quickly and swung at him with a powerful haymaker. Stratton ducked nimbly underneath it, stepped to one side of the big man and released his cocked fist. But instead of punching straight he swung it in a tight arc and plunged the end of the fork into the man’s eye - which exploded in a spurt of retinal fluid, followed by a geyser of blood.
The thug let out a scream as his knees buckled. The second thug was already on top of Stratton and grabbed his collar as his other hand followed up with a blow. Stratton threw his arm over the top of the extended arm of the thug who had a hold of him, bringing it down the other side and up again in between them. The action straightened the thug’s arm by applying pressure to his elbow. Stratton continued the move, standing on tiptoe, and his momentum snapped the joint. The second thug’s howl rose above the general cacophony. At the same time Stratton swung his other hand with the plastic fork in it high and then down onto the corner of the man’s neck, driving the prongs of the fork deep into the flesh. The broken elbow had done the job but the follow-up certainly added to the thug’s agony. He dropped to the floor, screaming.
Stratton looked up to see the guards on the balcony stepping through the airlock doors that closed behind them. Hamlin was still sitting on the floor with his head in his hands.
The battle was in full swing. Some of the Afghans tried to stay together while others who had been dragged away from their colleagues were receiving a hiding.
The balcony was now void of guards and Stratton had the distinct feeling something ominous was about to happen. But at the same time it was a great opportunity to get closer to his target.
He saw Durrani and another Afghan scurry behind the counter. He headed towards them, pushing his way through the melee while fending off blows. He leaped over the counter, dropped to his knees on the other side and found himself facing Durrani an arm’s length away. There was not a trace of fear in the man’s eyes. Durrani’s colleague was busy fighting behind him, clutching at the throat of a man who was doing the same to him. Durrani stared at Stratton, years of battle experience etched into his brain.
He lunged at Stratton who moved deftly aside while at the same time slamming his forearm against the Afghan’s throat and forcing him against the side of the counter and down. Durrani was trapped and grabbed Stratton’s arm in an effort to release the choke hold. Stratton replaced his arm with his knee, pinning the Afghan even more firmly. He took advantage of the moment, not to strike another blow but to confirm what he most needed to know. He raised Durrani’s shirt and pulled down his trousers to expose the scar. It was still pink, the cut itself ugly due to it healing without stitches.
Durrani was momentarily confused.
Stratton looked into his eyes and for a second they weighed each other up. ‘Durrani?’ he asked.
Durrani was suddenly horrified. This man was not here to beat him. He wanted his treasure. More alarming was that he knew exactly where to look for it. With a combination of rage and desperation Durrani mustered every ounce of strength he possessed and threw Stratton off him. Stratton fell onto his back and the Afghan was on him like a wolf. He grappled for Stratton’s throat, driven not just to defend himself but to destroy this man who knew his precious secret.
Stratton was momentarily overpowered by the force of Durrani’s attack and struggled to twist out of his grip.
As Durrani fought to cut off Stratton’s air he was suddenly overwhelmed by a feeling of giddiness. The face of the man around whose neck his hands were tightening started to blur. Stratton punched up an arm and pushed his fingers into Durrani’s larynx but as he did so he too felt horribly dizzy. His eyes went in and out of focus and he struggled to breathe.
They were not the only two experiencing such difficulties. The riot had suddenly ceased with everyone in the room down on the floor and fighting to breathe. A man screamed as another lurched to his feet, staggered across the room as if blind and fell down hard onto his face.
Stratton fought to hold on to consciousness but his brain felt as though it was being squeezed like a sponge. All he could do was lie still and concentrate on breathing. A few seconds later his mind drifted into unconsciousness.
Mandrick was at his desk going through a list of emails while Hank Palmerston sat on the other side of the room nursing a cup of coffee and scowling to himself. His head jerked up at the sound of a buzzer. Mandrick glanced at the monitor on his desk and pushed a button on his remote.The door to the office hissed and clunked as it swung inwards and Gann stepped into the room.
Hank’s eyes narrowed as he stared at the senior guard whom he disliked intensely.
‘You wanted to see me,’ Gann said, looking confident despite knowing why he had been summoned.
‘You’re either a total dumb-fuck,’ Hank said, putting down his coffee,‘or . . . nah. There ain’t any other explanation. You
Gann’s barely visible reaction was a subtle tightening of his jaw. Having always been employed by aggressive hard-ass men physically inferior to him, controlling himself was something he’d had plenty of opportunity to practise. Gann knew his place in the pecking order and calmed his intense desire to attack the man. Maybe one day, when this was all over and if by chance he happened to bump into Hank somewhere, he’d tear him apart. But for the time being he could not. Hank was a senior CIA field operative and that was reason enough to allow the prick to walk all over him.
‘Anyone wanna hear my reasonin’?’ Gann asked.
Hank’s face broke into a smirk of stupefied disbelief. ‘It’s got reasoning,’ he said to Mandrick. ‘Go on. Please do go on. I’ve got to hear why one of my Talibutts is dead with a broken neck, two of ’em are blinded, one has a broken back and may never walk again and three of ’em have been so badly beaten in the head that I might as well send ’em back home for all the good they are to me now. And all while a federal prison inspector is crawling around the goddamn place. Do tell.’
Gann’s expression suggested he conceded that the number of casualties was excessive. Otherwise, he remained confident of his actions. ‘I think that Charon guy is a federal agent.’
Hank looked at Mandrick for an explanation. Mandrick raised his eyebrows in denial.
‘I ain’t as stupid as you think I am,’ Gann said. ‘I figured out there was a fed agent on the ferry myself. Why else would we have to kill everyone? But now I think the only guy to escape the ferry was the only one who shoulda died.’
Hank’s jaw clenched. ‘You mixed my Talibutts with the regular prisoners knowing it would cause a riot because you think there’s a fed in the building? You know something . . .’ he said, pausing to control himself, ‘you’re so fuckin’ dumb I’m irritated just by the sight of you.’
Gann wondered just how problematic it really would be to kill a CIA agent. ‘I didn’t suspect it so much before the riot.’
Hank’s brow furrowed.
‘I always suspected there was something strange about the guy,’ Gann went on. ‘Right from when I first met ’im. Even before the accident. There was somethin’ about him, the way he was always lookin’ at people and things, but not in a normal way.’
Hank squared up to Gann who was a head taller and much broader. ‘I don’t give a damn if J. Edgar fuckin’ Hoover himself turned up for lunch . . . Federal agent my ass.You must think I’m as stupid as you are. I know why you want to kill Charon. He’s the only person who can finger you for the ferry sabotage.’
Gann smirked. Hank was completely right, up until the fight in the galley. ‘So I guess you’re not interested to know if one of my inmates is interested in one of yours?’ Gann looked smug.
Hank squinted at the oversized guard. ‘What’re you talking about?’
‘Like I said. Charon is a motherfuckin’ spy. He ain’t here to do time. He’s here for one of your Talibutts. I got proof, too,’ he said, producing a mini-CD from his breast pocket. ‘Take a look at it. It’s from one of the cameras in the galley.’
Hank took the CD, eyeing Gann suspiciously, placed it in a slot on the panel and hit the play button. Mandrick got up from his seat and walked around the desk to get a closer look.
An image of the galley looking down from above flickered onto one of the monitors.
