A sudden flutter of birds beyond a row of rust-filled metal fencing revealed the location of his adversaries, so Dale lifted and dived, allowing himself direct aim at the long thick grass. He fired and was rewarded with a squeal of pain.

With his mind running at full speed, Dale quickly scanned the area for options. His own car was too far away and he had never seen Peter drive although the remote location of the church would necessitate transportation, but where? The church was not large and neither was the ground surrounding it. It consisted of a small vegetable patch, a chicken run, a fenced cemetery that had not seen a fresh body for a hundred years and two small sheds. It had to be one of the sheds. Dale fancied the slightly larger one with the white barn doors.

He lifted himself to his feet and ran for his life. There were at least three gunmen at large, one which Dale could sense was closing in on him from the rear. Once again he ducked and swivelled on his haunches, firing directly into the face of a man in a black suit and ski mask. He fell to the ground in a bloodied mess. Dale grimaced but did not delay, ducking and weaving between the trees and yanking at the side door. He paused momentarily as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. His uncle owned an old Volkswagen Beetle and a motorbike that both looked as immaculate as the day they were driven from the showroom floor.

He decided to take his chances with the much faster bike and was not surprised to find the keys in the ignition. Peter always told Dale that you needed to trust a person as much as you would like to be trusted yourself. Dale in return thought he was a foolish but loveable old man. His sensitive and well-adjusted hearing detected a slight crunch of unrestrained gravel followed by the blinding light as the side door was flung open. Bullets rained into the barn, but the assassins had been foolhardy and abrupt. Dale had been prepared and whilst they were busy moving around the side of the barn he had opened the front doors and pushed the bike out. The assassins were met with an empty interior as Dale started the ignition, fled down the old dirt driveway and out onto the road. He could not resist a chuckle at his small win but knew that they would be only minutes behind.

As he sped along the road on the old but still powerful 1973 Kawasaki H1 motorbike, Dale was suddenly filled with a burning determination to fulfill his mission with a fervour he had never experienced before. At risk was not only the lives of those trapped by Arun's cult and the people he supplied cocaine to but also vindication for Reynata whom he had come to greatly care for. His mission was personal with the added gratuity of helping his daughter. He had many reasons to not fail.

With the surprise find of this beautiful old bike, Dale had been astonished to discover his Uncle had a hidden wild side. The bike was well used, polished to perfection and clearly loved. Why lime green though ... Dale did not know.

The machine rumbled pleasantly as the well-oiled engine easily accelerated alongside the large Wal-Mart semitrailer. Dale's only concern was the expectant backdraft as a second semitrailer carting livestock thundered alongside on the three lane freeway. It was at this moment that the phone rang indicating Georgio's mobile. Dale was desperate for the call and thankful that he had connected the blue-tooth on his phone, but a slight lack of concentration and increased turbulence caused him to sway. He was the first to admit that he was not an expert on a bike and fear coursed through his body as the front tyre came dangerously close to the wheels of the right truck. He truly felt like the meat in a sandwich.

'Don't hang up, Georgio!' he screamed as he placed his foot on the brake and slowed the bike enough to allow him to regain control.

'Sorry about that, buddy ... caught in a tight spot.'

'Sounds like you're in a windstorm,' chuckled his friend.

'This is no windstorm. I'm riding Peter's old bike.'

Georgio laughed heartily. 'No way. I thought the fall you had three years ago put you off bikes forever.'

'Yeah, but it was the choice between an old 1969 Volkswageon Beetle or the 1973 Kawasaki. I chose the bike.'

'So, what happened to your car?'

'It seems I've got a big red target on my back and its getting larger all the time. I couldn't get to the car with all of the assassins trying to gun me down.'

'Looks like you will need to have your wits about you. Ferrero Santiano lives in a small community called Bee Cave almost twelve miles west of Austin Central. You need to continue along route 360 until you reach Oakhill. Turn right down Route 71. He lives on a large secure ranch on High Canyon Pass. Word is that despite the seemingly open space, security is high and the place is wired to the extreme.

'Could be a time bomb, and I have to admit that I'm not keen to go it alone.'

'Sorry, Mate. I'm slightly indisposed and unless I can grow a set of wings, I'm of no help to you.'

'Is Gillian okay?' queried Dale, his voice tinged with worry.

'Good as gold. Has her head in the second part of that manuscri ' was all Georgio could say before Dale was shoved forward with such severity that he struggled to gain control of the bike.

He was furious, partially at their brazen attempt to force him off the road but mostly at his own stupidly. He had been so caught in his conversation with Georgio that he had failed to hear the approaching vehicle. The Mustang with a top speed of 175 miles per hour was far superior to the old Kawasaki, leaving Georgio clearly at a disadvantage. It did not take much intelligence for him to realise that he needed to outwit them and fast. Dale quickly sized up his options.

He was right in the middle of the three-lane freeway with high barriers and no exit ramps. His heart pounded fiercely as he searched for a possible decoy, his eyes falling on the trucks in front of him. The Wal-Mart truck was still travelling alongside the livestock-carrying semitrailer with the exception that it had moved over to the centre lane, positioning itself directly in front of Dale. The distance between the two trucks was six feet at best. If he tried, he could almost squeeze in between them, any indecisive notions he had pushed to the far reaches of his mind when a bullet shot past his ear, nicking the side of his black helmet. He was left with no choice. He accelerated as quickly as he could, but the roar of the pursuing vehicle and another bullet to the right handlebar alerted him to the severity of the situation. They were only just behind him.

Dale forced the bike to a new speed as the old engine protested unhappily but complied. He rapidly closed in on the trucks and was able to judge the distance he required to fit between them. The phrase 'like a can of sardines' came to mind as he battled the wind gusts before sliding into the Wal-Mart truck's slipstream. This allowed him to race behind momentarily before slipping into the gap between the trucks. He had only inches to spare but managed a sigh of relief until he looked in his rear-vision mirror. His pursuers had pulled up just behind him and had a Valmet M76 trained directly at him.

He realised he had made a terrible mistake. Instead of making his escape, he had cornered himself, giving the assassins a direct line of fire. Dale lowered himself as far as possible to the handlebars and kept riding, all the while praying for a miracle which did not come.

The truck drivers alerted to the gunfire had automatically braked and swerved slightly in their attempt to view the proceedings. The driver of the livestock semitrailer held steady, but the assassins had made the fatal mistake of hitting two of the Wal-Mart tyres. With the slight imbalance, sudden onset of rain and his avid curiosity, the driver of the larger vehicle began to veer sharply to the right causing the trailer to jackknife. It was like a bad movie unfolding as Dale, still sandwiched between the two trucks, watched the cabin of the Wal-Mart truck edge in towards him. He braked just as the cabin connected with the other semitrailer.

In an attempt to avoid a collision, the livestock carrier accelerated and forced Dale backwards just as the Wal-Mart truck attempted to avert a disaster by overcorrecting the front wheels. Unfortunately this only exasperated the problem and the trailer reacted by swinging fiercely in the opposite direction. Dale, seeing the gap in front widen once again accelerated and managed to clear the ill-fated truck that had just blundered into a deadly slide.

The tyres screeched as the driver tried in desperation to bring the vehicle to a stop, but the huge truck had developed a life of its own. It swung vertically around the centre of the road, swiping two other vehicles and the assassins who were unable to react in time. Eventually losing its fight to stay upright amid the loss of grip and increase in sway, the massive truck tilted and rolled. It careened dramatically into the side rails and crunched firmly into the solid concrete barrier before bursting into flames. The exhibition was as spectacular as it was loud with the inclusion of the assassin's vehicle caught underneath the falling cargo only adding to the scene.

In any normal circumstance, Dale would have stopped and rendered assistance, but this was far from the usual, so with considerable regret, he continued his journey towards Bee Cave. He noticed the scenery change from busy suburbia to a sparse land, full of water retentive trees and scrubs. This gave way to slightly larger homes and eventually taller bushes and a single lane residential street.

Less than one hour after the truck accident, Dale pulled into the relative secrecy of a few large shrubs and took advantage of the added foliage to conceal the bike. He was relieved that he had lost the assassins but was not ignorant enough to realise that he could not hide forever. The key to this mission was to get in and out as quickly as possible and gather as much incriminating evidence as he could on the Senator.

A large, three storey ranch-inspired home spread widely across the centre of the manicured lawns. It was surrounded by a mix of oak and poplar trees, sported a large circular driveway and flimsy looking white fences. To the right of the house was the stable complex and a number of outbuildings including two barns, and to the left was a swimming pool and tennis court. It appeared friendly and welcoming but looks were deceiving. Dale's trained eyes easily detected the trip-wires running around the boundary fence. He also knew that superior security would be employed in all areas surrounding the home and outbuildings. Hidden cameras and sensors would be employed as well as laser in the home.

Entry through the front was not likely but the space between the stables and the barn could be a possibility. He quickly viewed the surroundings and noted that the neighbours property had high stone walls. It was probable that the Senator had considered this security enough and that he had not used trip wires for the one hundred or so feet bordering the stables.

Using the high grasses as cover, Dale followed the wall until he was at the desired location. He jumped the stone and held his breath ... no alarms. He had been right, although he did pinpoint five guards. Three surrounded the house and two were patrolling the grounds with the nearest being ten feet from the end stable.

Dale lay on his stomach and wriggled away from the fence, ensuring that he stayed as low as possible. He detected no movement, but the deep, dark shadows spilling from the stable complex ensured Dale moved more cautiously than normal. He gazed at the guards and noted that two were on mobile phones, one was smoking and the other two had stopped for a chat. Their lack of concentration was clear evidence that intruders were a rarity which gave Dale enough confidence to move into the stables.

He did not find what he expected.

When he was a teenager, Dale had volunteered at the local police station for two months to show any future employers that he was eager to succeed. Unfortunately he had been put to work in the horse stables for that entire time and became familiar with the acrid smell of stale urine and large foul lumps of dung. Ferrero Santiano's stables sported rubber lined stalls, paved flooring and fine brickwork. There were all the usual saddlery, rugs, straw and food bins, but something was missing. At first, he could not pinpoint what it was, but it eventually dawned on him. There was no smell of horse, and on further investigation, no horse hair. In fact, Dale wondered if these stables had ever seen horses at all.

He edged cautiously through the shadowy building until he reached the second stall from the end. A crunching noise stopped him in his tracks. Dale dove for cover under the straw, hitting his left shoulder against the concrete floor. His bones groaned under the pressure.

He was way too old for this.

By the rumble of the diesel engine and fierce screech of the brakes attempting to bring a heavy load to a halt, Dale could tell that it was a truck. A number of doors slammed and within a few moments, the shuffle of many feet approached his position.

Other than the occasional whisper, there was no noise which Dale found odd, considering he estimated at least twenty people stood only three feet from him. Temptation proved too hard to resist, so Dale pushed aside enough straw to see a group of very young children forced into a cluster. They had hackles around their ankles, ropes around their wrists and tape over their mouths and eyes. Their lack of resistance and general movement led him to believe they had been drugged which was confirmed moments later when their captor gave each one a needle in the arm.

Dale could not believe what he was seeing.

The captors cleared the straw away from the first stall and lifted a hatch concealed underneath. They forced the children one by one into the darkened space below. The children obliged without argument.

Dale felt ill, sickened to his very core.

His initial reaction was to jump to his feet, shoot the captors and free the children, but he feared outing Ferrero Santiano would cause the entire operation to close down before they could infiltrate the core. He needed to save these children and find the Senator without alerting him to the loss of his captives.

His good friend Antony Larrami, the current DCIA (Director of the Central Intelligence Agency) was just the person he needed.

Fifteen minutes passed until the men secured the hatch and left in the large, fully enclosed single cabin truck, normally used for furniture removal. Dale immediately rang Antony Larrami and secured the childrens' freedom. He would have men here within the hour. This gave Dale exactly fifty-five minutes to get into the home and find the information he needed.

With years of covert operation behind him, Dale quickly lured the two men walking the grounds by creating a small fire in the bushes. He shot them before hurrying to a large oak and using it as cover until the guard on the front porch wandered by. Dale hesitated. His best combat years were behind him and the ability to take a life without a conscience had long since passed. He had to visualise the image of the poor children, some as young as two, before he could snap the man's neck.

With the element of surprise on his side, Dale easily overwhelmed the inexperienced guard at the rear door and crept unseen through the living area and up the finely crafted oak stairs to the second floor. He would have normally taken the opportunity to search the den and other rooms on the ground level, but the visual of two guards on the upper balcony informed him of the Senator's position.

He did not have time to waste.

The red carpet symbolised riches and power as did the family portraits and busts that lined the long bowling alley style hall. Large crystal chandeliers hung in regular intervals along with equally elaborate wall-mounted lights designed to resemble diamond teardrops. At least a dozen ornate doors were visible from the landing that gave equally exquisite views to the parquetry-inlaid galley style entrance hall below. As Dale had entered through the rear, he had not seen the glorious foyer that sported gold leaf chairs, handmade rugs and life-sized paintings, all gained at the expense of innocents. It made his blood boil.

With his nerves on edge, Dale was fortunate that the noise of the vacuum cleaner hid his steps as he tiptoed down the hall. The two cleaning trolleys and open doors to the right of his position automatically indicated that the Senator was in the opposite direction, his deduction proving correct as a couple of male voices echoed from a room nearby.

Dale could not stay in the hall for fear of being caught, so he moved into the room in question, noting that it had a small adjoining alcove.

Ferrero Santiano was in the alcove.

Dale paused and listened. A man with a small voice that reminded him of a timid mouse was busy complying to Santiano's every whim! All he could hear was 'yes, Sir. No, Sir,' with the fear of not meeting the demands greater than having to live with his conscience. The man was most likely young and inexperienced, caught up by the power Santiano represented. He felt sorry for him.

Santiano was sitting at his desk. He was a dark-haired, dark-skinned man with a large moustache, a solid upper frame and tattoos on his arms. His eyes were small and arrogant, his mouth twisted tightly in a snide grin and he had a large bulbous nose. He wore designer suit pants with an elaborate buckled belt and a short sleeve shirt, designed to belittle anyone who was of a lower social or monetary status, and an abundance of gold jewellery.

Dale listened carefully, peering through the door as Santiano gave the young man orders.

'The truck will be here by midnight tonight. The children must be prepared and loaded for immediate departure. You know how Arun is if they do not arrive on time and with a twenty-four hour journey ahead of them, it's going to be tight.'

Campeche was approximately that distance from here, but their previous attempts to locate a facility in that region had been a failure. Dale wondered if it was better to let the children be taken by Santiano to the facility and then follow them, but twenty-four hours was too long a time. If he was to assist his daughter at all, he had to uncover Arun's lair in less than twelve hours.

'Yes, Sir. I will ensure all is ready for you. We will leave right on schedule under the cover of darkness,' said the thin young man with a mop of blond hair. When he turned, Dale also noted the darkened circles around his eyes and the intense expression of sadness and loss. He was not a happy man.

Seeking cover between the wall and door, Dale waited for the boy to depart before drawing his semi automatic pistol and boldly entering the small room. He closed the door behind him.

'You better have a bloody good excuse to interrupt me,' said Santiano, presuming it was the young man who had returned and not bothering to look up from his paperwork.

'Too right. A better excuse than you could imagine,' muttered Dale, his voice neither malicious nor angry as he pointed the muzzle directly at the Senator's forehead.

He was simply doing his job.

Santiano looked up in surprise, the expression of astonishment quickly becoming anger at the unexpected intrusion and threat on his life. 'Who the bloody hell are you?!' he spat heatedly.

'Just someone who has a little bit of sympathy for the children you are holding in your stables.

Santiano's dark skin flushed with anger. The veins on his forehead expanded and he clenched his fists. His dark brown eyes fired daggers as Santiano tried to collect himself.

'You are trespassing. Get out of my home before I call my guards.'

'Go ahead,' taunted Dale. 'I neutralised them when I entered your home. Right now it's only you and me.'

Santiano blinked uncertainly, contemplating his response.

Dale moved around and buried the muzzle into his ear.

'I know about you and Arun Keane, your little cocaine business and the use of children as your slaves. You take them when they are too young to remember, bring them to your little camp and brainwash them to do your bidding.'

Dale was winging it now, but the look of disbelief on Santiano's face told him he was right. 'I want to know where the camp is. If you tell me, I'll let you live. If you don't, your brains will make a nice addition to that wonderful painting on your wall.'

Dale looked down momentarily, prompted by Santiano who had begun to wriggle uncomfortably in his chair. He had wet his pants. The strong man with the tattoos who allegedly feared no one had pissed himself.

Dale chuckled and Santiano looked mortified. He grabbed a piece of paper from his desk and shoved it at Dale. A quick glance revealed a detailed map.

Dale had no intention of killing the Senator; he was far more valuable alive. He bound the man's hands securely behind his back, taped his mouth and eyes and pushed him out of the room.

Unfortunately he could not risk leaving him in the home as it was likely he would be found by the maids and released, putting his scheme in jeopardy. The last remaining well-meaning guard witnessed their hasty departure and attacked Dale from behind, but Dale was prepared. His ageing body somehow managed to swing around in record time, allowing him to outstretch his hands and collect the man across the neck. The guard fell heavily to the ground, hitting his head on the Italian porcelain tiles and dying on impact. Blood ran from his ears as Dale pulled him outside and pushed him under the rear deck.

Securing the Senator to a metal ring inside a stall of the stable complex, Dale rang Antony Larrami and informed him that he had an extra person to collect.

He had made it out in fifty minutes.

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE.

Richard did his best to steady his nerves, but to be honest, he was incredibly scared. He felt the full weight of responsibility to save his friends and partner on his shoulders and he feared failure. Their lives hung on his next few decisions and even the unwavering love and trust in Julia's eyes did nothing to quell the uncomfortable sensation of fear.

He glanced at Julia and she dipped her head in the same manner he had seen many times over the years. It was her way of showing support even if she feared the outcome.

Richard sighed. His only regret was that he had never asked her to marry him and he had no idea why. To him, life was complete. He had a loving, supportive partner who shared his passion about archaeology and they had a beautiful family and home everything he wanted! Yet Julia had often intimated to the fact that it was the only thing she felt was lacking. He owed it to her to correct his mistake and vowed to surprise her when they escaped.

Richard weighed up the situation at hand. He had only one grappling hook at his disposal and no more than an hour to move four people. He did not need to be a mathematician to know that he was short on time, taking into account that it took Redmond twenty minutes just to reach the roof. If he was able to climb and save Redmond, this would allow him access to a second hook which he could use to haul two people up in quick succession. A spare twenty minutes would remain for the final person.

The only question was: who was going to be the last person?

'Okay, people, we have a decision to make. I have calculated that we have an hour before the rope breaks. I will go first and try to obtain the grappling hook from Redmond which I will drop along with mine. Two people will go next and one person will have to be last. My only demand is that Julia comes after me.'

'I will go last,' offered Fred as Mitchell's face lit with a mix of relief and guilt.

Richard eyed Fred with deliberation. His offer was chivalrous and brave, but the speed in which it was delivered took him by surprise. There was no way that anyone in their right mind would want to go last, yet Fred seemed very comfortable with his decision.

It was an odd reaction, but he wondered if he was misreading the situation. Richard shook his head in disgust. What was he thinking? There was no way Fred would have an ulterior motive. Predicting this situation would have been impossible and there was definitely no way out.

Richard accepted the offer with thanks.

'Good luck,' whispered Julia as she handed Richard her belt and grappling hook.

Richard quickly blew her a kiss before aiming the hook into the path of the preceding rope and holding his breath.

The hook flew straight and true, lodging itself less than an inch away from the clasp that precariously supported the unconscious Redmond.

With the agility of a much younger man, Richard employed his ascender and began to climb the cable. He made good time, reaching the desired height in less than eight minutes before swinging loose and catapulting himself towards the tool room. Redmond had already completed the hard work by opening the small space, making it easier for Richard to gain momentum and hurtle himself forwards.

His first attempt was unsuccessful, but his second effort brought him close enough to the obsidian wall to allow him a last minute grab at the rock before gravity yanked him away.

Richard held on for dear life, using all of his remaining strength to draw his body forwards and up into the small room before switching on a torch.

He had to think quickly. Redmond's lack of movement meant that he would need to reel him in unaided. He shone his small torch about the interior of the cave in search of an item that would suit his needs, quickly locating a long wooden pole amongst the pile of antiquities. It sported a strange hook that left no clue as to its intended use, but on this occasion it was perfect.

His worn and tired muscles screamed in pain as he stretched out towards his companion, taking two attempts before success. The hook slipped over the rope and the remaining archaeologists cheered from below as Richard hoisted and pulled, edging Redmond ever closer to the room. It took a further two minutes and an extreme lather of sweat before his young friend could be heaved to safety.

Even then, Richard did not delay. He ensured Redmond was secure and checked the time. Forty-one minutes remained when Richard threw the grappling hooks down to the stricken lift. His aim was true, but he held onto the rope from his end until he could be sure that Mitchell had secured it correctly.