Veil of Civility

Chapter Eighteen

From the lack of any noticeable accents Declan could tell the men in the white SUV were not the same men he'd seen at the Briton-Adams mansion the night before. Although he couldn't make out what they looked like in the darkness, their choice of words and style of speech told him they were locals, or at least a lot more local than the men who had killed Levitt and Kafni. Who were they? And more importantly, who was paying these men to kill him, and why? A shiver shot down his spine and through his legs from the cold, damp rocks he was lying on as he watched the bright beams of flashlights pierce the darkness, washing over the dormant equipment like the full moon over an assembly of sleeping grizzly bears.

Two men had left the SUV and were moving about the storage lot searching the cluster of equipment. Declan wondered if there were more men in the vehicle or if the two who had gotten out were alone as he hunkered low against the rock and considered his options. Behind him was a long drop onto the two lane eastbound highway leading to Lynchburg. To his right and left were thick patches of trees that would provide him cover, but would also make noise as he moved among them; alerting the men to his presence and to his location; and in front of him were at least two armed men that were aiming to kill him on sight. If he stayed where he was they would eventually make their way to the end of the lot and if they decided to check out what was behind the rock, he'd be a sitting duck. Considering the fact that they were armed and he wasn't, he decided avoiding a physical confrontation would be best and that meant making a run for it in one direction or another.

"I got nothin'," one of the men called loudly to the other. "Maybe he was thrown from the truck during the crash. I've seen bodies tossed fifty or more feet from crash sites and that truck rolled a good distance. He could be anywhere."

Declan stayed still. Would they give up their search and leave?

"Could be, but if we don't bring back pictures of a dead body we've wasted our time," the man who had been driving the SUV answered.

It looked like he was back to making a run for it. Slowly, he moved his head and looked behind him as he heard the sound of a vehicle passing along the highway below. The road rose in elevation as it came around the rocky hill, but in the darkness he couldn't tell exactly how far it was to the bottom and whether the drop was straight down or sloping. If it sloped he could make a run for it, sliding down the hill and crossing the highway into the forest beyond where the men would have little chance of finding him in the dark, but if it was a straight drop, he could end up with a broken leg or worse, complete the men's job for them and be killed. He moved his head again, slowly, looking forward. The men's positions hadn't changed much, they were moving methodically through the muddy lot, checking in and around each machine. He turned his head again and peered into the gloom. The hill sloped down in a rolling fashion as it led to the bottom where the terrain leveled out, bringing the four lane highway back together for the remainder of the journey into Roanoke. Moving downwards would give him some momentum and allow him to move more quickly away from the men despite the fact that they would inevitably hear him and give chase. If he could make it to the bottom of the hill and into the forest across the highway without them catching him, he'd be free to move towards a nearby house where he could call the police. Gripping the craggy rock, he positioned his feet for the maximum amount of push off he could get and prepared to make his move.

"Get over to the truck and call Turner and Allred," one of the men yelled. "I don't want them waiting around for us. Tell them to get in there and take out the wife. I don't want to drag this out any longer than we have to."

Declan's mind raced as his heart rate sped up. Constance. How could he have been so stupid? How could he have assumed these men were only after him and not even thought of the possibility that she might be in danger as well? His mind changed in an instant. Now his plan was all about a physical confrontation. Armed or not, these men were not going to reach their vehicle and make that call while he was still alive. Lifting his head, he watched as the man searching the part of the lot closest to him turned and began walking towards the white SUV.

Putting all his weight onto his right foot, Declan launched himself forward and off the rock. Hitting the muddy ground with a squishy thud, he instantly powered forward. His shoulders lowered like a running back heading for the end zone, he darted between the machines towards the man, whose back was still turned.

"There he is! Watch out!"

The man ahead of him started to turn, but his partner's warning was seconds too late. As Declan closed to within a few feet of his target, he launched his arm in a wide circle and formed a knife edge with his hand, striking the man in the carotid artery on the right side of his neck just before colliding with him and driving him face first into the muddy ground. As the momentum caused the man to slide forward in the mud, Declan grabbed his head and twisted until he heard a muted snap.

He braced his feet against the dead man, using the body to hurriedly push himself back up onto his feet and towards a hulking bulldozer for cover. Two gunshots sounded as he ducked behind the machine, one clanging dangerously close as it made contact with the dozer. As the report of the shots faded into the night, Declan stayed low behind the machine, listening to the gunman shifting his stance frequently in an effort to get a shot. He was located at the opposite edge of the lot to Declan's truck, where he had been searching.

"Myers? Myers?" the gunman called in a harsh whisper.

Declan listened for any indication that more men were getting out of the SUV and heard none. The gunman was apparently talking to his fallen friend, confirming that they had been alone in the SUV.

"Ah, you're a dead man when I find you!" the gunman said, raising his voice to address Declan as he realized his friend was deceased.

Moving to the other side of the bulldozer, Declan crouched down and leaned around the edge of the machine. He could see the body of the man called Myers a few yards in front of him lying near the cab of his overturned truck. The guy was white and had a head full of unkempt blonde hair. Just as his voice had indicated, his appearance made it obvious that he wasn't one of the men Declan had seen with Ruslan Baktayev the previous night. These guys were something else entirely, thugs who had been hired by someone to kill him and his wife.

He looked the body up and down for any signs that the man had been carrying a gun. There was nothing in his hands or on the ground near him except the flashlight he'd been using, its beam shining away into the night just like the vacant eyes of its former owner. Did the men really have only one gun between the two of them? Maybe the dead guy had dropped his back on the highway after they'd tried to shoot from a moving vehicle. Whatever the reason, the body had nothing that would be of use in the current situation.

Declan moved his eyes up from the body as he continued to listen to the slow movements of the gunman. The man had crept forward and was apparently working his way towards the bulldozer. The beam of his flashlight, undoubtedly aimed in the same direction as his gun, was shining over the opposite end of the dozer from where Declan was positioned. If the man continued on his current path Declan knew he could double back as he came past the dozer, but he needed a weapon to make sure his attack was effective. This time he wouldn't have the element of surprise.

Retreating behind the tread of the dozer in case the gunman moved suddenly in an unexpected direction, Declan looked around for anything he could use as a weapon. A gun or knife would be preferable, but even a blunt object would work. He just needed to do as much damage as possible on the first strike or else the man could come back at him. Based on the guy's movements, he thought it likely that he was a trained soldier or officer of some kind and had no desire to stand toe to toe with him in a fist fight and find out how well trained he was. Looking over his shoulder to the operator's cab of the dozer, he saw that the windows had been removed. Underneath the operator's seat were a dirty cloth and several hand tools. Slowly he stood upright and reached into the cab. Through the open cab he could see the beam of the gunman's flashlight darting around in front of the dozer, the man himself hidden from view by the dozer's front blade. Inside the cab he felt the handle of a tool and picked it up. Bringing his arm down to his side, he looked to find that the tool was a small garden spade. Perfect. Memories of his training by Russian Special Forces surfaced and he thought about the entrenching spades that each member of the Black Shuck Unit had been given on their first day. These, they were taught, were your life line; one part tool, one part weapon.

Holding the spade, he slowly rolled out around the edge of the dozer and began making his way towards the front blade. The gunman was still at the front of the dozer, his location given away by his flashlight beam which glanced off the trees next to the machine. Apparently the man was wondering whether Declan had taken off into the woods beyond or had gone around the other side of the machine. He was about to find out.

Suddenly the flashlight beam stopped moving and Declan held his breath as he stood still. Had the man heard him approaching? He waited, watching as the beam slowly began moving again. The gunman was about to roll out around the bulldozer's blade and aim his gun at the spot where Declan had been hiding moments before.

As the movement of the beam sped up suddenly, Declan stepped forward around the blade and saw the gunman's back as he aimed his weapon at the rear of the dozer. The man's eyes flitted quickly to his peripheral right and Declan knew that he'd been seen. The gunman made a quick quarter turn, bringing the gun around to fire. Throwing the spade at the man's head as a distraction, Declan dove headfirst into him and drove him to the ground with his right shoulder. Rolling over top of him and into a standing position, he turned and came back at the stunned gunman as he scrambled to his feet. Kicking the gun to the left as the man tried to aim, he threw a punch and his fist connected with the man's jaw, pushing him against the blade of the bulldozer. Declan pinned him there with his body while he grabbed for the pistol.

Gripping the barrel of the gun for control and pushing the gunman against the dozer, he wrestled for the weapon. The gunman held on tight with both hands and tried to push him away. Shooting his head forward, he caught Declan's nose with a strong head-butt, driving him back. Declan held onto the gun as his eyes filled with tears and his legs buckled. He felt blood run over his upper lip and into his mouth. Breathing heavily, he spat it from his mouth, covering the man's tan coat in dark red dots. The gunman put the entire weight of his body against the gun and tried to force it down to get off a shot, but Declan planted his feet and pushed back. With the man now standing over him and his feet slipping against the muddy ground, he knew he couldn't match the man's leverage for long. Throwing his foot up and falling onto his back, he caught the man in the groin and pulled him forward, throwing him over onto his back. Standing up quickly, but staggering for a moment, he looked at the gunman who was sprawled out on his back and fighting hard to recover from the shock of the two hits, the pistol still in his hand.

Declan moved quickly and dropped his knee on the man's wrist, pinning the pistol to the ground. Adrenaline pumping, he drove his fist into the man's face, dropping his weight into each punch. Blood exploded from gunman's nose and he choked as it flowed into his mouth. How dare they try to kill me? Declan thought as he pounded away.

"How dare they try to ruin my life!" he growled, unaware that he was speaking aloud.

The sound of his own voice surprised him and jarred him back to reality. One last punch fell limp onto the man's face as Declan struggled to catch his breath. He fell onto his backside and sat there staring at the scene. He knew by the gunman's vacant eyes that he was dead, his head crushed between a rock on the ground and the fist that had been pounding on him moments before. Blood leaked from the wound on the back of his head and mixed with the mud underneath.

Declan brought his legs up slowly and pushed himself into a standing position. Breathing heavily from the fight, he looked around for anyone else nearby. He was alone. Stooping down, he pulled the pistol from the gunman's hand and checked it over. It was a Smith & Wesson Sigma style handgun with a standard sixteen capacity magazine. The man had fired two shots at him which meant there should be fourteen left including the one in the chamber. He released the magazine and looked at the tiny holes in the side of it. Counting eleven rounds, he reinserted it into the grip and moved away from the bulldozer. He had to get to his house fast; to his wife who wouldn't be able to defend herself the way he just had against the two men that were apparently waiting for confirmation from their now dead compatriots. How long would they wait? If they didn't receive the call would they move in anyway or abandon their mission and return to their employer?

With his own truck overturned, Declan approached the battered white SUV that sat idling in the middle of the dirt road, its fenders dented and scratched from the impacts with his vehicle as the men had attempted to push him off the road. With the pistol aimed in front of him, he moved around the vehicle checking to be sure no one was waiting inside. He opened the driver's door and got behind the wheel, looking over his shoulder at the empty passenger compartment behind him. He tossed the pistol onto the passenger seat and pulled the SUV into gear. The engine rattled as it chugged grudgingly forward. Moments later, after craning his neck to look for oncoming traffic, he pulled into the westbound lane of route 460. The road was empty. He pressed his foot down on the accelerator and drove for home, images of Constance's vacant eyes staring at him from just beyond the windshield.