Treasured Lies (23 page)

At the top of the cliff, just before the island gave way to jagged cliffs, he looked out at the endless stretch of water, hoping one last time to see signs of civilisation. But there was nothing. Absolutely nothing but indigo blue ocean and a blood red sunset. With relief he noted the boat was still a good mile or two off shore. Clutching his bandaged hand to his chest, in the hope that he wouldn't hurt it again if he fell, and with the padded jeans beneath his elbow, he ran as fast as his cloth-covered feet could carry him down the rugged path.

The track wound down the steep cliff, cutting back on itself in numerous, sharp hairpin turns. He could see the twins had made some attempt to make the trail easier with several sets of stairs but for the most part, the path was jagged uneven rocks, gravel and clumps of spikey weeds. His cloth-covered feet were no match for the rough terrain, and not only did it hurt his soles, he was a hell of a lot slower than he needed to be. Why hadn't the twins constructed a better path? Was this a joke? Then he wondered if this was even their regular path. Maybe there was a better, easier way, somewhere else. He clenched his good fist in anger at this untimely thought.

Nox felt like he was in a race for his life. A race to beat the men to the beach. A race to leave on the boat. And a race to find water, because right now he couldn't even swallow.

He could hear their outboard engine now and abruptly realised he'd often heard the high-pitched squeal when he was drifting in and out of consciousness.

A straight piece of wood lying in the middle of the path caught his eye. When he reached it, he couldn't believe what he was actually seeing. It was the blood soaked, rusty metal reinforcing that he'd yanked from his hand and tossed over the cliff hours ago. Laughing like a crazy man, he picked up the weapon with his good hand and ran on.

He hit the sand so abruptly, he lost his footing and stumbled to his hands and knees. The padded jeans broke his fall and in a nice twist they also saved him from injuring his hand again. From this position it looked like the small boat was about to hit land. Nox swallowed hard, climbed to his feet and staggered to greet them.

At this point in time, he had no idea what to do. Communication between them was impossible and even if it were, what would he say? He needed their help. Nox dropped the stuffed jeans above the waterline and at the ocean's edge he fell to his knees and, like his father had done, just before he succumbed to the mushroom poison that wracked his body, Nox placed his hands together and begged for help.

‘Please. Help me.' His voice was a rusty croak. He tried to swallow again, forcing down the razor blades.

‘Help me.'

They were yelling at him as if he understood every word they said. They were furious too, waving their fists with angry gestures. The boat speared onto the sand, barely a metre from where Nox was kneeling. Short Beard jumped out and ran straight at Nox. As he leant over him, he yelled with such ferocity, spittle landed in his frizzy red beard.

‘Help me. Please.' Nox willed his eyes to show his desperation. He clutched at Short Beard's wrist and with his injured hand he imitated drinking. ‘Help me. I need water.'

Short Beard was firing rapid pellets of words that Nox had no hope of understanding and at the same time he was trying to yank his hand free. But Nox wouldn't let go. He used his grip to pull himself up, face to face with Short Beard. ‘We need to go. Now.' It was immediately obvious his pleading was a waste of time.

Without any warning, Short Beard slapped him. Full calloused palm. Right across the cheek. The pain shot up Nox's already battered nose. He shrieked in pain and fell to his knees again. As Nox cupped his burning cheek and fresh blood poured from his nose, a rage as hungry as a ferocious predator drove up from within.

He allowed the anger to drive him.

Nox clutched the metal rod in his good hand, and with the speed of a panther he shot up from his knees and whipped the weapon across Short Beard's neck. The ugly twin's hands leapt to his throat as he dropped like a cadaver, face first to the ground.

Nox was as startled as Short Beard must have been and he wondered if he'd knocked him out or actually killed him. Either way, he didn't care. He turned his attention to Scar Face. The look on the twin's face snapped from alarmed to enraged in a heartbeat. Nox hunched down, planted his feet in the sand and waved the metal rod for the standing twin to see. The growl that spewed from Scar Face's throat was unnatural; a wild animal had been unleashed. The twin charged, kicking up sand as he aimed straight for Nox.

Nox had no intention of getting in a wrestling match. Complete exhaustion and a battery of injuries ensured he wasn't fit enough for it. If he was going to make it out of this alive, he'd have to dodge the attacks. He waited until the very last second to dive to the side. It worked and Scar Face tumbled to the sand. He was up in a flash, his eyes daggers of revenge. His face contorted into fury as he charged again.

Nox's arms trembled as he held the metal rod above his head, ready to whip it across the twin's face. Seconds before impact he brought the pole down, but his aim with his left hand was off and the weapon did nothing more than bounce off Scar Face's shoulder. Suddenly his feet were knocked out beneath him and Nox slammed back first onto the sand.

Scar Face jumped on top of him. Smothering him with wild punches. Nox fought back, using the metal pole as a baton, clobbering Scar Face with as much power as he could harness. But the crazed twin was immune from the blows, taking each hit as if the hardened steel was nothing but a rubber tube. Nox had seen fury like this before and if he didn't get out from under Scar Face soon, he was going to die.

Scar Face's fist connected with Nox's chin and Nox lashed out, clamping his teeth right into the flesh. The metallic taste of blood flooded his mouth, but Nox clenched harder. Just when he thought he was going to bite off a chunk of hand, Scar Face screamed. Nox released, spat out the blood, and realising this was his chance, drove his knee into the twin's groin. An explosive breath punched from Scar Face's mouth, and this time when he screamed he also keeled sideways.

Nox rolled to his hands and knees gasping. He could barely move. His body was ready to surrender. His mind was close too. Panting and fighting waves of delirium, Nox crawled towards the boat. To hell with the twins. The floating body of metal would be his salvation; they can die on this wretched island.

And without food, water and a way to get off, they probably will.

Scar Face was groaning and mumbling something unintelligible behind him. Nox ignored it and focused only on moving his hands and feet, one in front of the other. He waded out and screamed as the sting of salty water lashed at his wounds. He clenched his teeth and forced himself to keep going. Once he was knee deep, he used the side of the boat to drag himself up and over the edge. He fell like a dead man onto the cold metal as the vessel rocked wildly from side to side.

His mind screamed at him. Start the engine. Get away while you can.

Two seats stretched across the width of the boat. It took all his might to drag himself onto the one at the back. Gasping for breath, he took a moment to look over at the twins. Scar Face was leaning over his brother, and Nox thought he heard what sounded like sobbing. He blocked it out as he studied the engine. It wasn't the same as the boat Nox had hired in Athens. This one had a pull start. When the man at the boat yard had shown him this variety he'd deliberately steered clear of it, knowing full well that it required a good dose of strength to pull the string. Even back then, when he was in full health, he'd resisted that option.

He wrapped his fingers around the handgrip, and as he was about to pull it he saw Scar Face running at him.

‘Ahhh, shit.' He tried to swallow, but it was impossible. Nox literally had nothing left. It was now or never.

Scar Face hit the water before Nox had time to ready himself. The twin grabbed onto the side of the boat and Nox whipped the string from the motor with brute determination. To his surprise, the engine roared to life and with the twin hanging onto the side, the boat tilted wildly. Nox was forced to grip on with his injured hand as he steered with the other.

The boat was barely in two feet of water and Nox had milliseconds to act before he ran it aground. Ironically, it was Scar Face's weight that helped with the manoeuvring and he managed to quickly turn the boat around and start heading out to sea. Scar Face's screech was that of a crazy man. His strength was amazing. He held on with one elbow hooked over the side of the boat and tried to swipe at Nox with his other hand.

Nox had had enough. He let go of the motor and the boat bucked with momentum. Nox gripped onto the seat and with rage-driven energy he kicked at Scar Face's head. It took two blows, but finally the ugly twin was gone. Nox turned back to the motor, grabbed the tiller and aimed it away from the island.

As he looked back he saw Scar Face swimming in his wake, and to his amazement Short Beard was standing at the shoreline. By the way Scar Face had reacted when hovering over his twin lying on the sand, Nox believed he had killed him.
Pity
. He rolled his eyes at the overreaction and spied the ribbons of smoke flowing from the cabin.

In an instant brainwave, he realised this would ensure he didn't steer the boat in circles. He headed the boat in the direction of the drifting smoke and prayed that he hit land before the red sky above him became black.

He settled into the journey and as the loud buzz of the motor became his new companion, his numerous injuries began screaming at him in unison. As he assessed the damage, his purple and swollen hand, the lumps on the back of his head, his painful and swollen nose, his ribs, his back, hell … just about everything, he thought about what lay ahead. With his money …

‘My money!' Nox screamed until his throat hurt. He stood up so abruptly the boat rocked and he fell forward onto his hands. Pain shot up from his injured palm and he howled in agony.

‘My money.' Nox fell to the bottom of the boat, curled into a ball and tears that welled up from deep down released into a gut-wrenching wail.

Chapter 26

Under Archer's rapid questioning, the prisoner reluctantly opened up. But the more he said, the more Archer was convinced it was a practised speech. Their mission, according to this guy, had been to simply tie them all up and call Iggy to return to
Evangeline
once the job was done. Archer was certain the entire story was bullshit.

Maybe Iggy thought they were an easy target. That would be the only explanation for sending just two men to overpower five of them, six if he included his mother. Sure, they'd arrived in the darkness of early morning. No doubt Ignatius expected them to be asleep. But to arrive by helicopter seemed ridiculous. Not only because of the noise, but because he'd already taunted them with it. Any fool would know they'd be listening for that sound constantly.

Much to Jimmy's disgust, Archer had promised to let the captured thug go if he told them everything. Jimmy's seething over his plan was distressing to see. But it was necessary. For now. Jimmy knew his place, but his clenched jaw and dagger eyes at Archer made it clear he wasn't happy with Archer's decision.

The police helicopter was off the starboard railing now and Archer stepped to deliberately block the prisoner from their bird's eye view. He shielded his hand against the sun's brilliant glare and tried to peer into the choppers cockpit. But it was pointless. The darkened glass reflected the fireball, making it impossible to see the number of men concealed within.

The beat of the rotors was a heavy thud as the chopper hovered over the landing pad directly above where Archer, Jimmy and the prisoner were standing.

Jimmy raised his eyebrows at Archer and cocked his head at the prisoner. The pleading in his eyes told Archer he was wondering what the hell he was waiting for.

Archer turned his attention to the thug. ‘I think we've heard enough.'

The prisoner raised his chin. ‘I go now.'

Even from this high up, the chopper's rotors whipped up a sea spray, casting a fine mist over all of them. Archer shrugged. ‘I don't think so.'

The prisoner's eyes shot to Archer. ‘We had deal.'

‘I agree.' Archer shrugged. ‘The deal was, you tell me your mission and I let you go.'

The thug reacted with a convincing nod. ‘I did.'

The thumping helicopter was so loud now Archer was forced to raise his voice. ‘What you told me was bullshit!'

Jimmy folded his arms over his chest and grinned at Archer. The worried scowl that had etched his face for the last ten minutes evaporated in a flash.

‘I tell truth.' The man's pleading raised his voice a notch.

‘You told me lies. Iggy could have put three men in that chopper, yet he offloaded just two.' Archer shoved two fingers in the man's face. ‘Two … to overcome five people.'

The prisoner wrestled against his constraints. ‘I only do as told.'

‘Not good enough.'

Archer snatched a strip of loose tape off the thug's leg and pressed it over his mouth. The anger in the prisoner's clenched jaw matched his burning death stare.

Archer stepped back, collected the knife ankle holster from the floor and the other holster that still contained the gun, and turned his back on the man. As he heard the chopper's skids touch down on the helicopter pad above, he raised one of the cushion seats and tossed the leather straps and weapons into the concealed storage compartment.

Jimmy sidled up beside him. ‘You old dog, you.' He playfully thumped Archer in the ribs.

‘What?' Archer grinned at his mate.

‘The old good cop, bad cop routine. You really had me going.'

‘Needed to get you as angry as I could.'

‘You bloody well did that. After these blokes go, I'm gonna need a good dose of rum to settle my nerves back to normal.'