John Steel Collection - Books 1-3

Chapter 4

CHAPTER FOUR

John Steel had taken a taxi from the train station in Maidstone to the family estate near Linton Park, Kent.

The drive would take about an hour, but Steel didn’t mind. It would give him time to get his head straight. Steel felt the warm sun on his face, and the crisp breeze crept through the slightly open window next to the driver. Steel was vaguely listening to the driver chatter about his opinions on the state of affairs in far-off lands. Finally, however, Steel was weary from the long journey and gazed out of the window, taking in the view of the green fields, forests, and small villages they passed through on the way.

Steel gazed out of the window at some women with prams talking outside the local shop or kids in packs rushing to school.

He was still dressed in his uniform battledress. He had been away for a long time, and now he was content to come home. He did not want any fuss, just a quiet time with his wife and the rest of the family, but he was afraid that his father would come up with a homecoming event.

It all seemed quite surreal to Steel, being home after spending so long in a barren land of luxuries, or even trees and grass as he knew it, so he had to readjust his thinking. Was this all a dream? Would he suddenly wake up and find himself back in the hell he thought he had left? He slowly touched the car’s window glass, hoping it would be there and it wouldn’t fade away as soon as he laid fingers on it. Steel smiled as the feel of the cold glass sent a tingling sensation down his spine.

Steel rested his warm cheek against the window and closed his eyes. ‘Oh, that feels good,’ he said, and the cab driver looked at him through the rear-view mirror and shook his head as though he was mad.

The bump of the taxi’s right wheel hitting a pothole woke Steel from his slumber. He stretched off and checked the time. He figured that they should be close by, then saw the brick wall that enclosed the family estate. Steel smiled and excitedly adjusted his seating position. As they turned onto the gatehouse, the taxi stopped at the two wrought iron gates. Steel sat for a moment, looking over at the small house next to the gate. Usually, the gamekeeper or his wife would greet whoever wanted entry – but there was silence. Steel began to get a bad feeling. Something wasn’t right.

‘What now?’ asked the taxi driver.

‘Somethings not right here. Someone should have come out by now?’ Steel said, looking around.

‘Maybe they’ve gone out shopping or something?’ the driver said sarcastically. He, too, was getting a bad feeling, like this was a joke ride. This soldier would stiff him for the fair first chance he got.

‘I’m just getting out to see if anyone is at the gatehouse,’ Steel said. The taxi driver shot Steel an unsettled look.

‘Yeah, right, and then you do a bunk and leave me over a hundred quid short,’ said the driver.

‘Fine, come with me then,’ Steel shrugged.

‘Yeah, right, like I can keep up with a trained soldier.’ Steel scowled. He was losing patients with this guy.

‘Fine, you go, and I’ll stay here, and if there are any bad guys about, you can take them out, and I’ll watch,’ Steel joked. Not that he envisaged anything was amiss. It was probably that both Mr and Mrs Reese were busy doing something and not seeing the monitor. A bell and intercom system sat inside the gate posts next to the house. The aluminium plate glowed white as the sun reflected on its polished surface.

‘Yeah, right, and….’

‘Look, mate, you want your cash. I want to go home, so one of us has the ring that bell and get the friggin gate open. I’ve had a long journey home, and I’m getting headaches. So, you get your arse out of the car, or I do,’ Steel growled. His eyes were bloodshot from a lack of sleep, making the light blue in the middle seem menacing.

‘Uhm, perhaps you could,’ the driver said, hoping to put some distance between him and John Steel.

‘Good choice,’ Steel said, pulling the door handle. As he stepped out of the taxi, the refreshing breeze swept over him, causing him to shiver. He went to close his eyes and let the crisp air envelop him, but instead, he froze. From far down the driveway, loud popping, like fireworks, could be heard in the direction of the house. John Steel opened his eyes with a start and shot upright. Steel knew what he was listening to all of a terrible moment – it was gunfire. A mix of a rapid-fire and single shot. This wasn’t Mr Reese scaring off birds with his shotgun. These were automatic weapons.

John Steel rushed over to the gatehouse. The door had been kicked in, and he could just see two sets of feet lying on the blood-soaked ground through the half-open door.

Steel felt his blood boil. His thoughts began to cloud.

He wanted to jump the fence and run blindly into the fray. Instead, he stopped, clenched his fists and closed his eyes. Slowly Steel breathed in several lungs full of air. More shots rang out, followed by screams of women and children. Steel’s gaze shot back to the taxi driver and rushed over.

The driver had seen the look on Steel’s face but hadn’t heard the gunfire inside the taxi. He quickly locked the door as Steel rushed over. Steel banged on the window.

‘Go away, crazy man,’ the driver yelled through the glass.

‘Look, you i***t, open the door a second.’

‘Go away, ya crazy bastard,’ the driver yelled again, fighting to turn the engine on after he had stalled it trying to get away from Steel.

‘Look, someone is attacking my home. I need you to phone the police,’ Steel said. The driver shot him a cautious look. Was this a trick?

‘Yeah, right, nice try, arsehole. You owe me money, seventy quid,’ said the driver. Steel had no time to argue. He needed the police down there and soon.

‘Fine, call the police, tell them where I am, but don’t forget to tell them to send the armoured response team,’ Steel said and clambered over the gate.

The taxi driver yelled abuse at Steel and got out of the taxi. Suddenly he froze as he heard the gunfire and screams. He felt the warm liquid running down his leg. He watched as John Steel disappeared into the forest. The driver threw himself into his taxi and started the engine. The driver winced as he heard the metallic howl as the gears were forced into reverse, then he hit the accelerator. The tires screeched on the tarmac, and the car heaved backwards into the empty road. As he drove, he dialled 999 and waited for the operator.

‘Hello, which service do you require?’ came a women’s voice over the speaker.

John Steel made his way slowly through the woods he knew so well, towards the rear of the house and the sound of screams and gunfire. Steel had not gone far when he saw a figure all in black, holding an AK12 Assault rifle. Steel knew straight away; this man was a sentry. Put there to ensure that nobody got in or out.

This was not a robbery; this was an invasion – an execution. Steel stopped and slowly looked around, ensuring this man was alone and there were no others posted several feet away. There was no one, just him and the guard. Slowly, Steel crept forward, avoiding fallen branches – anything that would make a sound and give his location away.

The guard had been standing for what seemed like hours. He had no real idea why he was here or who any of these people were. All he cared about was that he was getting paid at the end of it all.

A loud c***k behind him made the man drop to one knee. He trained his weapon towards the sound. The metal and polymer stock was tight in his shoulder. His gloved hand held the foregrip and pistol grip so tightly he felt the strain in the tendons. He felt his heart pounding in his chest, the adrenaline surging through his body.

Suddenly a brown rabbit hopped out of the undergrowth, twitched its nose and carried on pasted. The man blew out a lungful of air, then laughed in relief as he turned to face the way he had been looking before. His eyes widened in shock and fear as he found himself face-to-face with a man in combat uniform. The mercenary went to gasp, but Steel had punched him in the throat. The mercenary dropped to his knees, clutching his fractured hyoid. A gurgling sound came from the man’s collapsed airway. He fell to the ground, and the sound ceased.

Steel quickly dropped to his knee next to the dead guard, snapping his neck. Steel didn’t have time for a full pat-down, so he just stripped the man of his tactical vest and checked the rifle’s ammo content and pistol: they were both full.

The radio on his vest crackled to life as the teams gave their Situation Reports – or sit reps.

Steel’s only thoughts were that he had to find his family and any other survivors and get them out. Also, to take out as many of these bastards as he could.

Moving stealthily, Steel crept towards the house. In front of him knelt another man. He watched the man’s head and eyes darting like some on edge animal. The man reminded Steel of a meercat, his head moving on a taught body.

Then Steel noticed four mercenaries to the far side of the man, around twenty feet away from him. They were laughing as they shot at the feet of a couple of the guests, making them dance back and forth.

John Steel snarled at the thought of these animals invading his home. He pulled the assault rifle into his shoulder and moved forwards. First, he turned to the single guard and fired. The bullet hit him in the back of the head. The lifeless body just fell forward onto the grass. As the group of mercenaries turned, Steel’s weapon was already on them. There was a burst of flame from the barrel, and each man took several bullets to the legs and head.

There was a violent eruption of blood and bone from the man’s forehead, and he dropped like a mannequin knocked over. As the last man fell, Steel stood up. His face was cold and emotionless as he sauntered over to the dead men and grabbed their ammunition belts.

As he stored the new magazines where he could, John Steel watched the group of terrified guests scattered, terrified into the safety of the woods.

Steel slipped one onto the assault rifle and chambered a fresh round, taking one of the magazines. He searched for the dead guard more carefully and was rewarded with a smoke grenade. He frowned as he surveyed the c*****e before him. Who were these men, and what did they want?

There were too many questions ringing in his head, but now was not the time to ask them. He knew he needed to reduce their numbers further, and if he could do that without being seen, then so much the better. John Steel knew he was no good to his family if he died.

A large group of armed men stood at the bottom of the steps to the house. They were there to make sure nobody got in or out.

John Steel tossed the smoke grenade thoughtfully from hand to hand and hatched a plan.

With the grenade tucked safely into a pocket and the captured sub-machine gun slung onto his back, Steel moved carefully around the marquee. He headed to the corner, cut the canvas, and crawled in using the knife he had taken from the first sentry. The large tent was empty apart from a heap of corpses in the middle of the floor.

There was still cutlery laid out ceremoniously on the tables as if nothing had happened. Many of the candlesticks still had their pretty decorative bows.

Steel untied a ribbon from one of the candlesticks, then pulled the grenade from his pocket. He took one of the magazines from the pouch on his vest. Sliding out enough rounds from the clip to wrap around the green cylinder of the grenade, he began to strap them to the explosive using the ribbon. Outside, the group of killers heard someone calling, ‘Help! Help me please!’ The voice was fading, and they headed back to the tent, fired up with blood lust to finish off the dying man.

Ten men entered the marquee searching for the crying man, weapons trained before them as they crept deeper. The man in the rear walked backwards to cover their retreat. He stopped suddenly as his foot hit something, and he tried to shout a warning before the room was filled with smoke. The group started to cough and splutter from the fumes; half-blinded and with arms swaying, they tried to find the edge of the tent.

Then, as the container began to get hot, the rounds started to fire off. Loose bullets flew everywhere, causing the group to stop, cover, and return fire. More men rushed into the tent to help the squad, only to be cut down as they ran through the door.

The blonde man came to the window from inside the house and watched the madness below. ‘For God’s sake, let’s finish this before all the idiots kill each other,’ he muttered.

An enormous behemoth of a man stepped forwards, taking the automatic grenade launcher from where it rested on his back. He placed three rounds into the tent, taking the two grips firmly in his hands. As the projectiles hit, they exploded with tremendous force. First, there were several bright flashes. Then, the marquee was ripped apart, sending pieces of timber and fabric whirling in all directions.

Burning pieces of debris fell from the sky in a shower of fiery rain.

Grinning, the man replaced the weapon on his back. ‘Boom,’ he said, his tone deep and hollow. The fewer mercenaries who survived, the blonde man thought, the fewer they would have to pay off at the end. Joining the others, they checked the rooms for survivors, searching wildly for the four people who had run into the house earlier.

‘The women and the two children are not to be harmed,’ said the blonde man.

The man stopped abruptly, forcing the men behind him to come to a sudden halt. He turned to make direct eye contact with one of them, a young man of average height, clean-shaven, eager look on his boyish face. ‘Is that understood?’ The blonde man’s stare became intense, almost burning through the youth, who backed off slightly and nodded.

John Steel had seen the gardens were clear. Those who could escape had gone, and the rest of the mercenaries had disappeared into the house. Steel moved across the body-strewn lawn, keeping low, using cover as much as possible.

Reaching the wall and the steps, Steel chanced a quick look. He was alone. There were no guards posted at the doors.

Steel crept up the stone steps. His movements were slow and deliberate. Suddenly as he reached the patio, he came across the body of a man. It was his father.

John Steel’s head dropped down in anguish. All he wanted to do was scream out. But he knew that would alert the mercenaries. So instead, his grief distilled into a lethal rage.

John Steel kissed the first two fingers of his right hand and pressed them down on his father’s forehead. Steel’s eyes were cold as he looked towards the house, his face was like stone. As though all his fear, anger, and hate had built up inside him. Steel didn’t have time for emotion. He needed to be focused.

John Steel crept through the back door into the massive dining room. Beyond that lay the long hallway and the stairs leading up to the bedrooms. He edged slowly towards the double doors leading from the dining room into the hall and slowly opened one of the doors just wide enough to take a look. A guard stood on the other side of the door with his back to him, presumably to stop people from getting out. He wasn’t expecting anyone to come in. Across from that guard, at the foot of the staircase, stood another.

Steel noted where the men stood in the hallway, with its large marble floor and dark wood entrance doors directly opposite. A set of stairs traversed the left wall, which hung paintings of men and women, landscapes, and animals.

Apart from the two guards in front of him, he could see no one else. He closed the door and sank into a nearby seat. He had to think and think fast. The radio that sat on his shoulder pouch squawked- grabbing it hastily, he shut it off. He’d thought of a plan.

Silently, John Steel made his way to the speaker by the garden door. Then, taking the headset, he placed it down by the ornate black box. Next, Steel searched the DJ’s tool kit. He was hoping to find some tape or cable ties. But, as he dug deeper into the kit and found a roll of duct tape.

He began to tape up the ‘send’ button on the handset, then carefully taped the headset’s microphone to the speaker.

He stood up and looked around. ‘Okay, you bastards. You want to party?’

Inside, the mercenaries walked through the house. They were going from room to room, firing at anything that moved.

The blonde man had decided to wait in the large study he had found, whose oak walls and the floor was complemented with heavy-looking antique furniture. The room appealed to him. He had instructed his men to bring back any unharmed survivors, but he was worried about Travis. After all, these men were not soldiers; they were hired, ex-cons. More importantly, they were expendable. Travis, however, had been a commando and was a murderer and r****t of the worst kind. He was, quite simply, an animal.

The blonde man had given his sidekick an instruction to keep an eye on Travis, and well, if the ex-commando did anything wrong, he would know what to do. The leader of the mercenaries strolled around the room in awe of its splendour. He found a large wooden globe in a corner and opened it, his eyes lighting up at the sight of the fine brandies and whiskies, and he helped himself to a glass of the twenty-year-old malt. He moved casually over to a massive wooden bookshelf. Dickens, Sun Tzu, Tolstoy, and all the classics were there. The smell of old leather filled his nostrils as he leaned forwards and breathed in the refined atmosphere. Picking a book, he settled down on the red leather Chesterfield.

He started reading, sipping the whisky as he smiled and imagined for a moment that he was now the Lord of the manor.

Steel knelt by the door with his back to the wall. Reaching up, he pulled a combat knife from a sheath on the shoulder of the vest he had taken. The long blade glistened as the afternoon sun's rays caught its sharp edge. He tucked it into his belt, where he could grab it quickly, then knelt with the Glock .45 in one hand and the microphone in the other, taking a moment to check through the plan.

Steel counted to three using maximum force and tossed the microphone towards the speaker he had placed by the open bay doors.

Everything turned to slow motion as the headset sailed through the air. Steel watched as the headset hit the ground and skidded and rested against the speaker. Then, a massive burst of feedback blared through the loudspeakers and, in turn, through the mercenary’s communications.

The men screamed. They grabbed their ears in pain as the feedback hit them with full force, incapacitating them for a few moments.

A few moments were all that Steel needed as he burst through the doors and fired, hitting one to the back of the head, the other between the eyes.

Steel watched as five men rushed down the stairs and opened fire; each of the men slammed against the walls, the impact of each bullet punching through them, leaving bloody smears as the fell.

A shot rang out, and Steel was launched forwards, and a lung full of air was forced out of him as he was shot from behind.

A merc had come through the patio doors, seen Steel, and fired, but the plate carrier vest had taken the brunt of the impact, but it had forced Steel down.

Still on his knees, Steel half-turned and fired. The first round hit the man in the vest, and the second took the top of his head off.

Steel winced in pain. The vest had stopped the bullet, but it would hurt like hell days later. He looked up at the staircase and breathed a lung full of air.

‘Time to move,’ he thought, only stopping to pick up one dead guard’s pistol before moving carefully up the stairs with a pistol in one hand and a submachine gun in the other.

As he reached the upper hallway and crouched behind a wall at the top of the stairs, he waited for a second, then dashed over to the first room.

The blonde man bolted out of his seat at the sound of gunshots, ripping the earpiece from his ear. Then, racing out of the door, he made for the stairwell, picking up his men. Instead, he found five men recovering from the sudden blast to the eardrums, but they were okay, well, fit enough to kill someone.

As he peered through the c***k of the partially open door, Steel made out six men heading for the stairs. He knew he could take them out, but he did not know how many more there were or where they were.

No, he had to leave them and press on.

Going down the long corridor, he checked room after room, searching for his family and any survivors. Finally, he reached the end of the corridor. The rooms had been empty. If he hadn’t found anybody, then the killers hadn’t either. Suddenly, Steel looked up towards the attic, the one place he had not yet checked less for the cellar. But he knew that he had to get up there.

The blonde mercenary and the others rushed into the dining room and found the microphone next to the speaker. He switched the mic off and threw it onto the lawn.

Checking around, he noticed the headset taped to the speaker. Ripping it off, he stood up.

‘The boy is here,’ he stated. ‘Find him. And I want him alive. Do you understand, you idiots?’

The others nodded. The blonde man looked at the small microphone from the headset and smiled. He glanced up at the house and cast a look from left to right, trying to work out where his quarry might be hiding. ‘Welcome home, Jonny,’ he muttered