Levoir’s tongue felt too large for his mouth. ‘So that’s why you killed him, in case Lindegaard or Napier ever found out.’
Villiers shrugged. ‘It had to be. Now we find ourselves in the same situation, don’t we? You, me and Jungius here in the same room together, like the good old days all over again. Except it’s you that’s tied up in the chair. We all know how that ends.’
‘Are you going to kill me?’ Levoir stammered. ‘Is that it?’
‘It needn’t come to that. But I’m afraid your choices are limited. On the one hand, if you ever got the chance, and it’s looking unlikely, you could risk going to Lindegaard and hope he believes your story. On the other hand, I really can’t afford to let you go blabbing to Lindegaard, can I? Seriously, I’d be stupid to let you go free. So then I’d have no option but to kill you to prevent that. You’re in a bit of a Catch 22 situation. It doesn’t look good from where I’m sitting. But there is one option open to you…’
Levoir tried to speak, but his eyes kept darting to take in Jungius’ immobile bulk taking up most of the door, the man’s dead, marble-like eyes never once leaving him. He coughed to clear his throat. ‘OK, so what is that option?’
‘We need CSL on our side. We need Charlie Sharland. They’re the only organisation to have successfully penetrated most of Lindegaard’s defences, to have secured workable amounts of tremethelene and to have infiltrated the Heights. I need the knowledge and skills they have to help us bring down Lindegaard, to sabotage his business to such a degree it brings him down and to pass his business baton on to my employer. Lindegaard thinks he holds the key to his monopoly of the market tight to his chest, but in truth CSL have long since developed a duplicate key. Lindegaard knows as long as they exist they threaten his market dominance. We can help CSL with their ultimate aims and make it financially worthwhile for them to become involved with us. We need to find the mole Cobalt and contact him. He’s been the lynch pin in CSL’s operations, providing them with central intelligence and access to resources. We’re sure the data on those hard drives you were working on will help us pin him down. You’re good, Adrian; we are confident you can get us the information we need.’
‘Even if you do contact Cobalt, CSL won’t touch you with a barge pole. Money and big business doesn’t interest them.’
Villiers scowled. ‘Everyone is interested in money. And the amount my employer is offering will buy anyone. It’s more than enough to buy their limp, outdated ideology.’
‘Good luck with that,’ said Levoir.
‘Luck doesn’t come into it, Adrian. And I pray for your sake I am right and you are not. Here’s the rub; if you can’t help us get CSL on our side, you’re a dead man.’ His lips set straight. The cold expression frosted his face again. ‘Let’s stop beating about the bush, eh, Levoir? We want you to continue working on the hard drives until you’ve extracted as much information from them as you can. We haven’t got much time. CSL know we have them, and through them maybe even find links to their various networks. They’ll be working like mad to cover up their tracks before we can do that. What we all know is that CSL currently have an operative in the Heights and are involved in an extraction, which means they can’t move on until that’s completed and their agent is out. That’s the time you have left to help us get the data we need to make contact.’
‘So you need me…’
Villiers angled his head. ‘After a fashion, we need you.’
‘Which means you can’t kill me.’
‘Don’t push it, Levoir,’ he snarled. He waved a finger. Jungius stepped forward to stand large and imposing beside Villiers. ‘You do not have any cards of note to play. So we can do this the easy way or the hard way. You know how persuasive Jungius can be. So I suggest we try the easy way.’ He rose to his feet, stretched out his arms and yawned as if he’d been asleep for a long time. ‘Look, I’ll make this doubly easy for you. You get me what we need and you’ll be well rewarded, given far more than ever Lindegaard has offered you. You have already been assigned a place within my organisation, a respected and powerful position. A man of your talents are far and few between. You’ll also be a very rich man.’
‘How rich?’
That cynical smile returned. ‘I see your allegiance to Lindegaard is wearing thin. Let’s say it’s open to negotiation. My employers will be extremely grateful – we’re talking grateful to the tune of millions.’
‘Millions?’ Levoir had to hide his rising interest. He considered it. ‘I want something in writing. I don’t trust you.’
‘You’re so naïve, Levoir. Nothing will ever be written down about this deal. You’re going to have to trust me on this.’
I’m like a rabbit bargaining with a fox, thought Levoir, feeling sick inside.
‘I don’t want to be associated with Fuller’s murder,’ he said. ‘I was nowhere near him when it happened.’
‘Consider it done.’
‘Okay, you’ve got a deal. Untie me.’
Villiers waved Jungius over to the chair and the big man yanked at the rope binding, Levoir at last feeling his hands being released. He rubbed his wrists, sore from the chaffing.
‘What did I tell you? Money can buy anyone!’ Villiers barked triumphantly. ‘But I will warn you again not to let me down.’
‘What if there’s nothing else of use on the hard drives?’ Levoir asked. ‘I can’t magic stuff out of thin air just because you want it.’
‘You’re forgetting I have been keeping a close eye on what you were up to. I’ve seen your notes, Adrian,’ said Villiers. ‘I know you have a lead that will eventually point us to Cobalt.’
‘And, as you know so much, you’ll also know the data is heavily corrupted and encrypted, and all of it may not be recoverable.’
‘I’m giving you the best computer equipment available, even better than Lindegaard’s. You will get me that data and you will get it before CSL complete their latest extraction in the Heights. I do not accept failure.’
Levoir eyed him. Nodded dolefully. ‘I’ll do what I can.’
‘You will do it. Full stop.’ He mused on something for a second or two. ‘What a turn of events, eh? We now find that I am your employer. I like that,’ he said, walking to the door. ‘I do like that.’
25
The Jaws of the Beast
‘Outside!’ the man ordered, waving his rifle.
Wade and Keegan all but fell out of the bus, the gas following them through the exit as if intent on snapping at their heels. They collapsed onto their knees, coughing and spluttering and rubbing their eyes.
‘They’re all out,’ said the man as he calmly stepped out of the bus behind Wade. He strode around to Wade’s front, lifting off his gas mask as he did so. An old Second World War mask, Wade noticed through the blur of fiery tears. ‘Stand up, all of you,’ the man said, again brandishing the rifle.
The man was wearing a tunic made up of roughly sewn pieces of leather, and a pair of shorts constructed of the same material which ended just above his knees. His boots had been cobbled together in a similar fashion. His skin was tanned and weathered to a high degree, a man used to living out in the elements, and he sported a long, unkempt beard and a length of greasy straggly hair that sat like sleeping serpents on his broad shoulders. When he opened his mouth it revealed a row of rotten teeth. More men, all dressed similarly, gathered round the tiny group of terrified captives.
At the sight of them, Cheryl became panic-stricken again, screaming and tugging at her hair.
‘Shut the bitch up!’ the man said.
This was the man who’d first told them to give themselves up, Wade thought, the one obviously in charge – Cain’s second-in-command. Whoever this Cain was.
‘Cheryl, for Christ’s sake!’ Hartshorn said, coughing as he did so. ‘Do as the man says!’
But if anything her wailing grew in intensity. One of the armed men stepped forward and belted her with his rifle. Cheryl gave a plaintive yelp and fell over with the u
nexpected force of the blow. She rubbed her face, sobbing, but stayed quiet.
‘She’s ill!’ Wade said, holding himself in check; the urge to run to her defence kept at bay by the array of rifles suddenly aimed at him.
‘Shut your mouth!’ said the man. He handed his rifle to one of his grizzled companions and took out a revolver.
A Webley Mk V1 revolver, Wade observed as his eyes began to clear.
The man went down the line of prisoners, critically looking them up and down. He paused at Keegan pointed his gun at Keegan. ‘What uniform is this?’
‘It isn’t a uniform,’ she said.
‘Are there more of you out there?’ he said.
‘I’m on my own,’ she replied.
His eyes studied the desert behind her. ‘I wish I could believe you. What are you all doing here, where’d you come from?’
Hartshorn spoke up. ‘I wish we knew… My girlfriend and me…’ he nodded at Cheryl ‘…we just took a bloody bus, found ourselves stuck out here.’
The man strode over to Hartshorn, his eyes dropping into slits as he looked deep into Hartshorn’s troubled orbs. ‘You just found yourselves stuck out here? You expect me to believe that?’
‘It’s the truth,’ Wade interrupted. He closed his mouth when the man stared menacingly at him.
‘Look, I can pay good money,’ Hartshorn offered quickly. ‘I’ve got lots of money back home. I’m willing to let you have whatever you want if you don’t hurt me, let me go and show me the way out of here.’
‘Money, eh?’ said the man. He turned to his companions, now amassed on all sides, amounting to about thirty armed men looking upon the proceedings with a mixture of fascination, bemusement and downright hostility. ‘You hear that? This man’s got money, lots of it, if we don’t hurt him and show him outta here!’ He laughed. A ripple of muted laughter ran through the collected men.
‘It’s true,’ Hartshorn persevered. ‘Don’t you believe me? I’m a businessman – a successful businessman. Whatever you want. Name your price.’
‘And the rest of them?’ the man asked.
Hartshorn looked sheepishly down the line of bedraggled and fearful prisoners. ‘They can make their own arrangements.’
‘And so is this your girlfriend?’ He pointed his gun at Cheryl, who was still on the ground, staring vacant-eyed up at him. ‘What about her?’
Swallowing, Hartshorn shook his head. ‘I’m willing to let you have her as part of the bargain.’
‘Have her?’ the man said, his brow rising.
‘You bastard, Hartshorn,’ Wade roared.
‘Sure, have her. She’s young, attractive, you can see that…’
The man lifted his revolver and casually shot Hartshorn at point-blank range in the forehead.
Eyes still open wide, Keith Hartshorn sank heavily to the ground face down, the back of his skull reduced by the bullet’s exit to a gaping hole where the red mush of what remained of his brains began to leak out.
Cheryl started to scream again, Phyllis Kennedy put her hand to her mouth, her face pale with shock. Her husband Paul was physically sick, bending over double and retching, his empty stomach bringing up yellow bile.
‘You bastard!’ Wade said.
‘A man like that is no use to us,’ the man said evenly. He prodded Wade in the chest with the barrel of his revolver. ‘I haven’t made my mind up about you yet. Though she’s too old…’
He shot Phyllis Kennedy in the chest. Her husband cried out in alarm and made a move towards her. In a split second the man had fired his gun at him, too, and he slumped over the body of his dead wife.
Wade lunged at the armed man, but he was struck between the shoulder blades by a rifle. More blows followed in quick succession as he crumpled to the floor in pain. Through burning eyes Wade made out Paul Kennedy’s leg twitching, life still hanging on. But not for long. The man stood over him and held the revolver to his head. He pulled the trigger and Wade looked away.
Cheryl lost it; she got to her feet and tried to make a blind run for it only to be brought up short by a grinning wall of men, who pushed her from one to the other in a cruel game that they seemed to get great delight from.
The man with the revolver walked down the line, eyeing Lauren Smith. She was sobbing, her eyes still smarting from the tear gas, and she tried to back away from him. Her young husband put an arm around her shoulders and held her to him.
‘You leave her alone!’ Jack Benedict said defiantly.
‘Take her,’ the man ordered, and two men rushed and grabbed hold of Lauren, hauled her kicking and screaming from her partner. ‘Lady, if you don’t keep quiet I’ll shoot your friend here.’ He held the gun up to Jack benedict’s horrified face. Lauren stemmed her hollering and choked on her sobbing; she allowed herself to be led meekly away and stared fearfully back at her husband. The man now stood in front of Keegan, whose expression had been remarkably composed throughout the events taking place under the baking sun. ‘Lieutenant Keegan,’ he said, reading the name badge. ‘Lieutenant in what?’ She remained tight-lipped and silent, her eyes unflinching beneath his gimlet gaze. He lifted the gun as if to strike her, then held it in check. ‘You’re a confident bitch,’ he said. ‘Take off your helmet.’ She did so. He stroked her hair and she flinched a little at his touch. ‘You’re quite the looker under all that stuff, you know that, Lieutenant Keegan?’ He turned to his men. ‘OK, take this one, too.’
Wade grimaced as he got to his feet, his back sore, his head throbbing from the blow. He’d hardly had time to recover from the grenade blast and the wound on his temple. He caught a glance from Keegan as the men dragged her past him. It was obvious she sensed he might be on the verge of doing something stupid, so she shook her head, a movement hardly visible. He stood upright, flexing his bruised shoulders and watched as Keegan was placed alongside Lauren. The man turned his attention to Amanda Tyler.
‘Don’t…’ Wade said as the man studied the middle-aged woman before him.
‘Quiet,’ he returned. ‘I’m thinking. Women are in short supply,’ he said. ‘But maybe this one’s too old and dry to be of any use to us, too.’
Amanda closed her eyes, expecting the worst.
‘Take me instead of her,’ Wade insisted. ‘Don’t kill her… Please…’
Keegan watched the proceedings. Marvelled again at Wade’s attachment. Marvelled also at how Amanda Tyler looked across at him, something deep in her eyes that told of a bond that had grown up between them. How was that possible, she thought? Amanda Tyler wasn’t capable of the emotions she was witnessing now. Unless…
‘I could kill you both and not think anything of it,’ the man responded dryly. ‘In fact, I think I will. I’m tired of hearing you.’
He lifted the revolver again, aimed it at Amanda’s forehead, her eyes closing and tears being forced out to dribble down her cheek.
‘I’ll decide that,’ a voice called out.
Wade froze. It couldn’t be. That was impossible. Not out here. It simply couldn’t be him.
He turned to see a sun-bronzed, leather-clad figure striding confidently across the desert towards the group of people, the men parting like a black river to let the powerfully-built man through.
Though his face was bearded and partially shaded by a wide-brimmed hat tightly woven from some kind of grass stems, to Wade it was instantly recognizable.
‘John Travers!’ Wade said.
John Travers. The unfortunate soldier who’d been kidnapped by the insurgents. The man who – his mind twisted by all that had happened to him, bent on seeking savage retribution for his troubles – had murdered Wade’s wife and child.
Wade cried out in anguish. ‘You murdering Bastard, Travers! Why? Why my wife and kid?’
He didn’t wait for an answer, but instead launched himself at Travers, intent on getting his fingers round the man’s neck and strangling the life from him. He didn’t get more than two steps before he was brought down again by a storm of blows as the men
closed around Travers to protect him. He collapsed at the man’s feet, choking on the dust, struggling to shield his head from the rifles now being used as clubs.
The man waved for them to stop. Wade groaned, unconsciousness waiting in the wings, and praying it would claim him altogether so that he could escape the madness all around him.
‘Shall I kill him, Cain?’ the man with the revolver said, standing over Wade.
‘Not yet. No more killing. It’s too hot for all this fuss and you’re wasting ammunition. Bring them all below. Take the bodies and dump them far away; I don’t want bonesnappers sniffing around our camp. Give me your revolver.’
The man did as he was told and handed over the Webley. ‘I don’t know who they are, Cain, but they sure look and sound different,’ the man said. ‘And look at that vehicle. This automatic rifle, too. Not seen anything like them.’
‘Killing them isn’t going to help us find out, is it?’ Cain said. ‘And who do you think you are to kill them without my permission?’
‘Sorry, Cain…’
He pumped two bullets into the man’s chest. He fell dead.
‘Apology accepted,’ Cain said. ‘I need a new second-in-command,’ he called out. He scanned the row of men. ‘You’ll do,’ he said indifferently to one of them. ‘Get someone to see to the bodies and bring the prisoners below.’
‘And this one, too?’ said the newly appointed second-in-command, pointing to Wade on the floor.
Armageddon Heights (a thriller) Page 21
