no one round here would wear those.

She didn’t look up; instead she launched Mann’s bag forward at the legs and heard the man groan as he fell backwards. At the same time someone else pushed her back into the room. Becky looked up to see four Chinese men. She blocked a punch and turned side-on as she made a run for the door. A man stood in her way, his arms raised to stop her; she hooked her wrists over his and brought a knee up to his groin. He doubled over in pain then she felt the flash of pain as a fist slammed into the side of her head; then an arm tightened around her throat. Her feet were kicked from beneath her and her head smashed against the side of the bed as she fell to the floor.

63

Mann began turning at the same time as Stevie Ho stood up and left Fat Harry’s table. Mann began running before Stevie could see him. If Stevie was there, it meant they knew who he really was and his cover was blown. But they had lured him there for a reason. Then it hit him with sickening clarity—Becky was the target.

Mann sprinted back up towards the hotel. He didn’t need to look back to know that Bob and Harry would give him ten minutes before realising he wasn’t going to show up and that he knew. Then they would alert their friends. Mann’s blood ran cold. All he could think of was Becky. He ran through the empty reception—no staff, and no guests. Something was going on that no one wanted to see. Whatever it was must still be happening in the room. Mann took the staff stairs to the third landing and walked halfway along until he judged he was just above their room; then he slipped into an open door whilst the chambermaid was cleaning. He crept out onto the balcony and listened. Diagonally across and down he heard Cantonese being spoken, the noise of excited, raised voices. He estimated there were four or five men. There was no sound from Becky. Mann stepped onto the ledge and jumped across to the neighbouring balcony. Now he was directly above the room. As he looked over he saw that the French doors to the balcony were open. He could just see inside.

He saw Becky on the floor. A man was over her. She was being raped. He felt the anger roar through him and felt as if he would spontaneously combust if he could not control it. He knew he must control it, because, more than anything, he wanted to rescue her. His senses became heightened as every fibre in him was preparing itself for a fight. He was poised on the railing, ready to swing down. He needed all the force he could muster to get through those balcony doors and into the centre of the room in one massive jump. He took a deep breath in, and on the exhale he held onto the ledge and propelled himself over as hard as he could. His feet contacted with the door frame. The door flew back and banged against the rattan cabinet to the right of it.

Mann crouched low and aimed high. From one hand he threw all five throwing spikes that had been strapped to his ankle. Three of them landed in the face and neck of the man nearest the door. Two were stuck through the shoulders of the man doing up his flies. He was now pinned to the hessian frieze above the bed. The third man had Delilah through his heart and was in the process of dying on the floor. Lastly, from Mann’s left hand he released the Death Star. It span through the air and sliced through the back of the neck of the man who was in the process of raping Becky. It severed his spinal cord, as Mann knew it would—he couldn’t risk injuring Becky in the process. He had to take the man out this way.

Mann watched him topple slowly sideways, then he walked over and picked him up with his foot and kicked him away from Becky. He checked her breathing; she had been badly beaten but she was alive. He pulled her trousers up and pulled her t-shirt down. Now Mann could let his anger loose. Now, as he turned to her attackers, he knew that he was the last man they would see on this earth. Anger was built in him that would not be quelled. Now he would have justice at any cost. He could never undo the harm they had done to her, but he could make them pay…and he would. She was still unconscious, but she was alive and she could wait one minute, one moment was all it would take for him to settle the score.

64

He walked out of the room and down the stairs, carrying Becky in his arms. The alert would have gone up by now, he needed to hurry. He passed the bemused receptionist who had taken a shine to him earlier. One look from Mann told her not to touch the phones. He strode straight to the front. He carried Becky up to the trike riders. He threw his full wallet at a driver, grabbed his keys from him and slid Becky in the sidecar whilst he took off in a swirl of sand. He looked across at Becky. She was stirring. She looked a mess. Her face was bloodied and swollen. He wished the trike had gears, its max speed was thirty and that was on a downhill. He looked behind him. He could see a saloon coming at speed, hurtling down the sandy lanes behind them. Mann looked into the mirror. He saw Fat Harry sitting in the front, English Bob in the back, but the driver wasn’t Stevie. No sign of him.

They were gaining. Mann would have to outwit them. The road was busy. Mann drove up on pavements, took out fruit stalls. The car hooted for people to move. The trike was smoking, screaming. The road was straightening out, the car gaining. Then Mann turned the corner and saw the runway. To the left was the tank for the aviation fuel, to the right was the small row of hangers, and Remy was at the end of the runway, making his last-minute checks outside the aircraft.

Mann saw him focus on the trike, his scowl changing to a smile when he recognised the driver; and then it changed to a look of alarm as he heard the volley of bullets coming from the car that had just screamed around the corner in pursuit.

Remy jumped inside and started the plane’s engine. It cranked into life, spluttered, coughed, and then the propeller started turning. A second later Remy appeared, standing on the door frame of the pilot’s side, pistol in hand. He fired at the car and blew out the tyre. It caused the car to veer slightly away and swerve. Mann reached the plane, threw Becky inside and took the gun from Remy as he jumped back in the pilot’s seat and began taxiing along the runway. Mann jumped into the plane as it was moving and fired out through the open passenger door. The car was within twenty metres. The plane’s ascent was slow. Remy’s hands were strong and steady on the yoke as he gave it full throttle. Still it didn’t lift from the runway. The car was pulling level with the tail of the aircraft. Mann steadied his shoulder against the door frame, aimed and fired. His shot shattered the car’s windscreen. It swerved away momentarily. They came again. Fat Harry had a gun levelled at Mann. Mann had a choice: kill the driver, or kill Harry.

Take out the dragon head, and the body will die.

Harry was thrown backwards by the shot. He had been hit in the face. The car skidded, the driver lost control; it was veering towards the far side of the runway. Remy pulled hard back on the yoke and the plane began to lift off. Mann had one shot left. He stretched one arm across the doorway and used it to keep his other arm steady as he aimed his gun at the fuel tank and fired. Three seconds after the bullet left the nozzle the tank exploded in a ball of fire; the heat buffeted the small plane as it lifted off the ground. Mann yanked the door shut.

Remy shouted to him from the pilot seat. ‘Is she alright? Look behind. There’s a medical kit on the wall.’