Hunters: A Trilogy Read Free

guide pushed ahead without seeming to care. The rest was nothing but a blur, daylight searing under the lip of the hood. Running whilst bent over – stumbling. Panting like the rabid dog, and twice as thirsty – being inexorably dragged forwards by his iron-fisted rescuer.
    Fear and a sudden wave of terrible doubt washed over him.
    ‘He is a rescuer, they have come to help, right ?’
    No choice but to follow, dragged by the wrists, stumbling and moaning, blood, snot and tears slicking across his face and dripping down his chin. The hood was now nothing more than a cloth oven. It boiled his head.
    He heard people shouting. ‘Move it, come on you guys! That’s it, watch out – fuck, they’re here!’ The sound of gunfire filled his being. Deliberate shots, loud, single explosions. Then the other type, a ripping steel cacophony, an awful clattering melee of automatic fire, such horrendous noise, such madness!
    The last coherent sensation he had was one of being lifted clean off the ground and thrown, his equilibrium went haywire in the strobe-like surroundings of the hood, darkness and light flashed in crazy patterns. He felt himself flying through the air. His tensing muscles were unnecessary. The leathery springiness of a car seat saved him from the pain of the anticipated, concrete landing.
    Car doors slammed around him, an engine roared and he was thrown against the rear of the seat. Tyres squealed – he felt the vehicle tilting over to the left, then accelerating hard, diesel engine bouncing against the rev-limiter. The first voice from the cell spoke again, the English one, its tone familiar, but...
    ‘Left-left-left, that’s it, straight through there! Go, go – Go!’
    More shooting from behind, there were some loud, metallic, thumping noises on the door by his head. Someone in his car started firing; the noise was so loud that McGuire screamed in anguish. The last thing he heard was the sound of a metallic clinking noise. Then something hot, red-hot, hit the back of his neck.
    The pain seared into him. McGuire shrieked: ‘I’m hit! I’m hit!’
    In utter fear, he collapsed into the black pit of unconsciousness.
    ***
    Kenneth Robinson glanced across at the driver. ‘We can slow down now, Mikey,’ he said. ‘We’ve lost ‘em. Anyway, Noman’s boys will sort them out if they try and follow us...Did you see him? He was like a Tasmanian Devil! He must have dropped five of ‘em at least!’
    ‘Yeah, he was outstanding!’ Mike grunted, sliding a sideways glance towards Ken. ‘What are we gonna tell his family?’ he asked, softly.
    Ken sat in silence; the recent memory of his deputy rushing without fear towards the heavily-armed kidnappers was still fresh in his mind. His blood still dripped and Ken still smelled it. Noman had gone down in a blaze of glory, not senseless by any means. They hadn’t been told about the extra guards, Noman had seen them first and simply did what anyone would have done, anyone with balls the size of melons – he’d attacked the group of gun-toting kidnappers without a second thought, allowing Ken and Mike to gain access to the building.
    Noman’s actions had saved them, but he’d been killed in the process. His bullet-riddled body, now cold and lifeless, lay on the back seat of the white Toyota shadowing them through the packed streets of Karachi.
    Ken had no idea what he was going to do. ‘I dunno,’ he said, blowing out a stream of anger-filled breath. ‘I guess the company will have to fork out some cash for Noman’s family – bollocks, what a waste of a good man!’ He looked at the unconscious form of John McGuire.
    The man lay across the back seat of the Land Cruiser, a pool of blood and snot soaking through his hood. Ken decided to leave it there as the sight of the man’s face would most likely drive him over the edge.
    Noman’s last words were still ringing in his ears.
    ‘Oh, I’m so sorry, Ken. I...oh, my son, my boy, oh...’
    He died soon after,