Silent Night

FORTY EIGHT

Checking his rear-view mirror to ensure they hadn’t been followed, Bobby Rourke swung the van through the front gates of the farm and moved across the grass. He headed towards a crop duster parked there on the field, facing south. As he drove, he had his window down and heard what sounded like a massive explosion in the distance coming from a familiar direction.

The tip-off from Bleeker’s contact had been right. The camp did have surveillance on it. Sacrificing Wicks and the rest of the Chapter had been necessary to get out safely with the virus and it was a decision he hadn’t hesitated in making. The tip-off and decoy had bought him a small window which he needed to use. It wouldn’t take long for the Feds and pigs to realise Wicks didn’t have the virus.

Rourke pulled to a halt beside the light aircraft. Wicks and Drexler had got it out of the shed earlier and it was resting on the grass, ready to go, just as he’d ordered. The plan had always been to fly back to Texas, allowing them to pass over state borders with the canisters containing the virus stowed in the back. The original intention had been for him, Finn, Bleeker and Bleeker’s contact to be in the plane but Bobby was the only member of the foursome who’d made it. No matter. Plans changed and so did people.

‘Our ticket home,’ he said to Drexler, who nodded. He’d told her earlier about the tip off that police were watching the camp and his plan to send Wicks in driving the decoy, giving him and Drexler a window to escape. She’d agreed in a heartbeat, seemingly not caring that she’d originally been left out of the plan or about Wicks’ fate. That was why Rourke found her so useful. She didn’t have a compassionate bone in her body. She’d been brought up on a farm and had flown a duster before which was a bonus. He’d have a second pair of hands in the cockpit which could be useful.

They both jumped out of the van. Bobby didn’t know about many things other than guns and drugs, but he did know about crop dusters. This one was an Antonov An-2, somewhat of a relic but more than sufficient to get the job done. The plane was durable, light and was the largest single-engine biplane ever produced and still flying. The field was private, belonging to the old farmer Wicks and Drexler had shot and buried, but there was no security and no alarm at the gate. Having seen the place in day light, Drexler had told him here was enough of a runway stretch to get up in the air.

Drexler ran over to the plane, pulling open the cabin door. Rourke was already carrying one of the canisters to the doorway. Moving back and forth from the van, the two of them started loading the barrels, one by one. That task completed, they both jumped back into the car. Rourke fired the ignition, moved off and headed towards the entrance of the field. There was a scrapyard a hundred yards down the road. They’d abandon the vehicle there.

By the time anyone found it and made a connection, they’d have sold the virus-laden canisters and be out of the country.



In the shadows, Archer watched them go.

He’d killed the Merc’s headlights long before he approached the farm and had parked the vehicle fifty yards back behind some cover. Neither of the two doctors wanted to be left behind, so the three of them had scaled the fence, shielded from view by the farm buildings, and ran forward using a large shed as cover.

Dr Kruger’s suggestion and Rach’s report of the missing farmer had been right on the money. Up ahead, lit up in the lights of their own vehicle were Rourke and Drexler. Archer recognised her immediately as the woman who’d smashed his nose in Tonic. From their hiding place in the shadows, Archer and the two doctors had watched the pair finish loading a crop duster with what looked like canisters. When that had been done, they’d climbed back into their vehicle and swung out of the airfield, driving off down the track leading away from the farm.

They’d left, but they’d be back soon, no question.

With the vehicle momentarily gone, Archer motioned for the two doctors to follow him. The trio moved out from behind the shed, running across the flat grass towards the biplane, which was parked facing the long dark stretch of field ahead. When they arrived, Kruger ran to the side cabin door; he pulled it open and peered inside as Archer kept his eyes on the entrance to the field, making sure Rourke and Drexler weren’t on their way back.

‘Detective,’ Kruger whispered, beckoning him over.

Archer ran to the plane and stuck his head inside. He saw a large tank at the back, six canisters stacked in front of it in a neat cluster.

‘They must contain the virus,’ Kruger said. ‘That must be what they had Frankie working on at the lab.’

He stepped back so Maddy could look inside.

'Jesus,' she said quietly. ‘There’s gallons of it.’

'It’s OK,’ Archer said. ‘When they come back, I'll drop them and we'll secure the plane.'

‘Not here,’ Kruger said. ‘They’ll see us the moment they get back. The headlights will light us up like we’re on stage.’

Archer realised he was right.

'Get inside. The moment he checks his cargo, he gets a Sig Sauer in the face.'



Rourke and Drexler had just dumped the van at the scrap yard. Jogging back, they turned into the field and were running towards the plane when they heard the faint sound of engines in the distance. Rourke turned and saw ten or so headlights approaching, coming down the track. Drexler went to grab her pistol, but Rourke caught her hand.

‘Relax,’ he said. ‘It’s good.’

The lights grew brighter as a gang of bikers pulled into the airfield and drove straight towards them, the engines on the bikes growling in unison. Rourke and Drexler shielded their eyes from the glare and the ten bikers came to a halt in front of them both. They killed their engines, then what had to be the leader kicked down the stand, stepped off his bike and walked towards them.



'Who the hell are they?' Maddy whispered, watching from a window inside the plane.

Archer and Kruger looked out beside her.

'What do we do?' Kruger asked.

Archer pulled his cell phone but there was no signal. He had one pistol with seventeen rounds. Sneaking another glance through the window, he saw the bikers were armed with sub-machine guns, pistols and sawn-off shotguns. He saw the group talking, but couldn’t hear what was being said. He started thinking fast, desperately searching for a solution.

If he confronted Rourke, Drexler and the bikers it would be twelve on one. Their gunfire would shred him, Maddy and Dr Kruger to pieces.

They were trapped.



'So are we good?' Rourke asked.

The leader of the outlaw gang nodded. ‘I’ve arranged protection at your refuelling points. You won’t have any problems.’

‘ATF and the police will be searching for us. Can you handle that?'

The man nodded, jabbing a thumb at his men. 'We all live off the grid. Won't be hard to kill some pigs then disappear.'

'You'll get your money by the end of next week.'

The two men shook hands.

Then Rourke and Drexler turned, heading for the plane.



The rear cabin was a muddy brown colour, a series of seats towards the front and a large tank for pesticide or water at the back. Archer, Maddy and Kruger were huddled behind it, hidden from view. Peering round the edge of the tank, Archer watched Rourke and Drexler climb into the cabin, pulling the door shut. For a horrible moment, he thought they were going to move down in their direction, but they went the other way and settled into the cockpit.

They both strapped on their seatbelts and started clicking buttons to fire up the engine and rotors, running checks at the same time.

The crop duster sputtered as the engine started to burst into life.

Rourke and Drexler were ready to fly.

With three passengers they didn’t know about in the back.