He glanced back and saw the lights. He threw himself into a drift at the side and tried to cover himself with snow. All he had to do now was wait and hope it was some local. The vehicle stopped. The voices he heard weren’t Russian but they weren’t English either.
“Nabozvaro.”
That was Georgian for son of a bitch. Archer was almost sorry he knew. The Georgian reputation for ruthlessness was well earned.
They had flashlights. Archer could see the beam through the thin layer of snow over his face. The chances of him being completely covered were small. He lay still and hoped but every time he exhaled, he melted snow above his mouth. His face was melting it too. He willed those looking for him to give up, but they didn’t. The click of a gun sounded right next to him and Archer knew he’d been discovered. He slid his phone from his pocket and thrust it deep into the snow. He wanted nothing to connect him to Conrad.
“Very clever,” a guy said and yanked him out of the snow.
Archer lashed out but he was twisted onto his face, felt something sharp go into his neck and white faded to black.
Chapter Eighteen
“Pick up the dog and follow me. Now,” Conrad’s father whispered.
Conrad grabbed Deefor. Instinct told him this was not the time to argue. He stepped into the library after his father and found himself pulled through the hidden section of the bookcase into the secret passageway. After they were sealed inside, his father quietly sighed. He took Conrad’s hand and led him forward in the darkness until they were behind a wall in the drawing room.
“Where they fuck are they?” someone shouted. “Find them.”
Deefor squirmed in his arms and Conrad stroked and shushed him.
The sound of a gun firing made them jump and Conrad held Deefor more tightly. Three more shots followed, sounding as if they’d come from the hall. He could hear doors banging and people rushing around.
“Nothing,” someone said.
“Check upstairs. Go through every room. You, look outside.”
Not hard to guess who these guys had shot. Fuck. Was Morgan dead? And his guys?
“Let me go,” someone screamed. “I don’t know anything. I was in the pantry. Please. I have a wife, kids. Just let me leave.”
Conrad assumed that was the man Archer had locked up.
“Oh Christ. No, please.”
“Shut the fuck up.”
Conrad’s heart lodged in his throat. What the hell was happening? Two of these guys had taken Archer. If his father didn’t trust them, why hadn’t he stopped them? Another shot rang out and cut off the guy mid-scream. Oh shit. His father’s hand settled over Conrad’s mouth for a couple of seconds and Conrad nodded. He sent a mental plea to Deefor not to make a sound. The little dog had curled up in his arms.
His father tugged at Conrad’s sleeve and Conrad sat down on the wooden floor. It was too risky to move through the passageways while people were listening for them. They might hear an odd creak that would give them away. Conrad remembered the places he used to avoid as a boy but he didn’t want to risk his life on recalling them now.
The sounds of the search continued and they sat and listened, growing colder by the minute. Conrad could feel his father shivering and he passed Deefor to him hoping the dog would help keep him warm.
“You sure they’re not outside?” a guy asked on the other side of the wall.
“As sure as I can be, but it’s dark and there are footprints everywhere. More likely they’re still inside. Lots of places to hide in an old place like this. Maybe even the roof.”
“Fucking find them. The boss should have let us kill them the moment we arrived.”
They stopped speaking English then and launched into a language Conrad didn’t recognize. Something Eastern European but no words he knew. His father’s pale face was suddenly illuminated by light from the screen of his mobile. He tapped out a message, then turned it off. Conrad reached into his pocket to confirm his was also off. He moved closer to his father, pressing himself against him, sharing body heat. When the sounds of voices faded, he put his lips to his father’s ear. But a hand on his thigh silenced him. Okay, I’ll wait.
He hardly needed to ask what was going on. Whoever his father had called to come and help had not yet arrived. He tried not to think about Archer but it was impossible. Was he safe? But if whoever was in charge of the men currently searching for them wanted him dead, wouldn’t they have killed him not whisked him away? Maybe they wanted information. Or a confession.
The thought of someone trying to get a confession out of Archer made Conrad’s stomach churn. It reminded him of his ex’s partner who’d spent longer in jail because he’d refused to acknowledge his guilt or show remorse for something he hadn’t done. Would they break Archer? They’d break me if it was the other way around. Shit. He began to shiver with a mixture of fear and cold and pulled his hands up inside his sleeves.
He wasn’t sure how long passed before they next heard someone speak.
“There’s a vehicle missing. Tracks leading from the garage and not back.”
“Fuck.” A phone started to ring and the sound cut off. “What the fuck?”
Trying to get his head around the situation sent Conrad in circles but one thing was clear. There was a traitor in the intelligence service, probably someone who was in the pay of an arms dealer. Someone who had fooled his father, or who had fooled someone his father trusted, someone who was prepared to deal ruthlessly with anyone who might interfere with his plans, someone powerful enough to convince people to kill Morgan and his crew, plus Conrad and his father if they’d been able to find them.
Conrad hoped that Archer had been able to…handle the two he’d left with and would come back after these guys had gone. Or that someone would respond to his father’s text and arrive with guns blazing. On the other hand, maybe he’d just rewritten his will. Shit, it’s so cold.
“Shit. Fuck. Okay,” someone shouted. “We’re out of time. Get the others.”
Conrad didn’t need the warning squeeze from his father. He knew that conversation could have been entirely for their benefit. They kept still. Fortunately, Deefor had fallen asleep, but Conrad’s back was killing him and he felt as if he was turning to ice. When there was no sound from the other side of the wall, and Conrad couldn’t wait any longer, he pressed on his father’s shoulder to indicate he should stay still, and carefully made his way to the stairs, stepping over the places he remembered that creaked, hoping he recalled them all. He did.
On the first floor, he ran his hand over the wall until he found the lever and, taking a deep breath, pulled it down. Light poured in as the panel slid open onto his father’s bedroom. His heart pounding in his ears, he approached the window. There were no vehicles in the courtyard. Did that mean they’d gone? He crept to the door which stood ajar and peered out. The stairs were about twenty feet away.
Conrad retreated to the bedroom, picked up a book from beside the bed, snuck back on the landing and threw it down into the hall. He heard it thud to the floor and braced himself but heard no bellow of rage, no feet rushing in his direction. He gathered up their coats, walked down the stairs and gulped when he saw four bodies and the book lying in a pool of blood.
In the study, he opened the panel in the bookcase and Deefor jumped out. His father followed more slowly. Blood had dried in a streak down his face.
“Your head,” Conrad said.
“It’s fine.”
“They’ve gone. How did you know they weren’t who you thought they were?”
“Archer’s instincts and a little of my own. I told my team to text me when they were five minutes away. These men arrived too soon. Splitting the three of us seemed the best option. I figured Archer could deal with two, and I waited for the opportunity to get us into the passageway. We were lucky they didn’t kill us outright.”
“Why
didn’t they?”
“I don’t know. Possibly because they might have needed us as a bargaining tool. Possibly they knew Archer was the greater threat and needed him away from here so they could deal with us.”
He took out his phone and switched it on. It beeped with a message.
“Why haven’t the good guys arrived?” Conrad asked. Why isn’t Archer back?
“I told them not to approach the castle, but to wait and follow the Land Rover when it left. Unfortunately, they’ve been caught behind a snowplow and lost sight of the vehicle.”
“Christ.”
“They’re still looking.”
“But Archer… What if—”
“He’s a resourceful guy. I’m sure he’ll be fine.”
Conrad pulled on his coat and so did his father. Cold air flooded in through the damaged doors.
“So what now?” Conrad asked.
“I’m going to cook you breakfast while we wait for news.”
Breakfast? Is he crazy? “I’m not hungry.”
“We need to eat. It’ll warm us both up.”
Conrad sighed but followed his father to the kitchen.
“Bacon and eggs?” his father asked.
“You’re cooking?” Conrad gaped at him.
“I can manage a fried breakfast. I’m not entirely useless.”
He broke an egg into the pan with one hand and Conrad raised his eyebrows. Deefor was given a bowl of cooked chicken.
“Cereal? Toast?” his father asked.
“No thanks. Why aren’t you calling the police or someone senior in the SIS?”
His father raised his eyebrows. He set a mug of coffee on the table and Conrad sat down, cradling it in his cold hands. Was Archer dead? The thought made his stomach roll. He couldn’t believe his father was so calm. There were four dead bodies in the hall, there could easily have been seven and he wanted to cook breakfast?
His father slipped out of the room and Conrad stared through the window. He didn’t feel Archer was dead but how reliable were his feelings? He was a lawyer. He could only depend on facts, and he didn’t have all the facts. He hated sitting doing nothing.
The sun shone in a clear blue sky and the snow was melting. He’d wanted to make a snowman with Archer. He and Jolyon had always competed to see who could make the tallest snow sculpture. Conrad never won. He’d contemplated knocking the top off his brother’s so he would win, but even as a small boy he’d been desperate for the world to be fair. Winning by cheating didn’t make you feel anywhere near as good as winning on your own merits. Not that Conrad ever beat Joylon at much. His brother had been bigger, stronger and taller, though Conrad could always climb higher in the trees, risking his lesser weight on thinner branches even after that resulted in a broken arm.
When he smelled the bacon burning, he pushed to his feet and turned the rashers in the pan. He was surprised when his stomach rumbled. He might not feel like eating but he knew he should.
His father came back, finished cooking the breakfast and put two plates on the table. Conrad forced the food down, finished his coffee and pushed the plate away. His father gave a heavy sigh.
Conrad looked up. “I don’t like the sound of that. What were you waiting to tell me?”
“The vehicle Archer left here in has been found abandoned. It looks as though it rolled. There’s no sign of the men or of Archer but there are traces of blood.”
Conrad’s stomach clenched. “The ones who left here picked them up and the good guys lost them.”
“Archer might be dead.”
“Why would they take his body? He’s alive.” Conrad refused to believe otherwise.
“He could have got away from them. He’s been trained how to avoid detection.”
“He’d have come here. He’d have called me.”
“Unless he wants you to believe he’s dead.”
“I trust him.” He’ll come back to me. Well, he’d at least come for Deefor. Conrad clung to that.
“Why don’t you go and lie down?” his father said. “You need to look after your back. Another team is on the way here.”
“And whose side are they going to be on?” Conrad pushed to his feet. “I’m not staying here.”
“Where are you going to go?”
“London.”
“That’s not a bad idea, but not in your car. Go to Michaels. Take the vehicle he drove there last night. You need to lay low for a while until I’ve worked out what’s happening.”
“They could have killed us all. Why would they want Archer alive?”
“It’s possible that whoever is behind this wants a scapegoat and that could be Archer. They might be trying to get a confession or information out of him before they kill him, assuming they have him. I’ll do all I can to find out where he is. If they get their hands on you, they’ll use you to break him. You need to hide until I’m sure it’s safe. Go to your evidence gatherer, Sev.”
“How do you know Sev?”
“You’re my son, Conrad. We might not have been speaking for several years but I still care about you.”
“In that case, can I have your jacket?”
His father smiled and Conrad pulled on the Barbour.
“There are gloves and a hat in the pockets.”
Conrad put them on. “Come on, Deefor.”
His father hesitated and then pulled him into his arms. “Don’t do anything stupid.”
Conrad stiffened for a moment, then hugged him back. “I keep thinking I’m dreaming.”
“I wish we all were.”
Conrad left by the back door, Deefor trotting at his side. By the time he reached the outskirts of the village, his back and legs ached from trudging through the snow. He’d seen no sign of pursuit but that didn’t mean no one was following. He’d learned from Archer not to assume anything. He took the roundabout route to Michaels’s sister and knocked on the back door.
Michaels opened it. “My lord,” he said in surprise.
“Can I come in?”
“Of course. Is everything all right at the castle? Your father?”
Conrad made sure Deefor had come in with him, then closed the door. “No, everything’s not all right but my father is fine. Stay put until you hear from him. I need the Land Rover.”
Michaels picked up the keys from the hall table. “It’s parked at the back. Sure you’re going to be able to drive?”
“I have no choice.”
“Let me drive you.”
“That’s more than kind of you, but no. My father will need you soon.”
Conrad headed for London with Deefor sleeping at his side, his head resting on his thigh. He was determined to find Archer. He refused to accept he was dead.
Archer came round when cold water was poured over his face. He gasped and opened his eyes to see he was on the floor of an empty warehouse. He could see five men. Four thugs and one older guy in a long dark coat holding out a mobile phone. Filming this? Archer was hauled to his feet and as a fist plowed into his belly he groaned. The sound echoed.
“Again,” said the guy with the phone.
Archer tried not to double up or bend over, though those holding him made any movement difficult. Just before the punches landed, he quickly breathed out so his abs would flex tight. It was supposed to minimize the pain and the damage to his vital organs. Yeah, right.
Men on either side held on to his arms and kept him on his feet. Another clenched fist drove into his guts and the world splintered into jagged flashes of agony.
“All you have to do to make this stop is tell us the truth,” said the phone guy. “Who do you work for?”
“Fuck. Off,” Archer managed.
Blows struck his face, ears, his ribs, his back. He kept his mouth shut, his jaw closed and his tongue well inside his mouth. He tried to move
with the flow of the punches as best he could, but with the wind knocked out of him, his body was in shock and unable to respond. Those holding him finally allowed him to fall and as he curled up, they kicked him. Pain layered on pain until he could barely breathe, see or even think. They knew what they were doing, knew how far to go, when to pull back to ask their questions, or rather tell him the answers they wanted him to give. He felt as if his heart hovered on the brink of explosion.
The beating stopped, gradually pain released its hold and the voice began to make sense again.
“We know it was you. You filled several accounts with the proceeds of the hits. Demor Lomidze is paying you. Admit it.”
Archer had no idea who Demor Lomidze was. It sounded like a Georgian name but he’d never heard it before.
“Fine, be an idiot.”
He was hauled upright and the guy who’d done most of the punching put all his force behind the blow to Archer’s stomach. He just had time to expel a breath as he doubled up. The muscles of his entire body contracted as he tumbled into a level of deeper pain. Questions followed beatings followed questions and he didn’t speak. He felt like a toy being ripped apart by rough boys. In those moments when pain subsided enough for him to think, Archer tried to make sense of what was happening but he couldn’t. When the world went dark, he welcomed the chance to slip away for a while but they always brought him back.
Despite his best efforts, he’d bitten his tongue. A coppery tang filled his mouth. Blood dripped from a cut on his forehead and trickled into his eyes. Pain consumed him. His heart raced so fast he hovered in and out of consciousness.
“You killed Mehmoud Nader in Beirut. Jose Callas in Caracas. Farouk bin Abdullazin in Paris. Gregor Kipiani in Tiblisi. All arms dealers. Who’s next on the list? Who’s paying you? Is it Lomidze?”
If he admitted anything, he was dead, he knew that. He was probably dead anyway so why say a word? Because then it will stop hurting, fuckwit. He hadn’t killed Gregor Kipiani. Another Georgian name. That was probably significant but he hurt too much to think.
Breaking: Fall or Break, Book 2 Page 25
