Discover millions of ebooks, audiobooks, and so much more with a free trial

Only $11.99/month after trial. Cancel anytime.

Mike Delaney Triple Thriller Box Set
Mike Delaney Triple Thriller Box Set
Mike Delaney Triple Thriller Box Set
Ebook527 pages8 hours

Mike Delaney Triple Thriller Box Set

Rating: 0 out of 5 stars

()

Read preview

About this ebook

What fans say:
'The plots will blow your mind',
'Thrillers you must not miss',
'Mike Delaney is my new favorite hero'.
'For lovers of Lee Child, Gregg Hurwitz, Mark Dawson, Dennis Lehane, Jo Nesbo

Delaney goes where others fear to tread. Part of the citizen's crime busting website confess-confess, his codename is 'The Monk'. He's a man gripped by spiritual doubts and aspirations, a master of a highly secret martial art (unknown outside the monastic Brothers of Light), and a belief in love and goodness above all. But life has a habit of pitting him against extreme danger, and unbelievable antagonists weirder than Dr. Lecter.

Book One: 'One False Move': A crazed escapee and child abuser kidnaps Delaney's wheelchair-bound friend and his 15-year old daughter. Delaney has just four hours to save them.

Book Two: 'Captured': He's breathing down her neck. She has something precious he wants. Only Mike Delaney can rescue her. Then he comes up against The Mammoth.

Book Three: 'The Immortality Plot': Delaney vowed never to kill again when he left the monastery to get married - until his pregnant wife is murdered. Now, all bets are off. A secret organization has slaughtered scores of young women for a terrifying purpose. Delaney must track down The Priest, a contract serial killer like no other you've ever read about.

LanguageEnglish
Release dateNov 17, 2017
ISBN9781370882403
Mike Delaney Triple Thriller Box Set
Author

David Callinan

David Callinan is a novelist and musician/songwriter. He is the author of the sci-fi classic 'Fortress Manhattan' and has recently released the first of a thriller series featuring ex assassin, ex cop and ex monk, Mike Delaney titled 'The Immortality Plot'. Other near-the-knuckle thrillers include: 'Knife Edge'; 'An Angel On My Shoulder' and 'Bodyswitch'.He has re-released the bestselling holistic guide to health, wealth and happiness 'The 10-Minute Miracle'.He also writes for young adults and children. The first of his scientific/magical, dystopian trilogy 'The Kingdoms Of Time And Space' has been published' 'Kingdom Of The Nanosaurs' and also the first in a chapter book series for 7-10 year olds 'The Weather Kids And The Rainbow Superhighway'.David Callinan is Anglo-Irish, born into a family from Limerick in the west of Ireland who grew up in the UK. After busking all over Europe he rediscovered Irish music and formed The Spalpeens playing all over the UK, Europe and Ireland touring with The Dubliners, Sweeney's Men, The Chieftains and many others.He appeared in films such as The Lion In Winter (Peter O'Toole, Katherine Hepburn) and Sinful Davey (John Hurt) and scores of television advertisements (was even directed by the late, great John Huston).Later, he formed Urban Clearway, touring and performing with artists such as Elton John, Billy Connolly, Rod Stewart and Long John Baldry.He co-wrote a Celtic rock opera for the Edinburgh Festival. 'Pucka-Ri' starred a young Pierce Brosnan and became one of the hits of the Fringe, before transferring to the Arts Theatre in London.Latterly, an earlier spacey, folk-rock album, 'Freedom's Lament', recorded by Callinan-Flynn, has emerged as a highly sought after title on the Internet - and new wave Irish chanteur Sean Tyrrell has recorded a number of his songs on recent albums.All David's books are available via his website as are downloads of recent music tracks and earlier, 60s, material.Print this

Read more from David Callinan

Related to Mike Delaney Triple Thriller Box Set

Related ebooks

Thrillers For You

View More

Related articles

Related categories

Reviews for Mike Delaney Triple Thriller Box Set

Rating: 0 out of 5 stars
0 ratings

0 ratings0 reviews

What did you think?

Tap to rate

Review must be at least 10 words

    Book preview

    Mike Delaney Triple Thriller Box Set - David Callinan

    SECRET TECHNIQUES OF THE CIA/G-FORCE ASSASSIN’S INSTRUCTION MANUAL

    Before the action in ONE FALSE MOVE, CAPTURED or the full-length thriller THE IMMORTALITY PLOT, Major Mike Delaney was seconded from the ultra secret U.S assassination squad known as G-Force to the Hong Kong Police Force. This dossier, sections of which are redacted, records the techniques, skills and weapons used by members of the elite G-Force squad.

    TELL ME WHERE TO SEND YOUR DOSSIER

    Join my readers’ group to receive this 17-page dossier FREE

    CLICK HERE

    One False Move

    a Mike Delaney thriller

    a short story exclusive

    by

    David Callinan

    CHAPTER ONE

    The Monk faced the rising sun, his feet planted firmly on the rocky outcrop high above the monastery.

    Thoughts, memories and visions swirled through his mind unimpeded by conscious awareness. Mike Delaney meditated upon the golden orb of the Californian dawn spreading like shimmering treacle over the desert plain interspersed with swathes of dense chaparral.

    He experienced joy, elation, an intense loneliness, regret and helpless pain as he allowed his mind to free fall through his life and memories.

    Delaney would never be able to commit to a life of spiritual discipline with the esoteric Brothers of Light despite the times he had retreated here over the years. He would always be and remain a part-time novice. It was ironic that his code name on the crime busting website confess-confess was The Monk.

    Delaney watched his shadow stretching across the bare rocks, undulating over crags and crevices. His breathing became shallow as he began his Tai Chi routine and the intense breath control techniques that had honed his fighting skills to a level unknown outside the inner sanctum of the Order.

    He began to descend into a deep hypnogogic state when his cell phone rang.

    Delaney reacted as though electrocuted. He cursed himself for not switching off his phone before he had walked up to his favorite meditation spot. He slipped his hand beneath his full-length, dark blue habit and withdrew his cell. He paused for a moment to allow his mind to rise into the present before answering.

    Delaney.

    Mike, thank God I found you, the woman’s voice sounded panic stricken.

    Laura? said Delaney.

    She didn’t reply at first and Delaney could hear her voice catching between barely controlled sobs.

    What’s happened?

    It’s Bob. He’s been kidnapped.

    Kidnapped?

    Taken. We’re over from London visiting the Chicago office. Pandora was with us. Yesterday a truck pulled up as Bob and I were leaving the hotel and men wearing masks grabbed him and the wheelchair and pushed him up a ramp into the van and then they were gone. The whole thing took about three minutes. I couldn’t stop them and nobody would help. I’ve been trying to reach you…

    Professionals, said Delaney. I’m at the monastery in California. Have they contacted you?

    They sent a package to the confess-confess office this morning. Mike, it gets worse.

    What do you mean?

    There was a pause on the line.

    ‘Laura?"

    They took Pandora from our hotel room. They’re holding them both.

    Pandora?

    She’s only fifteen, Mike. What’s going to happen to them?

    Have they made a ransom demand? asked Delaney as he marched hard and fast back down along the track that led to the monastery,

    That’s just it, said Laura and her voice almost cracked. Whoever they are, they don’t want money.

    I see, said Delaney. Did they say what they do want?

    Yes, they did.

    Delaney waited.

    It’s you, Mike, Laura told him. They want you.

    CHAPTER TWO

    Mike Delaney ducked to enter the Chicago offices of confess-confess, the website created by Bob Messenger after he and Delaney had been kicked out of the Hong Kong Police following a trumped-up charge.

    Since then the site had recruited an army of amateur volunteer investigators and sleuths bent on exposing scams, crimes, and double dealing official cover-ups and had become a thorn in the side of organised crime and government departments alike.

    He was greeted by John Farrell, head of the Chicago office. John was grim faced as he led Delaney into the board room. Laura was there. She ran to Delaney and hugged him. Mike, thank God you’ve come.

    John Farrell moved to the highly polished board room table and pulled a cinema sized flat screen monitor towards them. All three sat down. Farrell inserted a usb stick.

    We’ve already seen this many times, said Farrell. Are you okay with this, Laura?

    Yes, she said.

    The message said no police, said Laura. Only you, Mike.

    The screen flickered into life. A grey-faced Bob Messenger was sitting in his wheelchair, a state-of-the-art machine that combined the functions of a paraplegic lifeline with a modern office incorporating mini computer screens, communications and satellite navigation systems. It also housed an extremely effective defence system that Messenger was unable to activate. His hands were strapped to a bar between his legs. He was immobile.

    Delaney stared at his friend and colleague. Then he saw something that sent a spike of ice through his entrails. A number of shielded, heavy duty electric cables twisted and uncoiled themselves from connectors clamped to the frame of the wheelchair and snaked behind Messenger into a three-phase power transmission control box. A long handled lever projected from side with a simple ‘Off/On’ setting. The lever was in the up, or off, position.

    Gripping the level casually was a figure Delaney recognised instantly.

    The curved nose with a glint of a dewdrop projected from a pallid, saturnine face that looked like it had been carved from limestone. The hair was thinner and the bent shoulders more pronounced but Delaney would have recognised Julius Schipp in the midst of a ball game crowd.

    Schipp regarded the camera with a mixture of sly derision and arrogant aggression. His fingers played a digit dance on the handle of the power supply. The camera pulled back to reveal a group of heavy set men in black suits and black polo neck sweaters. They stood staring implacably at the camera .

    Julius Schipp, Delaney muttered.

    You know him? growled John Farrell.

    Before your time at the site, said Delaney. Julius Schipp groomed and abducted very young girls. He got what he deserved.

    Of course. Now I remember. You played your part, said Laura.

    So did Bob. He wasn’t too pleased with the Monk or confess-confess. We caught him with his pants around his ankles. At his height he ran a sophisticated sex abduction ring. He got ten years five years ago. Many of the girls have never been found.

    Laura stifled a small cry. Pandora, she moaned then forced herself to regain some composure. Why isn’t he still in jail?

    John Farrell was searching on another computer. Got it, he said. Escaped from San Quentin last month.

    The soundtrack on the computer screen crackled as Schipp spoke. My dear Mrs Messenger, no doubt you are worried about your husband. You have no need to fear. He will not be harmed as long as my instructions are carried out to the letter. No mistakes. No false moves. No talking to the authorities. Oh, and to make doubly sure…

    The camera panned away from a rigid Bob Messenger holding his emotions in tight rein and the casually fearsome Julius Schipp who walked towards his victim and revealed a young girl dressed in a yellow tee-shirt and blue jeans. Her blonde hair was tied into a pony tail. She was staring defiantly at the camera but it was clear she was bottling her fear and terror and trying to keep her expression upbeat. She was handcuffed to a wooden pillar and had tucked her feet under her.

    I’m sure you are concerned about Pandora’s future, Mrs Messenger, crooned Schipp in his thin voice. You know, high school, college, career, marriage maybe, children. It’s only natural, isn’t it? Well, so that you will not worry about your daughter unduly, let me tell you that I’ve been taking Pandora’s future life extremely seriously. I have not quite made up my mind what direction it might take. It rather depends on you.

    The camera picked up Schipp standing behind a simmering Bob Messenger. He rested his hands on the wheelchair.

    "Your husband has been warned not say a word until instructed. Should he forget or give some facial indication you recognise as a message then he will receive a low power electric reminder through his very impressive wheelchair. If you do not comply with my wishes without fail then we’ll pretend we are back in San Quentin and, with a certain sense of ironic justice, have before us our very own electric chair.

    Now to business. If he is not already with you watching this then please inform the one they call the Monk that his presence is requested. The Monk, or should I say more correctly Mike Delaney, will find clues to this location in this video. Mr Delaney, you have until six o’clock tonight to find your way here alone and unarmed and to substitute yourself for your friend. It’s that simple. You must offer your life in exchange for Bob Messenger – a family man, remember? Bob Messenger will be set free as soon as you arrive and give yourself up to your fate. One second late and Bob Messenger will never go to the ball, he said, because he will be chargrilled. And Pandora will be forced to watch. Very unpleasant for a fifteen-year old, don’t you think?

    Delaney put his arm around Laura’s shoulders. On screen, Schipp stood behind Bob Messenger and patted him on the cheek. Your turn to say a few words, Bob. How does it feel to be on the receiving end for a change?

    Messenger growled in response then stared directly into the camera. Laura, whatever happens I want you to know that I love you. And I love you, Pandora. I promise I will keep you safe. He paused then said. Mike, you know what you have to do.

    Messenger clammed up as Schipp patted his cheek once again.

    CHAPTER THREE

    Delaney glanced at his watch. Four hours, he said. I need to study that video. He sat down and found rewind with the mouse.

    Can you save them? asked Laura. You and Bob have been like brothers ever since Hong Kong.

    I’ll do all I can, Delaney told her.

    Bob wouldn’t want you to give your life for his. But when it comes to it I don’t know what I would feel.

    I know exactly what you would feel, said Delaney. And I wouldn’t blame you. Let’s not think about that scenario. First, I have to find him.

    You’re my only hope.

    Tell me what happened while I check this video out in slow motion. Pandora was snatched while you and Bob were outside.

    Yes, when they took Bob I ran back to our room and the door was open. She was gone, There were signs of a struggle. She would have put up a fight.

    Could have been an inside job. Someone had to let them into your room.

    There was someone; a waiter. He was paying us particular attention at lunch.

    Okay, we’ll get to him in a moment. For now…

    Delaney stared at the screen until his eyeballs ached. He went through it frame by frame searching for something, anything that would give him a clue as to the whereabouts of Bob Messenger.

    At a deeper level he was recalling his life since he came to America from Ireland when he was twelve. Fast forward to the military and finally being seconded into the most secretive U.S department known only as G-Force. Few people outside the President of the United States knew its function. Delaney had been a government assassin, one of the best, before being was seconded to the Hong Kong Police as a martial arts enforcer, which is where he first met the Englishman with the clipped, John Gielgud voice and superlative IT and computing skills. When they had been kicked out on a spurious charge without a pension following a disastrous mission in which Bob Messenger had taken the bullet meant for Mike Delaney that had paralysed him from the waist down, both their lives changed forever. Messenger, after years of therapy, formed confess-confess, a website that had become a global phenomenon. And Delaney, a trained assassin and veteran of so many bruising fighting contests in the South-East Asia games, had vowed never to kill again unless forced to, when he joined the Brothers of Light, an esoteric order of monks.

    The slow motion images on the computer played across Delaney’s cerebral cortex as he allowed his subconscious free rein.

    He stopped. He zoomed in onto a section of wooden wall behind the power supply box and cabling. The wooden planks that made up the structure of the building were cracked and warped. One of the cracks was wider than the others, wide enough to allow a glimpse of the view outside.

    Delaney’s heart began to beat faster as he strained his twenty-twenty vision to form an image.

    A Ferris Wheel. Delaney sat back and rubbed his eyes.

    Navy Pier, he breathed. He turned to the others. Schipp is holding Bob and Pandora in a wooden building close to Navy Pier.

    The only wooden buildings along from the pier on the waterfront are a few rundown warehouses, said John Farrell.

    Delaney said. Laura, I need to talk to that waiter and see if he knows anything. In particular, which warehouse. We need to be sure. Would you recognise him?

    I certainly would, confirmed Laura.

    Then let’s go.

    They made the Hilton and Towers hotel on South Michigan in under fifteen minutes. They prowled the lobby, bars, restaurants and lounges until Laura stepped out from behind Delaney’s looming frame and whispered to him. That’s him. I’m sure of it. He’s the bald guy in street clothes heading for the car park.

    Go back to the office, said Delaney. Leave the rest to me. He didn’t wait for her reply but strode off in pursuit of the disappearing figure. He stepped quickly through the door that led to the car park and down some concrete steps into the large, mainly empty, hotel parking lot. The waiter was standing by a mid price Chevrolet coupé.

    Excuse me, Delaney called out. Sorry to trouble you, pal but I’m a little lost. I recognise you from the hotel. You’re a waiter, right? So you probably know your way around town. I’m looking for Buddy Guy’s blues club. It’s somewhere on Wabash but, hell, I don’t know which end.

    The man turned and stared bleakly at Delaney as the big man ambled over, smiling and friendly; just another lost visitor.

    Go ask the hotel, pal, he said. I can’t help you and I’m in a hurry, okay? He pressed the remote on his key and the car lock clicked open just as Delaney arrived to stand next to him. Delaney took a photograph of Pandora from his inside pocket and shoved in front of the waiter’s face.

    I need to know if you saw this girl in the hotel in the last few days.

    Look, man, I don’t know what your game is but I ain’t playin’. For your information, I’m an agency waiter. I never worked here before except for one shift.

    I think you know this girl, said Delaney. Think. Her name is Pandora Messenger and someone let some bad people into her hotel room and they abducted her. Better you tell me than the cops.

    Fuck you, man. Delaney knew the waiter was weighing up his options taking into account Delaney’s size and physique. A trickle of oily sweat appeared on his forehead. He took a deep breath and made his move.

    Delaney was ready.

    He sank his weight, leaned back and swayed to his left to avoid the flailing fist that flew harmlessly over his shoulder. The waiter was unbalanced and unable to prevent Delaney from striking deep into his kidneys with stiff fingers. With his other hand Delaney looped under his opponent’s still outstretched arm and folded his wrist into a simple arm lock, forcing the waiter to the ground between two parked cars.

    The man was panting with exertion.

    You have everything to gain and nothing to lose by telling me exactly which warehouse near Navy Pier the girl is being held. You’re a small cog in a very big wheel hired to do a job. I’ll take that into consideration when it comes to how much pain to inflict. I only have to move my hand a fraction of an inch and a small bone will snap and then another and another. Do you fully understand?

    I don’t know what you’re talking about.

    Delaney tightened the arm lock and knelt on the man’s spine. He cried out in pain and started to blub.

    Stop, Jesus! He screamed with his mouth pressed into the concrete.

    I don’t have much time. Shall I start to count? asked Delaney quietly.

    Okay, okay. The waiter gulped back a huge intake of air and concrete dust.

    Three warehouses on the south waterfront. Last one is rundown, not derelict but close. It has barriers around it.

    Delaney started to rise and as he did so he delivered a blow to the man’s temple fast and hard. He bundled his supine body into the back seat of the Chevrolet, locked the door and threw the key into a nearby garbage bin.

    As he power walked from the parking lot, out through the lobby of the hotel and onto South Michigan Avenue heading for the Chicago River his brain began to process information. What was Schipp playing at? What was his game? He claimed to have kidnapped Bob Messenger in order to tempt the Monk into revealing himself. But Delaney was not in hiding. This Monk business was something that happened by accident. He wasn’t any kind of full-time vigilante. He had just become involved with cases where the downtrodden or those unable to fight back against injustice or crime needed a helping hand. He was not a committed member of confess-confess in the way that many others were.

    Schipp knew his real identity. They had come face-to-face in a courtroom five years ago. So why the elaborate charade? Maybe it was his sense of the dramatic. Maybe he felt Delaney would have no interest unless he did something that really got to him.

    And why take Pandora? Unless. Unless he had no intention of releasing her. Maybe Schipp fancied making a comeback in the underage sex and porn business. Since the video recording had been made on the day of her abduction, Pandora could already be on her way to a pimp bar somewhere in the world.

    Somehow he had to get into the warehouse without being seen. That could be tricky. Schipp would have spotters with eyes glued to the locality outside the warehouse. There were few places to hide.

    Navy Pier was a busy recreation complex bordering Lake Michigan where thousands of Chicagoans and visitors to the city came to enjoy the funfair, music bars, restaurants, concerts and boat trips.

    Delaney glanced at his watch. It was nearly five. Navy Pier stayed open all evening. Schipp wouldn’t want Delaney to approach after sundown. He had one hour. He strode around the Chicago Sun building and crossed into East Illinois Street then marched at full pace until he came to East Grand Avenue with the entrance to Navy Pier before him. Further on was Olive Park and along the side, facing the pier across a narrow inlet was a collection of old warehouses, gantries and cranes. It was a pier in miniature.

    An onshore breeze riffled through the rigging of the boats and yachts moored alongside the pier. A fine spray hung like a spider’s web in the air as Delaney headed towards Olive Park, turned into the approach to the waterfront and came to a halt.

    He stood as still and motionless as a statue behind a tall oak. One or two cars and trucks came and went to offices and warehouses but otherwise the area was quiet with no obvious places of concealment. At the far end stood a rundown warehouse building, boarded up and surrounded by barriers. A sign told people to keep out. Schipp had chosen well. Bounded on three sides by water, close to a noisy tourist attraction with only one avenue of approach. There was no way Delaney could approach without being seen.

    But that’s exactly what he had to do within the next thirty minutes.

    CHAPTER FOUR

    Bob Messenger reassured his daughter again that daddy would find a way out of this; that she was perfectly safe and must try not to worry. But he knew he was helpless to intervene. They could do anything they liked to her and he would impotent, unable to help. He cursed his useless legs. He cursed his wheelchair and he cursed the bonds that prevented him from using the secret firepower built-in to the wheelchair that Schipp and the mindless automatons he had hired as muscle had no inkling existed.

    Pandora had been strapped lightly to a wooden pillar. They allowed her to visit the bathroom but one of the black clad guards accompanied her to the basic facilities watching her with the door open. They took a delight in this, vying between them, but despised it when they had to carry Bob Messenger to the lavatory and help him.

    Messenger had tried every tactic he knew to persuade Schipp to desist from his course of action. Okay, he knew Schipp was burning with the fire of revenge. Let Pandora go and take me hostage, he pleaded. You don’t need to do this. I will pay you and help you escape to some tranquil, palm fronded island. Just let my daughter go.

    Schipp had just laughed. If Delaney did not show then Messenger was toast in any case. Let’s see just what kind of friend the Monk really is.

    Messenger stared bleakly at the electric cables attached to the frame of his wheelchair leading to the almost comic book power supply dial displaying voltage output. Schipp had given him a small taste of what might be in store for him. A mild electric charge had frozen his body and his larynx and the pain surged through him.

    Schipp wasn’t bluffing.

    One of the heavies turned and beckoned to Schipp. He was stationed by a pair of high powered binoculars wedged into a gap in the wall. Schipp strode over and pressed his eyes to the eyepieces. Then he strolled over to Messenger. We just may have had a sighting of the elusive Monk, he told him. For your sake, and the sake of your daughter, you’d better pray it was him and that he intends to pay us a visit. We will make him more than welcome. Then you will be free to go. You do trust me, don’t you?

    Messenger said nothing, just stared at Schipp.

    The hook nosed man continued. "You and your interfering website with its so-called investigators, especially Delaney, need to be taught a lesson. I admit, this is an act of pure revenge. And I am loving it. A dish served cold, they say. Well, I am savouring the hors d’oeuvres. Now, let me tell you what I have decided about pretty, pretty Pandora. Oh, she is so delectable. When Delaney agrees to trade himself for you I will release you and transport you some way from here. But if you thought you were going to get away that lightly, think again. I will keep Pandora with me to witness the demise of Mr Mike Delaney.

    And your punishment will be that you will never see your daughter again.

    CHAPTER FIVE

    Delaney had not moved a muscle for fifteen minutes. He was practising inner sky breathing, an esoteric technique he had learned and refined at the monastery. He had committed every part of the locality to memory, scrutinising every inch of the warehouse and its surroundings. He glanced at his watch. He had twenty minutes.

    One by one he had spotted them. Little flickers of reflected light appearing in different sections of the timbered warehouse wall. They were watching for him.

    A noise behind forced him to turn. A dust shrouded Freightliner pulling an intermodal container slowly ground its way dead slow towards the quayside. Delaney spotted a couple of men emerging from the warehouse next to the target building to welcome a delivery. As it drew level with him it obscured him from view.

    He timed his run and prayed.

    In three strides he reached the coupling between the rig and the container. He jumped and landed on the coupling crashing into the back of the rig. He squatted down. The truck had to travel past the target warehouse to a turning area at the end of the jetty and then trundle back towards the exit before reaching the unloading bay where four men in overalls were waiting.

    Delaney waited.

    The truck completed its slow, three hundred and sixty degree turn and headed back. To the left, over the inlet that separated the waterfront jetty from Navy Pier, came the raucous cries and screams of children rising up over the Chicago skyline on the Ferris Wheel and the sound of a jazz band playing an upbeat riff. These blended with the general peak time hubbub from the moving crowds out for an evening’s entertainment.

    Delaney had to get this right. As the truck entered the shadow cast by the target warehouse he jumped off, flattening himself against the old timber slatted wall. He remained motionless, breathing deeply, expecting to be discovered at any moment.

    He spotted an old rear door flush with the wall and sidled towards it. He took hold of the handle and turned it praying his luck would be in. It was. The door knob twisted and the door opened. Delaney moved slowly, edging his way in, praying not too much daylight entered with him. He peered inside. It was dark and as he moved in he found himself in a sectioned corner of the warehouse used to stack boxes and pallets. He could hear voices from further within. He took another step inside and closed the door behind him.

    Took another step.

    An alarm screamed and lights flashed.

    Shit!

    Tripwire.

    Delaney cursed himself for not thinking of the obvious. Schipp would not have left any entrance point without protection. Footsteps moving, heavy treads, weighty muscle on the hoof. Delaney moved along a line of shadow to a gap between towering stacks of boxes. In the center of the warehouse he saw Bob Messenger in his wheelchair. He saw the cables. And he saw Schipp with his hand on the lever. He saw a terrified Pandora several feet from her father, feet curled up, eyes wide and staring, looking everywhere at once.

    Delaney counted three men moving out from the center intent on flushing him out. They carried handguns, Glocks, Delaney decided.

    So, what now? He could try and take on one at a time but Schipp had the upper hand, literally, Delaney caressed the comforting grip of his .38 Smith and Wesson handgun snug in its holster under his jacket. Even if he could shoot one or more or shoot Schipp that might not save Messenger. Schipp could still pull the lever. Delaney estimated two thousand volts would surge through Bob Messenger: twenty seconds would be enough to kill him.

    Delaney sensed movement behind him. He decided to do nothing. He felt the snub barrel of a handgun ramming into the small of his back. A big man, almost as big as Delaney, pushed himself close up behind him.

    Move, asshole, he grunted. Delaney walked towards the center of the warehouse. Here he is, said the hired muscle. Walked right in, dead on time.

    Ah! Mr Delaney, or should I call you the Monk, said Schipp with a satisfied sigh. Not a moment to spare. Come, join us.

    Delaney registered the position of every person in the warehouse. He allowed himself to be pushed forward until he stood between Pandora and Bob Messenger. Bob, you pick the most awkward places to meet

    Good to see you, old son, said Messenger.

    Delaney glanced at Pandora, his Goddaughter. Lovely to see you, Pan. Have they hurt you?

    Pandora shook her head but her eyes were pleading.

    Schipp tapped his fingers on the power lever. Very touching. Well, here we all are again. I’ve thought a lot about you, Mr Delaney and you, Bob. I had plenty of time to think in San Quentin.

    They’re missing you already, said Delaney.

    Always the funny man, eh, Monk? Well, I don’t think you’ll be laughing for very much longer.

    I kept my word, said Delaney. Now keep yours. Let Bob and Pandora out of here free.

    You don’t think a convicted criminal keeps his word, do you? said Schipp with a chug-chug laugh. Oh no, no, no. That is not the plan. The cripple I will release but the lovely Pandora has a wonderful new career ahead of her. I want Bob Messenger to suffer every day of his life imagining what his lovely daughter is getting up to. Or rather, who is getting up his lovely daughter.

    Messenger twisted in his wheelchair. You bastard. I will hunt you down for the rest of my life if you harm my daughter or cause her distress.

    You are in no position to make threats, snarled Schipp. He shouted to the man holding Delaney. Have you frisked him?

    The man shook his head.

    Well, do it now.

    Before you do, said Delaney. He held up his hand. You don’t imagine we left the power turned on, do you? It’s a different circuit to the internal electrical system and is connected to the local grid. Delaney did not dare look at Messenger as he played his bluff card.

    Shall we find out? said Schipp.

    If you do all bets are off, Delaney warned him. You don’t imagine back-up is not outside as we speak, do you? San Quentin really does want you back.

    Frisk him. Schipp barked the order this time.

    Delaney spun on his heel, rammed his elbow into the man’s gun hand, slid the Smith and Wesson from its holster, jammed his thumb behind the big man’s ear and pressed until he was rigid with pain and could not move and thrust his own gun hand over the heavy’s shoulder taking aim at Schipp’s forehead.

    The action took under three seconds. Schipp stared at Delaney and started to depress the lever then stopped.

    A stand-off, said Schipp. I love a stand-off.

    Untie Bob, said Delaney with force.

    Schipp looked at the lever in his hand. He looked at Messenger and Pandora. Then he looked at Delaney. He weighed up the odds: was it a bluff or not? Messenger was harmless even untied. The cables still snared him. If the power was off Delaney would have shot him. He nodded to one of his team. Do it, he said. Release the cripple, but only from the binding. Don’t touch the cables.

    A man in black lumbered over to Messenger carrying a set of cutters. He thrust them between Messenger’s legs and opened the teeth. In a quick movement he snapped the heavy duty wire binding his wrist and Messenger gasped with relief.

    I’m going to turn round to face you, okay, he said to Schipp. I want to look you in the eye if you try and pull that lever. He paused, then swivelled around to face Schipp. He slowly slid his hands along the arms until his fingers could reach the recessed control panel.

    You must tell me all about that wonderful paraplegic machine before you go, said Schipp.

    You mean you’re letting me go?

    Oh yes, but, I won’t uncouple you from the power circuit until Mr Delaney has been rendered safe and inoperable, incapable of causing trouble.

    I’m not leaving without my daughter.

    Ah! As I explained. That is not an option. The order of events is that the Monk will be trussed like a turkey and placed in that large coffin-shaped box back there. Then you will be uncoupled from the circuit and one of my men will wheel you back into the truck and deposit you somewhere in Illinois. By the time you get back here, we will all have disappeared, just like that.

    Schipp snapped his fingers. Momentarily he released his grip on the lever.

    Messenger pressed a button on his control panel. A 50,000 volt taser zipped out like a jet plane, scythed into Schipp’s chest where the output dropped to 1,200 volts. Schipp screamed and shook uncontrollably, grasping pointlessly for the lever. Messenger fired a second taser. It hit Schipp in the stomach and dropped him to the ground where he lay comatose.

    Delaney shot the nearest man in black in the shoulder. His guard wrestled free and drove Delaney back into a stack of old sacks. The third assailant slipped a metal chainsaw chain from his pocket and ran to his companion. Delaney twisted from under the big man and drove his fingers into his eyes with the heel of his hand under his jaw. Then he squeezed. The man roared and ripped himself away. The third man flailed the chain catching Delaney across the back, ripping open his jacket and shirt and tearing flesh from his back. Delaney moaned in pain and somehow got to his feet.

    Memories of the early beatings he had taken in the South East Asian games came flooding back. He had learned his fighting skills in the world’s hardest school, refined them as a G-Force assassin and later on the streets of Hong Kong and brought them to perfection in the secret power fighting training with the Brothers of Light.

    As the first heavy ran at him head down, Delaney side stepped, crouched and delivered a Tai Chi thunder punch to the solar plexus. The man dropped to his knees. Delaney picked up an old piece of sacking as the second man came at him with the chainsaw chain. He feinted to his left then struck with his right heel into his opponent’s kneecap which snapped with a satisfying crunch. He grabbed the chain using the sack for protection but was lifted off his feet in a bear hug. He relaxed then drove his head backwards into the man’s nose. He felt blood spurt in a sticky mess on his hair. The grip loosened. Delaney sucked in his breath and twisted to the left pulling his assailant off balance. The other heavy was limping but committed. He swung the sharp-toothed chain that he held in a protective piece of cloth and slashed his companion across the face, opening up his nasal cavity and ripping his eye socket.

    The man screamed, released Delaney and rolled on the ground covering his face with his hands to try and keep his eye and nose in place. His hands were soon awash with blood.

    The man wielding the chain was momentarily stunned by what he had done to his compatriot. Delaney seized the moment. He grabbed the bloody chain with the piece of sacking, ripped it from his opponent’s hand and twisted his body until he was behind him. He managed to swing the chain around the man’s neck. Delaney tightened the needle-sharp noose but the man fought back. He was powerful. Delaney had to cling on to his back as he stumbled around on one leg in agony trying to stop the chain from severing his arteries.

    The gunshot boomed around the warehouse.

    Delaney’s opponent fell to his knees. A hole had appeared in his chest. Delaney stood up, panting and bleeding and turned to see Messenger holding a Glock with one hand and an arm around Pandora with the other. She had buried her face in her father’s chest.

    CHAPTER SIX

    Mike Delaney stood looking out over the Chicago skyline from the penthouse suite at the Hilton and Towers hotel. Laura had taken Pandora shopping along the Magnificent Mile.

    Bob Messenger pressed a lever on his wheelchair and joined the Irish-American.

    Another fine mess you’ve got me out of, he said, handing Delaney a glass of chilled Sancerre. How’s your back?

    Tender, said Delaney. I’ve been sleeping on my front. You’re a trouble magnet, Bob.

    Not me, old man. It’s you that attracts the bad rats. So, what now?

    Oh, I’ll just drift back to Boston, spend time on the boat and see what turns up.

    Still not found that one special person?

    Delaney squinted out over Grant Park and the lake beyond. No one’s ever measured up. I sometimes worry I’m turning into a reclusive son-of-a-bitch. There’ve been a few flings over the years but nothing special.

    Time is a great healer, eh? Whoever said that needs to be horsewhipped, said Messenger.

    When all’s said and done, Bob, you’ve come out of the whole mess all those years ago as a winner, despite the trauma you went through. I don’t think if I could have gone through what you experienced and be still smiling.

    Water under the bridge, old man. Water under the bridge.

    Delaney put down his empty wine glass. Well, I’ll be going.

    Back to Boston.

    Back to the boat. I’ve got a few courier assignments coming up to keep me in funds.

    And you’re still the Monk, don’t forget. There are sure to be some cases come along that will keep you out of mischief. Expenses only, of course.

    The two men shook hands. Then Delaney left the penthouse and the hotel and set out for River North. Messenger swivelled in his wheelchair and watched the tall figure striding along South Michigan Avenue until he was lost from view.

    CAPTURED

    by

    David Callinan

    A Mike Delaney thriller

    novella

    CHAPTER 1

    They were watching for her.

    The woman had secreted herself in the shade offered by a group of palm trees just off West Grand Avenue at Grover Beach. The noontime California sun beat down on the tarmac on a day when nothing moved at any speed, especially the hands on her wristwatch.

    She shaded her eyes from the glare, made doubly powerful when reflected from the nearby ocean.

    The huge dark blue station wagon was parked two blocks away, across from her hiding place. There were two sets of lights controlling traffic from two intersections.

    The woman wiped sweat from her forehead and groped in her pocket to reassure herself it was still there.

    It was.

    It was small and innocuous, the kind of everyday object that wasn't worth a second glance. And yet, it held her life in its plastic shell.

    Ryker and his team of professional killers would do anything and risk anything, to get it back. She shuddered in the midday heat when she remembered how Mammoth had nearly caught her. If had done he would have folded her in half and crushed her bones.

    Traffic was light and people ambled at a slow pace casting long shadows that rippled along the sidewalk. A few cars and trucks rolled by obeying the speed limit. Not far from her location was a diner called Lucy Belle's. Around the corner from the diner, two blocks along was where her car was parked. The problem was, to get to the car she would put herself in full view of the men in the parked station wagon.

    She agonised. She was fit and she worked-out regularly. And she had been a good two hundred meter sprinter at high school. But, would she make it to her car before the station wagon caught up with her? It all depended on the sequence of the lights. If both sets hit red simultaneously it might give her a minute or so head start. That's if they obeyed them. She had been watching the lights and timing the changes.

    She saw a tall man walking toward

    Enjoying the preview?
    Page 1 of 1