Ryker came to a stop by the back end of the vehicle. He crouched low and held his breath for a few seconds, listening to the sounds around him. There was no indication anyone had been alerted by his movement.
After a few more seconds, Ryker risked a glance around the back of the car, over to the house. The big guy was still standing there, lazily watching the area in front of him. Ryker pulled his head back in, then reached into his pocket for the new pay-as-you-go mobile phone he’d purchased when he’d stopped en route to Algeciras. He’d charged the phone’s battery in the car and had downloaded a free GPS tracking app that would allow him to trace not just the location of the phone but whether it was still or moving, and also its speed and direction of travel. The new phone was now Ryker’s own remote tracker, which he could easily follow on the internet browser of his first phone.
Ryker took out the roll of packing tape he’d bought and ripped off two six-inch lengths. Then, moving down closer to the ground, he carefully secured the phone to the underside of the car. It wasn’t ideal. The tape would hold the phone in place, but only for so long. And even if the tape held, Ryker would only be able to track the phone as long as the battery had juice.
If he hadn’t been hindered by the guy at the door and the possible threat inside the house, Ryker would have found a way into the car and hardwired the phone into the car’s electronics so that it remained charged on the car’s battery. That simply wasn’t possible in the circumstances.
He hoped what he’d done would be good enough.
Ryker was finished here. He peeked under the car and noted that the big guy’s shoes remained stationary by the front door. Ryker was about to move off, back the way he’d sneaked in, when he heard banging and voices. Ryker froze and he could do nothing to stop his heart suddenly drumming. He quickly looked under the car again. Several sets of feet were coming from the house. If they headed over to the cars, Ryker only had one option left. He reached down and gripped the Colt, then slowly and carefully pulled it free.
The men were talking, shouting, and laughing. Most of the chat that Ryker could decipher was Russian, but there was a second language too – the distinctive guttural sounds of Georgian. Ryker could barely speak a word of it, but he’d heard the unusual tongue enough times to recognise it.
He stole another glance under the car. He counted seven men in total. They weren’t moving, just milling about outside the entrance to the house. Then an eighth pair of feet walked up. The chatter died down as the new arrival spoke, then all the men moved off, away from the cars, towards the stables at the side of the house.
Ryker breathed a long, slow sigh, then he quickly moved away from the car. As soon as he was out of sight, he began his covert walk back through the fields.
Soon after, Ryker looked over the lip of the final hill, feeling relief as he peered down to where he’d earlier parked his car. But his relief was short-lived when he spotted the bull that had previously passed him by obliviously. It didn’t look like Ryker would be so lucky a second time.
The bull was loitering casually alongside the fence, at the other side of which was Ryker’s car. And there was simply no other way for Ryker to get there – at least not without putting himself in view of the men at the ranch.
Ryker crept forward, his hand at his hip, determined not to use the Colt unless he had to, but wanting to be ready to grab it. The bull spotted Ryker, and both he and the animal stopped moving, twenty yards apart. For nearly a minute, it was stalemate. The bull snorted, grunted, and banged one of its front feet into the dusty ground. Clearly, it was not about to turn and walk away from the confrontation – and Ryker didn’t want to stand there all day hoping the animal changed its mind.
Ryker took a step sideways toward the fence. The bull huffed. Ryker took another cautious step. Then another.
And then the bull charged.
All of a sudden, a thousand pounds of snarling flesh and muscle and bone raced toward Ryker. Thoughts crashed through his mind, but other than shooting, there was only one thing to do. Ryker ran. Even though he knew the bull could run far faster than he could, it was the only viable option. He hoped he’d judged the distances correctly.
Ryker sprinted as fast as he could toward the fence. His arms and legs beat frantically as he strained every muscle in his body. He didn’t look behind him; he didn’t need to – he could hear the heavy and angry panting of the bull, closing in with every step.
The fence was within touching distance. Ryker threw himself at it. His foot caught the lowest rung of wood. He bent at the knee and propelled himself upwards and over. Before he’d even hit the ground in a clumsy, crumpled heap, the bull smashed into the wooden construction. The whole structure shuddered and gave a couple of inches. The bull hit it again, grunting angrily. Ryker had no doubt the animal could tear the whole thing down if it wanted to.
He didn’t want to hang around and find out if he was right.
With the bull sniffing and snarling, its beady eyes fixed squarely on its foe, Ryker clambered to his feet and rushed for the car.
CHAPTER 55
Ryker took the opportunity over the next few hours to rest up and eat, having found a roadside restaurant and bar not far from Algeciras. He kept one eye on his phone’s screen the whole time, watching the red dot that represented the location of the mob boss’s car. It didn’t move during the first three hours following Ryker’s hasty departure from the ranch, and he wondered whether the device had been found.
Then, with darkness approaching, there was finally some action. Ryker remained in the bar as he watched the dot moving along the map. It wormed towards the coast, at one point coming to within a mile of where Ryker was sitting, before carrying on towards the city. And there it stopped, in the heart of the city’s commercial dockyards.
Which was exactly where Ryker headed.
It was nine p.m. by the time Ryker reached the docks. He scoped out the place where the boss’s car had stopped – an industrial warehouse – on a drive-by, before parking his car in a nearby street. He made his way on foot toward the warehouse, taking a twisting route through the dockyards, to avoid being seen, as much as he could.