by Adam Hamdy
‘He needs a hospital,’ he told Eddie.
‘No hospitals,’ Kirsty said emphatically.
‘Warehouse,’ Awut moaned. ‘Medicine.’
Eddie turned to the driver. ‘Step on it, Frank,’ he urged. ‘We got a man down back here.’
The drive to the warehouse took a heart-pounding twenty minutes, and Awut’s condition worsened. By the time the van screeched to a halt outside the isolated old building, the fearsome Thai was barely conscious. Beads of sweat pricked his grey skin and his breathing was thick, rasping and erratic. Every now and then he would choke and splutter.
Ziad and the Fletchers bundled him out of the van into the warehouse. They set him down with his back against one of the old machining benches and Eddie slapped his face.
‘Where’s the medicine?’ the gang leader asked.
Awut slurred deliriously and for a moment his eyes regained focus and clarity. He pulled up his shirt to reveal a rectangle of black fabric stuck to his back, above his right kidney. It wasn’t much bigger than a playing card and looked like a nicotine patch.
‘Bag,’ Awut managed to choke out the solitary word.
The needful look in Awut’s eyes suggested the patch was some form of medication, and while Kirsty and Eddie helped him onto the floor, Ziad ran towards the offices at the rear of the warehouse. He could have sworn he heard Awut say something else, but when Ziad glanced over his shoulder, all he saw was a lolling head and eyes that fluttered in the grip of delirium as the tattooed husband and wife tended to him.
Ziad and Awut had converted two of the offices into bedrooms and Ziad ran into Awut’s, where he found the sick man’s canvas holdall at the foot of his army surplus cot. Ziad searched the pockets of the bag and found a small plastic medical case at the bottom of a side compartment. He opened the case and saw three patches in translucent wax-paper wrappers. There were some latex gloves and a pair of medical scissors, but Ziad ignored the other contents, grabbed a patch and tore the wrapping as he raced into the warehouse.
Awut teetered on the edge of consciousness, but Ziad thought he saw a flash of fear when the assassin caught sight of him pulling the patch from its wrapper. Eddie and Kirsty backed off and he kneeled beside the ailing man and ripped off the old patch. He pulled the backing from the new one and stuck it to Awut’s back, pressing it firmly against the man’s clammy skin.
Awut fell silent and for a moment Ziad feared the worst, but he soon realized Awut’s breathing had eased and he was no longer making the horrific choking noise. Ziad coughed, surprised the condition of his companion had brought a lump to his throat. But the lump wouldn’t go. It grew larger and Ziad realized he was struggling to breathe. It felt as though a band had materialized around his chest and was being pulled terribly tight. His lungs caught fire and, as he fell to the floor, Ziad saw Awut’s eyes open.
‘Gloves,’ the man said, and Ziad realized he was repeating the word he’d said moments earlier as Ziad had run towards the office.
Ziad saw horror in the eyes of Eddie and Kirsty Fletcher, and they backed even further away. The unbearable pain started to melt, and even though he couldn’t breathe, Ziad found himself unable to care. The fire in his chest seemed to grow distant, like a tiny blaze on a far horizon. All he felt was a gentle warmth, as though his body had been swaddled in an electric blanket. The last thing he saw was Awut getting to his feet and running across the warehouse.
Why the rush? Ziad thought before he blacked out.
Chapter 82
Leila sat on the edge of the thin mattress on the hard melamine bunk which ran along one wall of the tiny cell. She’d lost track of time. Earlier in the evening the cells had been full of the sounds of people moving – prisoners complaining, doors slamming, footsteps, shouts, the cacophony of law breakers and enforcers colliding – but now all was silent, and the peace suggested it must have been well past midnight. Even the villainous had to sleep, and it seemed that everyone other than her was out for the night. Her mind was racing and she tried to wrestle her whirling thoughts and find some calm. But they bounced wildly, each coming into focus for a moment before colliding with another, fuelled by the latent adrenalin coursing through her exhausted body. She recalled the feeling of terror when she’d thought she’d be locked up for life, prevented from beginning the search for her sister, and that ugly fear made Leila question the risks she was taking for Huxley Blaine Carter.
She puzzled over Detective Hill and who he was really working for, and she wondered why they’d made the mistake of overreaching themselves. Why had they tried to tie her to something from her past? To the events of the Black Thirteen investigation? She could only think they weren’t sure what had happened in the green house on Kenyon Street and wanted the additional leverage in case she hadn’t done anything wrong to the missing cops.
Then there was Hill’s desire to know who she was working for. Would that be the prime concern of an honest cop worried about his fellow officers, or the most pressing issue for a corrupt policeman gathering intel for his clandestine masters? Leila knew she’d put him in a bind. He couldn’t charge her without risking exposure, but he wasn’t going to let her walk either. She thought the most likely outcomes were a tragic death in custody, or her release into the hands of the people he really worked for, who would torture and kill her. Leila tried to prepare herself for what she suspected was coming, but the constantly whirring kaleidoscope of thoughts prevented her from finding any balance.
She tensed when she heard movement outside the cell, and readied herself for a fight. She wasn’t going to let Hill take her easily, but the door opened and she saw a uniformed cop standing in the brightly lit corridor. He had the bored expression of a man who’d spent too many nights behind a desk.
‘Samuels,’ he said. ‘You’re free to go.’
So they’re going to take me, Leila thought. They’ll be waiting for me outside.
‘You got the time,’ she asked the cop.
‘Quarter after two,’ he said.
Leila got to her feet and left the cell, her mind now turning to how she’d escape the predators lying in wait for her.
Chapter 83
Leila felt herself sag with relief when she saw Wollerton leaning against the booking desk. He was talking to the custody officer. She had no idea where he’d come from or how he’d done it, but she could have kissed the man for securing her release. The uniformed cop led Leila through a security door and stood aside.
‘You can get your things from the desk,’ he said.
Leila shuffled over and when Wollerton turned to face her, his expression changed from annoyance to surprise. She must have looked a mess. He didn’t seem in great shape either. His skin was pale and his eyes had the deep shadows of a man who’d seen a lifetime’s trouble.
‘Susan,’ he said. ‘I was just . . .’ he glanced at the custody officer. ‘Why didn’t you tell me you were letting her out?’
She wasn’t big on emotional displays, but she hugged Wollerton. He patted her awkwardly.
‘Come on,’ he said. ‘I’ve got a car waiting outside.’
‘Let me just get my stuff,’ Leila replied.
Minutes later, cane in hand, Ghostlink in her pocket, Leila joined Wollerton outside the precinct. It was a warm night and stars peeked out from behind patchy cloud.
‘How did you find me?’ Leila asked.
‘I phoned our employer’s point man,’ Wollerton replied, referring to Robert Clifton, ‘and asked him to use his NSA contacts to check recent hospital admissions and arrests. I thought there’d only be three reasons you and Pearce wouldn’t respond to comms – arrest, capture or incapacity.’
‘So you haven’t heard from Scott?’
Wollerton shook his head. ‘What happened?’
‘He was at the warehouse,’ Leila said.
‘I saw it on the news. Was he inside?’
‘Yeah, but he got out and made it to the river,’ Leila explained. ‘That’s when I lost contact wit
h him.’
‘We need to find out what happened.’
‘We set up at a motel. We can start there,’ Leila suggested.
‘Car’s this way.’ Wollerton indicated the public car park that lay beyond the police parking.
Leila’s cane tapped against the tarmac and she leaned on it hard, eager for whatever support it could provide. Her legs were heavy and devoid of energy. ‘Thanks for getting me out.’
Wollerton scoffed. ‘I didn’t do anything. I’d just arrived and was trying to convince the guy to tell me whether I’d got the right precinct.’
‘Then you’re a lucky charm,’ Leila said as they walked past rows of stationary police cars. ‘What happened in Qingdao?’
‘Someone tried to kidnap me. I think Brigitte was involved . . .’ Wollerton began, but he stopped talking. Leila followed his eye line, and saw four uniformed cops emerge from a pair of patrol vehicles that were double-parked in the service road that split the police and public parking areas.
Leila’s stomach went into a violent spin as she realized she’d been right. The sight of the former MI6 operative had lulled her into a false sense of security. Those men were coming for her.
‘Kyle,’ she said, suddenly on edge. ‘We need to—’
‘I know,’ he said, and they both started to back away.
Tyres screeched nearby and Leila turned to see two police officers hanging from the open side door of an unmarked van. Before she or Wollerton could react, the men jumped out and shocked them with stun guns. Fifty thousand volts shot up Leila’s spine, and as she collapsed, she registered strong arms around her, propelling her into the gaping mouth of the waiting van.
Chapter 84
The compartment was completely dark, but Leila had seen the men who’d stunned them jump inside before the door had been closed and the van had been driven away. She’d been hog-tied, her hands bound behind her back and connected to her ankles by a knot that tightened every time she moved. She was lying face down on the flatbed, next to Wollerton, who’d been bound the same way before the van door had been shut. She hadn’t noticed it at first, but as they bumped along, Wollerton’s breathing had become erratic and she started to worry he was struggling. It wasn’t until she focused on the rhythm that she realized he was communicating using Morse code.
Will untie to move us, he breathed. We go then.
Leila gave a long breath followed by a short one and repeated the pairing to indicate ‘C’, the Morse prosign for affirmative. From then on, they rode in silence that was only broken by the clatter of the van’s axles over potholes and the occasional movement of the men who shared the compartment with them.
After a while, the van made a series of turns and eventually came to a halt. A door slammed and was followed by crunching footsteps. The side panel was pulled open, lighting the interior. Leila was inches away from Wollerton. He faced her and she could see anticipation in his eyes. One of the police officers jumped out and joined his colleague by the door. The other stooped over Leila.
‘Don’t move,’ he said. ‘Or you’ll get cut.’
Leila stayed perfectly still and looked beyond the driver and the other captor towards a tumbledown warehouse with broken windows. A faded sign identified the place as Lenny’s Bike Repairs. The sight was final confirmation these men intended to kill her and Wollerton. They had made no effort to disguise their faces and had now revealed a location.
Leila felt a release of pressure as the rope linking her arms and legs was cut. Moments later, the one binding her ankles was also severed, allowing her feet to move freely. She stretched her legs, and they were immediately engulfed by the painful crackle of pins and needles. The knifeman stepped over her and used a box cutter to slice through the ropes restraining Wollerton’s legs. Their hands were still bound behind their backs, so the knifeman hauled them roughly to their feet.
Wollerton went first. He was pushed from the vehicle and stumbled onto the dirt yard. Leila winced as she was manhandled outside, but she kept her eyes fixed on the warehouse. She knew it contained nothing but an ugly end, and she resolved not to go inside at any cost. She and Wollerton were pushed towards it by the driver, and the other two took up flanking positions.
‘Come on,’ the driver said. ‘Move it.’
Wollerton’s reputation was well deserved. Leila didn’t see any build-up, just the impact, a crippling headbutt that made the driver double over and cry out in pain. Leila barged the nearest cop, the knifeman, while Wollerton attacked the third with a flurry of vicious kicks to the legs, groin and midriff. He moved like a born predator, rather than a trained man, and even though he must have had fifteen or twenty years on his adversary, it was like watching an old tiger fighting a young goat. The cop wasn’t in Wollerton’s league and when he buckled, Wollerton finished him with a whipping roundhouse to the head. Not bad for a veteran, Leila thought, but their moment of triumph was short-lived. A cold circle of metal pressed against her temple and an arm wrapped itself around her neck and yanked her back, pulling her against the knifeman’s body. She was now a hostage.
She glanced round to see Knifeman glaring at Wollerton.
‘Back the fuck up, hotshot,’ her captor said. ‘Or I kill the cripple.’
The word sparked fury. This violent, corrupt man, like so many before him, saw only her weakness. She trembled with anger and noticed the other two officers coming to their senses.
‘Back the fuck up, I said,’ Knifeman yelled.
She whipped her head back and cracked his nose with her skull. The gun went off, blinding her with a flash of fire against the black sky, and deafening her with a thunderous crack. Knifeman lashed out, striking her with the pistol, and she went down in excruciating pain.
‘Look at me,’ Knifeman commanded. Leila could hardly hear him above the ringing in her ears. ‘Look at me, bitch.’
Her vision returned and she saw him standing over her, blood streaming from his nose, his gun inches from her face, the muzzle shaking.
‘You fuck!’ he yelled. Rage had turned his face red. ‘Make sure you get one, they said. Doesn’t matter if one dies, they said. You earned this,’ he told Leila.
Wollerton lunged, but he couldn’t reach the man before the gunshot, which made Leila jump. She looked up at the former Six operative and saw he was unscathed. Then came two more shots and Leila realized Knifeman hadn’t fired at Wollerton. He hadn’t fired at anyone. Knifeman dropped his weapon and fell to the ground with three bloody holes in his chest.
The other two cops were on their feet, fumbling for their weapons, peering into the darkness for a target. Another brace of shots and both men went down with bullets in their guts.
‘We’ve got to move,’ a voice said from the darkness. ‘The others aren’t far behind.’
Robert Clifton, former director of the NSA, now advisor to Huxley Blaine Carter, emerged from the shadows, clasping a small assault rifle. Leila noticed he was careful not to look at the men he’d shot. He used a pocket knife to cut her bonds, and she immediately snatched a gun from one of the wounded cops, who lay groaning nearby. Clifton cut Wollerton loose, and he also grabbed a weapon.
Leila heard movement and she turned to see a familiar face in the warehouse doorway; Narong Angsakul, the man who’d broken Ziad Malek out of Al Aqarab. She opened fire on him instinctively, but her shots went wide and the pitiless killer stepped back. The door slammed shut as she corrected her aim, and the second volley thudded into it.
‘Come on,’ Clifton said, grabbing Leila. He nodded towards approaching headlights.
Leila followed him and Wollerton across the yard into the darkness of an abandoned industrial estate. She glanced behind her to see two cop cars stop next to the van. The four officers who’d rushed them at the precinct emerged from the vehicles and hurried to their fallen colleagues. One of the new arrivals scanned the area, but Leila, Wollerton and Clifton were lost to the shadows.
‘Thanks,’ Wollerton said to the old NSA spy.
&n
bsp; ‘When you asked me to give you a ride . . .’ Clifton tailed off. ‘I haven’t shot anyone for years. I’m shaking.’
‘You did what you had to,’ Leila observed. ‘And you saved our lives.’
Clifton nodded. ‘My car’s behind that building.’ He indicated a warehouse to their right. ‘Let’s get out of here.’
Leila struggled with the pace set by the two men, but there was no way she was going to let them see weakness, so she pushed through every agonizing step. Pain was an old friend and she knew it ebbed and flowed. Even as her eyes watered and each jarring impact of foot against ground threatened to take her breath away, she told herself pain was the most powerful reminder she was alive. And that was all that mattered.
Chapter 85
Essi embraced him. He pulled her tight and inhaled the sweet vanilla of her soft hair. She was all the warmth he ever wanted, and when she looked up at him he saw the same desire reflected in her eyes. They were destined to be together, the map of their lives marked by marriage, children, happiness, joy, experiences that were wondrous to behold. He saw all the milestones in her glittering eyes and felt profound happiness at what lay ahead. But there was fear also, and doubt.
None of it is real.
The moment that thought flashed through his head, she was gone. And then came darkness. And the fall. A drop without end, spinning, tumbling, a terrible sense of imminent impact. He felt the chill of old sweat against his skin and the thunder of a panicked heart, and looked around but saw only black.
Then there was burning light and an ugly world came into being. He could hear distant voices, and even though they were muffled, their anger was clear. Above him, cracked grey paint flaked from the ceiling, drawing hard, unmoving veins that loomed over him. His mouth was full of bitterness, as though he’d eaten a thousand wasp stings, and every swallow burned his throat. But he didn’t mind any of it, and that was perhaps the strangest thing. It was as though his life belonged to someone else and he really couldn’t get that upset about any of it.
