“Sarah isn’t all she seems. Be careful, Brock.”
Chapter 29
Brock slipped back into the hotel room and went into the en-suite to turn the shower on. A rustle came from outside; Sarah let out a cough and he opened the door slightly ajar, peering out.
“Where did you go? I opened my eyes and the bed was empty. I was worried.”
“I took a stroll outside, needed to clear my head. Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” said Brock.
Kicking the rest of his clothes onto the floor, he stepped into the shower. The cold water hit him like an electric shock. He jumped back, holding his hand under the flow, shivering and anticipating the hot water. After a couple of minutes, shouting erupted outside. He slammed the button and snatched a towel, pushing the door wide open. A red-faced Sarah stood in front of him.
“Ty’s room is empty. I pushed his door, the room is cold and …”
Brock growled, wrapping the towel against his wet body. He dashed across to Ty’s room and called him. Nobody answered.
“He’s probably downstairs eating breakfast. I’ll put some clothes on and check.”
Both stepped out and undertook a quick search of the hotel, exploring its new rooms and conveniently locating several more cases of wine. They searched through the hotel, ending up at the reception, Brock leaned on the desk, facing Sarah.
“I’m worried. Ty’s somewhat immature. If he’s caught, he’ll probably give us away. Let’s give him, say, half an hour to materialise. After which, we run,” said Brock.
Sarah brewed coffee, buttering several slices of brown toast, and plonked herself on a table overlooking reception. If someone turned up, they’d see and be on it in a flash. He sat next to her, scoffing the toast.
“I thought he would have informed us if he popped out, especially under the circumstances,” said Sarah.
“After our talk last night, it got me thinking. I’m so looped up in all this … being followed, chased, nearly killed. It’s all clouded my judgement. Well, this morning I took a brisk hike and my mind cleared somehow. Things are starting to make sense. We’re looking in the wrong places,” said Brock.
“What are we trying to find? All we seem to be doing is running and hiding.”
“That’s his wish, undoubtedly. Take, for example, the apartment in Camden. That was clearly a distraction. What I should be looking for is my real pad. Surely my genuine home exists somewhere,” said Brock.
Sarah took a sip of tea. “A thought just came to mind. If your real home exists, he’s probably trashed it or set it on fire.”
“I’m wondering about its whereabouts. Someone knows, let’s face it. And if you wanted to hide something so badly, like the USB, where would you conceal it?”
Sarah’s pondered. “Surely the last place on earth you would think of. Someone intelligent like you would consider being raided by Sighrus.”
Brock shook his head and sunlight shined in through a gap in the grey shutters.
“Of course, you’re right, I’d always expect a worst-case scenario like this. I’d guess I hid it somewhere near my real pad.”
“Half an hour is up,” said Sarah.
“A place called Vauxhall rings a bell. I wonder why. Too central London, I admit, and likely crawling with police and security services. Gut instinct tells me to keep away for now. What about this installation in Richmond? It’s by the countryside—we could drive past, check it out. I’m in the mood, could jog a few memories. And it’s heading out of the big bad city,” said Brock.
Sarah shook her head, frowning. “Did you hear what I said? Half an hour is up. Ty’s probably driven our transport away.”
“The Mini’s probably been reported stolen. Time to grab a new one anyway.”
Sarah looked up at him. “Do you think Ty is the sort to report us?”
“Unlikely, but if the psycho grabs him and tortures him, he’ll probably crack and blab our location. We should pack up and leave now.”
Sarah shrugged, nodding towards the door. He remained seated, so she stood up, heading towards the window.
“I can see the Mini in the outhouse. Come here and look, the big doors are pulled wide open,” said Sarah.
He jumped up and climbed out of the window. Dashing across to the outbuilding, he peered around its big doors. A voice echoed within.
“I’m by the car!” shouted Ty, standing up in front of him, wiping tears from his cheeks. Brock give him a reassuring pat on the shoulder and Sarah stepped in behind him.
“There you are! We wondered where the hell you had disappeared too. We considered making a run for it,” said Sarah.
“I was desperate. I’m cut up inside. I popped out to the corner shop to buy some of these.”
He held up a packet of cigarettes.
Brock gazed across at the Richmond installation from afar, sitting comfortably in his seat. Outside was cold, and the windows of the Mini steamed up. The building was small, red brick throughout, and in front a tiny concrete piece of land resembled a car park. Several vehicles were parked, but no black jeep or any sign of anyone. Hardly an installation. Brock had imagined much better. It was some dingy building stuck in urban countryside, difficult for an outsider to decipher as a secret complex. Brock racked his brain. He recalled nothing.
“Are you sure this is the place he held you prisoner?” said Brock to Sarah.
“Of course, the yellow taxi pulled up right outside the tall sign over there. I’m positive this is the place, although have to admit that at the time it felt much bigger. It’s so small.”
Ty sank further into the passenger seat of the Mini, pulling out a cigarette. Brock slammed the Mini into gear, hitting the gas pedal, pulling out and bringing it to a complete stop a couple of streets around the corner. Cigarette smoke filled the car and Sarah groaned, yanking at the door handle.
“I’m refusing to get into the car again. It’s like a chimney on fire in there.”
Brock stepped out of the car, the engine still running. Ty wound the window down, shoving his head through. “Why we stopped?”
“I’m afraid I need a closer look. If I was anywhere near this building, it should jog a few memories. I’m pretty sure it will. I expected cameras the full length of the street. Anyone spotted any? And security, where are they? What kind of installation is this?”
“This is another one of your crazy ideas. You’re right under their noses this time. Stupid!” snapped Sarah.
“Hang on a minute,” said Brock, gazing into the distance. “If you needed to escape the building, let’s say on foot, which side of the road would you take?”
Sarah shrugged.
“Desperately running for your life,” he added.
“Suppose I’d head for the bridge across there, but you have a phobia?” said Sarah.
Ty stuck his head out the window, shouting, “Cop car six o’clock, Brock.”
Brock spotted it at the bottom of the street. He and Sarah hurried back to the car and he hit the gas pedal, pulling the Mini out.
“That was clever. Now you’ve attracted their attention. Look, they’re following us, what now?” said Sarah.
Flashing blue lights filled the street followed by a deafening siren getting closer to the Mini. Brock hit the gas pedal to the floor, slamming them full force into their seats. The police unit gained in hot pursuit; he swung the steering wheel, catching the tyres on the curb and knocking them sideways.
“Brock, you’re going too fast!” screamed Sarah.
“Hate to say this,” said Ty, “but the white van over there, some guy sitting in it just spoke into some radio. I think it’s an unmarked vehicle.”
Brock glanced in his mirror; behind the police car was a black Audi, with two figures in grey suits staring right back at him.
“OK, this was a mistake, I admit it. I should have thought it through more cl
early. But don’t worry, I’ll get us out. You’ll see,” said Brock.
“Told you it was a ridiculous idea,” muttered Sarah.
Brock accelerated into a road; the bridge appeared in front. His stomach churned. He shot a glance at a road leading off to the left, but two red no-entry signs smacked into view. His stomach spasmed like he was going to puke, and his hands trembled as he gripped the steering wheel. Sarah screamed at him, telling him to go across the bridge.
Too late; he yanked the steering wheel left, driving the Mini forward between the no-entry signs. A yellow taxi appearing in front, heading right for him. He swerved to the right but the Mini was travelling too fast. He grappled with the steering wheel, trying to turn the car into position, but then he spotted the bridge again. For a moment, his concentration dropped.
He veered into the yellow taxi and an almighty bang pierced the air as the Mini smashed head-on into a concrete plinth near the underside of the bridge.
After a few seconds of silence, Sarah lifted her head, blood running down her cheeks.
“Get out of the car, the police unit is turning in. Head for the underside of the bridge on the scaffold,” shouted Ty.
Sarah pulled at Brock, but he dare not look up at her bloodied face. He shut his eyes tight; her hand grabbed his and she pulled him towards her. She was sniffling and coughing, screaming at him to get out the car. Ty shouted again, beckoning them to run towards the underside of the bridge, the shouting quieter until he heard nothing. A hand pushed him forward, and he fell out of the car.
“The police are jumping out their cars, move faster, man,” shouted Ty again.
Someone pulled at Brock and he followed, the cold hitting his face. His eyes flew open. They were directly under the stone-built bridge, hovering over on the scaffold, high, fierce water smashing against the rocks below. Automatically, his stomach let go, and he threw up into the river below. An impulse of some kind hit him. A fierce force of nature pulled at him like a magnetic undertow yanking his whole body.
“Our options right now don’t look good,” shouted Sarah. “Any suggestions would be good right now.”
“Climb further into the bridge, it will buy us some time. A boat’s coming this way,” Ty shouted back.
“Wait!” Brock grabbed onto the rusty scaffolding pole with his life, throwing himself to another, reaching for another bridge arch. He kept on reaching, feeling around, eventually grabbing at something . Pulling out a dirty package, he held it up. “It’s the USB!” he screamed across.
Sarah and Ty had blank expressions on their faces as they gripped onto the scaffolding. Onshore, the uniformed police stood hovering over the edge of the water, shouting and waving them over. Brock waved across to Sarah, beckoning both to follow him. Sarah shook her head. Brock’s balance became tangled; grabbing onto another pole, his foot slipped and he was tossed violently into the air, splashing into the fierce cold tidal waters below, the fast current pulling him downstream.
Chapter 30
The bitterly cold current sucked him inward. Sirens blared in the distance and water slapped against his face, dragging him under. The current appeared to be pulling him east, towards London. He grappled with the water, pushing himself to the surface, catching a desperate breath, all the while clutching the package tight to his body. Struggling to keep afloat, he coughed out the dirty Thames saltwater, his body freezing. His eyes stung and he could barely see. His grip on the package started to loosen as the current swept him to the centre of the river. Suddenly the fierce slapping of the water was broken by the chugging of an engine roaring towards him. A pearly white boat was heading directly for him, crashing through the waves. As he resurfaced once more, a man shouted at him, throwing over a rope.
“Get in, you idiot! Grab the rope. If you think I’m spending the rest of my days behind bars, think again.” Ty’s face was bright red.
Brock snatched at the rope; for a split second, he wondered if he was hallucinating. He focused his stinging eyes towards the small white boat. Ty stood aboard, hovering over him and grappling the rope. Brock wrapped it firmly around his forearm tightly and Ty pulled him in. Brock strained his eyes to see Sarah, but a wave smashed over him, the current dragging him under into cold darkness. A tug on the rope pulled him back into the light and he gasped for breath as his body smashed against the side of the boat. A hand grabbed his shoulder, hauling him over the side and throwing him onto the deck. His numb cold hands let go of the package and it skittered across the deck. Choking and coughing, saltwater spewed out of his mouth. He shot a glance towards Ty, who was standing over the wheel of the boat pulling some sort of lever.
“Where’s Sarah? Have the police snatched her?”
“I’m behind you!”
Brock hauled himself up.
“I shouted at you on the scaffold,” she said. “I was beckoning you over. This boat floated next to us—someone had roped it ashore. Ty jumped on it saying he could hot-wire it, but to our shock someone had left the keys in! The water’s freezing—why on earth did you jump in?” said Sarah.
“I slipped . . . the current pulled me further in.”
“We’ve got company, guys!” screamed Ty.
Brock peered over the side of the boat; a police speedboat darted towards them, a uniformed police officer watching them through his binoculars. Blue lights flashed across the waves and the police boat was gaining speed towards them.
“Will this damn boat go any faster? Speed up the knots, man! We’ve got the USB now. If the police catch us, they’ll hand it to MI5 . . . or worse still into Sighrus’s grubby hands,” shouted Brock.
“The throttle is rammed down. I don’t think it goes any faster,” shouted Ty.
“Look, the police boat is gaining on us,” shrieked Sarah. “Do something!”
Brock jumped up, water dripping on the deck below his feet. Sliding his hand into the back of his trousers, he went for his pistol. It was gone. It must have slipped out while he was fighting for his life in the water. He groaned, kicking the side of the boat.
“If this gets into Sighrus’s dirty hands, everything is over.”
His gaze was caught by something in the distance to the left of the shore.
“They’re gaining on us,” cried Sarah.
Brock spotted a PVC plastic door leading to downstairs and stampeded down the tight wooden stairs. The cabin was compact and warm. His bare hands ripped through cupboard after cupboard. A voice suddenly came out of nowhere.
“Excuse me, what the hell are you doing in my boat?”
Brock grabbed a large stick next to him and swung around. A young man, head shaved, lay under a duvet on a bed. He looked terrified.
“Oh, sorry, mate. The boat’s in trouble—where’s the flare?” said Brock calmly.
“Please, get off my boat. I can hear the police outside. I’m telling you nothing!”
Brock lunged towards him, grabbing his throat. “The flare, I said!”
The man pointed to a cupboard above some complex navigation equipment and Brock let go of his neck. He fell back onto the bed. Dashing over to the cupboard, Brock yanked at it so hard the door came off. A black box sat within and he snatched it, pulling it open and hurrying up the stairs to the back of the boat. Grabbing the gun, he inserted the flare. The police boat was pretty close now. Two men in full police attire stared directly at him. Brock pointed the flare gun directly towards the boat and fired it into the main front window. It bounced down off the window, exploding in a bright white flame that knocked the speedboat off course. But the flame quickly disappeared and the speedboat regained position almost immediately. Quickly loading it again, Brock pointed the flare gun towards a side open window as he spotted an oncoming yacht. He fired its contents straight through the window and an almighty flash appeared, lighting up the cabin and sending the police vessel veering off course, smashing into the yacht.
&nb
sp; Brock sprinted to the front of the boat, pointing to a shape about a quarter of a mile in the distance. Ty and Sarah stared at him.
“Are you crazy?” said Sarah.
“Another police boat is trying to catch up behind, and it soon will. Our choice is limited. Head over to it. We have to at least try and expose whatever is on this USB. Otherwise, it will be covered up. We owe it to our Queen and country ...”
Ty stared at him but swung the boat’s wheel to the direction of the shore. “Hate to tell you this but …”
“I know, but as the saying goes—there is a first time for everything,” said Brock.
The boat came to a crashing halt against the concrete wall of the shore. They all jumped out. The skinhead appeared on deck, still in his pyjamas, and furiously steered the boat away, back out over the water.
“We only borrowed it,” muttered Sarah.
“This’ll be the first time I’ve attempted to hot-wire a helicopter,” Ty said brightly.
Brock sunk into the leather upholstery seat, water dripping from his clothes, and eagerly glanced at the instruments and levers. Ty peered at the controls, aimlessly searching for wires. The blank look on his face said it all.
“You can finish your inspection, Ty—seems the owners conveniently stored the keys in the slot ready for a quick getaway,” said Brock, laughing.
He fired it up, pulling at a lever and the helicopter’s rotary blades outside swung, thrusting them into the air and into the sky.
“It’s an integrated avionics system. It’s pretty familiar, I think. I should be able to pilot it,” said Brock.
Sarah stared at him. Ty pulled at the overhead radio, sticking it into his ears.
“You changed your tune—in the boat you seemed to be all in yourself,” she said.
“Think it’s the cold. The Thames froze me through. As I hung onto the bridge’s scaffolding, the anxiety went through me like a razor and something snapped. I remembered what happened . . . I darted from the very same building to the bridge. The building is much bigger inside, I think. I vaguely remember Dalton handing me the USB and somehow Sighrus found out. I legged it and they chased me, but I eventually jumped onto the scaffolding and popped the whole package into a stone encasement for safe hiding. I remember I waited for a short while before eventually jumping into the main road, but then I was spotted, approached with a baseball bat and everything was a blank after.”
Brock Steele Sphere Page 19
