Armageddon Heights (a thriller)

by D. M. Mitchell

  ‘Does that mean it’s not safe out here?’ Bolan called, unable to keep up with Wade. Both he and Amanda stopped trying and let Wade take the lead. Bolan stopped and looked back at the bus. ‘Maybe we ought to head on back. We’re running out of water anyway…’ He turned to Amanda. ‘What do you reckon? Turn back, try again later?’

  ‘He’s found something,’ she said, pointing at Wade who had dropped to his haunches again. They ran to catch him up. ‘What is it? What have you found?’

  Poking his fingers into the red sandy soil he lifted it up for them to see.

  ‘What is that?’ Bolan asked, panting.

  ‘Blood,’ said Wade.

  ‘Was one of the kangaroos hurt?’ Amanda put forward tentatively.

  ‘We’re not talking kangaroos here,’ Wade said, wiping his finger down his trousers. ‘And I reckon this isn’t an animal’s blood.’

  Bolan grew visibly agitated. ‘You mean the bus driver’s wounded? You think he’s been attacked by whatever was following him?’

  ‘That’s about the size of it,’ Wade said, rising. ‘There’s a small trail of blood going off in that direction.’ He pointed out a piece of ground that appeared to be a dried-up river gully. ‘That’s where the tracks are headed. The man looks to have been running for his life.’

  ‘I don’t like the sound of that…’ said Bolan. ‘I think it’s time we headed back to the bus…’

  But Wade was off again, striding towards the edge of the gully from where the land shelved steeply down. He came to an abrupt halt and held up his hand. Bolan and Amanda stopped short.

  ‘What is it?’ Bolan asked tentatively.

  ‘I think we’ve found our bus driver. What’s left of him.’

  Amanda came forward, slowly peered around Wade’s arm. ‘Oh my God!’ she exclaimed. ‘Oh my God!’ She put a hand to her mouth and turned her head away.

  ‘What is it?’ Bolan called, not really wanting to come any closer.

  ‘He’s dead,’ Amanda called.

  Bolan replied. ‘The bus driver?’

  ‘Of course, the bus driver!’ She rolled her eyes.

  ‘Are you sure he’s dead? I mean, he could be sleeping.’

  ‘Then he’s sleeping in three different parts of the gully,’ said Wade.

  It was Bolan’s turn. ‘Oh my God!’ he said.

  ‘Stay here, I’ll take a look,’ Wade ordered. They didn’t need much persuading, he thought as he scrambled down the rocky slope, his shoes kicking up a flurry of pebbles and dust. He heard a drone, like a distant helicopter; it was a cloud of flies swarming around the bloodied remains of the bus driver.

  His torso had been ripped apart, his stomach torn open and the intestines strewn out across the rocky ground. In place of a face there was a gaping red hole, parts of the skull that formed the forehead, nose and cheeks completely vanished. One arm was intact, but the other lay among a thicket of scrubby shrubs as if tossed there. A leg had been bitten off at the thigh, the other leg missing.

  Wade put a hand to his mouth. He’d witnessed death many times before, seen corpses mangled by IEDs and shells, hardly recognisable as human, but this was different. This was the results of an animal savagery he could only imagine. He stood over the dead body, wafted away the cloud of irritating flies that peppered the decomposing flesh, and gingerly reached into the man’s coat pocket – or what remained of it. He took out a bloodstained wallet. Inside was a photo of a woman and two children, both girls. The ID said he was one Paul Jubb.

  Well he was a dead Paul Jubb now, thought Wade. He scanned the area. Nothing to be seen. No sign of the creatures that did this, but he was getting nervous by the minute. He put the wallet back into the coat pocket and searched the driver’s other pockets, finally taking out a set of ignition keys to the bus. He scrabbled back up the side of the gully.

  ‘Was it the animals that did it to him? The wild dogs?’ Bolan asked shakily.

  Wade nodded. ‘It was animals alright, and something I don’t want to meet, so we’d best be getting out of here.’

  ‘But the bus driver…’ Amanda said.

  ‘What about him?’ Wade returned.

  ‘We can’t leave him out here.’

  ‘We can’t take him with us,’ he said shortly.

  ‘Then we’ll have to bury him at least,’ said Bolan. ‘It’s the only decent thing to do.’

  ‘We’re not hanging around,’ Wade insisted. ‘Something incredibly huge, powerful and vicious did that to him and I don’t want to be out here in the open when it gets hungry again.’

  ‘But that’s not Christian!’ he said.

  ‘Tough. He’s not in a position to know the Christian thing. You can either come back with me or face whatever’s out there, but I’d advise the former.’

  Amanda and Bolan glanced at each other, turned silently about and left the scene in a hurry. Wade put a hand to the comforting feel of the handgun in his pocket, taking one last look around him before setting off after them.

  8

  A Regular Van Gogh

  Adrian Levoir stood at the hotel window, staring out at the line of traffic that snaked down the road, the streets wet with rain, the reds of the brake lights reflecting in the puddles like Christmas tree lights, he thought. The window was triple-glazed, so all he heard was a faint drone, the world going about its business in silence. Almost like a silent movie, he mused.

  He turned. The room was plush. Far more expensive than anything he’d ever stayed in. But he was just a little too tired to enjoy it. The unexpected trip from New Mexico had taken it out of him. The large-screen TV blabbed away to itself, images playing out largely unseen. He’d had a shower, changed into a fresh shirt and suit that Napier had already got his PA to buy in advance for him and which he found hanging in the wardrobe along with two other suits, and a message from her to go to Savile Row first thing in the morning and have a couple of new made-to-measures ordered, to make sure they were good ones and not to worry about the expense.

  So he took a shower and put on one of the new suits. He really needed to get something to eat, but Napier had arranged to meet him in his room so he had to stay put and listen to his stomach complain.

  Eventually there was a knock at the door and Levoir let Robert Napier in.

  ‘You’re settled?’ Napier asked without expecting a reply. ‘Good. Have you eaten?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘Follow me.’

  They passed through wide, richly decorated corridors, descended a curving staircase with a highly polished dark-red mahogany banister looking like the shining back of a sinuous python, their shoes tapping on marble steps. They were greeted by a maitre de who led them through to a spacious elegant room. Its yellow, gold and cream decoration was seductively lit by a diffused glow emanating from myriad matching Edwardian wall lamps and three monstrous, shimmering crystal chandeliers high above their heads, whose beads sparkled with colourful shards of light. There were about ten tables laid out, but all were empty. The maitre de showed them to their table, handed over menus, signalled to a waiter who appeared from nowhere to stand by a delicately carved marble fireplace. The maitre de left the room and closed the door softly after him.

  Gentle music wafted through the air like a breeze. The relaxing strains of a violin and the sweet tinkling of piano accompaniment.

  ‘Beethoven,’ said Napier as if reading Levoir’s mind. ‘Sonata for Piano and Violin, No5.’ He listened carefully. ‘2nd movement.’ His eyes scanning the menu, he asked, ‘Do you like Beethoven?’

  ‘I can’t say that I like classical music, Mr Napier,’ he replied.

  Napier eyed him, his expression almost as if he’d misjudged the young man sitting opposite him. He cleared his throat. ‘If no one else, you should listen to and appreciate Beethoven. I admire a man who can be so gentle one moment, and violently aggressive the next. It makes for a more rounded person.’

  ‘Indeed, Mr Napier.’

  Napier held up his hand for the wai
ter and he was at their table in an instant. ‘I’ll order for you,’ said Napier. He saw Levoir’s puzzled face. ‘You shouldn’t be surprised, Adrian; I know everything there is to know about you. What you like, what you dislike, what you hate to eat, what you love to gobble down.’ He duly ordered and demanded to be left completely alone.

  ‘It’s impossible to know everything about a man, Mr Napier,’ Levoir said.

  ‘You think so?’ he gave a tiny, insubstantial grin. ‘If it makes you feel better to think that, then think that, Adrian. How ambitious are you?’

  ‘Ambitious, Mr Napier?’

  ‘How far do you want to go with us? What’s your aim? Go on, say it.’

  Adrian Levoir studied his compressed reflection in the wine glass. ‘Begging your pardon, sir, but if you know everything about me then you already know the answer to that.’

  Napier’s face was cold, his eyes fixed on Levoir’s. Boring into him. Then he smiled. The first true smile Levoir could ever remember Napier giving. ‘I like you, Adrian. You’ve got balls. You try to make me think you’re the quiet kind, a shrinking violet, shrinking down to your work and hoping nobody notices you. But they’re the worst kind. Inside heads like yours great plots are being hatched, great dreams being stoked up like a furnace. You’d like my job, wouldn’t you? Go ahead, you can tell me. I won’t bite.’

  ‘I’d like Mr Lindegaard’s job, Mr Napier,’ he replied coolly.

  Napier clapped his hands. ‘That’s why you’re here, Adrian. You’ve got balls!’ He bent closer. ‘And you’ve got talent, unlike some of those other morons who work for me. I reward talent and ambition.’

  ‘I’m very pleased to hear it, Mr Napier.’

  ‘You want to go far?’

  He hesitated. Nodded slowly. ‘Yes, Mr Napier.’

  ‘Are you willing to do anything to get that far?’

  ‘Anything, Mr Napier?’

  ‘Anything.’

  ‘That depends…’

  ‘No depends, Adrian. Either you are or you aren’t.’

  Levoir licked his lips. ‘I guess I am, Mr Napier. I’m willing to do anything, if the rewards are high enough.’

  Napier nodded. ‘See, I know you like your own mother knows you, Adrian. Do you think I’d have wasted my time bringing you here if I didn’t, if I was unsure you wouldn’t do what I want you to do?’

  ‘And what exactly is it you want me to do, Mr Napier?’

  ‘I assume – OK, I know you’ve experienced using tremethelene. What young kid hasn’t these days.’

  ‘A tremtrip? One of the perks of the job, Mr Napier.’ Levoir, without thinking about it, touched the swelling just under his left ear.

  ‘And how did you find it?’

  ‘I can take the entire experience one way or the other, Mr Napier. Some people find they have a need for such things. Me, I can find my kicks elsewhere.’

  ‘Another reason you’re here. You’re dispassionate about Lindegaard’s little baby. Not many people can boast of being able to resist it so readily once they’ve succumbed to its many delights. Or evils, depending upon your position. What is your position, Adrian. Good or evil?’

  ‘Is this a trick question? What’s the right answer?’

  ‘There are many who think tremethelene evil.’

  ‘There are.’

  ‘Are you one of them?’ Napier asked.

  ‘I work for Mr Lindegaard,’ he said, bemused. ‘Do you think it evil?’

  There was a long silence as Napier regarded the young man seriously. ‘What is evil anyway?’ he said, laughing. ‘Do you suppose CSL are evil?’

  ‘I’m not a religious man, Mr Napier, therefore the concept is rather lost on me.’

  ‘Mr Lindegaard thinks them so.’

  Then I suppose I have to think the same,’ said Levoir, ‘given that he’s my employer.’ He frowned. ‘So back to the other question, Mr Napier. What is it exactly that you want me to do for you?’

  ‘You’re wasted on the front line, merely scanning for infringements and incursions into the Heights…’

  ‘It’s a tougher job than it looks, Mr Napier.’

  That same half-smile. ‘Have I upset you, Adrian?’

  ‘Hardly, sir.’

  ‘I didn’t think so. Mr Lindegaard has declared war on CSL. I need someone to help run down CSL. Help us destroy them. I think that person is you.’

  Levoir raised a brow. ‘Me? With all due respect, Mr Napier, until a few hours ago I don’t think you even knew who I was properly. Now you put me in charge of a big operation. Why is that? What’s the catch?’

  There was a knock at the door and their food was delivered to their table, the waiter pouring them wine. Napier waved the man away and they were left alone again.

  Napier settled his napkin on his thighs. ‘Catch? No catch. Use your technical ability to help me find and destroy CSL and the benefits to Lindegaard will be tremendous, your reward similarly so. You’ll be rich beyond your wildest dreams and all that baloney.’

  ‘Okay, so what are we talking about when you say you wish to destroy them?’

  ‘Just that. Wiped out.’

  Levoir looked closely at Napier, who began to tuck into his starter. ‘Wiped out…’ he repeated.

  Napier put a knife to his throat as he ate, and drew it slowly and meaningfully across it. ‘Just that.’

  Levoir nodded as understanding seeped quickly in. ‘I see.’

  ‘You say I knew nothing about you,’ Napier said. ‘I’ve told you, I know all about you from the moment you joined us. And I’ve had my eyes on you for some time.’ There was a spark in the man’s glassy eyeballs that Levoir found unsettling. ‘You’re like a dog chained to a post, eager to be set free into the fields, and you’ll do anything to make that happen. I have no doubt that you will jump at my offer. In fact, I wouldn’t have made it had I not been entirely confident in your response. So let’s not play games here, Adrian. Simply say yes and let’s forget all the bullshit. Lindegaard wants CSL crushed. Dead.’

  ‘It was only a matter of time,’ said Levoir. ‘I was wondering when Mr Lindegaard would finally get round to it.’

  Napier smiled. ‘That’s more like it. That’s the Adrian Levoir I was waiting for.’ He aimed his knife at the man. ‘You’re astute, you’re excellent technically, you’re ambitious and I believe underneath that quiet skin of yours you’re as ruthless as me. If anyone can help me find and remove CSL once and for all, it’s you.’

  ‘Should I take that as a compliment?’ said Levoir. He took a large swig of wine, his tongue flicking over his wet lips. ‘So how dead does he want them?’

  Napier angled his head. ‘I’ll let you figure that out for yourself. Don’t worry, I’m not asking you to get your hands dirty; I have other people at my disposal that will do the cleaning once you point us in the right direction. The Heights, by its very nature, is a very challenging environment and I need someone like you to keep tabs on what is happening there during the course of this mission.’

  ‘A mission?’ Levoir smiled thinly.

  Napier mirrored the smile. ‘Gives it an altogether more exciting air, don’t you think?’ Levoir opened up his mouth to speak. Napier interrupted. ‘I know what you’re going to say. To answer your question, yes, we finally have a useable lead we can follow up that will take us to the heart of CSL. We can penetrate their little operation and put paid to it for all time.’

  ‘Even Sharland?’

  ‘Ah, the mysterious Charlie Sharland! Yes, even Charlie Sharland, their Scarlet Pimpernel of a leader. He’s run rings round us once too often. No matter what safeguards we put in place he sidesteps them. Meaning that he has someone – or even a team – placed right at the operational heart of our business. He’s been able to second-guess us once too often for it to be simply coincidence.’

  ‘You need a purge. If there’s cancer you need to cut it out fast or it will spread out of control.’

  ‘Lindegaard said something similar and I fully agree w
ith him. I’m onto it. But this latest incursion into Sector 10225 has made me look a fool. I want Sharland and his CSL cronies to pay for it. He’ll regret he ever set foot in Armageddon Heights. I’m giving you anything you need. Spare no expense. You can have anything you wish to make this work, whatever equipment you need, whatever personnel. But, naturally, this is a covert operation, for obvious reasons. You report directly to me. You share only with me. Understand? And when CSL disappear, no one is to have an inkling that we were at the heart of it.’

  ‘Naturally. So, this lead – who or what is it?’

  ‘A slimeball named Dean Villiers. Says he was there at the heart of CSL’s operations when they first started out.’

  ‘You believe him? I heard there’d been others with similar claims,’ said Levoir.

  ‘We’ll see.’ He reached into his pocket and took out his mobile. ‘Villiers? Come downstairs at once. There’s someone I want you to meet.’ He stowed the phone away. ‘You can judge for yourself. He’ll be here in a minute or two. You don’t have to like him – he’s not that likeable – just use what info he has to further our aims.’ He set aside his cutlery. ‘CSL are in Sector 10225 seeking their next target

  ‘And we don’t know who.’

  ‘Correct. But if Sharland or one of his team gets to whoever it is then that’s one more recruited to further their aims.’ His jaw worked away as he thought. ‘What I really need is for guys like you to come up with something that will help us eliminate targets before become targets. Get my drift?’

  ‘We’ve been working on it for a while now, Mr Napier, and as yet we’re no closer to coming up with a solution. We can’t spot these people before…’

  Napier scoffed. ‘People? Listen, a word of advice; don’t let misguided sentiment get in the way, Levoir. They’re nothing, remember that. Nothing.’

  Levoir nodded. ‘Sure, Mr Napier. The targets are nothing.’ He noticed how agitated Napier had become, but he quickly regained his composure.