‘Nothing’s going on, Mr Napier,’ said Villiers, coming up to the camera and staring in to it. ‘No disrespect, sir, but I did what I thought necessary to secure the information we needed. And look at this…’ The camera followed his slender form as he wandered by the desks to another door at the far end of the windowless room. He pushed it open and the camera went through the doorway. There were two dentist’s chairs sitting side by side, a small table on either side of them. More broken equipment lay strewn across the tables and bits of motherboard and plastic casings had been strewn across the floor near them. Villiers stepped over to one of the tables. There were coffee cups and a half-eaten sandwich on a plate nearby, left in a hurry. He picked up something small and metallic, lifted it to the camera to show his audience. ‘An ampoule,’ he said, sniffing at it. ‘Tremethelene,’ he explained.
‘Tremethelene substitute, I shouldn’t wonder,’ said Lindegaard. ‘Have the men bring it in along with anything else they can lay their hands on. As usual, the chairs and tables must be dusted for fingerprints, and any DNA material carefully bagged for analysis.’
‘Will do, Mr Lindegaard,’ said the voice behind the camera.
‘I don’t know, Mr Lindegaard…’ said Villiers.
Lindegaard frowned as the camera turned to Villiers again. ‘You don’t know what?’ he asked.
‘This smells like pure tremethelene. Trem substitute has an altogether different, distinctive odour.’
‘So now he’s an expert on tremethelene?’ muttered Napier, rolling his eyes.
‘It has to be substitute,’ said Lindegaard, his eyes widening – widening not by much, but Napier could tell he wasn’t pleased by the revelation. ‘Not unless they’re getting it directly from us, and given our tight security surrounding the production and circulation of tremethelene that’s impossible.’
‘Nothing’s impossible, Mr Lindegaard,’ said Villiers.
‘Bring it in and we’ll do an analysis before we jump to conclusions. In the meantime, well done, Mr Villiers. But please, include Mr Napier in any future operation to save nasty altercations. I applaud your aptitude and your willingness to apply yourself to the situation, but if you do such a thing ever again you will feel the full force of mine and Mr Napier’s wrath. Do I make myself clear, Villiers?’
‘Very clear, Mr Lindegaard.’
Lindegaard turned off the TV and faced Napier, whose expression was one of simmering anger. ‘I want you to supervise the analysis of what we found there. Is your new man, Levoir, as good as you say he is?’
‘I hope so, Mr Lindegaard. He’s better than anyone else I have in being able to spot CSL’s incursions into the Heights. He’s got special skills.’
‘Then put him to good use. Like you planned, let him go through the equipment and winkle out any data we might use to locate Charlie Sharland.’
‘And Villiers?’ Napier spat the name out like it was a bad taste in his mouth.
‘Meet with him.’
‘What? I don’t want anything more to do with the man. His attitude is dangerous, you know that.’
‘I want you to meet with him. He has another name for us.’
‘Who?’
‘He says he’s only willing to tell you, even when I insisted. Now a man who refuses me is either foolish or brave. But to do it on your behalf… How’s that for loyalty? See, you misread him. He looks up to you.’ He downed his whisky and coughed lightly on it. ‘Meet with him and see what more he has to offer. We can always take care of Mr Villiers later. And pray your man Levoir can make good any corrupt data on those hard drives we found.’ He smiled, sank back into the leather chair, a satisfied smile on his face. ‘Every day we are getting closer, Mr Napier. One day soon we will crush CSL forever. I feel it in my water.’ Then his face fell serious. ‘We still have the issue of our mole or moles, Robert…’
‘I’m working on it, Mr Lindegaard.’
‘Information is leaking out somewhere. And now the possibility that CSL might be using our very own tremethelene – that really pisses me off, Robert. If that’s so, then it goes deeper than merely a mole or two. To get hold of our product means our security is being totally undermined. I have a nest of moles at the heart of my business. That cannot do. I want them removed. Spend as much as you like in tracking the perpetrators down, but do it and do it quickly. I’m relying on you, Robert, like never before.’
Robert Napier nodded. ‘I’m onto it, Mr Lindegaard.’
‘You may leave now,’ Lindegaard said, but as Napier rose from his chair Lindegaard held up a hand. ‘This Levoir…’
‘Adrian Levoir? What about him.’
‘You can trust him?’
‘I’m sure I can.’
Lindegaard grunted. ‘He’s in a bit of a state over what happened to Roland Fuller.’
‘It must have come as a shock. A man had his head blown off in front of him.’
‘All the same, you know what I said about compassion. Well it has another insidious property; it reveals to the outside world our very souls. It helps leak out the truth, acts as a mirror to our innermost feelings.’
Napier eyed him. What was he getting at now, he wondered? ‘Sorry, Mr Lindegaard?’
‘Perhaps I am getting as I cannot look at any man’s actions without seeing something suspicious in them. I hope Levoir’s reaction does not betray his real self.’
Napier frowned deeply. ‘You don’t trust him?’
‘It was something Villiers said about him.’
‘That scumbag? What did he tell you?’
Lindegaard smiled warmly. ‘I’ll let him tell you, shall I?’ He turned to the TV, switched it on and flipped to the news channel. The meeting was over.
Napier walked out of the room, his mind filled with a multitude of conflicting thoughts that fought like a bunch of livid cockerels in an overcrowded cockfight.
There was a tight feeling in the pit of his stomach. All was not right and he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. There was definitely something lingering in Lindegaard’s eyes he didn’t like the look of.
Something calculating and cold. Cold beyond cold.
16
A Heap of Distrust
‘Steven!’ Wade yelled, leaping from the bus, grabbing his fallen gun and running to the edge of the tiny circle of light given off by the small bonfire. He heard muffled screams of pain and terror from the blackness, a savage roar, and then it fell silent. He lifted both guns, aimed them in the direction of the sounds, but he couldn’t see a thing. It was far too dark.
‘Oh my God! Oh my God!’ Hartshorn was blubbering, his legs having gone weak and unable to support him. He was half crawling, half running to the door of the bus. ‘Did you see that? Christ, did you see that – that thing?’
Wade slid Bolan’s gun into the belt of his trousers, bent down and picked out a thin stem from the bonfire; the light was feeble and it guttered uncertainly, as if it too were afraid of what lay out there. He held it high before him, scanning the night as he stepped cautiously forward.
‘Steven!’ he shouted. But he knew it was a waste of time; he came across a long trail of blood soaking into the ground, and one of the young man’s blood-spattered trainers.
‘Steven!’ It was Martin Bolan. He came running to Wade’s side. ‘Steven!’
‘He’s dead,’ said Wade.
‘We don’t know that. We’ve got to go and rescue him from whatever that thing is.’
Wade shook his head. ‘You saw the bus driver.’ He thought he heard scuffling sounds, from his left. More to his right.
‘He might still be alive…’
‘There are more of them…’ Wade said quietly, swinging the firebrand around to light up the stygian black desert.
Now Bolan’s concern for the young man gave way to fear. ‘Are you sure?’
Wade nodded. ‘Over there,’ he said indicating the direction with a sharp flick of his head. ‘And this side, too. It sounds like they’re encircling us. Back up slowly. No s
udden moves. I don’t know what we’re dealing with here but it’s not afraid of a little bonfire, that’s for sure.’
As if to give credence to his words, they saw the flicker of twin green orbs floating balefully in the dark, the torchlight reflecting in the creature’s eyes. It lit up another set, and another as the largely invisible beasts edged closer.
‘Over there,’ said Bolan breathlessly.
‘I see them,’ said Wade. ‘Go, get back on the bus, I’ll cover you.’
‘There are too many of them,’ said Bolan. ‘You can’t hold them off on your own.’
‘Do as I say,’ he ordered, and Bolan walked slowly backwards, head darting this way and that to the sounds of heavy panting, and a guttural growl from over to his immediate right. Wade followed him, taking steps backwards. He was soon level with the bonfire, which, left unattended, was quickly beginning to die down.
They heard a loud but familiar hissing noise. To his amazement Wade turned to see the doors of the bus closing. They were trapped outside.
‘It’s Hartshorn,’ said Bolan. ‘The bastard’s shut the doors on us!’
Hartshorn’s terrified face, pale and drawn, could be seen as he emerged from the cab. Others rose from their seats and were running to the front of the bus. Wade could hear the muffled protestations of Amanda Tyler as she fought to get past Hartshorn to the driver’s cab, but he was holding her off, pointing outside and jabbering something he couldn’t catch.
‘Open the bloody doors!’ Wade called. ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing, Hartshorn? Jesus!’
A loud confident growl shredded the blackness before them and a massive black shadow broke free from the night to stand on the edge of the circle of light. It was just bright enough to make out its muscular torso, its thick-set limbs as it moved stealthily towards them and then stopped. Its huge shaggy head was for the most part lost in shadow, but it reminded Wade of a wolf. Except when it rose to its full height – around seven feet tall – it took on the aspect of a man.
‘Open the doors!’ said Bolan, who was now banging hard on the glass. It was plain to see that a minor fight had broken out as first Amanda, and then the Kennedys, attempted to push by Hartshorn to get to the cab to open the doors. Jack Benedict and Lauren Smith stared out of the windows at Wade and Bolan, apparently frozen rigid with fright.
Wade pulled the trigger. The loud retort caused the fighting in the bus to stop for an instant. Martin Bolan spun round in time to see the creature flinch and give out a piercing roar, turning and fleeing. He returned to hammering on the bus doors, and inside the frenzy grew anew as a panic-stricken Hartshorn flailed madly to keep his attackers at bay. Jack Benedict got up from his position near the window to join the fray.
‘Here!’ cried Wade to Bolan, tossing him his gun.
Both men had their backs to the bus’s doors, their weapons levelled. Wade’s heart raced, his mouth sponged dry, listening to the sounds of the injured animal as its distress was quickly picked up by the others in the unseen pack, and a wild, horrific howling built up all around them.
‘They’re going to attack!’ Wade warned.
No sooner had he uttered the fretful words than an immense shaggy black beast launched itself into the puddle of light, lurching from the screen of night towards the two men. They had no time to think, or to take in the monstrous, hateful visage of the creature as it hurtled towards them. As one they pulled the triggers of their guns, firing point blank into the body of the animal. It fell down dead at their feet, what appeared to be a clawed hand scuffing Wade’s trousers and ripping them.
‘This side!’ said Bolan, aiming to his right and firing. Wade joined him. Another creature screeched in pain and bolted into the night.
At last the doors swung open. ‘Get on board!’ Wade yelled.
Bolan did as he was ordered and clambered up the steps of the bus. ‘Wade, come on!’ he called.
Wade didn’t need encouragement. He launched himself into the bus. But one of the creatures had thrown itself at him and Wade just managed to pull his foot out of the way before a set of drooling jaws had time to snap around it. He aimed at the creature’s savage hairy head, its eyes blazing with a primitive fury, and pulled the trigger. The head exploded, a fountain of blood spraying him as the monster dropped dead on the steps.
Paul Kennedy was in the cab, attempting to close the bus’s doors, but the body of the twitching creature was preventing them from doing so. Wade saw more of the animals lurching towards the bus. He kicked at the dead creature, pushing it from the steps. It slithered away and the doors slammed shut just as a mass of large, furry shapes pounded the glass. Someone screamed.
Wade pulled Kennedy out of the driver’s cab and sat down on the seat, gunning the engine. The screeches and roars of the creatures outside grew in intensity till the bus appeared to be at the centre of a violent storm, surrounded by a maelstrom of hellish sound. The noise of the creatures’ manic beating at the bus’s sides and the tearing squeals of their claws scraping down metal caused Hartshorn to yelp in terror, and he ran to the back of the bus and tried to hide between the seats there.
With a lurch, the bus gathered momentum as Wade hit the gas. Under the glare of the headlights he saw a number of black shapes loping in front of the bus. He ran straight into them, a sickening crunch as the creatures went under the wheels. He accelerated, the bus bouncing dangerously into potholes, but was amazed to see that some of the creatures were keeping pace with it.
‘They’re following!’ said Bolan. ‘Can’t you go any faster?’
‘I’ll rip the axles out from under us if I’m not careful,’ he returned breathlessly, wincing when the hit a particularly rough stretch of road. He glanced outside. Beneath his window he made out the lolloping form of a huge beast, its craggy head looking up at him, white fangs glistening in a red mouth, malicious green eyes fixing securely on him. ‘Christ, they’re fast!’ Wade said.
‘What the devil are they?’ Bolan asked, holding tightly onto one of the rails by the cab. ‘Are they wolves?’
They weren’t like anything Wade had ever seen before. Half humanoid, half animal – and totally impossible, he thought, except within the confines of a nightmare.
The animals kept up with the bus for three or four excruciating minutes, then, as if responding to an unheard signal, the creatures slowed down and let the vehicle go. Wade continued to drive at a breakneck pace for another ten minutes or so. When he was confident he’d put enough distance between them he slowed to a stop.
‘What are you doing?’ screeched Hartshorn, vacating his hiding place on the floor between the seats. ‘We can’t stop! They’ll kill us!’
His breath coming in rapid bursts, sweat moistening his forehead, Wade stepped out of the driver’s cab, his eyes burning with rage. He strode down the aisle to Hartshorn. ‘You miserable, cowardly bastard!’ he said. ‘You could have killed us both by closing the damn doors on us!’
Hartshorn backed away before the furious man, suddenly afraid. ‘I had no choice. If those things got on the bus we’d all be dead. You saw what they did to that kid!’ As if the words had unlocked the memories he began to shake vigorously, his lips quivering. ‘Oh God, we’re in Hell! We’re in fucking Hell!’ He retreated to the back of the bus again, Wade following closely.
‘You’ll be going there soon enough when I’ve finished with you, you snivelling little bastard!’ Wade had his gun in his hand as soon as he left the cab, more from instinct than anything else. Hartshorn’s eyes locked onto it.
‘He’s going to kill me! He’s a murderer! Stop him, Bolan, you’re a police officer!’
Martin Bolan was standing close behind Wade. His face was impassive. ‘You left us out there to die. This man saved my life,’ Bolan said. ‘Without him I’d be as dead as Steven and the bus driver. He can shoot you for all I care.’ And with that he turned and headed towards the front of the bus, sitting exhaustedly down in a seat.
Hartshorn looked pleadingly at t
he others. ‘You can’t let him kill me!’ he said, his voice breaking. ‘I was doing it for you. I was saving you all, can’t you see that?’
‘You sicken me,’ said Amanda Tyler, folding her arms, her eyes frosty. ‘If it hadn’t been for Jack and Paul here pulling you away we’d have been too late to save both men from those horrible things.’
‘Cheryl…’ She had remained silent all this time, watching events unfold, ‘Tell them I’m not a bad man. You know I did it for you, don’t you? Tell them.’
But even her face was devoid of emotion. She quietly turned away from him.
‘You’ve done nothing but moan about things and be awkward since we first found ourselves in this mess,’ Jack Benedict said. ‘We’re all scared, but what you did back there was inhuman. Cowardly.’
‘Christ, the man’s a murderer! He slaughtered his wife and daughter! You’ll take his side over mine?’
Wade’s fingers tightened around the gun. Amanda Tyler saw the action.
‘Leave him, Samuel – it is Samuel, isn’t it?’ she asked.
He nodded. ‘Sam,’ he said.
‘Leave him, Sam. He’s terrified, like the rest of us. This place is doing some strange things to all of us.’
‘I didn’t kill my family…’ Wade murmured.
‘I believe you,’ she said tenderly.
‘You don’t know me.’
‘That’s right,’ said Hartshorn, sensing the situation beginning to defuse, his self-assuredness returning, ‘you don’t know him.’
‘Can it, Hartshorn,’ said Wade, pocketing the gun. ‘And think yourself lucky I’m not the man you think I am.’ He turned to the others. ‘That goes for you, too. Whether you believe me or not, I’m the only one who has the remotest chance of getting you through all this. Whatever you’ve read, whatever you’ve seen on TV, I did not kill my family. I’m on the trail of the man who did. I was on his trail. And as soon as this is all over I’ll be back on his trail.’ He took one last look out the rear window, saw it was clear and headed for the front of the bus.
Armageddon Heights (a thriller) Page 14
