The sky was clear as sunrise broke, and although unusually overcast the white cliffs of Dover could be seen off in the distance as the man slammed his axe into the thick chunk of wood, splitting it in half with a hefty whack. Leaning the axe against a small pile of logs, Michael Hanks reached down to pick up four of the pieces and proceeded to slip them underneath his arm before raising his head skywards, breathing in the fresh, salty air. Content, he headed back towards the small French villa and made his way inside, dropping his gatherings beside the open hearth full of burning red embers.
The front room looked like something out of the 1940s, with a worn olive green couch placed in front of the hearth on a bare wooden floor. No paintings or ornaments graced the room and the cracked pink plastered walls only added to the already dull ambience.
“He’s awake and ready for you, sir. I’ll be up here if you need me.”
Hanks gave a simple nod and then slipped off his grey knitted skullcap, which he dropped onto the armrest of the couch. He then headed past the waiting man and slowly down the tight staircase to the basement below. Each step produced a squeaking sound of strained wood. He came to a stop at the last, whereupon he looked over to the solitary man in handcuffs, seated on a metal chair, shirtless and barefoot in the centre of a dank empty room, staring blankly at the concrete floor. Above him a sturdy nylon climbing rope had been run between the man’s bound hands overhead to a series of discoloured steel water pipes that ran the length of the room, juddering rhythmically as they transported their contents to the boiler somewhere up above.
“You’ve put us in a real bind, Icarus,” Hanks said glumly. He hopped off the last step and strolled over until he was just a few feet away. “You’ve made a lot of people very unhappy and put the whole project in jeopardy. Timelines have had to change, and you know how sensitive it is.”
Icarus emitted a contemptuous laugh before looking up to face his captor. “Just doing what I needed to do.”
Hanks’s eyes dulled and he shook his head melodramatically. “No, what you were meant to do was exactly as you were told. But now I’m wondering if you were ever even capable of obeying orders. Perhaps we misidentified your potential for such things. You wouldn’t be the first. Would you?”
This last sentence garnered a devilish look from Icarus, and although his lips tightened in anger he remained silent as the man gazed upon him as if he was a curiosity to be observed.
“If I didn’t know better I would think you wanted to be caught. Have you been feeling left out… did you want us to rescue you, forcing us to reveal ourselves?”
Hanks leant down to him with both hands in his pockets and his eyes full of unease. “Or was it something more, something closer to your heart. In some twisted, sick way do you see Ethan Munroe as… a brother in arms?”
Icarus suddenly looked dejected, and his nostrils flared as his emotions momentarily got the better of him.
“Jesus Christ. You do, don’t you? You insane son of a bitch.”
Hanks stood back up, pulled his hands from his pockets and clapped them together as he let out a deep bellow of a laugh, and then without hesitation his expression turned sour and hateful as he slapped Icarus across the face hard with the back of his hand. “You fucked up, son. You fucked up royally.”
Icarus barely winced, his split lip trailing a thin drop of blood down his chin while Hanks massaged his striking hand.
“My daddy was a hunter. He bred coonhounds for the chase. Tough little bastards those dogs, and fearless to a fault, but the real key is in the breeding. You get the right match, the right genetics, and the offspring are pure gold. Strong, fearless and loyal to their masters. Not a thing they won’t do when told to. But in any litter there’s always one that has all those qualities, and yet there’s just something not right. Can’t say if it’s the ass end of inbreeding but when they look at you there’s something… not all there. Something going on behind those eyes that’s unquantifiable, leery, mistrustful. And you have no choice but to put that puppy to sleep.” Hanks now glanced up at the ceiling as if searching for some reasoning. “I love animals and I don’t like doing it. Hell, I’m a vegetarian. But it has to be done, for the greater good.”
He gazed back down at Icarus, who was now staring at him menacingly, and lifted up his coat to reveal a black SIG Sauer P320 poking out from beneath his belt. “But I want to give you a chance, son.” Hanks lowered his coat to conceal the gun. “Yes, you’ve caused us a lot a lot of trouble, but it’s not what we do know that concerns us so much as what we don’t. If you hadn’t been caught then we wouldn’t be having this conversation. Hell, we probably would have left you to your own devices, but bringing this Ethan Munroe into the fray and getting arrested, well, we need to know what you’ve been saying, and to who.”
Icarus continued to stare up at his captor with resentment. He knew the real reason why they had brought him here but he remained silent as Hanks continued, now trying to sound ever friendlier. Good cop and bad cop all rolled into one.
“Personally I don’t believe you let slip any of our arrangements or names, but Mr Bauer and the top honchos aren’t as convinced given your rogue behaviour of late. Can’t say I blame them, but with so much at stake it’s hardly surprising.” Hanks got down on one knee and looked up at Icarus. “If you did run your mouth then tell me exactly what you said and it’s a problem that can be dealt with. Do this and I promise you I will release those cuffs and send you on your merry way. With the proviso,” Hanks raised his finger in the air, “that you stay underground just for the next few days, until the event has taken place. After that, things are going to change and you can come along for the ride, which I know you want to. But, if you have said something to the authorities during your arrest and you don’t tell me, then there’s nothing I can do for you.”
Icarus thought about it for a moment and then he smiled. “Whether I told anyone anything or not you’re going to kill me regardless, but if I escape then I’m free anyway.”
Hanks was already beginning to laugh even before Icarus finished his sentence, and he stood back up and took a few steps backwards before raising his hands in the air. “And where would you go, friend? We were able to arrange your audacious escape from custody within only a few hours of a heads-up. Imagine if we had the whole lot of us tracking you down. And you’re forgetting, son – in under a couple of days’ time, when the big show’s over, it’ll free everyone up and they’ll rain down on you with full force. There wouldn’t be a rock you could hide under. But no point in daydreaming. You’re here, with us, and that ain’t changing anytime soon.”
Hanks stepped back and hovered over Icarus like a predator eyeing its prey. “Don’t you see, this is your only chance for redemption, and if you don’t tell me what I need to know then you know what comes next. It won’t matter how tough you think you are, there’s only so much a human being can take. We’ll break you. The only question is how long it’ll take.”
Hanks again got down on his knees, his face displaying genuine empathy. “You’ve done so much for us. Why throw it all away for reasons I can’t even grasp? It’d be a damn shame, and when we’re so close as well. Now, all I need to know is, did you tell anyone anything about what we’ve got planned in London? Simple as that. Or,” Hanks licked his lips, “we’re going to have to work on you.”
The threat barely registered and Icarus continued to stare at his captor with contempt. “You better get started then.”
Hanks looked down at the ground and sighed deeply, before getting to his feet and heading back over to the stairwell. “Davies, get down here!” The sound of heavy footsteps made their way across the floor above them and then down the stairs to where Hanks was waiting.
“It’s going to be the hard way,” Hanks said, pointing over to Icarus, who was now just staring at the filthy basement floor. “I’d suggest starting with cutting before you bother with truth serum. Soften him up a bit. Start with the toes and work your way up to the fingers. I’d leave his testicles for later in case we need to deliver some electric shock therapy.”
Davies was a short man with blonde hair poking out the sides of a plain blue baseball cap, and despite his stature his forearms looked powerful. After a slap on the shoulder from Hanks he made his way over to their seated hostage, whereupon he dropped a thick leather wrap held in his hand to the floor. He then knelt down and unrolled it to reveal a number of metal instruments including a scalpel, hammer, flat head screwdriver and a pair of blue-handled pliers.
Hanks gave a limp-wristed salute. “What a goddamn waste,” he muttered, before heading up the stairs. He barked a couple of orders to someone and then left via the front door, slamming it in his wake, leaving Icarus alone in the company of the smiling Davies, who was already tapping the point of the scalpel to gauge how sharp it was.
“I don’t usually enjoy this type of work. There’s no sport in it,” he said in a thick Louisiana accent, and pulled back his jacket to reveal a Glock handgun sticking out of his belt. “Prefer the hunt myself, but I intend to make an exception in your case.”
Icarus remained motionless as Davies stood back up and slapped both his hands on the sides of his waist in frustration. “Shit. I need to get some towels to stem the blood. Sit tight, I’ll be right back. Don’t worry, I won’t forget about you.”
Davies had barely managed to turn back towards the stairwell before Icarus jumped upwards and in one effort grabbed the pipes above with both hands and twisted his waist to wrap both thighs tightly around the man’s neck. He then he swivelled his contorted body as the crack of snapped bones rippled through his muscles. “I’ll happily forget about you,” Icarus whispered in a growl, as both of Davies’s thick arms dropped limply to his side and there he hung for a few moments before, after one final sharp squeeze, just to be sure, Icarus loosened his grip and gently lowered the man to the floor.
Upstairs nothing stirred. Icarus stretched out his legs and with his toes latched on to the dropped scalpel, limberly retrieving it and flinging it into his lap. Within moments he had cut through the nylon restraints and he immediately set about undressing Davies. Once dressed in the man’s attire he slipped the Glock under his belt and with the scalpel hidden up his sleeve he put on the cap, pulling the visor down over his forehead, providing cover for his face.
The guard upstairs barely registered the man entering the room, and as Icarus looked down and played with his pockets as if searching for something he spoke out in near perfect mimicry of Davies’s voice, the cap’s visor concealing his face. “I’m going to need some towels. You got any?”
Without pause the guard shifted off the sofa and walked over to a cupboard on the opposite side of the room and began pulling out the bottom drawer before reaching inside and retrieving a stack of three white fluffy towels. “If you need more I’ll have to go out,” was all he managed before an arm slid around his neck and the blade of a scalpel pressed against his carotid artery.
“Only speak if spoken to. Understand?”
“Yes,” the guard replied, his whole body stiffening as Icarus reached around with his free hand and pulled the handgun sticking out of his waist holster and stuck it in to the back of his own trousers.
“How many men outside?”
The guard hesitated, and it was only after the scalpel began cutting deeper into his neck that he replied.
“Six, including me. Two armed with shotguns at the main gate and three with machine guns patrolling.”
“Same people who brought me here?”
“No, you were dropped off.”
“And the helicopter?”
The man managed a jerky shake of his head, his face turning paler by the second. “Dropped you off and left.”
“It was a short trip, are we in Calais?”
The man closed his eyes and nodded.
“Quickest exit away from the main gate?”
The man resisted an answer but as the scalpel was dug in deeper and blood began to trickle down his neck there came not only a distressed groan but a quick reply. “There’s a path running along the cliff at the back of this building. Brings you out onto the road leading into town. But there’s a guard positioned there.”
“Good,” Icarus replied, coming to the end of his questioning. “And who did they have looking for me?”
“Everyone.”
Icarus continued to hold the scalpel at the man’s neck. Sensing what was about to happen the guard said in nothing more than a whisper, “I don’t want to die.”
Icarus pulled the Glock from his belt and leant in closer so his lips were only centimetres from the guard’s ear. “Then today is your lucky day. But if I find you’ve lied to me, then I will be back, and I promise I will carve you up, real slow.”
Icarus slammed the butt of the Glock down hard against the guard’s head, sending him to the floor, and then he slipped the scalpel into his back pocket and with his cap pulled down he moved to the window and peeked outside. The guard had been honest with him and Icarus found himself looking at the edge of the coastline no more than fifty metres away, the rippling blue waters of the English Channel beyond. Far off to the left he could see the two guards patrolling a set of rusting gates leading to what looked like open farmland, and to his right a man in jeans and a black windbreaker holding an MP5 machine gun walking towards the building.
Icarus ducked down onto his haunches and peered out from his hiding spot as the guard slowly made his way past the building, scanning the area as he went, and then walked on towards the main gate and the two other guards with shotguns.
Icarus waited until he reached them and with one final scan he moved over to the door, pulling it open just an inch and checking that the coast was clear. He then placed the gun in his jacket pocket and swiftly exited, immediately making his way around the side of the house and then beyond towards the cliff edge. He didn’t run, nor did he creep, but calmly walked towards the gated path leading on to a dense leafy forest. A guard wearing a thick grey sweater and jeans looked out to the forest, his back turned to Icarus, an automatic MP5 resting in his hands. The guard never even heard the footsteps as Icarus approached and slammed the butt of his gun across the back of the man’s head, sending him to the ground in a crumpled heap. He reached down and picked up the machine gun before throwing it over the cliff and then began to pick up speed, darting deeper into the dark recess of the forest and beyond until he was out of sight.
It would be almost an hour before Hanks discovered the unconscious bodies of the guards along with Davies’s cold corpse, and as they scoured the property and soon after began to pull out of the area, they never once noticed the pair of cold eyes watching their every move from deep in the treeline, already calculating his next course of action.