by Ed James
Cullen stayed still. ‘Be quick.’
Hunter set off, his feet squelching in the damp bark, pistol held in both hands like an FBI agent readying for a raid. He tried the door. Open. He looked round again. Cullen was staying hidden in the hedge, along with the sleeping guard. Hunter pocketed the keys and entered the building alone, into a long corridor. Craving silence, each footstep like a cannonball. Six doors on either side, another at the end. He tried the first on the left. Locked. Same story on the right. He kept going, getting yet more locked doors. He opened the end door. A metal staircase led down. He tried to match the layout with his memory of the outside, but all he remembered was a big single-storey box.
Nothing ventured…
Downstairs was a replica of the upstairs corridor, but it seemed at least twice as long, maybe three times. A fire door broke it up, probably directly beneath the office. Hunter set off down it, trying doors. Murray had to be behind one. But the keys didn’t work. Christ, where was he? Then one worked, six along on the left.
Pistol drawn, Hunter nudged it open. A man sat behind a desk, facing away, punching the screen. ‘No! No! Fucking no!’ The desk was filled with screens showing rooms, each one looking set up for a different torture method. Waterboarding. A rack. A cage full of rats.
Hunter crept up on him, gun out, ready for anything.
The man turned round. Lord Oswald, eyes wide, mouth hanging open. ‘Thank god.’
Not what Hunter expected to hear from him. Hunter pointed the gun at Oswald. ‘Where is my brother?’
‘Your what?’
‘My brother. Don’t be coy with me. You knew all about him this morning. Where is he?’
‘I can’t!’
‘Why, will your henchman attack me?’
‘My henchman?’
‘Admir.’
‘You’ve got this the wrong way round.’
‘What?’
‘He doesn’t work for me. He’s forcing me to work for him.’ Oswald pleaded with his eyes. ‘Listen to me. I’m not the big moustache-twirling villain here. I’m fucked. I don’t want to be doing this, but the Albanians have me by the short and fucking curlies.’
‘Explain.’
‘My business was failing, and I needed money, otherwise I’d lose everything. I’d been a bit cavalier with certain deals, meaning I couldn’t go to the usual banks. A trick my father used. You bankrupt companies when you don’t get deals you want. Trouble is, you do it too many times—’
‘—and you stop getting credit.’
‘Correct. So I found a business offering not-very-nice terms, but terms. Beggars can’t be choosers and all that. But it turned out the company was a front for the Albanian mafia. Admir works for them. They were in the shit after an operation down south got closed down last year. Needed to get heroin into the country quick-smart, so they forced me to help.’
‘Why not go to the police?’
‘Because they’ve got kompromat on me. You don’t run a business like this without doing things by other means. I’ve bribed people and they’ve got evidence of it.’
‘I need you to help me find my brother. Or his body.’
‘I can’t. Don’t you hear me? I’m ruined if I help you!’
‘This is my brother we’re talking about.’
‘I’m terribly sorry but I’ll lose everything. My home, my title, my wife. Christ, my children will never speak to me.’
‘You’re coming with me.’ Hunter grabbed his arm and frog-marched him back to the corridor. He pushed him along, then opened the door to the stairwell.
A thud came from above.
Cullen?
Hunter led him up the stairs, gun drawn, and eased the door open. The corridor was empty.
Someone lay on the floor.
Hunter darted over. It was Oswald’s guard, Callum. Hunter didn’t even need to put a hand to his neck. Dead, shot in the same way as Keith Wilson and Wee Ally McCoull.
‘My god.’ Oswald’s mouth hung open. ‘Admir!’
‘He’s done this?’
‘He was here. Locked me in one of his rooms.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘He tortures people in them. Anyone who steps out of line. You’ve got to understand! He’ll kill me!’
Hunter pulled him close, got right in his face. ‘You’re going to tell me where my brother is. NOW!’
‘He was here, but I know where Admir will have taken him.’
32
Cullen was still with the guard, just by the thick hedge.
Hunter led Oswald over. ‘Did Admir come this way?’
‘Your big friend?’ Cullen shook his head. ‘Not seen anyone. Heard a car but that was all.’
‘Shite.’ Hunter scowled at Oswald. ‘He’s got away.’
‘Craig, Methven’s just got a search warrant, so the team are on their way over.’
‘I need to get out to the oil rigs. Admir’s taken Murray there.’
‘Are you serious?’
‘He thinks so. And I believe him.’
Cullen grabbed Oswald and started marching him away towards his car. ‘What’s going on up on those rigs?’
‘The Albanians smuggle heroin in from Venezuela. They take them to Osprey Alpha, winch the barrels up. Then we transport them to Osprey Bravo. There’s a walkway between them, it extends out to connect them. His men roll the barrels over and they cut the heroin there, under the guise of the decommissioning work.’
‘Why do you think he’s taken Murray there?’
‘One, for leverage against your friend here.’ Oswald eyed Hunter. ‘And two, he needs to cover his trail. I don’t know where he’s going, but he’s been panicking for the last week since he found your brother. He wants to close off all loose ends.’
Hunter stood on the harbour at Cromarty, looking out to sea. Hard to make out anything in the howling gale and the darkness, just the muddy smudge of the oil rigs in the moonlight, Osprey Alpha lurking among them. He brushed moisture out of his face. ‘Any word?’
Phone to his ear, Cullen stood by his car, Oswald in the back seat. ‘Coastguards are going to be an hour getting here.’
Hunter felt it like another punch in the guts. ‘That’s way too late.’
A car pulled up on the promenade. Jock’s Passat. Chantal got onto the pavement, waving over at them. She opened the back door and helped Fiona out.
Fiona joined them by the harbour. ‘Alright, bud? Bit late, isn’t it?’
‘This way.’ Hunter led Fiona over to the harbour. ‘How’s she looking?’
She leaned down and took a look at Dignity, running her hand along the length of the boat. ‘Good news is nobody’s messed about with her.’
‘And the bad?’
Fiona smirked. ‘You’d have to a fucking idiot to even think about going out in this weather.’
Cullen groaned. ‘You’ve got to be kidding me.’
‘I’m heading out there, Scott. Christ knows what he could be up to.’
‘Jesus Christ. Right, I’m coming with you.’
The motor whined as Fiona steered them over to the oil rigs. Lights flashed up on the platforms, just like the other day. Someone was up there. Admir? And did he have Murray?
Cullen swayed on the boat, rolling with the rocking motion. Sheep-shagging bastard grew up in the north-east with a rich old man, of course he had sea legs.
Hunter stood up, trying to control the nausea, watching the small jetty rush towards them. He jumped over and landed with a thud and dull ache in his ribs, then shot to the ladder and pushed himself up. His rhythm was tight and fast this time, and he made it to the halfway platform without falling off.
Back down the ladder, Cullen was taking it slow and steady. Fiona stayed in the boat.
Hunter raced up the second ladder, his fingers slipping more as he neared the top. As much as he hated it, he had to keep it slow. The last few rungs were tough, his hands like lead. Stop, gust of wind. Right hand, right foot. Another gust of wind.
He pushed himself over the top onto the derelict platform. Rain and wind lashed his face. Osprey Bravo was much the same as its sister over the water, but had more superstructure still standing. A hulking great industrial block looked like a factory.
A flash of light over by the crew quarters. Two figures stood in the gloom, soaked through. The entrance was clear, though.
A hand touched Hunter’s arm. Cullen. ‘What do you think, Craig?’
‘Fifty-fifty between those two.’
‘I’d check that block. It’s not guarded. Then we’ll know.’
‘Stay here.’
‘I’m not staying here!’
‘Scott, please.’
‘As if we’re not in enough shite. Fine.’
‘Cheers.’ Hunter set off, checking the gun was still in his coat pocket. He darted over to a barrel and hid behind it, the drone of machinery getting louder.
The guards were chatting, probably bored out of their minds. The tedium at the heart of an international drug-smuggling ring.
Hunter spotted his next move, a big crate, all packaged up and ready to go. He shot over and pushed to the left, rounding it slowly.
One of the guards lit a cigarette. The other laughed.
Hunter scanned the door now. A giant shed, with a hangar-like door, a smaller one cut into it. He checked his pocket for the keys he’d taken from the guard back at the office building. Hopefully one of these would fit. He eased his way this time, using the shadows to curve round in an arc towards the entrance. The light missed the side and he leaned flat against the door, reaching over to the try the keys. Got lucky on his third go.
A bark of laughter caught the wind. The guards were looking over.
Hunter froze, holding his breath and keeping as still as he could. He clocked Cullen, squatting in the shadows, shivering and soaked through.
They turned away and stamped their feet in time, trying to keep warm.
Hunter let his breath go and slipped inside the shed, nudging the door shut behind him. The hall probably used to be an oil storage room. A series of doors and vaults, open up to the roof. Hunter tried the first door with a key.
A click behind him and he turned.
Too late. Something hard hit his shoulder and pushed him forward. He stumbled to his knees, his gun spinning off across the floor plates.
He tried to shift round, but was pinned in place, face on the ground.
‘My friend, you were on the rig when you shouldn’t have been. Now you’re again where you shouldn’t be. It’s over, my friend.’ That accent.
‘Admir?’
Something hard dug into Hunter’s neck. ‘How do you know my name?’
‘He-Man always beats Skeletor.’ I hold the two action figures in my hand. ‘But it has to be difficult. Okay?’
Murray nods like he’s paying attention, but he’s much more of a Real Ghostbusters kid than Masters of the Universe. He’s got his little figures out, much smaller than my ones, but there’s more of them and Grandpa bought him their van too. It’s not fair. I asked Mummy for Castle Grayskull for my birthday but she didn’t get me it. Said if I was a good boy, maybe I’d get it for Christmas. I’m always a good boy and Murray’s always horrible and he gets all the best things. It’s not fair.
He-Man is getting beaten hard by Skeletor. I don’t have Evil-Lyn but I can imagine she’s there, helping Skeletor.
‘Where’s Grandpa?’
Murray’s frowning. Worried. Staring at Grandpa’s empty deckchair. Three tins of Tennent’s Lager sit to the side. I hate it when Murray goes all quiet like that. Like Daddy just before he…
I cough. ‘He said he’s getting another beer.’
Murray nods, like that makes things better for him. ‘Have you ever had a beer, Craig?’
‘No, beer’s disgusting.’
‘You’re disgusting.’
I punch Murray in the arm, harder than I meant to. It makes him cry. Murray tries hitting me back, but I’m too big and too strong for him. I do that thing he hates, where I grab his head and he’s punching and punching but he can’t hit me, so he cries even more.
I hold him there really long, his crying getting worse and worse, then I let him go, and he scurries off inside.
Crybaby, running to Grandpa.
So I follow him into the house, running to make sure he tells the truth and doesn’t get me into trouble.
’STOP!’ A big, meaty hand blocks me getting inside. It’s Daddy and he’s looking angry. Blinking at me, like he sees two of me. ‘Craig, what are you up to?’
‘I’m chasing Murray!’
‘It’s too early for this shi— hassle.’ Daddy rubs his forehead. ‘Isn’t your grandfather looking after you?’
‘He’s gone to get a beer.’
‘Bloody hell.’ Daddy pinches his nose. ‘Right, come on.’
But I slip past him and skip ahead of him into the house, through to the kitchen at the back.
But Murray’s standing in the kitchen doorway, clinging to the handle.
‘What’s up?’
But he doesn’t say anything.
There’s a low moaning, like there’s a big monster in there. Has the monster got Grandpa? Has Grandpa turned into the monster? I take Murray’s hand and squeeze it, trying to make him feel better. Then I sneak past him into the kitchen, taking it very, very slowly, like Prince Adam and not He-Man.
Grandpa’s lying on the floor, gasping, clutching his chest. His face is pale like Skeletor and he’s staring right at me. ‘Please, son! Get your father!’
A big hand pushes me to the side and I grab hold of Daddy’s leg.
‘Ah, Christ. Donald…’ Daddy grabs my hand and pushes me out of the kitchen. ‘Boys, get back outside. Ah, Christ.’
Hunter stared at the floor. Counted the number of doors. Listened to the painful machine drone. An open door at the end, a high-tech security console glowing under harsh lights.
Back in the here and now.
Admir planted a foot on his back and pushed him cheek-first to the ground. ‘You filthy pig!’
‘You should run. This place is surrounded. We’ve got twenty armed cops on their way here, right now.’ He nodded towards the security room. ‘Go see for yourself.’
Admir grabbed Hunter by the collar and hauled him up to standing, then pushed him over to the room. Three screens showing outside, the infrared picking out the guards with AKs and—shite—Cullen. Admir swore in his native tongue. ‘I will need to dispose of another pest.’
Hunter stepped to the side and lashed out with his hand, chopping through Admir’s throat. The big man gasped and Hunter followed up with a knee to the groin and pushed through his shoulders, sending Admir sprawling over the security console. His gun rattled across the floor.
A red warning light started flashing, and a siren call burst out.
‘Stupid pig!’ Admir lashed out with a knife, swishing through the air.
The blade caught Hunter’s wrist, but it didn’t hurt. Not straight away. Then pain flashed, tearing up his arm. He dived low and grabbed Admir’s spilled gun. No time to check the safety, and he fired blind.
Admir caught a slug in the shoulder, his knife clanking off the floor. He stumbled forward and landed on Hunter. Heavy fists pounded down. Hunter couldn’t keep hold of the gun, but he managed to toss it away, under the console. Admir kneed Hunter in the side, winding him like he’d fallen from a helicopter again.
Footsteps raced away from him.
Hunter forced himself up. The siren was hurting his head. Blood dripped down his hand. Fresh pain stabbing his ribs. No time to get the gun, no idea where his own was. He picked up the knife and went back into the corridor. It’d have to do.
The door at the end hung open, the din louder than ever.
Admir was rounding some grinding machine, limping heavily.
Hunter tried sprinting, but the thickness in his head and the flaring pain in his arm and ribs slowed him down.
Into a giant hall filled wi
th industrial machinery. The noise hurt worse than his injuries. A metal latticework floor.
Admir escaped through a door at the end, shutting it behind him.
Hunter stepped up the pace, but slipped in something, crashing to his knees. Blood.
The door behind him slammed. Trapped.
He got up and looked around. The machines seemed to be slowing, if anything.
Then Hunter caught sight of something he didn’t expect.
Murray, chained up in a cage. Naked and ill-looking, fresh scars dotted with drying blood. ‘Craig?’
33
Hunter inched towards the cage. His little brother. He tried the lock but it was shut. ‘Hold on!’ He fumbled his keys, dropping them to the floor.
‘Craig? What the hell is going on? Where’s Keith?’
‘I’ll get you out of here, Muz.’ Hunter picked up the keys and tried the cage. ‘Was this Admir?’
‘Right. I uncovered stuff when we were urbexing at the other rig. Admir killing someone, it went up on YouTube. Deadman’s switch. Why I’m still alive, probably. Where’s Keith?’
Fourth key and Hunter was in. He tore open the cage door and reached in for Murray, grabbing him by the wrists and helping him up to standing. ‘What’s he done to you?’
Murray grinned through what looked like severe pain. ‘Easier to say what he hasn’t.’ He coughed and blood dribbled down his chin. ‘I’ve seen a power drill do things…’ Another cough and blood flobbed out onto the floor.
‘Come on, bro, let’s get you out of here.’
Murray started towards the door and huffed out a sigh. ‘We need to get out of here. Admir’s set off an alarm. This place will blow in five minutes.’
‘What?’
‘He’s destroying the rig.’ Murray was struggling to stay upright, let alone walk. ‘He told me. This is all going to burn. I was going to roast alive. It might explode first.’
That sparked Hunter into action. ‘Come on.’ He grabbed Murray and lifted him in a fireman’s carry, taking it slow and steady across the steel latticework floor. Deep breaths, like he was on a strongman challenge. The metal clanked and resonated with each step. Into the other room, quieter now. He had to rest and set Murray on the floor. He was breathing hard.
