When Hamiye arrived, he looked clean and smart, the opposite of how Sandra felt. He also looked worried, which gave her some small pleasure.
“What?” he asked with the air of a man who had more important things on his mind.
“Breakfast,” she said, matching the belligerence of his tone. “Or do you plan to starve me to death?”
He looked, for a moment, as if he was contemplating it. “I’ll get you something.”
She listened as he locked the door after himself. Two heavy bolts, one top, one bottom. If it came to an escape that way, she’d probably be better off trying to kick a hole through the door itself than to break the bolts or the hinges. For that matter, the internal walls were probably just plasterboard, although the house was old enough for them to be made of cinderblock. For all her karate training, she had never gone in for smashing boards or blocks. That stuff was just for demonstrations, to please the crowds. Pointless. Sandra liked to focus on speed and accuracy and leave the power to her testosterone-fuelled teammates. On the other hand, kicking down a cinderblock wall would be a handy skill to have right now. She wondered if she could do it if she had to.
Hamiye appeared with a paper plate of scrambled eggs and a plastic spoon.
She took it without a word and began eating quickly. “I need the loo,” she told him, mouth full.
“Bucket.”
“Fuck off.”
“Take it or leave it.”
“If I have to use that thing, I’m going to stick your head in it.”
He shrugged and left.
She listened for the bolts to slide home, then finished her breakfast. She took the plastic spoon and twisted it until it snapped. The break was diagonal across the handle, leaving her with two short, pointed weapons.
***
Hamiye kept telling himself that he just needed to keep the lid on this for a few more days and it would all be over. He didn’t want to kill the woman but keeping her a prisoner was like holding a tiger by the tail. If he wasn’t careful, she would kill him. The spirit in her was like a fire, it burned so bright. She was magnificent—and not just because of her beauty, although that would be reason enough to admire her. He wondered about the man who had fathered her child. What kind of man would it take to conquer such a heart? Was this the man she had threatened him with? The one who would come looking for her? He supposed she must be right. If Hamiye had a woman like that he would move Heaven and Earth to keep her.
And yet there she was, shackled to a wall, hating him with that scorching passion of hers.
He paced the room. It was always the same. All his life he had been coiled in an endless chain of bad decisions, unfortunate friends, desperate necessities. He sometimes looked back to his childhood on the streets of Beirut, running through the ruins, dodging the bullets, doing favors for one faction or another, and he thought about how far he had come from that dark, dangerous place. Sometimes he congratulated himself that he had dragged himself out of the mire of endless war, endless fear and oppression, patted himself on the back for making this life of ease and plenty. He was a butterfly, he told himself, and the chrysalis of his old self had been left behind in a Cairo hotel room the day he swapped every euro he owned for a chipful of travel documents and visas.
But the fear had not ended there. Nor had the torture and killing. Eastern Europe had been difficult. The money had been better but the things he’d had to do to get it were not so different. There, as much as in the Middle East, he had been on a relentless treadmill and he couldn’t get off.
So Lee Shaozu had seemed like his deliverer. By the standards he was used to, Lee was a respectable man. His business interests were almost legitimate. The past three years had been the culmination of everything he had worked for since he was a child. Lee had brought him to England, had given him a job title he was not ashamed to speak aloud, and the bonuses and extra rewards associated with the Special Projects Division had bought him all the luxuries he had ever wanted.
And yet … Lee’s ambitions had been beyond Hamiye’s wildest dreams. When he heard them, he wanted to run and hide, but by then it was too late. He was bound to Lee by this dangerous knowledge. He must see it through to the end; with luck and good management, he would come safely through. And the money … The money this scheme of Lee’s would pay made him dizzy. He could go to South America and live like a prince, or buy a new identity and stay in safe, civilized Europe, find a beautiful, sophisticated wife, raise a family, found a dynasty …
The buzzer sounded. Someone was at the front gate. He popped up a display and the gate camera showed him a black Mercedes. Lee’s car. No-one got out. The car simply waited. Hamiye opened the gates and let the car in.
He went to the door and out onto the porch as the car crunched across the gravel to a halt. The windows were tinted so that Hamiye could not see inside. The driver’s door opened and Lee’s driver got out and put on his cap. Another Chinese, Hamiye noted, also called Lee if he remembered correctly. It was such an affectation to have a driver in these days. It had once appeared to Hamiye as a mark of Lee’s grand style. Lately it seemed a symptom of his megalomania.
The uniformed man marched up to where Hamiye stood. “Mr Hamiye, Mr Lee requests your presence at the Enfield facility immediately. I am to take you there at once.”
Hamiye frowned at the man. “Is Mr Lee there, at the facility?”
The driver’s face was completely expressionless. “Yes,” he said.
“Is there a problem?”
“I do not know.”
“Why didn’t someone just call me? Why send you all the way out here?”
“It seems your phone is not working.”
“What?” He checked and, even as he saw the “no signal” message, he realized what an idiot he’d been. The jammer he’d put on the Malone woman must be blanketing the whole area. Why the hell would that fool Langbroek have given him one so powerful? On the other hand, why had he been so stupid as to fail to check?
“I can’t leave. I—” He had almost said he had a prisoner to guard, but he didn’t know how much Lee’s driver was in the great man’s confidence. “I have things to do here.”
“Mr Lee says to bring the woman.”
“Bring her? What for? She’s safe here.”
The driver’s expression did not change. “Mr Lee says to bring the woman.”
Hamiye shut his mouth against any opinion of Mr Lee that might slip out. He took several angry breaths through his nose while the implacable driver waited patiently. “Fine,” he said at last. “Wait here.”
He stormed back into the house and went through to the large walk-in wardrobe that was Sandra’s makeshift prison. He didn’t want to stun her again—repeated use of a stunner could leave permanent nerve damage—but he drew the gun anyway and held it in his left hand, close to his body, as he threw back the bolts. She was sitting quietly on the mattress, watching him as he entered the room.
“I’m taking you somewhere else. There’s no need to worry. Just cooperate and I won’t have to shoot you again. All right?”
“Where are you taking me?”
“Does that really matter? Now stand up, I’m going to uncuff you from the wall and then cuff your hands together, like before.” Her jaw clenched, but she stood up and waited for him. The handcuffs were an old-fashioned kind, with a key. Hamiye didn’t like to overcomplicate things. He switched the gun to his right hand and stepped up close to her. He reached across and grabbed her shoulder, turning her to face the wall. He reasoned that he was perfectly safe until the moment both her hands were free. He pressed the barrel of the stunner against the small of her back. “Whatever you’re thinking of doing won’t work. So just relax and do as I say.” He passed the key from his left hand to hers. “You know what to do,” he told her. He took a small step back from her and his world exploded in pain.
Sandra turned on the spot, her right arm swinging across the front of him, at the same time knocking the stunner aside and raki
ng across his stomach with some kind of sharp weapon. He completed his backwards step, looking down at himself. There was a small white object sticking out of his abdomen, blood oozing from a tear in his shirt. He had barely time to register that he was looking at the bowl of a plastic spoon before Sandra’s foot connected with the side of his head and sent him spinning into the wall and then to the floor.
***
Sandra could barely believe how well it had gone. She unlocked the handcuff and ran for the door. Hamiye was out cold. Her kick had been absolutely perfect. She wished she could do it that well when she was in front of her students. She pulled the comms jammer off her blouse and clipped it on the unconscious man as she ran from the room. It took her a while to find her way to the staircase and down to the front hallway. The door was standing open and she raced through, intending to keep on running until she got a comms signal and could make a call.
On the porch, she skidded to a halt. A long black car was standing in the drive and between her and the car was a man in a dark suit and a peaked cap.
“You must be Ms Malone,” the man said, completely unruffled.
She ran, angling across the drive, hoping to get past him. He moved too, running to intercept her. Before he could, she stopped. He stopped too. They were just a few meters apart. If she were going to get clear, she would have to go through this strangely calm young man. The good news was that he hadn’t drawn a gun.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” she said.
His straight face cracked a small smile. “You are most kind. I too have no desire to inflict pain or injury. If you would kindly wait in the car until Mr Hamiye joins us, we can be on our way with no harm to anyone.”
Who the hell was this guy? “I’m afraid it’s a bit late for Hamiye. He won’t be joining us.”
“Most unfortunate. Please, do not try to run.”
Sandra had been shifting her position, hoping to get a clear line to the gate for a quick sprint, but the guy in the cap moved to block her.
“OK,” Sandra said, losing patience. “Let’s do this.”
She moved closer, dropping into a balanced stance, fists balled, one arm bent close to her side ready to punch, the other up and angled across her chest, ready to block. Over many years of fending off unwanted attention, she’d found that simply assuming a fighting stance was enough to scare most men off. Some, however, needed a good kicking and this guy appeared to be one of them.
Then her heart sank as he too adopted a pose not too dissimilar from her own, only with his hands open and both raised in front of him. Her odd challenger was also some kind of martial-arts expert. From the stance, she guessed Kung Fu.
“What are you?” she asked. “The chauffeur?”
“Indeed.”
“You don’t have to do this. No-one will know I didn’t just sneak past you. I’m sure they’re not paying you enough to get your bones broken.” He didn’t reply, just watched her with careful eyes as they began to edge around one another, feinting, looking for openings. He shot out a punch. She blocked it and punched back, but he dodged away and resumed his catlike circling. He was fast and light on his feet. This was not going to be easy.
“What’s your name?” she asked and saw surprise on his face. She struck, hard and fast, punching and kicking in a rapid, concentrated burst of violence. He blocked and counterpunched for all he was worth but he was in retreat. She cursed the slippery gravel of the drive, which made balance hard and took the force out of certain blows. But then she realized her opponent had the worst of it, wearing smooth-soled town shoes while she at least wore sneakers. The thought must have distracted her because the chauffeur ducked under a kick and leapt high into the air, swinging one of those very town shoes at her head. She blocked it awkwardly, was caught off-balance and had to retreat and re-establish her equilibrium before the follow-up came.
“Lee,” the driver said, not pressing his attack, preferring also to centre himself and focus his mind.
“Any relation to the boss?”
“Sadly, no. Lee is a very common name.”
The circling and feinting resumed. She was beginning to wonder how long this might go on. Lee was pretty good and in good shape too. She, on the other hand, had been stunned twice in the past twelve hours and had had little sleep the night before. If she let the dance go on too long, Lee would have the advantage. The key to winning was the gravel.
She let Lee fire a few punches at her, blocking and retreating, trying to look alarmed and panicky, letting him come in a bit harder, feel a bit more confident. Then he aimed a kick at her head, the very move she’d been hoping for. She caught his leg by the ankle and held it as she swung inside his defenses and kicked down hard at his knee. His bones did not break but the foot still on the ground slid out from under him and she pulled hard on the captive ankle to make his fall fast and clumsy. As his back hit the ground, she was already down on one knee beside him. She hit him three times in the face, as hard as she could. Even as he went into choking paroxysms, he managed to twist his body and kick her in the back. The impact was more annoying than dangerous, yet it shifted her aim. Instead of hitting his face, her final blow struck him in the throat with deadly force.
She stood up and stepped back from him. He writhed on the floor, clutching at his throat. She must have crushed his windpipe. She could still feel the hideous softness of his neck against her knuckles. He might have just minutes to live. She had only meant to hurt him, to disable him. She had not meant … this.
She had no idea what to do for him unless she could perhaps find a tube—a hosepipe maybe, or something from the car—and force it down into his lungs. She cast about desperately, a part of her mind yelling that she had to run, to get out of there fast.
That’s when she saw Hamiye, lurching across the porch towards her, stunner raised. The lower half of his shirt and the top of his casual slacks were soaked in blood.
She pointed at Lee. “We’ve got to—”
Hamiye roared with fury and fired.
***
“Where are we going?”
Fourget looked up from the virtual display he’d been studying. “For a day in the country.”
Cara had been giving the Frenchman a lot of leeway, not just because he was helping her find her mother, but also because he was really hot in a strong-silent-type kind of way. It was a type she had not known she liked until now. But he didn’t seem to get the fact that they were a team and that teammates shared their information.
The car they were in was a big, off-road monster. It was driving itself while, in theory, Cara and Fourget relaxed in the back. But Fourget had spent the past hour studying—his commplant slaved to her own so that it did not access the net directly—while Cara slowly grew more agitated with her taciturn companion.
“You’re some kind of agent, right?” she asked. He ignored her. “You probably work with other agents all the time, don’t you? So you must at least be somewhat familiar with the idea of discussing things and coming to an agreement and all that teamwork kind of thing.” He did not react. “Am I right?”
He looked up at her. “When I am on a mission, I give the orders, and my team follows them.”
She gave up trying to reason with him. “Where are we going? Tell me now or I’ll stop the car.” The car was hired in her name. Her commands overrode his.
He looked at her again, this time with tight lips and hard eyes. “Do you have to be such a silly little girl all the time?”
She caught her breath and felt tears spring to her eyes. He might as well have slapped her, it hurt so much. “I just wanted …” Her self-justification stuck in her throat as a wave of anger overcame the shock. “How dare you speak to me like that? You coarse, inarticulate bully.” And then she was awash with self pity. Tears poured down her cheeks. She looked away quickly to hide them. What the hell was wrong with her? Why was she going to pieces like this?
“I just want to find my mother. Even you must have a mother. How would you
feel if some sick bastard had her tied up somewhere? Eh?” She was appalled at her own outburst but the anger was coming back and she couldn’t shut up. “I suppose you’d just grunt and shrug and get on with the mission. You know, I thought you were a robot when I first saw you in that stupid suit and the helmet. Well, I was right. You’re an emotionless machine without an ounce of sympathy. You just think I’m some kind of nuisance, but it’s my mother we’re looking for. My mother! I know you don’t know many words, but surely you know that one?”
Some kind of primitive emotion was working its way to the surface of his chiselled features, but she could not bear to wait for whatever robot beeps and chirps he might utter. She raised a hand to cut him off and moved to sit as far away from him as she could, staring out of the window at the hedgerows streaming past. “If you say anything, I’ll attack you with a can opener. Your programming only lets you speak ten words a day or something and I don’t want you blowing a fuse. Not till we’ve found my mother. Just get on with whatever the hell you were doing that was so important you couldn’t answer a simple bloody question from someone who needed a bit of human consideration.”
The car turned into a drive and pulled up at a two-meter-high metal gate. Neither Cara nor Fourget moved for several seconds, then the Frenchman got out.
She watched as he inspected the gate for a moment. He touched it gingerly but nothing happened. Then he jumped, caught the top and vaulted himself over it, landing lightly at the other side. Cara saw him grimace and remembered his bruised ribs. He set off up the curving drive, moving from tree to shrub as he went, keeping low and moving fast. In a moment, he was out of sight. Cara got out of the car and followed him.
She found him at the side of the house, studying it from a bank of rhododendron bushes. It was a bright day but cold, with a thin icy wind blowing at them across the front of the building. It took her a moment to take in the scene. A large black Mercedes saloon parked in the drive. The big house, silent, with its front door standing open. Perhaps someone had come from the car and run inside in a hurry. Beyond the car, a round black object lay on the gravel. It looked like a peaked cap from some kind of uniform.
Foresight Page 13
