“Why are you so interested in him?” Colin asked Nina.
“None of your business, sweetie,” she said plainly. “Doesn't he remind you of Charlie Bronson, though?”
The group of young males looked confused. Nina rolled her eyes and tried again. “Michael Gordon Peterson?” Nothing. “Also known as Charlie Bronson?” Still nothing. “Christ, don't you read? The most dangerous inmate in British history? Been in prison for decades on and off, but just causes trouble so that he can go back?”
“Nope. Never heard of him,” Colin's mouthy friend replied.
“Tom Hardy. Do you know the actor, Tom Hardy?” she asked with a complete lack of enthusiasm.
“Aye!” they all agreed.
“Good!” Nina said. “Look up a movie of his called Bronson, okay? Have a few beers on your newly discovered enlightenment or something, 'cause I am suddenly terrified for the future.”
With that Nina whipped her towel over her shoulder and left them behind, walking past the peculiar man with the strength of a comic book monster. For a moment she cast a glance back at him and felt her hair stand on end. Something about him was unnatural, but it was not his strength. The trainer who delivered the short exposition jogged up behind her as she reached the steps. “You think it is Bronson?” he asked eagerly, constantly looking back at the man. “He was in Wakefield too, right?”
“Aye,” she replied casually, trying to shake the trainer off so that she could do some spying without being interrupted. “And some high security asylums too, so steer clear of him, just in case.”
The trainer, roughly the subordinate of Colin's age, glowed with excitement. Nina turned and stopped him in his tracks. “No, really. Stay away from him. You saw how quickly he lost his temper. Who knows what he could do to you outside in the parking area tonight when you knock off, you know?”
“I can check his membership details,” the trainer baited her as she tried to enter the ladies’ locker rooms. Nina turned and raised one eyebrow. “You could get fired for that.”
“Come on, lady,” he said, “we both want to know and we both know that there is more to life than walking up and down a bloody gym floor, babysitting amateur wrestlers and fat netball goalies.”
Nina actually gave it some thought. She could not help but admire a young man who wanted to evolve so badly, and the fact that he knew about a notorious prisoner in penal history scored him two points already. His smile and shining eyes reminded Nina of an excited golden retriever, over-zealous to impress and oh-so-eager to make his mark. Her dark eyes looked around for any eavesdroppers or eyes on them, just as Sam had taught her. “Alright. What’s your name?”
“Joel Thompson,” he almost shouted, elated that she’d allowed him into her twisted curiosity. “My name is Joel.”
“Okay, I'll be in again tomorrow. You find out what his address is, because his name could be fake,” she ordered. “And don't get caught.”
“I won’t,” he assured her.
“And if they catch you, don’t implicate me,” she warned. “You’ll find I have some very unsavory mannerisms when fucked with.”
Her desired effect on the young man was unsuccessful, leaving him far more excited by her forcefulness than she had hoped. Nina walked into the deserted ladies’ change room and unlocked her locker to retrieve her vanity case before heading toward the shower. Shedding her sweat-drenched training clothes, she hung her dry shower towel over the partition and turned on the taps.
Steam enveloped her shapely, compact body as the soothing, hot water trickled over her curves and fell to the tiled floor of the shower. Her weary skin received the ecstatic meanders of clear streams that tickled her naked body as she closed her eyes to wet her hair. Nina was delighted that her recently defeated illness had not claimed her hair as it had initially threatened to do. She now had her beauteous tresses back—fuller and longer than before. Nina moaned softly as she submerged her head under the umbrella of gentle liquid and her slender fingers caressed her scalp with shampoo. The obscured Perspex partitions were enough to maintain her modesty, but still showed off her form as she turned slowly in circles under the showerhead.
She knew she had to make haste. It was a few minutes to closing time and she’d never taken the time to shower at the gym before. Usually she went back to her temporary apartment before taking off the sweat-soaked tights and vest she trained in. But tonight she wanted to be clean before she arrived at the B&B, just in case Sam showed up as he’d promised countless times in the past two weeks. He could have forgotten, but that was unlikely. Sam Cleave was the type who would want her to think he had neglected their dinner date and then show up out of nowhere to surprise her.
But he was not the one due to surprise her this evening. From the other side of her cubicle a creeping shape appeared from the dark recesses of the janitor's entrance. The historian had no idea that she was being watched. All she could think of was her rekindled friendship with Dave Purdue after he’d rescued her from captivity—and certain death—when she thought nobody would ever find her. Through her healing thoughts simmered the handsome face of Sam Cleave, the world-renowned investigative journalist. Unlike Purdue, he had been distant since they’d returned to the United Kingdom, but he’d still kept in touch. Nina hoped to see more of him while she was in town, but being due back home in Oban in two days, she doubted Sam would still pay her a visit.
Next to the last cubicle in the row something clicked loudly. Nina snapped back to reality, listening intently. Had she imagined it? Was it a staff member coming to check if the place were empty? It was rather near to closing time after all.
“I'll be out in a minute,” Nina said firmly, hoping that she could assert herself well enough to chase off any peeping Tom or curious staff member. But there was no reply and no movement following her statement, leaving Nina to wonder if she’d just imagined it. No sooner had she stopped considering the sound, when the power went out. Suddenly a clap screamed through the entire restroom, shattering the shower partitions between the janitor's entrance and Nina's cubicle.
Nina fell to the hard tiled floor and lay dead still under the shards of Perspex, while the showerhead wept over her. In the distance, she could hear women yelping in panic and men talking nearby, discussing the sudden power outage and the gunshot they’d just heard. Managers and trainers announced that they’d have the back-up generator running momentarily, but as they spoke Nina heard two frantic women enter the locker room. In the dark from where the shape had been came a light crunch of soles on slivers.
It's moving. Lie dead still. He can't see you in the dark, she told herself.
“I'm getting the fuck out of there, Bets. That was a fucking gunshot. Christ, they shot someone, I tell ya. They shot someone and I'm not standing around to get the next bullet,” the one voice said in an annoying Cockney drawl. “We’ll just stay in here. Just stay here until it's all over, right?”
“We can't leave. Listen! Listen, we can’t hide in here. They’ll lock us in when they chase everyone out. Don't be stupid. Let go of me, Sarah! Geez, it could have been an electrical circuit popping, man. You don't know...”
“Bets!” Sarah interrupted harshly. “Dad was in the armed forces, okay? I know a fucking gunshot when I hear one.”
From next to Nina the crunching steps turned away and within two light treads it was gone. Nina wasn’t sure if she should move. Could it be a trap to determine her vicinity?
No, not yet. Wait. Don't move, Nina thought just as the warm water ran out and the previously pleasant droplets became icy stabs on her chilled skin. But she couldn’t afford to move; not now. With the commotion outside the ladies’ changing rooms, Nina had trouble hearing exactly where the stalker was. Her body was freezing under the cold shower and she cold feel the sharp burn of tiny cuts to her skin. It didn’t even occur to her that she was stark naked.
At once the two women on the other side of the lockers started screaming hysterically, and it was then that Nina once more d
iscerned the crunching footfalls toward their area. Squealing did not help. A loud crack of a fist on bone resounded, followed by a heavy thump. Nina heard how the other shrieking woman's mouth was covered, subduing her cries. Rapid footsteps knocked past Nina's static frame, accompanied by the woman's obscured sobbing. They helped to locate the position of the kidnapper as he moved.
Shit! Shit! Nina thought, contemplating chasing naked after the abductor while someone could still stop him. What if he is a serial killer? What if he is some depraved cannibal or a sick fuck who cuts women up like Jack the Ripper? her empathy urged. Can you live with the fact that you were right there and did nothing to avert a tragedy?
The woman called Sarah was wrapped up in the restrictive clamp of the kidnapper as they exited the maintenance area into the night. Terrified, the woman kicked, but the man who had taken her felt absolutely nothing. Like a machine he walked briskly with her as if she were a rag doll. He didn't notice the petite nightmare running full out towards them from the same exit with a large shard of glass in her right hand.
5
“I must say, it is a dashing photograph,” Sam remarked, looking very impressed. He tiled the newspaper to get a better look. “Even a flattering angle too. You know, you are extremely photogenic.”
“Shut the fuck up, Sam,” Nina said, annoyed and miserable.
“No, seriously,” he teased. “And, and look at this headline: “Kidnapping thwarted by Lady Godiva.” Such a catchy tag too. I mean, I would have wanted to read this immediately if I saw this.”
Nina looked mortified. Sam smiled and gave her a rough hug. “Come on, love, you saved a woman's life! For once you’re getting credit for it. Most of the time you’ve saved lives nobody could ever know about. Look at this. People love you!”
“Of course they love me,” she scoffed. “They can see my tits.”
Sam wanted to laugh, but he considered his beloved friend's feelings and tried another way of consoling her about the barely blurred out security camera still of her stabbing the kidnapper in the ankle outside Masterton's Gym & Fitness in the bowels of Quartermile. “Look, Nina, you’re missing the praise of this article. They’re calling you a hero, for God's sake. And you are! What would have befallen that poor woman if you hadn’t interfered? Huh? She owes her life to you and all you can think about is what you were wearing...or,” he shrugged, “not.”
She looked at him with a piercing vexation. “Don't you dare smile, Sam Cleave.”
Sam couldn’t take the expression on Nina's face anymore. It was simply too sweet, like a pouting puppy trying to look vicious. A loud exclamation of hearty laughter escaped him, but he quickly grabbed her and held her tightly. Nina didn’t even try anymore. She would have to save her fury for later, when Sam would not see her retribution coming.
“Jokes aside, though,” he finally said as his laughter gave way to some seriousness. “What happened? He got away, didn't he?”
“Aye, but I got him good enough for him to drop the girl and limp away as fast as he could. Fucker,” she replied.
“And you didn’t see his face or anything? You wouldn’t be able to recognize him?” Sam asked as she handed him a hot cup of Horlicks. She shook her head.
“And you say he was shooting at you?” he wanted to know.
“I don't know. It sounded like a gunshot when the glass broke all over me, but it was pitch dark. Damned if I know how he managed to see where that Sarah girl was. He stood right next to me for quite a while, as if he could see me, but when those women came in, yapping, he elected to grab one of them for some reason.” She relayed all she knew. “It was almost...” she frowned in deep thought. “It was almost as if he wanted me to scream. He waited right there, but I kept quiet. You know? When that chick started screaming he took her after knocking out her friend.”
“Maybe you've got something there,” he told Nina. “Especially with serial killers; they have a system according to which they hunt and it sounds like you didn't give him what he wanted, thank God. I mean, even if he is not a bona fide serial killer, I’m sure he was not planning a day at the spa for that girl.”
“Aye, this is true,” she agreed. “I just can’t understand why they couldn’t catch him. The bastard was limping, not moving fast at all. Unless he disappeared into thin air or the cops suddenly went blind, I don't know how he got away. Two days had gone by and they still have not seen a sign of him in the surrounding six blocks? Bullshit.”
“Could be because he never left in the first place,” Sam suggested casually.
Nina's eyes stretched. “You’re right, Sam! Oh my God, maybe he’s still waiting for the dust to settle.”
“That could very well be. We’ve dealt with enough criminals and psychos to know that they have a knack for out-thinking the coppers and have unorthodox methods no normal person could foresee,” he speculated. “You think we should stake out the gym or something?”
“I don't think he’ll circle back to such a highly probable area,” Nina said. “He’ll know they are looking out for him.”
“I suppose. How have you been keeping? Your recovery, beating cancer and building up this physique is unbelievably impressive, you know? I have to give you kudos for that!” Sam changed the subject, taking care not to pry too deep into Nina's recovery while doing so.
“Thanks Sam,” she replied sincerely, grateful that he’d noticed. “As you know, I’m not someone who believes in miracles. Miraculous happenings are usually the culmination of circumstances and the willingness of people to make things right, in my opinion. But my cancer remission and my body persisting while virtually all my blood was tapped out; that was a miracle of Biblical proportions.”
“It was the water,” he smiled. “That water.”
“Aye, but the fact that it completely undid all of the damage and disease? That part is esoteric in nature, undeniably.” She smiled back at him, looking dreamily out the window.
Sam's eyes moved past Nina to the television screen behind her. “Nina, you're not going to believe this.”
“What?” she asked, turning to see what he was looking at.
On the flat screen behind her the Channel 11 News was reporting on a kidnapping in progress.
“Turn it up!” Nina cried.
Sam grabbed the remote control and took the TV off of mute as Nina sat down next to him on the edge of the sofa. The news anchor reported on the foiling of the previous abduction by the so-called 'Lady Godiva' heroine, Dr. Nina Gould from Oban. Nina pinched her eyes shut and pursed her lips, knowing that Sam was probably looking at her and snickering at the nickname again. But he wasn’t laughing at all. When Nina opened her eyes she found Sam spellbound, staring seriously at the television screen.
“Sam?” she frowned.
“Shush!” he replied, scowling as he focused on the report. Sam felt his heart sink when the picture of a young schoolgirl appeared on-screen while the journalist reported.
“In the early hours of this morning, an eleven-year-old Edinburgh girl was reported missing by her mother, who had been woken up by a disturbance in her Falkirk home. Upon inspection, the mother, Mrs. Eileen Smith, found that her young daughter had just been kidnapped through the bedroom window by an intruder. The distraught Mrs. Smith tried to chase after them, but was too late by the time she’d exited her front door. The police and local authorities have put the case on high priority and will be actively combing the surrounding main roads and neighborhoods to net the kidnapper.”
Sam fell back on the couch, covering his face with his hands. He seemed shocked and spoke to himself into his hands while Nina was trying to figure out what was going on. She didn’t know the people reported on, so she had to ask. “Sam? Are you alright?”
All she could hear inside Sam's hands were his muffled words repeating endlessly and softly, “Oh, Christ, no. Oh, sweet Jesus, no.”
It alarmed Nina that he sounded so hopeless, in distress at what he’d just seen on TV, but she decided to wait until he was read
y to explain. Her large, dark eyes glinted in the pale blue flashes of the television screen, where an action film was starting. She took the remote control and turned down the volume. It was upsetting to hear the jovial and sharp-witted Sam Cleave moan and pray into his hands. Only when he removed his hands did Nina realize he was weeping. She said nothing, but her stomach churned at the sight. Sam was a tough investigative journalist and explorer who had braved a myriad of onslaughts and escaped from captivity from the most unsavory characters of the underworld. To see him wail in despair was unsettling.
Finally he looked at her and said, “That is Paddy's daughter. They took Paddy's little girl! Jesus! They took her, just as they said they would, Nina.”
“Who? Who said so?” she asked, keeping her tone as serene as possible.
“Who do you think? The fucking Black Sun, that's who!” he shouted, sounding more hurt than angry.
Nina didn’t know what to say. There was no appropriate response to something like this. If there were, she didn’t know it. She knew Paddy fairly well, although they were really more like acquaintances. She’d still called him Patrick the last time she saw him. When she’d first met him he was DCI Patrick Smith, a homicide-investigating officer from Edinburgh. Shortly after, Nina remembered that he’d left his steady life in the police service and joined MI6, the British intelligence agency supplying the government with foreign intelligence. There he quickly impressed his superiors and attained the title of Agent for Special Operations.
He’d been Sam's best friend since boyhood, but their friendship had suffered many devastating blows since Sam had become involved with Dave Purdue's pursuits of historical relics and his subsequent run-ins with the clandestine Order of the Black Sun. Paddy often had to clean up red tape messes in the wake of Sam and Purdue's secret involvements in unsolved crimes and cold case homicides. Because of the sensitive nature of their connection to a powerful world organization, Paddy could never allow them to be arrested or incarcerated. He had become the Cleave-Purdue secret keeper and crime guardian, and that had not sat well with him after the business in Romania. So he and Sam had gone their separate ways. It had become too dangerous for Paddy to be involved with the Black Sun, with their Nazi ideology pulsing through all the sectors of the modern world. They could reach him or his loved ones at will.
Order of the Black Sun Box Set 6 Page 3
