“How did it happen?”
“I am afraid I don't know the details, sir. The New South Wales Police Force are investigating. I am only the messenger.”
Cutter nodded.
He knew he'd find out soon enough, one way or another.
CHAPTER FOUR
Riverwood Police Station, Sydney, Australia
December 17, 2007
It took two days for Cutter to be debriefed and travel to Sydney. A waste of valuable time. By the time Nathan Cutter disembarked at Mascot Airport he was possibly the angriest man on the planet. The news his wife and daughter had been killed tore his heart out. His demeanor didn't improve upon arrival at Riverwood Police Station. The detective in charge of the case was named Drummond and he was about as much use as tits on a boar.
Drummond was a big man but out of shape, his belly hanging over the top of his trousers. His face was round with a pronounced double chin. His hair was thinning and he had a neatly trimmed mustache on his top lip.
Cutter sat opposite him in a small interview room.
“We have examined the CCTV footage, but unfortunately it is inconclusive,” Drummond said.
“What does that mean?” Cutter said tetchily.
“It means we can not ascertain who is at fault.”
“You're telling me you have video footage of the intersection at the time of the crash, but you can't tell who is responsible.”
“Something like that,” Drummond responded cryptically.
“What?”
“Look, Mr. Cutter, I am telling you this for your own good. I know you're upset, and you have my deepest sympathies, but you should let this rest. It was an unfortunate accident.”
“Accident! Accident, my arse. The local papers and television news have multiple eye witness reports of a car chase through the streets, and a vehicle racing away from the scene. Either you're a lousy cop or you're spinning me a crock. Which is it, Drummond?”
Drummond didn't answer straight away. He scratched his chin as he looked into Cutter's eyes. The man's eyes were on fire, blazing with hatred.
Drummond made up his mind.
“Wait here,” he said coldly. He got up from his seat and left the room.
Two minutes later he returned with a folder. He threw it down in front of Cutter.
“Read it. You've got five minutes. I am going out back for a cigarette. When I return, I expect you to be gone.”
Drummond left the room and Cutter opened the file. Camera stills from the CCTV footage showed a white Audi running the red light and throwing his wife's vehicle into the path of the oncoming traffic. The Audi was registered to Zheng Li Enterprises. There were also pages and pages on Li’s suspected criminal activities. Cutter now knew why Drummond was dragging his feet. A glorified beat cop was no match for the city's number one crime lord.
But where the police were afraid to act, Cutter wasn't. He had just come back from a tour of Hell. His family had been the only good thing in his life, but now they were gone due to some big shot crime figure who thought he was above the law. Well, he wasn't above Cutter's Law. And Nathan Cutter was going to be Judge, Jury and Executioner!
CHAPTER FIVE
Zheng Li's Residence, North Sydney, Australia
December 20, 2007
They say the darkest hour is just before the dawn and that was when Cutter chose to make his move. He pulled up outside Zheng Li's residence in a white van which he had rented. The property was large with acres of manicured gardens surrounding the main building. The house itself was set well back from the street and hidden by trees. With armed guards patrolling the gardens and high concrete walls around the perimeter, Zheng Li's abode was in essence a fortress.
But Cutter was more than prepared. He had a FN MAG 58 slung across his shoulder. It was the Australian army's general purpose machine gun and had served him well during war time. He figured it would serve him well now. He also carried a Ruger Blackhawk .44 Magnum at his hip, and a Kay-bar knife in his boot. These were the tools of his trade. He was a man-of-war and an expert at using each of them.
He also carried a grappling hook and a rope to get him over the wall.
Cutter slid open the van's side door and stepped out into the crisp morning air. Timing was of the essence. He tossed the grappling hook over the wall, tested to see if the hook had a good hold. Satisfied, he scaled the wall nimbly, landing on his feet on the other side.
Keeping to the darkest shadows, he weaved through the trees toward the main building. As he swung around an ornamental pond with a miniature bridge, a guard stepped out in front of him. Cutter only had a split second to react. Instinctively he swung the MAG 58 around and mowed the guard down with a single tap on the trigger. As the bullets struck the guard's body, he jerked uncontrollably, a bloody mist filling the air. The guard fell in a twisted bloody heap. Cutter knelt down to check the man was dead. He wanted to be certain. No pulse, good. But he knew the sound would have alerted other guards. Now they would know he was coming. Cutter cursed. He hoped he would have more time before he had to revert to the old blood and guts routine.
Moving quickly, Cutter swung around a rotunda onto a tree-lined path leading to the rear of the building. He could hear guards closing in on his position. It would only be seconds before all hell broke loose.
The guards didn't disappoint. The first shots thudded into the masonry near Cutter's head. He kept low, moving forward as gun fire splintered the pavement at his feet.
Cutter took cover behind a large ornamental flower pot near the rear entrance. The concrete pot was a solid four inches thick, but even that was being chipped away by the fire from the guards. He flinched as another shot homed in on his location.
Keeping low, Cutter put down his MAG 58. The weapon was not accurate enough for his purposes. He retrieved the Blackhawk from the holster at his side and raised it, taking aim at one of the guards who was shooting from a position just inside the door. The guard moved out fractionally to fire. Cutter had him in his sights and squeezed the trigger.
Booommm!
The sound from the large handgun echoed through the still morning air. But he found his target. The guard spun like a ballet dancer, firing wildly into the air, as he collapsed, dead.
Cutter drew a bead on his next target near the window and fired. The man toppled, trying to scream, but had no throat. Cutter holstered the Blackhawk and once again picked up the machine gun. He moved quickly toward the door. Bullets again bit into the concrete at his feet as he ran. Two more guards appeared in the doorway. Still running, Cutter opened fire with the MAG 58. Both men fell to the ground in a heap.
Cutter ran through the open door, ready to fire at anything. But in his haste, he ran into a trap. A man was waiting inside the doorway. Cutter didn't see him, only felt his huge arms wrap around his body, locking his arms. Cutter wanted to shoot his way clear, but all he could fire at was the ground or his own two feet. He tried to swing his arm back, but it was pinned good and proper in the vice-like grip. He struggled, arched his back, kicked and tried to break free, but there was no give. Whoever had hold of him was undeniably strong. Under pressure, Cutter released his grip on the MAG 58, which clattered noisily to the floor.
Cutter was released. But before he could gather his wits, he was unceremoniously scooped up and hurled across the room into a wall. As his head slammed into the plaster, he felt his lip split and a torrent of blood running down his chin. Dazed, he shook his head and turned to face his opponent. For a brief second, Cutter figured crashing into the wall had affected him more than he had realized. His eyes had to be playing tricks on him. The man standing before him was the size of a twin-door refrigerator, with a clean shaven head and no neck to speak of. He wasn't carrying a weapon, but as Cutter noted the size of the man's hands, he realized the man didn't need one. He was a weapon.
The walking refrigerator smiled at Cutter as he moved forward with his hands outstretched. But Cutter was ready for him this time. He lowered his right hand i
n preparation. Once the behemoth was in striking distance, Cutter dragged the Kay-bar knife from his boot, ducked and twisted under the big man's arm. But as he passed, using a back-handed grip, he thrust the knife deep into the man's chest.
Standing behind the big man, Cutter could not see the look on the man's face, but he heard him gasp and then shuffle forward before falling heavily to the floor.
However, Cutter did not have time to pause. Four more of Zheng Li's guards pushed through a door at the far end of the room. Cutter looked across at the MAG 58 which still lay on the ground. He would never reach it in time. But by some miracle, he still had the Blackhawk. He drew it from his holster. Four shots.
Boom, boom... boom, boom!
Four dead guards.
But Cutter had enough of playing with the hired help. It was time to deal with Zheng Li. The scumbag was going to pay. Cutter reloaded once again, turned and moved through the room. As he got to the door, he stopped for a moment and listened. All was quiet.
Too quiet.
He knew they were waiting for him on the other side of the door. Cutter steeled himself, then kicked the doors open.
Entering the kitchen, he was immediately assailed with more gunfire. The door-frame near his head splintered under the onslaught. Cutter dived forward and took shelter behind a stainless steel preparation table.
As Cutter moved, he caught sight of a shooter standing near the sink. Cutter lifted his head to see if he could get an exact fix on the guard's location.
Bang!
The shooter was fast. A bullet creased Cutter's cheek, but he paid scant attention to the wound. He now knew exactly where the shooter was. Without pause, he sprang to his feet, and turned the Blackhawk on the man who had fired. The .44 caliber slug tore a hole the size of a fist through the man's chest cavity.
Another guard burst from a pantry door to the Cutter's left. Cutter dropped to a knee, aimed and squeezed the trigger. The guard's blood-soaked body was thrown back into the pantry, where he collided with a stack of artichoke-heart tins which crashed out, rolling out over the floor.
Bounding over the tins, an Asian dressed in a chef's uniform and hat charged at Cutter, waving a meat cleaver.
“Die you fucking bastard!” the chef yelled. “Die!”
“Drop it,” Cutter growled as he brought the Blackhawk to bear.
The chef kept coming.
Blaammm!
Cutter shot the chef's arm clean off. The chef stared in wide-eyed horror at his arm which now lay on the ground in a pool of blood, still holding the cleaver. Blood geysered from the gunshot severed shoulder, with each beat of the man's heart.
The chef threw his head back and screamed, before charging at Cutter. Cutter put the chef out of his misery with a single shot—straight between the eyes.
“That's enough from you, Jimmy Wang-Yu!” Cutter hissed.
Cutter stood and reloaded his revolver. As he did a soup pot at his side exploded. Another guard came at him from behind. How many minions did Zheng Li have? He may have had a small army, but they couldn't shoot for shit. Cutter would kill them all if necessary.
Cutter dropped to his knee as a shot ricocheted off the bench. He steeled himself and then stood swinging the Blackhawk around. He fired and the guard was thrown back into the wall, a bloody rosette spreading across his chest.
But as Cutter fired, the guard also squeezed the trigger on his pistol. The bullet creased Cutter's left shoulder, tearing away a chunk of flesh. Blood ran down the inside of his shirt and dripped from his fingers.
It was getting bloody alright.
Cutter shook his head and pressed through the kitchen to a swinging door at the other end of the room. It led out into a hallway, which appeared to run the length of the house. Cutter moved along it cautiously. Several doors ran off the hall. As Cutter reached the first one, he stopped and swung his gun into the maw. Standing still, he listened and peered into the darkness. He felt uneasy, as if he was being watched. There was no sign of movement. Light of his feet, he moved onto the next door and repeated the procedure. Once again the room seemed clear. He moved on.
Then hearing a noise behind him, Cutter swung around sharply with his Blackhawk at the ready. He couldn't see anything. Nothing. Nobody was there. Cutter turned and continued.
“That's far enough,” said a voice from behind. “Trust me, I have a gun aimed directly at your midsection. Do as I say, or I'll shoot you where you stand.”
Cutter slowly turned. Zheng Li, standing in the shadows, had him covered, the barrel of a Luger aimed directly at his stomach.
The photos at the police station were old and out of date. Zheng Li was short, wiry, and considerably older than Cutter expected. His black hair was receding and brushed back hard over his head. His eyes were deep set under heavy brows and ringed with deep crow's feet.
“Drop your gun and kick it over,” the crime lord said, his eye line not wavering.
Moving slowly, bending at the knees, Cutter placed the Blackhawk on the ground. Then equally slowly, he rose. With his left foot, he pushed the gun towards Li's voice.
“Now, who are you?” Li asked.
“I am... Vengeance,” Cutter growled.
In that moment, summoning all his strength, Cutter charged at Li. The crime lord fired.
Pain. Unbelievable pain.
The bullet passed through the fleshy part of Cutter's thigh. His leg went from beneath him, and losing his balance, he thundered into Li, forcing him to the floor. The gun clattered to the floor in the distance.
As they wrestled, Li reached down and removed his knife from a scabbard concealed in his boot. Cutter fleetingly thought it probably the same weapon Li had used to kill his father.
“I am going to enjoy killing you,” Li grunted.
Cutter felt a gouging pain in his left side under his ribs as Zheng Li pushed the knife up into his stomach. The pain was excruciating. Cutter almost fell off and gave up.
But then, as so many times before when Cutter's back was to the proverbial wall, he found something strong deep within himself. He would not give up. Cutter roared and punched down hard into Li's shoulder with every bit of force he could muster. It was like a sledge hammer blow. Cutter heard the clavicle break, and Zheng Li cried out with pain. With his arm deadened, he released his grip on the knife.
Cutter rose to his knees and clasping the now bloody hilt, dragged the knife from his side. A torrent of blood rushed from the wound.
With his good arm, Zheng Li kept fighting, punching Cutter in the jaw. Cutter reeled back, but then in a see-saw motion rocked forward, head-butting Li in the nose. Cartilage snapped and blood ran down the sides of the crime lord's face.
With the flat of his palm, Cutter then smacked Li in the nose once again, this time pushing the shattered fragments of bone back into Li's brain.
Li's eyes opened wide in shock. He tried to say something, then it was as if the light had simply gone out. The wide eyes glazed over.
Zheng Li was dead.
****
Cutter held his side, trying to stem the loss of blood. However, he was losing the battle, with blood flowing freely through his fingers. Near the entrance, he took several steps forward, sliding on the wall as he went, leaving a red smear along the bullet pocked surface. He had to get help.
As he moved, in his head he could hear every pump of his heart. With every step he took, it felt like he was being belted on the back of the neck with a steel bar and his legs felt as if they’d run a marathon. His neck muscles were aching and cramping up, so he tried to shake his head to loosen them. It didn't work. It just made him feel dizzy and disorientated.
It was now dawn and before him through the open door was a bright orange light. The first rays of the morning sun. To Cutter, it was little more than a blur, but it looked warm and inviting. He pushed on, willing himself forward. He staggered, barely remaining on his feet as he crashed into the door jam. He swung around and found himself outside in the open air. The cool mor
ning air felt good on his face. Yes, very good. Cutter dropped to his knees. Then his vision misted over as if a red film covered his eyes. He toppled forward on the pavement, lying in a pool of his own blood.
EPILOGUE
Ironbark Correctional Facility, Sydney, Australia
December 25, 2007
Nathan Cutter just wanted to sleep, but his eye lids were forced open and a pen light shone into his eyes. He shook his head angrily and tried to see who was interrupting his slumber. His vision was blurred and he couldn’t focus. Two nebulous figure hovered above him. One in black, one in white. He heard one of them speak, but couldn't make out the words.
Despite his efforts, he couldn’t keep he eyes open any longer. He tried but his eyeballs rolled back into his head, staring at the insides of their sockets.
Cutter drifted back to sleep. No dreams, just blackness.
****
Several hours later, Cutter slowly opened his eyes again and tried to focus on the patterned ceiling panels. His vision remained blurred. He closed his eyes tight and opened them again. His sight was slightly better. He closed and opened them repeatedly until everything came into focus. Now, where was he?
He was clearly in a bed, but where? He was boxed in by a set of pale blue curtains, which ran around three sides. The room was bright. An old fashioned conical lamp on a long spidery arm was attached to the wall and hovered over the bed, shining down upon him.
He became aware of the tubes and needles attached to his body. He had a naso-gastric tube up his left nostril and taped to the tip of his nose. There was also an I.V. in his left arm.
He then noticed a figure in a nurse's uniform hunched over him. It started to make sense. He was in a hospital. She was checking the surgeon’s incision and the staples holding it together. Satisfied, she pulled the blanket up over his chest.
“Hello. He’s awake,” she said, noticing he was looking at her. “You can talk to him now.”
A man in a dark pin-striped stepped forward. He didn't look like a doctor and he wore the suit with a disdain suggesting this was not his usual attire.
“Sergeant Cutter?” the man enquired.
“Just Cutter will do. I am no longer in the army. Where am I?”