No Man's Land - A Russell Carter Thriller by Roland Fishman Page B

but also prone to mistakes.
    Carter saw a hand pick up the Beretta. A pair of boots and Erina’s shoes crunched across the ground toward the gatehouse.

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    Carter untied the knots in the rope supporting the sling and lowered himself inch by inch toward the ground.
    His back touched down on the hard gravel surface. He rolled onto his belly, slid his legs around behind him without making a sound and stared into the brightly lit night toward the gatehouse.
    Smokey’s black boots stood two body lengths away from Carter, pointing toward the four-wheel drive.
    They shuffled back and forth.
    Carter peered toward the open door of the gatehouse, a further four body lengths away. All he could see was Mick’s broad back filling the doorway, obscuring Erina.
    “Get your fuckin’ hands in the air,” Mick said.
    Erina’s clear voice carried through the still night. “What are you doing? I think you’ve mistaken me for someone else.”
    “Raise your fuckin’ hands in the fuckin’ air or I’ll jam this butt into your fuckin’ gut.” He chuckled. “Hey, I’m a fucking poet and don’t even know it. But that don’t mean I’m soft. Now lift ’em.”
    Carter saw her handcuffed hands extend above Mick’s head.
    “That’s a good girl.”
    Mick took a few steps back. Still aiming the shotgun at Erina, he grabbed a length of rope, looped it through her handcuffs and slung it over a pipe that ran parallel under the ceiling.
    Carter breathed out slowly, glad Erina hadn’t tried to take Mick out. It was too risky. If either of the two armed guards fired a shot, the element of surprise would be lost and their plan would unravel.
    Mick yanked down on the rope, pulling Erina to full stretch, and tied it off behind the open door. He moved to one side, giving Carter a clear view of Erina. Her head swiveled to the left and then to the right as if she was trying to figure out a way of striking back.
    “You guys are in deep shit,” she said, her voice full of controlled defiance. “But you can still save yourselves. Let me go right now and I’ll forget this incident occurred.”
    “Who the fuck do you think you are?” Mick asked. “Waltzing in here as if you own the fuckin’ joint.”
    “I just popped in to say hi to Pete.”
    “At two in the fuckin’ morning? What did you want to see him for?”
    “We struck up a bit of a friendship. I wasn’t tired. Just wanted a bit of company and maybe a coffee.”
    “Yeah, and I’m the next fucking king of England.”
    Erina didn’t reply.
    Mick moved back in front of her. Carter had to strain to make out what he was saying.
    “You figure we’re a couple of rednecks with shit for brains,” Mick said. “Well, don’t worry, sweetheart, we’ll give you more than fucking coffee. The party’s about to begin.”
    Mick turned to his left and started rummaging through a set of cupboard drawers.
    Carter caught a glimpse of Erina’s face and the look of steely determination etched across it.
    He shifted his attention from Mick to Smokey’s black boots. They still pointed toward him, shuffling back and forth.
    “Don’t even think about it,” Erina said. “I won’t warn you again.”
    Carter shifted his focus back to the gatehouse.
    Mick moved behind Erina, wrenched her head back and slapped a strip of metallic tape across her mouth.
    He then put one arm around her throat, ripped the front of her shirt open and yanked her bra up, exposing her breasts.
    Carter swallowed hard.
    Mick grabbed her right breast and squeezed.
    For a moment the night continued still and silent.
    Then Erina went wild, thrashing about like a wounded tiger, hurling her body back and forth. When her rage exploded to the surface, she became far more dangerous and at the same time more vulnerable.
    Even in a fight where you were at a severe disadvantage, you couldn’t allow your opponent to dictate terms. By fighting back, she’d seized the initiative and potentially opened up a space for Carter to act. The