Island of Vengeance: A Story of Revenge

By Anthony J. Broughton

Jenny Jones is abducted by Zenon Horak, a hit-man, and transported to Paradise Island in the Mediterranean Sea. A ransom of £10m in diamonds is demanded for her return. Ex-mercenaries Mike Randle and Suzie Drake agree to make the exchange. To surprise the abductors, Mike's death is faked. Unconvinced, Horak tries to discover the truth and enters their home. Suzie confronts him wearing her kimono, which opens during their fight, stopping Horak momentarily as he stares at her naked body. He recovers and knocks out Suzie before making his escape. Mike begins a car chase after him around a cliff-top road. Catching Horak's car, he rams it over the cliff edge, but does not see a bloodstained arm emerge from the mangled vehicle. Horak's body is not in the wreck, and when the police uncover his hideout, he escapes on a motorbike. He heads down an embankment and enters a railway tunnel. A train enters the far end, and a smashed motorbike and unrecognizable body are flung from the tunnel. Mike and Suzie sail to Paradise Island intent on foiling the abductors and releasing their captive.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Raider Publishing International
• Release date: Aug 16, 2011
• ISBN: 9781465865915

Anthony J. Broughton

Anthony J Broughton is a keen photographer, and an avid fan of comedy and the Good Show. Now retired from a career as a design draughtsman, he and his wife, Linda, reside in a small village in the Sussex countryside. Pleasure Cruise is his sixth novel. To read more about Anthony, visit his web site at www.anthonyjbroughton.co.uk.

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Island of Vengeance: A Story of Revenge

By Anthony J Broughton

Published by Raider Publishing International at Smashwords

Copyright 2010 by Anthony J Broughton

Smashwords Edition

Smashwords Edition License Notes

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Other Titles by Anthony J Broughton

Time To Act: A Mercenary Tale,

published by Minerva Press 2000

Vertical Challenge: A Harrier Encounter,

published by Book Guild Publishing 2007

Lean more about the author at his website at http://www.anthonyjbroughton.co.uk

Acknowledgements

I would like to thank my good friend Sal Derisi and 
his family for all his help in obtaining Italian translations for me, and the staff at BAE Systems in Farnborough for their encouragement and support while I was writing this novel.

Contents

1: Surbiton Bank

2: Assault

3: Seek and Destroy

4: Wedding Day

5: Church

6: Worthing

7: Inspect

8: The Dome

9: The Warning

10: Who’s After Whom

11: Contact

12: Then There Were Two

13: Pursuit

14: Breakout

15: Search

16: The Visit

17: The Empty Villa

18: Journey’s Start

19: The Bus Ride

20: Home

21: The Net Result

22: Horsham Hideout

23: Dusk

24: Rendezvous

25: Arrival

26: Paradise End

List of Main Characters

SUZIE DRAKE: ex-mercenary; now co-owns SMJ Boatyard Ltd

MIKE RANDLE: ex-mercenary; now co-owns SMJ Boatyard Ltd

JIM STERLING: rich friend; co-owner of SMJ Boatyard Ltd with Mike & Suzie

SIR JOSEPH STERLING MBE: diplomat; father of Jim

COLIN BROOKE: DI in Special Branch

JENNY JONES: fiancé of Jim; works for his father

KEN JONES: father of Jenny

ALFONSO DEXTER; retired arms dealer

MELISSA DEXTER: wife of Al Dexter

ROGER STERNE; boss of a group of hired villains

LUIGI; Italian; second-in-command to Sterne

ZENON HORAK: Ukrainian hit man

MR AND MRS CHARLIE; Jim Sterling’s chauffeur and housekeeper

DICK AND MERVIN: small-time crooks

DEN ROBINSON: Worthing Police chief inspector

ANDY; DAMIEN; GREG; PHIL; RICKY: members of Sterne’s gang

SUPERINTENDENT DONOVAN: Surbiton police chief

1

Surbiton Bank

When he stepped onto the pavement from his 
Surbiton flat, Mike Randle screwed up his eyes at the bright sunlight and slipped on his sunglasses. He took a leisurely walk down St Mark’s Hill road into the shopping area of Surbiton town.

It was late in August, and the good weather had persuaded him to take a stroll to his bank to keep an appointment with the manager, instead of driving his car or riding there on his motorbike. He knew it was never easy to park close by, and anyway, his partner Suzie Drake would be proud of him making the decision to walk rather than ride, or so he hoped. She had bought a flat in nearby Tolworth, and the pair had been busy looking for a house to share on the Sussex or Hampshire coast, and they were close to finalising a deal on a four-bedroom isolated property on the outskirts of Bosham in West Sussex.

Mike, a bronzed six-foot-tall rugged individual, had served in the Falklands conflict when he was in the Army. He had met Suzie when both of them were mercenaries fighting with government troops against rebel forces in the African jungle. Their friendship had blossomed, and developed into a loving partnership. Recent good fortune had enabled them to change their lifestyle and take on a less hazardous job while looking for a home to share. Along with their friend, Jim Sterling, they were also negotiating to purchase a boat building business on the south coast boating Mecca of Hamble. The company had sunk into a cash flow crisis, and needed an injection of capital to remain solvent. Mike and Jim could provide that cash, and were hopeful of securing ownership of the business very soon. A few details still needed to be worked out, and Mike was confident that a visit to his bank manager would resolve the few outstanding issues, and enable them to complete the purchase.

Approaching the glass-panelled, wooden-framed door to the bank, Mike heard a commotion coming from the inside, followed by an alarm bell clanging its warning signal and a shot ringing out. Three African-American men came crashing through the door, the first of them careering into Mike, the force knocking both men to the ground. Mike picked himself up and turned to see the villain pointing a gun at his face.

Get outta my way, you dick, the man screamed, getting to his feet.

A car screeched to a halt nearby and his two accomplices piled into the vehicle. The engine revved furiously, the driver anxious to speed away.

As an ex-soldier and mercenary, Mike was not perturbed at facing a man with a gun. He reacted quickly and lashed out a foot, kicking the weapon from the man’s hand. As he stood in disbelief for a brief second, a straight right from Mike smashed into his face, sending him reeling to the ground.

Gunshots sounded and bullets flashed past Mike, peppering the ground around him as one of the robbers leant from the car window and let loose with a volley of shots. Diving for the villain’s weapon on the pavement, Mike grabbed it, rolled over to face the gunman and returned fire hitting the back window and smashing it as the driver stamped on the accelerator pedal. The vehicle sped away with the two occupants in the rear continuing to blast away as it accelerated down the road in a haze of blue smoke issuing from the exhaust pipe, with screaming pedestrians forced to dive for cover.

Jumping to his feet, with blood from a broken nose oozing down his face, the villain pulled a knife from a sheath strapped to his belt and charged at Mike. A woman bystander screamed, and Mike turned to see the man almost on top of him with the glistening blade a few inches away from his body and rapidly approaching. He instinctively swung the gun round and pulled the trigger. The blast stopped the man in his tracks as the bullet ploughed into his chest, bringing a horrified look to his face. The villain staggered back, and crashed to the ground. He spat groans of agony and swearing for a few seconds as he shook uncontrollably before stiffening and exhaling his final breath.

Mike lowered the gun as the portly manager hurried from the bank and looked at the body. They shot one of my tellers and got away with a lot of money, he croaked, in a very shaky voice over the deafening alarm bell.

Well this one won’t be enjoying any of their ill-gotten gains, replied Mike.

Police car sirens wailed in the background, becoming ever louder as the vehicles raced to the bank. Two police cars screeched to a halt and four men piled out.

Mike handed over the gun and was grabbed by two policemen. Hey! What are you doing? I’m not one of the robbers, he protested.

The bank manager stepped forward. Mr Randle is not one of the robbers, Officer. This man lying on the ground is one of them. Mr Randle is one of the bank’s clients. He has an appointment with me this morning.

Nevertheless he was in possession of a gun, and he will have to come to the police station and give us a satisfactory explanation, the policeman replied.

More police cars and an ambulance arrived. Policemen scrambled into the bank and cordoned off the entrance. Tellers and customers alike had to wait patiently while the police took statements from each of them before they were allowed to leave. Frightened, crying women who saw the teller shot were comforted by policewomen until they could be escorted to Surbiton Hospital for checks and counselling. The two bodies were covered over to await the police photographer to record the scene.

Mike was taken to Surbiton Police Station, where he was placed in an interview room where he waited to be questioned. Over half an hour passed before Superintendent Donovan, a stocky man with close-cropped, thinning white hair and a small, greying moustache, entered to talk to him. His chubby cheeks reverberated each time he spoke, with a voice that was much like a growl.

I am Superintendent Donovan. You are Michael J Randle of Flat 4, 20 Avenue Elmers, Surbiton? he asked.

Yes, I am.

Well, Mr Randle, it is not usual for a member of the public to pick up a firearm and start shooting bullets all over the place. You could have easily killed a bystander, the policeman complained.

I was aiming at the getaway car, not members of the public, and I do know how to handle a gun, Superintendent, Mike protested.

Except when you blatantly killed the only man who could have given us the information we require to catch the rest of the gang.

Perhaps you’d rather I let him stick a knife in me, and hope that he waited around for your men to arrive and arrest him, Mike stated sarcastically.

The superintendent ignored the jibe. Where did you learn to use a gun?

In the Army. Am I a suspect, or do you always treat people this way when they try to help if they see a robbery is taking place?

I need to establish exactly who you are, and make sure that you are not a part of this gang.

What! You must be kidding. Why on earth would I shoot that robber, then? Mike questioned, hardly able to believe what he was hearing, after doing what he thought was his duty as a concerned citizen.

To stop him from talking to us.

I don’t believe this crap. Mike stood in frustration.

Sit down! Can anyone vouch for your good character? the policeman asked.

How about Detective Inspector Colin Brooke of Special Branch? Or better still; try telephoning Sir Joseph Sterling MBE at the Foreign Office in Whitehall. He’s a troubleshooter for the government on security matters. I can give you his telephone number if you wish. You may not be ranked high enough to get through to him.

Mike’s sarcasm annoyed Superintendent Donovan. He pressed his tongue into the side of his cheek when he heard those important names, which he knew he could not ignore. I’ll make enquiries, he stated, leaving the room.

Mike sat and fumed. He turned to the policeman guarding the door. That’s the last time I do anything to help. If I see a crime being committed in future, I’ll let the robbers and murderers get away.

The policeman looked at him with a blank expression and said nothing.

Meanwhile, Superintendent Donovan, with some difficulty, had managed to reach Sir Joseph Sterling by telephone. Yes, Superintendent, I am well acquainted with Mr Mike Randle. He is an ex-soldier as he has told you, and he has assisted me in the past with my enquiries. I can assure you that he is not a bank robber, and I can well believe that he would take action to stop such a crime if he was on the spot and able to do so.

And he would shoot to kill someone out of self-preservation.

Oh, I am sure that he would. He has spent much of his life as a soldier, and killing would come quite naturally to him if his life was threatened.

I see. Well, thank you for your time, Sir Joseph.

Not at all. Please ask Mr Randle to contact me when he is free. I would like to hear his side of this unfortunate event.

Of course. Goodbye.

The superintendent returned to the interview room to talk with Mike, this time in a more pleasant tone of voice. Sir Joseph Sterling has agreed that he is acquainted with you, and has vouched for your honesty in this matter. He has asked if you would contact him when we have finished here.

Mike nodded, but did not reply. He could sense the policeman’s discomfort at his realisation that he was telling the truth, and was not the stupid gun-slinging bystander he had first taken him for. He was still angry at his treatment, and said nothing to soften the policeman’s unease.

Let’s get your statement on what happened this morning, then you can go home, the policeman stated.

Mike related the details, which were taped, and after almost two hours in the police station he was allowed to leave, agreeing to return the following day to sign his statement when it was typed up, after extracting a promise from the policeman that his name and all the information he gave them would be kept in the strictest confidence.

There are at least three more members of this gang, and I don’t want any of them seeking revenge and come calling on me, he stated.

Of course. This is a police matter, and only enough information to catch the gang members will be released to the media, assured the superintendent. You are free to leave.

Back in his flat, Mike downed a glass of whisky as soon as he entered his dining room. He plonked himself down in a chair and rang the bank manager to confirm that arrangements for their boatyard purchase were in order, after being unable to discuss them with him that morning. He cleared up a few outstanding points and made a further appointment with him to sign the papers. Afterwards he rang his partner, Suzie Drake, to let her know what had happened.

… and the cheek of the man, he only though that I may be in cahoots with the robbers.

It must be the shifty look that you have, Mr Randle, smiled Suzie.

Me? Shifty?

I’m only joking, Mike. But, on a more serious note, do you think those gangsters might come after you for killing one of their men?

I hope not, for their sakes.

On an entirely different subject, I received a telephone call from our solicitor today. The deeds to our new house are due to be signed tomorrow. After that, we can move in straight away.

At last!

So that means we should go shopping for carpets and curtains etcetera, and ask for the new furniture that we’ve bought to be delivered.

Oh good, Mike muttered in an unenthusiastic voice. Can’t you do it? You’ve got a much better idea of what’s needed than I have.

No. This is a home for both of us, and you should have a say in how we furnish and decorate it, insisted Suzie.

Okay.

Mike and Suzie spent the next week buying what they needed for their new home, while the decorators were busy papering and painting. At the end of the week they finally moved into their new residence, and put their two flats up for sale.

The following weekend, Mike and Suzie held a house warming party and invited their friends. Jenny Jones was accompanied by her father Ken, her partner Jim Sterling, and his father Sir Joseph Sterling, along with Mr and Mrs Charlie, a Chinese couple they had met in Africa and who now worked for Jim Sterling as housekeeper and chauffeur. DI Brooke from Special Branch also attended, and although it was a small party and the house was by no means completely finished, the occasion was enjoyed by everyone.

Jim Sterling, a round-faced, clean-shaven, slightly overweight man approaching forty, with an arm around the waist of Jenny Jones, stepped into the centre of the room. Could you turn the volume down a little please, Mike? I’ve an announcement to make.

Mike lowered the volume.

Jenny and I have been seeing each other for many months now, as I am sure you are all aware, and we have decided that the time is right for us to become engaged.

Cheers and clapping erupted in the room, and a smile was brought to everyone’s face.

We have been discussing this for a few weeks now, and we plan to get married in about a years’ time.

Congratulations, said Suzie, giving them both a kiss. We must celebrate. Mike, there’s a couple more bottles of champagne in the refrigerator. I think we should open them.

Quite right. I’ll get them, he said, stepping across the hallway into the kitchen.

Ken Jones, who had immigrated to England in the 1960s gave his daughter a kiss and said, I’m sure your mother would have approved of your engagement if she was here.

I know, Dad, she answered, with tears glistening in her eyes.

Jenny, who was the same height as Jim, had been born in England of Jamaican parents. Her mother had died of cancer when she was ten years old. Now in her mid-thirties, she had grown into an attractive woman, with long dark hair, piercing black eyes, smooth features and a wide, but very attractive mouth.

To celebrate the occasion, the music volume was increased and more champagne was consumed. Drinks were enjoyed by everyone except for Sir Joseph Sterling and Colin Brooke, who both only sipped a small amount to toast the happy couple. They had busy jobs, and paperwork that required their attention, necessitating the need for them to stay sober and drive home that evening. The other partygoers were happy to accept the invitation to stay the night, in order to be able to drink without the worry of driving afterwards.

During the evening, Sir Joseph spoke to Mike. I received a telephone call from Superintendent Donovan, the Surbiton policeman, yesterday.

Oh, yes. What did he want? Not trying to put me behind bars again, is he?

No, nothing like that. He did not have your new telephone number, so he couldn’t contact you directly. He asked me to let you know that a policeman at the station has given a local newspaper details about the robbery and inadvertently supplied them with your name, which was against his orders. It seems that he accepted a small gift for the information.

Great! That’s something that I wanted to avoid.

So I understand. The man has been reprimanded, but your name was printed in a local newspaper at the end of the week. As it only has a relatively small circulation, I don’t think it is anything to worry about.

I hope not. Has he made any progress toward catching the thieves?

It seems not. I asked him how his investigation is progressing, and he told me they are not making any headway at the moment. They are unsure who the other members of the gang are, but he told me that the man you killed settled in this country a few years ago, and he and his brother had previous convictions for robbery with violence, both here and abroad.

Not nice men, then?

No. He also told me that forensics has confirmed that the gun you used to shoot the robber with, was also the gun used to kill the bank teller.

So, the man I shot was a killer.

Yes, he was.

Changing the subject, Mike said, It’s good to see that Jim and Jenny have got on so well together. Did you know about their engagement?

Not officially, but I had my suspicions, Sir Joseph admitted.

I thought you might. Good for them.

How about you and Suzie? Are you thinking of getting engaged or married? Sir Joseph enquired.

No. Not yet anyway. We’ve only just bought this house, and we are near to closing a deal on the boatyard … with the help of Jim, of course, who’s kindly lending us some of his lottery winnings to complete this purchase, replied Mike.

Yes, quite. I hope that it works out for all of you.

So do I.

* * *

In the following year, Mike and Suzie settled down 
in their new house near the coast, and the deal was completed for them in partnership with Jim to take over the running of the boatyard, which they renamed SMJ Boatyard Ltd after their initials. Jenny continued to live with her father until she and Jim were married, but spent much of her time at his Weybridge home, introducing subtle changes there to her taste. She was counting down the days until their wedding, and organising all the necessary preparations.

Apart from a brief period of less than two weeks when Mike and Suzie were engaged on an important job for Sir Joseph, which needed both their combat and her flying skills, much of this time was spent learning to get the boatbuilding business back on a profitable course. They relied heavily on the yard’s foreman Reg with his assistant George to guide them, along with many of the office staff and workshop employees who had stayed on.

The busy year passed quickly.

2

Assault

Through the early morning mist Shady Rogue, 
a sixty-foot, luxury motor yacht, silently glided into the small inlet. There, moored on one side of a sea-lashed wooden jetty projecting out to the horizon, a motor yacht bobbed gently back and forth. The approaching vessel slipped into the vacant berth opposite, and the eight-man crew tied her up and crept quietly ashore.

Darkness had all but vanished, despite the early hour of 6 a.m. A cool breeze was gently wafting through the air on this peaceful sunny Mediterranean island, as the sun’s dawning rays began their task of burning off the lingering mist, and the waves lapped in and out.

Isola Paradiso was a small Italian island lying less than ten nautical miles from the coastline of the much larger main island of Sicily. Inhabited by a few scattered villas, they were all owned by retired couples who had come to this tiny haven seeking peace and tranquillity in their later years. Their properties came at a premium, and were purchased not only for their prestigiousness, but also for the seclusion they afforded.

This craggy island emerged from the volcanic sea as one large central rock, topped with an area of flat scrubby grass at one end and a scattering of trees at the other. A rough path wound its way around the top edge. The island’s inhabitants likened it to an enormous oval fruitcake with a layer of green icing on top. Fluffy whitecaps surrounded the jagged base where small inlets and coves were hidden among the length of its ten-mile rugged perimeter.

The island’s four villas, each situated in one of the larger inlets along the rock-strewn coastline, had its own jetty with a yacht or cruiser moored alongside; an indispensable item to each villa owner for travelling to or from their homes. The sun shone for most of the year on this tiny Paradise Island, where few regular visitors were seen except for a delivery boat that brought the post and other grocery essentials each Saturday afternoon, unless the weather was inclement. An astute local shopkeeper on the main island, the owner of a general store, provided this service for those who were unable or unwilling to make the effort to sail there. All of the villas had an account with him and equally shared the additional cost of using his unusual delivery method.

On this cloudless morning in late August, the men from Shady Rogue, dressed in an assortment of casual clothing and all but one carrying a gun, slipped along the jetty towards the large three-bedroom villa named Troulos, which was built into the face of the rocks. Four concrete steps, flanked by two stone colonnades supporting a portico, led to the dark green double doors. A plant in a large urn, sitting alongside one of the columns, poked its leaves skywards, stretching towards the source of its life. Matching Green wooden shutters contrasted with the white stucco walls on this modern residence. Behind railings on the first floor, a balcony spanned the width of the building, providing a panoramic view of the inlet and deep blue sea beyond. A small area of grass on one side of the house served as a garden and sunbathing area.

This is quite an expensive looking joint, declared Roger Sterne, the leader of this gang of misfits.

He halted his men by the steps with an outstretched arm. In front of the doors was a calico mat. Lifting it carefully, he smiled at the pressure-pad alarm concealed beneath it.

Clever. But not clever enough to fool me, he boasted, instructing his Italian second-in-command to step over the mat and open the door.

The lock, a five-lever latch type, took Luigi no more than twenty seconds to overcome, but still the door stubbornly remained closed. Two hefty bolts inside saw to that. Strong locks on doors to the other villas were not considered necessary, but this residence was different. The owner, with justification, was more worried than the others, and before retiring each night went through the ritual of bolting the front doors and locking the ground floor windows.

All of the island’s inhabitants knew each other, if only slightly for some of them, and saw one another on few occasions and rarely socialised. The main reason they resided on this island was for the seclusion that it afforded them, and seldom did any of them have visitors. It was they who usually did the visiting, safe in the knowledge that, at the end of the day, they could return to the quiet comfort of their island paradise and not be disturbed.

Today was different.

Today Paradise Island was being invaded; or rather Melissa and Alfonso Dexter’s villa Troulos was being invaded. They had moved to this isolated haven near the country of their roots a little over a year before, and had hoped that in doing so, they would have escaped from the attentions of anyone in their past.

They had hoped in vain.

Get that door open, demanded Sterne, pointing at two of his men.

Two shoulder charges are all that it took to prize the bolt catches away from the woodwork. The invading men burst through the doorway and moved into the large, marble-floored entrance hall. The leader motioned three of his men to check downstairs, while the rest went with him up the plush-carpeted, winding stairway.

Remember, I want them alive, Sterne warned. No shooting, unless it’s absolutely necessary.

In the first-floor master bedroom, Mel and Al Dexter dreamt peacefully in bed. In the warm climate that this island offered, they slept naked under a thin sheet. The crash of their front doors bursting open shook Al Dexter abruptly from his slumber. He sat up and ran his fingers through his black hair, staring in almost disbelief at the screen showing eight intruders in his hallway, most of them armed. This was the moment he had dreaded for over a year, and had prayed would never happen.

He shook his wife. Mel. Come on, Mel. Wake up.

What is it? she said, stirring slowly.

They’re here. We knew this might happen one day. Well, this is the day. C’mon, we’ve no time to lose, he said, jumping from his bed.

Mel Dexter, a well-proportioned good looking blonde in her late thirties, sat up and stared at the television screen hanging from the ceiling at the foot of the bed. She was instantly awake.

"Dio Mio! What are we going to do?" she asked, in a quivering voice with a hand covering her mouth.

Just what we said we’d do if this ever happened, stated her husband, locking the bedroom door. We’ve been over it lots of times. The alterations were done to give us an escape route, and the boat is ready and waiting.

I must get my jewels, she said, slipping her feet onto the fluffy bedside mat.

Forget your bloody jewels, we haven’t got time.

Al Dexter, with his swarthy good looks and classic Roman nose, was nearly fifty and had seen it all before. His childhood in Sicily had been peppered with sights of gang fights and killings, and where the quickest way to have money in your pocket was to join one of the gangs. Like so many others before him, Alfonso Dexter was drawn slowly into the world of petty crime like a magnet. He joined a gang and rose in the ranks before fleeing to England at the age of thirty-five to escape the law, after a local gang feud ended in the death of a rival leader.

Soon after his arrival he met a young Sicilian girl eleven years his junior, in London, and following a brief courtship they were married. By the time he reached forty, he had built up a steady import-export business and supplemented his income by supplying arms to anyone who had enough money to purchase them. That side of his business was always risky, but paid big dividends. It gave