today, there’s no cargo. Today it is Marco’s torture chamber. Chains hang from the walls and ceilings. Tools are carefully laid out on a table. Large equipment like Marco’s favourite, the chain saw, are dotted around the room in full view and ready for easy access.
The first sound of gunfire echoes through the metal walls. The intermittent sound of death continues for around 20 minutes. Each time getting louder and nearer until the first arrive. Marco opens the door as he hears them approach. Two of my men bring in two men about to meet the devil. Sweating and looking terrified, the men are chained to the walls. After 30 minutes, ten men are imprisoned. Marco can hardly contain himself; he’s pacing up and down in front of the chained men. Touching his tools and equipment as he passes. He’s like a child in a toy shop, unable to decide what he wants to play with first.
“Good evening.” I crack my neck, releasing the tension building within me.
“I’m sure I do not need to introduce myself, but just in case. My name is Leonardo Guerra.” Four of the men are affected by my statement. One of the men pisses himself, another’s eyes nearly fall out his head, the next bows his head as if accepting his fate, and the final one begins to cry. These men I know have been employed as extra muscle. They’re not part of an organisation; they’re here to make up numbers. Unfortunately for them, their number is up. The other six men scowl at me. They know who I am. They also have evil in their eyes.
“So, tell me. Who sent you?” None of the men speak, other than the one who is crying and now muttering something in French, I think? I will start with him. As I walk over to him, he closes his eyes like that will make me disappear. “You. French?” The man nods still with his eyes closed.
“You understand English well enough, though, from your reactions.” I lift his chin. His lips tremble.
“Open your eyes.” As he does, another cry escapes his mouth.
“I’m sorry, I did not know. I have a family. I need money for food. Please let me go.” You could feel sorry for the guy. But I don’t. He will have been part of the last group that invaded my ship, stole my cargo, and killed my men. Those men had families too.
“Who do you work for?” his eyes flicker for a second to another man, confirming he is one of the original gang members.
“I do not know….. I come, get paid, go home.” He’s lying, but he knows he’s dead if he says anything. He’s also dead if he doesn’t. If he doesn’t talk, I’ll kill him. If he does, they will kill him. I just need to show him that not talking prolongs an agonising death. Whereas if he tells me what I need to know, I’ll make it quick and almost pain-free. I move to the guy the whimpering French man looked at.
“Are you also French?” the man curls his lips at me and then spits in my eye. The pocket square in my jacket pocket is ready for these incidents. It’s not the first time I have had bodily fluids in my face, and it won’t be the last. Once I have cleaned my face, I speak again. Standing further away this time.
“Who are you working for?” He doesn’t answer. But this guy isn’t French. I’d guess he's English. As I expect, he stays quiet.
“Marco. Show these men I don’t like ignorance. Remove his leg. Maybe that will encourage him to use his voice” Marco smiles. He picks up his chainsaw and starts the motor. It’s extremely loud; the noise vibrates in your ears. The smile on Marcos’s face is contagious; well, to me, it is. To the men, it causes terror. Chains rattle as the men try to get free. It’s no use; they’re going nowhere. He waves the saw around him, loosening up his limbs. As he gets to the man in question, he asks.
“Any last words?” before the guy can release his spit, Marco swings the saw into his thigh. The screeches and cries from grown men are enough to give you nightmares for the rest of your life. I don’t look at the amputation. Surprisingly to some, I don’t enjoy this line of work. I take in the reactions of the other men. All of which look away. Two of them are being violently sick, and another has passed out, dangling from the chains by his arms. I feel a vibration in my jacket pocket. Pulling out my phone, I realise I’ve forgotten to switch it off. A mistake I don’t usually make. Looking at the screen as I go to press the power button, the name Damien King captures my interest. The call ends, but I instruct Marco to continue while I leave the room. Once far away from the noise, I call him back. “Mr King. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Guerra. When was the last time you spoke to Katie?” a tug in my gut puts me on high alert.
“Why? Explain immediately!”
“My wife spoke to Katie as she got off the plane at Heathrow. She was supposed to call her when she got home. She hasn’t.”
“What time was this?”
“10 pm.” The time on my watch is 3 am. 5 hours ago.
“Check her apartment.”
“I have security on that building. She hasn’t returned home.”
“Then where the hell is she!” My fist hits the metal wall. Two of my men round the corner, guns at the ready, investigating the dooming echo. I wave them away.
“CCTV shows her leaving the airport. She follows Jaxon Adams down a side street where we lose visual.”
“What do you know about Adams?”
