Ultimatum

Seventy-one

21.29

They moved swiftly through the woods in total silence.

Cain could hear the sound of the convoy drawing closer, and was just able to see the first glow of the lead vehicle’s headlights as it came round the bend a few hundred yards further up. He nodded to Cecil, and the two men split up, taking up positions twenty yards apart on the light incline that ran down to the road, using the trees as cover. Cain put down the AK-47 assault rifle he was carrying and removed a Russian-made RK3 anti-tank grenade from beneath his jacket, slipping his forefinger through the firing pin as the convoy made its steady approach along the narrow winding road — sitting ducks heading straight into an ambush.

He felt the joy of violence building within him. This was it. His final battle. All the months of planning, all the killing that had taken place today, was about to culminate in this last bloody act — an act that would so humiliate the government, it was difficult to see how they could survive it. Cain felt nothing but contempt for the police officers guarding Fox. They were establishment lackeys doing the dirty work of the politicians, and they deserved everything that was coming to them. There would be no mercy. And there would be no regrets.

A thin smile spread across his face as he crouched low behind the tree, away from the glare of the approaching headlights, his finger tightening on the firing pin.

It was time.