NATIONAL TREASURE: Ben Nevis and the Gold Digger book 2

by Barry Faulkner

  I was beginning to like Janie, a lot.

  We left the room and went along to the end of the corridor and through the door onto the stairs. I thought about calling the lift, but I didn’t know where it ended up on the ground floor, and really didn’t like the prospect of the doors opening in front of a load of Bogdan’s goons. I started up the stairs; I reasoned that there would be an exit onto the outside fire escape from the next floor, as that was marked as the living accommodation on the plan. Two zigzag flights of stairs up and we came to a small landing and a wall with a door. Music and voices were coming from inside. Too dangerous; if it was a living area there would be people, and people around Bogdan have guns. One or two I could deal with, but maybe there would be kids as well. Complicated. If we got trapped on that floor by goons coming up the stairs, we’d be in deep trouble.

  I shook my head at Janie and started back down; she didn’t argue, just followed. I was hoping that somewhere off the stairs there might be a door leading out to the fire escape bolted onto the outside of the building, but there wasn’t. At the bottom of the stairs we could feel the thud of the disco music through the floor as we made our way along a corridor. Halfway along a door on the right was open and a flashing strobe light permeated through. We must be behind the club’s bar; beside the door on the floor were three crates of beer bottles which must have been the ones I’d seen loaded into the lift upstairs earlier. The lift was on the opposite side of the corridor, doors closed. We made our way slowly along. In front of us a man suddenly stepped out from the open door and bent to drag a crate back through it. Lucky for him he bent away from us and didn’t see us. My gun was aimed towards him all the while as Janie and I stood stock still, willing him not to turn our way. He did the same for the other two crates before the door slammed shut behind him.

  I smiled at Janie. ‘Phew.’

  She didn’t reply. We hurried past the door to the end of the corridor which had a heavy steel door set into it, the type that emergency exits have with a bar across that you push down to open. I pushed and it opened. We went quickly inside and I closed it behind us. The light was a dim red bulb hanging from the ceiling; there were no other doors. A closed room? We were trapped. The only way out was to retrace our steps past the bar. I noticed two large bolts on the door – why would you want to bolt yourself inside this room? I was about to tell Janie that we had to go back when she tugged my arm and pointed to the corner of the room.

  ‘Look.’

  I looked. A metre-square trapdoor was set into the concrete floor. Perhaps there was a cellar beneath? I took a closer look; it had a hasp and staple latch locked by a combination set padlock.

  ‘Go into the corner and get down facing the wall, with your hands over your ears,’ I told Janie, pointing towards the far corner.

  She hurried across and did just that. I shot the padlock off. No silencer on the goon’s gun, so the bang reverberated around the room. Surely they must have heard that in the bar? Quickly I pushed the door bolts across; they were a sturdy kind and would hold fast against anybody trying to open the door from the outside. I kicked the padlock remains off the hasp and pulled up the trapdoor. Inside it looked like a pitch black hole, with an iron stairway fastened on the side disappearing down into the darkness. There was a switch set into the side, so I reached in and flicked it. Twelve feet below a shaft of light lit the bottom of the hole; it led down to a tunnel entrance at the bottom. Only one thing to do then: use it.

  ‘Down you go.’

  This girl was good – no if and buts, she was down that ladder as fast as she could go. I followed and pulled the trapdoor shut above me. It had two good strong gate bolts, their receiving holes drilled into the concrete side of the shaft. I slid them home. With them and the bolts on the room door, this was obviously an escape route for the Bogdans if the law came calling in force.

  I stepped off the bottom rung and stood beside Janie, looking along the tunnel. It was a very professional job: three metres-high by two wide, with fluorescent tubes lighting it every ten metres. I half-expected to see a motorbike with stabilizers parked ready to go like the Chapo Guzman prison escape tunnel. No such luck, we had to walk. I started off; were I on my own I would be racing along, but I had to take into account she’d been locked up with no exercise for a while, so the muscles would be complaining by now. I rolled up my balaclava into a beanie hat.

  ‘You okay?’ I asked over my shoulder.

  ‘Can we rest?’

  ‘No.’ I slowed down. ‘Once they find you gone and realise we took the tunnel, they’ll get to wherever it comes out and be waiting – so we need to get there before them.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘I have to make a call, so take a quick break.’

  ‘A call?’

  I lifted my sweater to show Janie the com,s battery and switched it on. We wouldn’t be too far below ground to block a signal.

  ‘Nevis to Gold.’

  ‘Where the fuck have you been? I’ve been calling for ages!’ Gold was angry. Gold doesn’t swear.

  ‘I’ve got Janie with me – we are in an escape tunnel leading from the club, don’t know where it leads. Will let you know as soon as I do.’

  ‘Okay, I’m in the car. Keep the line open. There’s not a lot of activity at the club, so perhaps they haven’t noticed she’s gone yet.’

  ‘Hope so.’

  I turned to Janie who couldn’t hear Gold’s side of the conversation coming through my earpiece. ‘My partner thinks they haven’t sussed that you’ve gone yet. We need to keep going to keep ahead of them. Come on.’

  I set off again and Janie followed with renewed effort; good news can have a lifting effect.

  I estimated we’d gone about three hundred metres when the tunnel ended with another steel door. Large bolts held it firm, but luckily no padlocks; whoever built this tunnel wanted to exit fast, as they were well greased. I slid the bolts across and slowly pulled the door; it opened inwards, which I thought was unusual. As I opened it the light from our tunnel showed another tunnel, a much bigger one forming a T junction with ours going off left and right. It was pitch black. I was about to step out when a Bucharest Metro train hurtled past, causing such an air rush into our tunnel that it flattened the pair of us onto our backs.

  I hadn’t seen the rail track from our tunnel as the exit was set in the wall well above it; we had a good five foot drop down to the maintenance walkway that skirted beside it. I leaned carefully and slowly out, looking both ways and listening. Silence. To the left I could see the platform lights of a station about sixty metres away, the train that had sped by was standing at the platform filling with late night revellers on their way home. It blocked out most of the view and would act as a shield stopping people seeing us from the platform as the rear of the last carriage was just poking into the tunnel.

  ‘Come on.’ I jumped down to the walkway and reached up to help Janie down. We kept stooped down as we hurried towards the rear of the train; there was a platform step up to a door into the rear of the last carriage, and I took it and looked inside through the window. It was a guard’s compartment, no guard; the door from it into the rear carriage proper was shut, with a blind down over the glass. I opened the door and stepped inside, turning to haul Janie up from the line as the train began to move off; she stepped inside and I closed the door as she sank to the floor exhausted. I looked out of the side window; the station was Izvor – didn’t mean a thing to me, but looking back down the fast disappearing empty platform four men had appeared down the stairs from the street above and were congregated at the entrance to the main tunnel we’d come out of. Janie’s absence had been noted. We’d made it, but only just.

  ‘Shit!’

  ‘What?’ There was a note of fear in Janie’s voice.

  ‘They know you’re out.’

  I clicked my mic on.

  ‘Gold?’

  ‘I’m listening.’

  I knew she would be. ‘We are on a metro train.’ I looked
up at the metro map stuck on the wall. ‘Just left Izvor station, the next on the map is Timpuri Noi. Can you meet us there?’

  ‘Hang on, I’ll take a look on my mobile.’

  There was a ten second pause.

  ‘Yes, got it, I’m not far. I’ll pull up as near as I can opposite the station entrance – traffic’s busy so wait if I’m not there before you.’

  ‘Okay, and by the way, they know Janie’s gone so take care.’

  ‘Will do.’

  Click.

  Janie looked up at me from the floor. ‘Are you going to tell me what all this is about now?’

  ‘No, not now – we have other things to concentrate on. At the next station my partner will be meeting us there with a car. When the train pulls into the station, we separate and get in amongst the crowd and make our way up to the street. I’ll be behind you, but don’t look round – merge in. When you get to the street, cross it and wait there – get in a shop doorway if you can, and wait. She’s in a black Range Rover, one lady driver all in black. Understand?’

  She nodded. ‘Yes.’

  We were already slowing down as the train pulled into Timpuri Noi. It was thankfully a busy station. I waited until half those leaving the train were off and those getting on were squeezing past into the carriages, and then opened the guard door and we left. I followed Janie along the platform, dodging between the people and then off it onto the up escalator. I stayed a good ten metres behind; I had it in my mind that the goons at Izvor station would see the tunnel door from their club to the line was open and guess we must have taken a train. Then it was guesswork; would we stay on board to the end of the line, or get off before that? They wouldn’t have enough immediate manpower to send people to all the stations, and in any case we might change lines at one, so I took a guess they’d be on their way to Timpuri Noi. I just hoped we’d get out before they arrived.

  We didn’t; Janie did. We got across the station entrance hall and into the street amongst the crowds; she darted through the bumper-to-bumper traffic to the far side of the road and into a dark shop doorway, well-hidden by passing pedestrians. I stayed the station side of the road watching for Bogdan’s men and Gold. I hoped she would arrive first and we could be on our way. She didn’t; they did. I saw them leave a large BMW CRV that pulled into the kerb and stopped fifty metres up the road, which was as close as it could get to a parking space. Four goons – no disguising what they were – got out and jostled and bumped people out of their way as they made towards the station. I stood back out of sight against a side wall of the station foyer and knelt down, appearing to fiddle with my right bootlaces as I slipped my knife out of its ankle sheath.

  The first two passed me hurrying into the station hall; the other two stood on the kerb looking around. I slipped into the crowd leaving the hall again and onto the street, edging over towards the goons who were more concerned with checking the travellers coming off the escalator than those in the street. When I was near enough I stepped quickly between them from behind and stabbed both their thighs, quickly and with force. They sank to the pavement screaming in pain as I bent low and ran away through the traffic and across the road. The crowd panicked and started running in all directions, which suited me. I nodded to Janie to follow me and we merged into the fleeing horde along the pavement away from the scene.

  Gold came on the comms. ‘What’s happening, there’s a riot or something at the station?’

  ‘Two down, but there’s another two at the station. Drive past, we are further along the road.’

  I pulled Janie into a doorway and looked back towards the station; the traffic was moving past us slowly, with drivers trying to rubberneck what was happening, horns blaring at the people running between the cars, and in the distance sirens began wailing. I knelt and slipped my knife back into its sheath and spied Gold in the Range Rover ten cars back, making her way slowly towards us. I pulled Janie into a shop doorway.

  ‘See the black Range Rover about ten cars back?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘That’s ours. When it gets level, walk out slowly and get in the back.’

  ‘Okay.’

  She did exactly that. Gold nodded to me from the driver’s seat. I clicked on my comms. ‘I’m going to ride shotgun for a while.’

  ‘Okay.’

  The car moved away in the slow traffic, I backed into the shop doorway and waited, watching the road back to the station. It wasn’t long before I saw what I was expecting. The other two goons plus two more were hurrying along the road, two either side of the traffic queue checking the cars for us. They probably would know what Janie looks like, but they wouldn’t know me so surprise was on my side. I checked on Gold’s progress; traffic was still slow but she was a good hundred metres away up the road.

  Turning away from the crowd I pulled out the gun and slipped the safety off before holding it in my pocket. The goons were too intent on checking the cars than to worry about people on the pavement or in the road; an ideal assassin scenario, I would have the jump on them. That felt good. Why do I always feel good when I am about to hurt somebody? Gotta get counselling someday.

  I let them pass me by checking cars further up the line and then I slowly stepped back into the pavement crowd and moved along until I was nearly level with them. My first two bullets were easy; I was right behind goon number one and he probably felt the steel barrel against the back of his head before the bullet went through it. Goon number two hardly had time to register what was happening as he turned around before bullet number two buried itself in his heart. I still had the advantage, as goons three and four’s tiny brains had to work out whether it was their partners shooting at somebody or somebody shooting at their partners. Before they could work that out, I moved in a stoop round the back of the car they were looking at and took them out; goon three fell to the ground with the hole in his neck pumping blood onto the road, and goon four slumped over the car bonnet, his body twitching. I stepped forward and finished him with one to the back of the head which went right through, and then through the bonnet and lodged somewhere in the car’s engine. I shrugged an apology at the terrified driver and passenger before quickly running off. The crowd nearest to the incident were not sure what to do; some stood aghast, others fled. Those fleeing would be looking where they were going and wouldn’t realise I was the shooter as I sped past most of them.

  Gold was a good two hundred yards up the road where the traffic had cleared and was parked at the kerb. I slipped into the passenger seat. She raised her eyebrows.

  ‘All clear?’

  ‘All clear.’

  ‘Debrecan then?

  ‘Yes.’ I could see she had already got the route to the airport up on the dashboard satnav. I looked at the inside mirror and could see Janie sitting quietly in the back. I spoke to Gold loud enough for Janie to hear. ‘I think there’s a young lady in the back who might have a lot of questions.’

  Gold nodded. ‘Okay, but let’s get out of the city unscathed first. The Bogdans won’t be very happy people now and they will be throwing everything at finding us. Explanations can come later.’ As usual Gold had the priorities in the right order. Yes ma’am.

  I turned to Janie. ‘You okay with that?’

  She nodded and said with a smile, ‘I’m beginning to think I might have strayed onto the set of a James Bond film.’

  I returned the smile. ‘Well let’s hope it doesn’t turn into a Johnny English one, eh?’

  We all smiled. I busied myself putting a new magazine into the gun – six bullets is better than two. I got on the mobile to the charter plane pilot and told him to register a flight plan with Debrecan Tower for the UK and be ready to take off at ten minutes’ notice. Marcia Johnson was going to have a heavy bill to pay, but what’s money compared to a daughter’s life?

  We cleared the city limits without any trouble, nobody was following us – well, nobody we could see. Time to update Janie. I took her from the first meeting I had with Harry Cohen and her mum
up to getting into The Amsterdam Club and finding her. I left out most of the killings.

  ‘The rest you know.’ I relaxed, wondering what was going through her mind. It was Harry Cohen.

  ‘I never trusted Harry Cohen. I told mum time and time again to get another agent – he’s lightweight, no clout in the business. Her best work comes direct from people in the business who know her, know how good she is – always has. Cohen is all commercials and soap operas. She won’t leave him, she’s too loyal. The only time he takes his finger out and gets her work is when I have a go at him and threaten to take her and myself elsewhere. She’s not got a contract with him, you know – I wouldn’t let her sign one, no way.’

  The big surprise was Janie didn’t mention her father.

  ‘You haven’t said anything about your father, James Randall, so I assume you knew about him all along?’

  She gave an audible smirk. ‘Him, yes – another of Harry Cohen’s little surprises. I never worried at all about who my father was, he never was in my life and I had no thoughts or wishes of being in his, whoever he was. Mum and I were good together – I introduced her to many suitors.’ She laughed. ‘Imagine that, the single daughter introducing her mum to suitable men. Anyway, Harry called me into his office one day and acted like some benevolent older relative and introduced me to James Randall, and dropped the bomb that he was my father. Knowing Harry, I knew there must be an angle in it for him. I didn’t think it would lead to all this though. I was quite rude, told him and Randall that I and mum had absolutely no need of either of them, and for Harry to foist that on me was about as low as he could get, and I stormed out.’

  ‘Did you tell your mum?’

  ‘No, as far as I was concerned that was the end of that. Harry was round to my flat later that day and apologising – said he had made a terrible mistake and I wouldn’t hear from Randall again. And I didn’t. I looked him up on Google and press cuttings – I have a press cutting agency that monitors all the newspapers and social media for anything about me, most actors have – so I asked them to delve into James Randall. Told them I was up for a part in a true crime series that involved him.’