by Chris Ryan
Angelo had clearly come to the same conclusion, because it was he who broke the silence.
'I can speak to my father,' he announced, his voice frightened, desperate – yet somehow determined. 'He will listen to me. I can get him to make amends.'
Danny sneered. 'Unless he can bring people back from the dead, there are no amends your father can possibly make.'
Angelo looked down at his lap, crestfallen.
Ben breathed deeply. He was only going to get one shot at this, and now was the time. 'Tell me, Danny,' he asked. 'How come your English is so good?'
Danny looked confused by the question, but he answered it anyway. 'I have lived and worked in America for many years, always sending money back to my family. I have always longed to return, but I will do anything to make sure that they are well.'
Ben nodded with satisfaction. 'Years?' he repeated. 'I suppose, over that time, you've met quite a lot of people.'
Danny shrugged. 'Some.'
'Ordinary people. People with children.'
Danny didn't reply.
'They're the people you're going to harm, Danny, if you go through with this. You know that, don't you?'
Again, Danny kept silent.
'If that oil refinery blows, Danny,' he persisted, 'who knows how many people will die? The winds will make the fire spread. Perhaps even worse, they will spread the smoke. Smoke kills people. They may not die today, or even tomorrow, but it will kill them, Danny. Just ordinary families. Families with children.'
He paused.
'Children, Danny. Like your sister.'
Danny was breathing deeply now, and his breath was shaking as though he was trying to keep control over some pent-up emotion. He's got doubts, Ben thought to himself. He doesn't know if he can go through with it.
A particularly fierce gust hit the truck. They jolted in their seats and Ben waited for it to pass before he continued.
'You can stop this happening, Danny. You're the only one in the world who can stop it from happening. Think of the lives you could save.'
Another pause. Danny's face was stony-still.
'It's in your hands, Danny. It's all in your hands.'
Both Ben and Angelo were staring intently at their captor now, and he seemed unwilling to catch their eye. For a few brief seconds, Ben was deaf to the sound of the winds and the rain outside. Adrenaline pumped through him as he waited for Danny to speak.
But Danny didn't speak. Not yet. Instead, his communicator beeped. It sounded unnaturally loud as it punctured the silence in the car. Danny fumbled for the device and, without changing his blank expression, read the message that had just come through.
He gazed at it, and his breathing remained heavy.
'Think of the lives you could save, Danny,' Ben repeated hoarsely.
And then, slowly, Danny turned to look at him. His face was set, and he fixed Ben with a determined steely expression.
'Drive,' he said. 'Drive now. If you say another word, I'll shoot you.'
Chapter Fifteen
Russell Tracey couldn't sleep.
The grey light of morning was beginning to come to Macclesfield. He rolled over in bed and looked at the digital clock on the table next to him. 4.03 a.m. He sighed. There was no way he was going to nod off now. His wife, Bel, lay beside him. Ex-wife, actually, but since Russell's brush with death in the Congo, they'd been making a go of things. For Ben's sake, they had said at first; but as time passed they had realized it was for their sake as well.
Ben. The thought of his son brought a faint smile to Russell's face. He'd be home in a couple of days, and they were both looking forward to him coming back. Neither of them slept well when he wasn't under their roof. He was an independent lad, though, who had proved enough times that he was able to look after himself. They had to allow him his freedom, allow him to spread his wings bit by bit. The holiday with Alec in Grand Cayman was a good way of doing that.
4.04 a.m. Sleep seemed like only a distant possibility now. Quietly, so as not to disturb his slumbering wife, he climbed out of bed, put on his dressing gown and slippers and padded downstairs.
Russell liked the early morning. He liked the stillness. The dawn chorus was just beginning, and looking out of the kitchen window he felt like he had the world to himself. Leisurely, he set about making a cup of tea; as the kettle boiled he switched on the radio.
At first he winced. It sounded like there was some kind of interference in the background and the urgent shouting of the World Service correspondent grated against his ears. He nearly switched off, but then he realized that it wasn't interference he was hearing, it was wind and rain; and what the correspondent had to say grabbed his attention and made his eyes widen.
'Meteorological experts are calling this the worst storm since records began. Wind speeds of up to 200 miles per hour have been recorded and we've had unconfirmed reports that an aircraft originating from Grand Cayman and bound for Miami has disappeared from air traffic screens. The intensity of the hurricane has made it impossible for search and rescue teams to approach the area.'
A sensation of cold dread crept through Russell's limbs: the dread that only a parent who fears for their child can know. Ben wasn't supposed to be on a flight out of Grand Cayman yet, but Russell knew that feeling of dread wouldn't go away until he was sure that his son was safe. Without turning the radio off, he rushed into the front room and switched the TV on. The news channel was full of images that made his heart stop. Palm trees bent sideways; huge, surging waves crashing over ocean-side roads; cars blown over and house roofs collapsed.
'US authorities have ordered the evacuation of large parts of south-eastern Florida,' a voice announced over the images of devastation, 'but scenes of panic are rife in many of the main urban areas. Weather centres are reporting that Hurricane Jasmine has spawned a tornado which made landfall just before sunset this evening and . . . yes . . .' The reporter hesitated. 'Yes . . . I understand we have just received amateur footage of the tornado now.'
The screen flickered before being filled again with a blurry image. At first it was impossible to see what the footage showed – it was out of focus and indistinct – but then the picture suddenly sharpened.
Russell blinked. He could barely believe his eyes.
The tornado was out at sea and it looked like a huge, black, spinning wheel with an impossibly long spindle. The sky around it was stormy and the twister was sucking up huge swathes of the ocean and spitting them back out again. The funnel of the tornado seemed to dance hypnotically, like a snake waving its body to the tune of a charmer's pipe.
The camera panned round and Russell had to catch his breath. The screen showed some nearby buildings: compared with the tornado they seemed tiny. In reality, Russell could tell, they were huge. It only served to highlight just how big the twister actually was.
The screen went blank. The footage of the tornado couldn't have lasted for more than ten seconds, but it had been enough to make it clear that a major natural disaster was unfolding before his eyes.
'For those who have just joined us,' the news reporter's shocked voice continued, 'we are bringing you footage of the devastating storms that are battering the Florida coast and the Caribbean at this very moment. Hurricane Jasmine took weather forecasters completely by surprise and it is threatening to cause the worst natural disaster this region – no stranger to hurricanes – has yet seen.'
'Oh, my . . .'
Russell spun round to see his wife standing behind him, her hand over her mouth. He didn't know how long she had been standing there, but she had clearly seen enough to understand what was going on. Ordinarily this would have been the moment when Bel – a vigorous environmental campaigner – would launch into a speech about global warming and the terrible effect man was having on the planet. Not today, though. Today her one concern was the same as Russell's.
'Ben,' she whispered. 'Is he . . . ?'
'I don't know,' Russell replied grimly. He strode over to the little tele
phone table in the corner of the room and opened the well-thumbed address book that lay there. He found Alec's number and quickly dialled it. His heart was in his throat as he waited for a reply.
But there was none. Just a friendly recorded message. The number you have dialled is unavailable. Please try again later.
Russell cursed. 'The phone lines must be down,' he said flatly. 'I can't get hold of Alec.'
'What about Ben's mobile.'
Russell nodded and tried the number that he knew off by heart. He simply received another recorded message: 'Hi, this is Ben. Leave me a message.'
'Ben,' Russell said gruffly. 'It's me. Your dad. We've just heard about the storms. Call as soon as you can and let us know you're all right.'
He hung up.
'He's OK,' Bel said in a quavering voice. 'I'm sure he's OK. He's a sensible boy. He'll stay out of danger.'
Russell closed his eyes. History had proved that staying out of danger was not something Ben was particularly good at. But he put that thought from his mind. He had to.
'You're right,' he replied after a moment. 'He is a sensible lad. He will stay out of trouble.' He took a deep breath and fixed his wife with what he hoped was a reassuring stare. 'Of course he will,' he said.
When you're driving to your death, it's hard to drive quickly.
It was all Ben could do to keep his foot on the accelerator, and even at this slow speed it was a struggle to keep the truck on course. Ben had to keep moving, though. And he had to keep quiet. He had run out of chances. For now at least.
It was pitch black outside. There was no moon and the air was thick with rain. Danny uttered an occasional instruction, but otherwise they travelled in silence, with only the noise of the storm for company.
Beside him, Ben could sense Angelo trembling. He didn't blame him. If Ben didn't have the business of driving the truck to distract him, he'd be trembling too. He felt like a condemned man in the hour before his execution, and it was a terrifying, sickening feeling. It made his limbs heavy and his spirit weak. Thoughts of his mum and dad flashed through his brain: how would they take it? They wouldn't even know how Ben had died – they'd just assume he came to a sticky end as a result of, or after, the plane crash. They would have no way of knowing that he had fallen victim to a pointless act of revenge for something that had happened thousands of miles away. Maybe it was for the best. Maybe his death would seem less senseless that way.
These were horrible thoughts. It was all he could do to stop panic from overwhelming him; but panic, he knew from experience, wouldn't help him now. He needed a calm head and a clear mind, so that was what he concentrated on keeping.
Time had no meaning on that awful journey, so Ben couldn't have told how much later it was that his headlamps fell upon a high wire fence and an orange and white barrier blocking the road. The fence was rattling in the wind, but so far it had held fast. There was a booth next to the barrier, but it seemed empty. He came to a halt.
'What now?' he demanded of Danny.
Their captor thought about it for a moment. 'Drive through it,' he instructed. 'Break it down.'
Ben started to argue. 'I can't just—' 'Break it down!' Danny insisted.
Ben found himself biting his lower lip. There was clearly nothing he could say. He gritted his teeth, revved the engine and, when it was almost screaming, let go of the handbrake. The truck shot forward, like a stone from a catapult. Angelo shouted in fright as they smashed through the barrier; a glance from Ben in the rear-view mirror showed the bits of debris flying into the air and then out of sight.
'Continue on this road,' Danny instructed. 'We're nearly there. Hurry up.'
The last thing Ben felt like doing was speeding. He simply couldn't go quickly. As they trundled down the road he occasionally had to swerve to avoid obstacles in their way, but in truth his attention was not entirely fixed on the way ahead. The headlamps of the truck had started to illuminate the outskirts of the metal city into which they were driving.
Without even wondering why he had not done so before, he scanned the dashboard for the switch that would put the headlamps onto full beam. The moment he located it, he flicked it on.
And then he gasped.
It was not the size of the structures that awaited them that astonished him; it was not the way they looked like something out of a futuristic movie; nor the way that, lit up only by the truck, the tops of the towers disappeared into the night. It was not the sheeting rain or the ominous metallic creaks caused by the wind that were so loud they could hear them above the storm.
In fact, it was nothing to do with the oil refinery that made Ben gasp.
It was the dead body, dressed only in its underwear, that was lying by the side of the road. Ben felt his eyes glued to the sight as they drove slowly past. The body's limbs were fixed in horribly contorted positions. Ben had the feeling that it was not lying where it fell, but that the storm had blown it and rolled it towards the road. Most grisly of all was the neck. It was nothing but a gaping wound that barely connected the head to the rest of the body. Ben was no expert in these things, but whoever this was looked like they had been shot in the neck at close range.
He felt Angelo tremble even more violently beside him. 'Don't look at it,' he told his friend, and as he spoke he realized that his voice was wavering. 'Just don't look at it.' Ben dragged his own gaze away from the horrific sight of the corpse and back onto the open road ahead.
And that was when he saw the figure in the luminous green jacket.
It was standing in the middle of the road perhaps thirty metres ahead of them. As they drew closer, Ben saw that it was a man. His legs were slightly apart and he did not move, despite that fact that his hair and clothes were blowing fiercely in the strong winds and the rain was lashing down in torrents. Ben slowed the truck down as the figure showed no intention of moving out of their way.
They came to a halt only metres away from him. Ben squinted his eyes to get a better look. The man had a few days' stubble and the hair on his head was soaked and dishevelled. He was a handsome person, however, despite the fact that he had a strangely dead look in his eyes. And despite the fact that in his right hand he carried a handgun. The moment Ben noticed the weapon, the man raised it to the windscreen. Angelo clamped his eyes shut; Ben just watched as the figure approached, keeping the gun held towards them and walking round to the driver's door.
He rapped on the window with the gun; Ben wound it down.
The man was obviously surprised to see someone as young as Ben in the driving seat. He squinted suspiciously as he peered into the cab of the truck; only when he saw that Danny was holding Ben at gunpoint and that Angelo had his arms tied did he seem to realize what was going on. His face relaxed slightly.
'Everything under control?' he shouted at Danny in a very English accent.
Danny nodded. 'Which way?' he demanded.
'Straight on. The road forks around the main central tower. Stop there – it's where we'll put him.' His eyes passed from Angelo to Ben. 'I mean them.'
'Are you getting in?'
The man shook his head. 'You look cosy enough. I'll travel in the back.'
With that he disappeared. Ben vaguely heard the sound of him loading himself into the back of the truck before Danny spoke. 'You heard,' their captor said quietly. 'Time to go.'
Ben just sat there.
'Move!' Danny instructed. His voice wavered slightly, but he prodded Ben with the gun to reinforce his point.
Ben nodded and took a deep breath. Then he started the car up again and continued trundling along the road.
It took a few minutes to get to the fork in the road that the man had indicated. As they approached it, Ben couldn't help looking, wide-eyed, at the immense tower ahead. There was no doubt that this was the one the man meant, and it was with a sickening coldness that seemed to freeze the blood in his veins that Ben let the truck come to a halt once more. Angelo looked like his body had gone limp: his head was slumped on his should
ers and his nervous breathing came in deep gulps.
'This is where we say goodbye,' Danny announced. He stared straight ahead, seemingly unwilling to look either Ben or Angelo in the eye.
'So this is it, is it, Danny?' Ben asked. 'After everything that's happened today, you're just going to leave us?'
Danny didn't reply. He didn't even give any indication he had heard what Ben said.
Ben carried on talking – suddenly the words seemed to be spilling out of him.
'I want to know something, Danny. It's something only you can tell me. Back at the wardens' station, when you knocked me out – why didn't you just shoot me then? It would have been much easier, wouldn't it? Much easier with me out of the way and just Angelo to deal with.'
Danny's lips curled slightly, but he still didn't answer. From the corner of his eye, Ben saw the figure of the man walking through the wind and the rain to the front of the truck. A new sense of urgency surged through him.
'You know what I think?' he almost hissed. 'I think you couldn't do it. I think you're not cut out for this, Danny. I think you're not the terrorist you're trying to be. You're blinded by your anger, but deep down you know this is wrong.'
Still no response.
'Look at me, Danny!' Ben urged. 'At least look me in the eye before you kill me. Because that's what you're about to do, as sure as if you pulled that trigger on me now. You leave us with that lunatic out there and you're a murderer – not just of us, but maybe of thousands of others. So at least do me the courtesy of looking at me.'
Slowly, as though he had to force his muscles to move, Danny turned his head. And in the dim light, Ben could see that there was doubt in his eyes. His face looked racked with indecision, and in that moment, Ben knew he had a chance.
He knew that now was the time to play his final card.
'What if she were here, Danny?' he asked, his voice low and intense. 'What if Basheera were here now? What if she knew what you were doing? What would she say to you?'
Danny seemed to freeze. 'What do you mean?' he asked, his voice strangled.
