Francesca answered her phone, “Get out! He’s right. Just get out the hell out of there. I'll meet you at the station!”
Morton checked the time on his wristwatch. “The cab will be here in ten minutes. Whatever happens get in it and meet Davenport at the station. If I don't make it I'll see you in London. You know where to go?” he looked at Kim.
She walked painfully to him putting her arms round his waist, “Come with us. We can lose them at the station!” he enveloped her in his huge arms and squeezed her gently mindful of her injuries. “Please!” she begged.
“We need to lose them here,” he said gently. He did not bother explaining why. “You two are all that you’ve got so look out for each other! don't rely on me or that…” he corrected himself in time as he looked at Francesca, “Ernie. Keep together. Never let the other one out of your sight. Sleep together if you have to! Here,” he slung his attaché case onto the bed, “always use cash. Do not use your cards. You understand!” he opened the case and Francesca's eyes widened. She had never seen so much cash. “I'll meet you downstairs.”
Ernie drove carefully so as not to arouse any suspicion from the driver that was following him. He headed away from town hoping to lead him away from the others but knew that sooner or later he would have to do something to lose his tail.
He’s good, he thought to himself as he watched the white car in his rear view mirror keeping far enough back to remain unobtrusive but still in touch.
“Hi! Could you tell me what room that young couple are in it’s just that I think the young lady dropped this.” He held up one of Kim's dangling gold earrings. “I saw it on the stairs as I went up after them.”
The fat hotelier looked up from the desk and put on that false smile that he had developed over the years. He reached out for the trinket, “That’s okay, sir, I can return it to her.”
“Well, seeing as I'm going that way I can save you the trouble. Besides, I can ask them if they would like to join us for a drink tonight. Not much else to do around here I would imagine.”
The owner thought about it. If he let him return it then it would save him a walk up those stairs and if they agreed to a drink then it would mean more takings at the bar tonight. The false smile appeared again, “Room seven, Sir. That would be very kind of you. Thank you.” As he walked past the door that led to the bar he cursed silently. Sitting in the bar were the two men from the garden. Between them on the table a pot of tea and two cups.
At the top of the stairs Morton checked his watch again. Five minutes. Everything depended on timing. He hoped that the cab arrived on time. His schedule had already gone out of the window with the unexpected repositioning of the two soldiers into the bar area.
He rapped on the door with his knuckles. “Hi,” he said jovially as the door opened, “did your young lady drop this?” he dangled the earring from his left hand in front of the soldiers face distracting him as he looked into the room. It was as he suspected laid out almost identically to theirs. The door opened against the wall inside a short passage, which was the back wall of the small but adequate bathroom whose door faced the window underneath which was the bed.
The momentary distraction was all he needed. Keeping the fingers of his right hand together and spreading his thumb so creating a back-to-front L shape he brought up his hand fast hitting the soldier in his Adams apple pushing it painfully into his throat. Adjusting his grip he grabbed the choking man by the throat before he fell to the ground and stepping forward shut the door with his foot as he drove the gasping soldier backwards into the room before dumping him on the floor with a thump alongside the bed.
Before the young girl had a chance to react he reached over and grabbed her hair pulling her across the bed towards him. “Make a sound and I'll break your fucking neck,” he growled quietly.
“Please don’t hurt me! Please!” she pleaded.
“Who are you?” asked Morton roughly as he twisted her long hair around his hand pulling her head back as he did it exposing her long, slender neck. He looked down at the man on the floor and kicked him viciously in the side of the head as he tried to get to his feet. “Speak!” he commanded.
“Rula! My name’s Rula! Honest!” Morton gripped her throat with his free hand and squeezed gently not enough to really harm her but enough to put the fear of god in her.
“Try again!” he hoped that he was not wrong.
“Honest, mister! My name’s Rula…” she gagged a little as he increased his grip, “but he`s not really my husband,” she croaked as Morton stopped increasing the pressure but did not release it either. “I’m being paid to spend the day with him. That’s all I know, honest!” Tears appeared in her eyes but whether they were caused by the strangle hold or by fear was hard to tell.
“Stay!” he ordered her as though talking to a disobedient dog and turned his attention to the soldier. Taking no chances he stepped back and kicked the young man as hard as he could in the stomach. The retching man collapsed prostrate on the floor fighting painfully for his breathe. Morton grabbed hold of his right arm twisting and yanking it behind his back. “Right, you bastard! I don’t have time for niceties so we’re going to make this short and sweet. Who are you and who sent you?” When no answer came immediately Morton took hold of his little finger and snapped it sideways dislocating it. The guttural yelp of pain was lost on his torturer as Morton took hold of the next finger and snapped it backwards breaking it. “Anyone else I should know about?” he demanded.
Still unable to talk the young man shook his head. “You lying bastard. I told you I don`t have time for this!” He took hold of his hand and with one sudden movement snapped downwards. There was a soft sickening noise as the wrist dislocated.
“Stop! Stop! There are three more somewhere! I don’t know where, honest!” She spoke quickly her eyes large, blue eyes wide with fear. She was not concerned for the safety of her escort but more for her own well-being. The sight of someone being physically tortured in front of her was more than she could take. Maybe she would have changed her mind if she knew what the ex-soldiers final orders for her were!
Morton looked at her. He had used girls like her many times in his past. “Strip!” he ordered. She looked blankly at him. If rape was the worse he would do to her then she could live with that. “Strip!” he repeated.
Morton left the room carrying a bag of clothes, their owners sitting naked tied together back-to-back. He race down to the lobby just in time to meet the two girls as they reached the bottom of the stairs.
“Wait,” he called to them, “I need a diversion!”
Francesca felt vulnerable and nervous as she entered the bar. She had taken off her jacket and after a heated discussion with Morton removed her bra and completed her humiliation by undoing the top three buttons of her shirt so affording any wayward eyes a glimpse of her decent cleavage. She approached the bar and stiffly perched herself on one of the round padded bar stools that surrounded the small, wooden counter and slowly, deliberately placed her left foot on the foot bar at the base of the stool and crossed her long legs immediately attracting the attention of the two men sitting at the corner table. She felt extremely uncomfortable revealing more of herself in public than she would ever do normally. To her it was an obvious ploy but they seemed to be falling for it as Morton, unseen by them, helped Kim outside.
She almost run out of the bar as Morton entered passing by her without saying a word and took her place on the stool as she joined Kim in the waiting taxi. The atmosphere in the room changed to icy as he calmly stared at the two men with his normal non-reactive expression. He waited until he heard the sound of the taxi leaving and walked purposefully up to the table.
“You wankers looking for someone?” his tone was deliberately confrontational. Neither of them moved, “Your mate upstairs said you were a pair of tossers!” his tone was contemptuous as he turned and quickly left the room.
Table legs scrapped noisily across the floor and a cup fell over spilling it c
ontents as they rushed after him. He had already picked his spot and quickly made his way up the stairs aware that they were gaining on him. He turned at the small landing marking the halfway point of the stairs. There were sixteen in all, eight in each flight and as he turned he looked over his shoulder and adjusted his speed so that as he reached the top of the last flight the first of his pursuers was only four stairs behind him.
Turning he grabbed hold of the stair rail and kicked out aiming at the man’s throat. He misjudged his timing and caught him just below the chin but the blow was sufficient to send him crashing backwards into his partner. He followed up by stepping down two steps and turning his body sideways delivered another karate-style kick smashing the man’s nose. As blood poured from his wounded face Morton launched at him and before the man could defend himself his iron hard fist landed with precision accuracy into the side of his head. Already stunned from the kicks it only took a few blows to render the man unconscious.
The second assailant grabbed his partner pulling him out of the way and letting his limp body fall down what stairs were left and rushed at the big man in front of him reaching for the gun in his pocket. “C’mon you fucker!” he growled threateningly, “just me, you and …”
Morton realised what was next as he saw the dull glint of metal as he pulled his hand from his jacket pocket. Not having the time to turn and run he had just one option. Placing both hands on the rail he levered himself up and swung both feet at the gunman catching him in the middle of the chest forcing him of balance at the critical moment as he squeezed the trigger sending the bullet harmlessly into the high ceiling.
Grabbing the rail to stabilise himself he attempted to take aim again. Morton caught hold of the wildly swinging gun arm in his left hand and smashed the knuckles of his right hand hard into the bridge of the nose forcing his assailant backwards down the remaining steps. Morton followed him and dropping his right knee so that his shoulder was below the would-be assassins eye line he drove flat palm of his right hand as hard as he could upwards into the nose breaking it. Pulling his arm back he repeated the hit three more times in quick succession deliberately trying to push the nose bone up and into the brain. The second assailant also collapsed onto the floor.
Morton, breathing heavily, calmly searched their pockets taking their mobile phones and car keys. He checked his watch as he drove to the station in the red Ford. There was just over twenty minutes before the London train left. He dialled Davenport, “Where are you?”
“Driving out of town taking him in the wrong direction,” Ernie was sure that he could lose him but he was more concerned with the girl’s safety.
“Head back to town and let me know when you reach the crossroads near the hotel.” He had a plan.
******
Peewee looked out of the window at the hooded figure standing opposite Thanos`s house staring intently at the front door. Every now and again it would disappear. He had no idea who it was or where it went and, even though he wanted to go over and ask he knew better.
******
Morton positioned the car so that he could see as far along the road leading to the crossroads as possible. In the distance he saw Davenport’s car approaching and followed at a not to discreet distance by the white car. He gunned the engine judging his timing. Timing was critical. He pushed the send button on his phone.
“Just keep going and get to the station. You've got about eight minutes till the train leaves.”
“What are you going to do?” asked Ernie.
“Just get to the station and stay with the girls. Just keep going!” he was used to giving orders.
He adjusted his speed as he approached the junction. Ernie's car shot through in front of him and then the white car appeared in his vision. Jamming himself back into the seat he pressed hard on the accelerator.
It was the sound of the crash that made Ernie look into his mirror just in time to see the white car spinning round wildly out of control and finally come to an abrupt stop as it hit a large tree standing on one of the corners of the crossroads. Slamming on his brakes his car slewed across the road as it skidded to a stop. Now he understood the plan! Expertly spinning the car round he quickly drove back to the crossroads and followed the bits of car that had been strewn along the road following the impact. The red car had come to a stop about sixty meters along the road but not before it had ploughed into the sides of four parked vehicles.
Ernie slowed down. His policeman instinct in him wanted to get out and check on the driver of the white car but self-preservation told him to get Morton and get out of here before the police turned up.
He pulled up alongside the red Ford. Morton was kicking out the front window of the damaged car before slowly climbing through it. “Quickly, get in!” he called urgently looking around worried about the gathering crowd. Before Morton had even shut the door the car was surging forwards.
Chapter 35
The military gent slammed the phone down. It was not often that he let his emotions get the better of him, his years in the army had trained him how to successfully conceal any emotions until he was on his own. “Who is this fucking guy?” he stormed. He looked at the faces of the three other occupants of the room. “One dead, one in hospital, another severely injured and the last…just don't fucking ask about him. He will answer to me in person!” It was no veiled threat, as the young soldier already knew. He took some slow, deep breathes helping him to regain his composure, “This has gone far enough. I think it’s time to call a temporary halt to business, gentlemen.”
“Perhaps we should consider making this Morton an offer!” one of them suggested, “Well, if he's that good!”
“He's bloody good!” spat out the military man.
“Good or lucky?” asked the balding gentleman.
The military man fixed him with an icy stare, “No-ones that lucky!”
There was silence before a raspy voice broke it, “Even if we pack up we still have a problem.” The others looked at him, “The files!”
“There can't be anything on them that could lead to us,” said the balding gentleman confidently.
“How do we know that? We thought it impossible that such files could even exist! For all we know somewhere out there could be another file with all our details on it. This Thanos character is a bit more of a snake than we gave him credit for. If he's managed to compile information on our clients who knows what else he's got locked away somewhere safe?” countered he raspy voice.
“What do you suggest?” the uniform directed his question at the military gent.
He sat deep in thought before answering, “I think…I think,” he spoke slowly as he tried to organise his thoughts, “we should lock up shop, so as to speak, for now and wait and see what happens. He has a policeman with him. If the evidence showed any of our names or addresses I think that one of us would have had a knock at his door by now, don't you? No, we wait. We all have our own boltholes planned for just this sort of emergency. Gentlemen, I suggest that we say our goodbyes for now.”
******
The noise of the traffic thundering past was almost constant causing the windows of the small, cramped bed-sit to vibrate as the bigger lorries went past. It was beginning to get dark outside as night fell and the streets and pavements were busy with people rushing home from work.
Morton sat stiffly keeping as much pressure off his sore ribs as possible. Kim was sleeping on the pull out bed, the only bed, in the small bed-sit while Francesca sat in front of the copier on the other side of the table to Morton while Ernie kept an uneasy watch out of the window on the street below though, exactly what he expected to see he did not know.
Morton looked how he felt. The physical violence of the last few days plus the high speed crash was beginning to take its toll. Crashing into another car at high speed was not as easy as the movies made it look.
The bed-sit was above a shop that had been one of the first acquisitions they made after setting up their property company. Tha
nos had forgotten about this property mainly because the tenant was the original and had never, in all these years, given them any trouble but Morton had deliberately kept the bed-sit above empty just in case of emergencies.
“Are you sure about this?” he asked apprehensively.
Ernie looked away from the window, “Yesterday, I had to trust you against my better judgement and you were right,” he conceded, “but that was yesterday in a situation where your…expertise and knowledge, shall we say, was far superior to mine but this is something that I do know about. Trust me!”
Morton did not like trusting his freedom to anyone. Especially a copper! “How do you know you can trust him?”
“Her! Commander Lewes is a woman and I’d trust my life to her!” he could not understand what Morton's problem was. Madeline Lewes was one of Ernie Davenport's oldest colleagues in the force. They had started at almost the same time and she had worked her way up the hard way to be one of the highest ranked female police officers in the country who, in his mind, deserved lot more credit than she got. The plan was simple and as long as it worked everyone won.
******
The hooded figure made the call and allowed it to ring twice before cancelling and watched the front door. Almost immediately the door opened although no one could be seen. The figure crossed the road and entered the house. Peewee pointed to the study door and closed the front door on his way out.
******
“Madeline,” Ernie almost whispered into the phone, “it's Ernie Davenport.”
“Ernie!” she sounded surprised to hear from him, “I understand that you’re in a spot of trouble!” Morton looked at Davenport. He had insisted that the phone be left on speaker so that he could hear both sides of the conversation.
“Not really. Things will work out when I show what I have.”
“What’s that?” she asked, “It had better be bloody good!”
The Qadesh Club Page 24
