‘Don’t show it any fear,’ James quaked. ‘We’ll stare it down. It’s probably as scared of us as we are of it.’
‘Yeah,’ Bruce said. ‘You can tell. The poor thing’s cacking itself.’
James began creeping backwards. The dog let out more volcanic barks. A metal hose reel clattered as James backed into it. He considered the reel for a second, before leaning over and unrolling a few metres of the plastic hose. The dog was only a couple of steps away.
‘Bruce, you run off and try to open a door,’ James gasped. ‘I’ll try fending it off with this pipe.’
James half hoped the dog would go after Bruce, but it kept its eyes fixed, pacing closer to James until he could feel its damp breath on his legs.
‘Nice doggy,’ James said.
The rottweiler reared up on its back legs, trying to knock James over. James spun away and the paws squealed down the glass door. James lashed out with the hosepipe. It cracked against the dog’s ribcage. The beast made a high-pitched yelp and backed up slightly. James cracked the pipe against the patio tiles, hoping the noise would scare the dog away, but if anything the whipping seemed to have made it crazier.
James felt like his guts were going to drop out, imagining how easily the huge animal could rip into his flesh. James had nearly drowned once. He’d thought nothing could ever be scarier, but this had the edge.
A bolt clicked behind James’ head and the French door glided open.
‘Would Sir care to step inside?’ Bruce asked.
James threw down the hose and leapt through the opening. Bruce rammed the door shut before the rottweiler made a move.
‘What took you so long?’ James said anxiously, trying to stop his hands from shaking. ‘Where is everyone?’
‘No sign,’ Bruce said. ‘Which is definitely weird. They’d have to be deaf not to hear that psycho mutt barking at us.’
James grabbed one of the curtains and used it to wipe the dog crap off his leg.
‘That’s so gross,’ Bruce said. ‘At least it’s not on your clothes.’
‘Have you checked all the rooms out?’
Bruce shook his head. ‘I thought I’d make sure you weren’t being eaten first, even if it meant we got caught.’
‘Fair play,’ James said.
They worked their way across the ground floor, creeping up to each door and checking out the rooms. The villa looked lived-in. There were cigarette butts in ashtrays and dirty mugs. There was a Mercedes in the garage. Bruce pocketed the keys.
‘There’s our getaway vehicle,’ he said.
There was no sign of life on the ground floor, which made the staircase likely to be some sort of trap. They stepped up gingerly, expecting someone to burst on to the landing pointing a gun at them.
There were three bedrooms and a bathroom on the second floor. The two hostages were in the master bedroom. The eight-year-olds, Jake and Laura, were tied to a bedpost, with gags over their mouths. They wore grubby T-shirts and shorts.
James and Bruce pulled the hunting knives off their belts and cut the kids loose. There was no time for greetings.
‘Laura,’ James barked. ‘When did you last see the bad guys? Have you got any idea where they might be?’
Laura was red-faced and seemed listless.
‘I dunno,’ she shrugged. ‘But I’m busting to pee.’
Laura and Jake knew nothing about anything. Bruce and James had been expecting a battle to get at them. This was far too easy.
‘We’re taking you to the car,’ James said.
Laura started limping towards the bathroom. Her ankle was strapped up.
‘We don’t have time for toilet breaks,’ James gasped. ‘They’ve got guns and we haven’t.’
‘I’m gonna wet my knickers in a minute,’ Laura said, bolting herself inside the en-suite bathroom.
James was furious. ‘Well, make it snappy.’
‘I need to go too,’ Jake said.
Bruce shook his head. ‘I don’t want you disappearing. You can pee in the corner of the garage while I start the car.’
He led Jake downstairs. James waited half a minute before thumping on the bathroom door.
‘Laura, come on. What the hell is taking you so long?’
‘I’m washing my hands,’ Laura said. ‘I couldn’t find any soap.’
James couldn’t believe it.
‘For the love of god,’ he shouted, hammering his fist on the bolted door. ‘We’ve got to get out of here.’
Laura eventually hobbled out of the bathroom. James scooped her over his shoulder and sprinted downstairs to the garage. Bruce sat at the steering wheel inside the car. Laura slid on to the back seat next to Jake.
‘It’s kaput,’ Bruce shouted, getting out of the car and kicking the front wing. ‘The key goes in but it won’t turn. It’s showing a full tank of petrol. I don’t know what’s wrong with it.’
‘It’s been sabotaged,’ James yelled back. ‘I bet you any money this is a trap.’
Bruce looked awkward as the realisation dawned.
‘You’re right. Let’s get out of here.’
James leaned inside the Mercedes.
‘Sorry you two,’ he said, looking at Jake and Laura. ‘Looks like we’ve got to make a run for it.’
But it was too late. James heard the noise, but only turned around in time to see the gun pointing at him. Bruce screamed out, as James felt two rounds smash into his chest. The pain knocked the air out of his lungs. He stumbled backwards, watching bright red streaks dribbling down his T-shirt.
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Robert Muchamore, The Recruit
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