Armageddon Heights (a thriller) (10 page)

‘There’s no need to talk like that,’ Martin Bolan interjected. ‘This man here is trying to help, that’s all, and, if it’s true that he’s been in the army, then he’s the one we ought to listen to. They’ve been trained in extreme environments. And without a doubt this is an extreme environment.’

Keith Hartshorn’s chest was pumping in and out hard as he attempted to get his escalating anger under control. ‘Well I’m not handing over any of my water and foodstuffs. It’s your own faults if you didn’t bring anything along with you.’

‘We hardly expected to be whisked off to a desert, did we?’ Amanda said. ‘I’d have brought better shoes for a start!’

Hartshorn eyed her, trying to figure out if she was making a joke at his expense. Under the withering fire of the rest of the passengers, Hartshorn relented begrudgingly. ‘Okay, okay, you can have what little I’ve got. But It’s a wasted exercise – we’re all going to get rescued soon.’

Wade went to the bus driver’s cab, opened the door and stepped inside, sitting down at the wheel. Martin Bolan came to stand by the window to the cab.

‘Can you drive this thing?’ he asked.

‘Yeah,’ Wade nodded. He put the ignition keys in and checked the fuel. ‘We’ve got three quarters of a tank left, and whatever is left in reserve. Not sure how far that will get us.’

‘What if the road won’t take the bus? Some parts of it look pretty sandy.’

Wade shrugged. ‘Guess we’ll just have to find out, won’t we?’

Bolan paused. ‘So what is your name?’

The engine started noisily, and the bus vibrated as he gave it some gas. Wade found the air conditioning and made sure it was switched on; the heat inside the coach was becoming unbearable. He’d have to be careful with it, though; the air con used fuel up, and he didn’t know how much of that they’d need.

‘Didn’t you hear?’ Wade said. ‘My name’s Mainwaring!’ He grinned, but it held little humour. He turned away from Bolan, stared out of the side window. Studied the shadows of the bushes at the side of the road. ‘Can you make sure that kid Steve gathers all the food and water we can? And don’t take any crap from that guy Hartshorn.’

‘He’s all hot air,’ Bolan observed.

‘Yeah, well it’s too hot already without adding more heat.’

‘Do you really think we can get out of this?’ Bolan asked quietly.

‘I’m going to give it one hell of a go,’ Wade replied. He turned round, called down the bus. ‘Right, I’m going to get us going. It could be a bit of a bumpy ride.’

He looked back at the shadows again. That was weird, he thought. It had been a long while since they set out and found the bus driver’s mutilated body. But according to the shadows of the bushes it was still high noon. The sun had hardly moved from its position in all that time, appeared to be fixed directly overhead. Or maybe the heat was getting to him. Maybe he saw it wrong the first time.

He thumped the steering wheel. He knew he hadn’t got it wrong. And that’s what started the worm of concern squirming about inside his stomach again.

Where the hell is this place, he thought? And can we really drive our way out of it?

He put the gear stick into first and the bus lurched forward.

‘How long have you worked for Lindegaard?’ Dean Villiers asked.

But to Adrian Levoir it sounded more like a demand. That irked him. ‘None of your business, Villiers.’

They were shut inside a small hotel bedroom, the sort of hotel bedroom that gets hired out by the hour. There was a smell of disinfectant as if someone had had to clean something obnoxious up in a hurry. The furniture was basic, old and scarred; almost every crevice in the bathroom bearing traces of black mould; the toilet bowl was stained; there was a disturbingly similar stain on the duvet on which Adrian Levoir sat drinking bad coffee from a paper cup. Villiers was sitting opposite him on an armchair which had stuffing poking out of one of its arms.

‘Just making conversation, is all,’ Villiers said, his complexion looking yellow under the bare low-wattage bulb. He had a bandage over his ear that leaked blood.

‘I’m not in the mood.’

It made Levoir feel uneasy, being here in a small street in the East End in a sleazy hotel room – if you could call it a hotel – with an equally sleazy companion. There was just something about Villiers that had the duel effect of making you want to avert your eyes from him, but want to keep him in your sight at all times, he thought.

‘Do you get all the fuss about Lindegaard’s tremethelene?’ Villiers said, the question out of the blue.

‘I don’t have an opinion either way.’ He looked beyond Villiers to the window behind him. The sound of traffic was loud. An ambulance raced by, siren screaming.

‘Some say it’s the worst drug someone ever dreamed up. More people have taken tremtrips than have ever used weed, you know that?’

‘I read about it somewhere. You can’t believe all you read.’

‘And it’s more damaging than heroin – you get that? I mean, it’s meant to be non-addictive, not in the traditional sense, so I can’t see what all the hoo-hah is over the stuff.’

‘Damage can be done in a number of different ways,’ Levoir said. ‘It’s all relative.’ He realised he’d allowed himself to say too much about what he really thought about the drug. But Villiers had that way about him that wheedled things out of you without you really knowing.

Villiers seized upon the opinion in an instant. ‘Bet Napier would love to hear you say that. His little pet having reservations about Lindegaard’s wonder drug.’

Levoir eyed the man. ‘What are we doing here, Villiers?’

‘I told you, we’re waiting for someone to arrive.’

‘Why this place? It stinks. Stuck at the arsehole end of London, it’s not exactly the Ritz is it?’

‘It’s precisely because it’s in the arsehole end of London. You know Lindegaard owns this joint?’

Levoir sneered. ‘I doubt it, Villiers. It’s too far below him.’

‘Okay, so not directly. But the chain leads to him eventually. And the profits from its business. He owns hundreds of similar places worldwide. Thousands, maybe.’

‘You ready to believe every urban myth you hear, Villiers?’

‘You don’t look like the kind who’d work for someone like Lindegaard,’ Villiers noted, fixing Levoir with his faintly animal-like gimlet eyes.

‘Again, none of your business,’ said Levoir. ‘Who are we waiting for? Mr Napier?’

‘
Mr
Napier? Even here?’ He shook his head. ‘I’ll bet if he asked you to lick his shoes you would. So which is it – are you too scared of him or too ambitious?’

Levoir scowled. He’d talk to Napier about this guy. He hadn’t expected to be spending any more time with the man than it took for him to spill the beans on his so-called contact with CSL. Instead, Villiers had asked him to accompany him here. ‘I don’t know what game you’re playing, Villiers, but Mr Napier will not be best pleased if you don’t come up with the goods. It’s in your own interests to stop playing games.’

Villiers grinned, enjoying Levoir’s growing unease. ‘We’re here on Lindegaard’s orders,’ he revealed. ‘And as for Napier showing up here, forget it; he won’t soil his hands on any of this. It’s just you and me and a friend we’ve got coming.’

‘I give the orders around here, Villiers, don’t forget that.’

‘I’ve got the information Lindegaard wants, which sort of trumps your pathetic attempts at leadership.’

‘What friend? Who’s coming?’

Villiers sat back, folded his arms. ‘Apparently Napier thinks you’ve got talent. He thinks if you get your hands on some of CSL’s equipment you’ll be able to penetrate their firewalls, crack their codes and track them down to wherever it is they are currently operating from. Me, I’m supposed to get you that equipment, but I don’t hold out much hope of that tack succeeding on its own. I used to work for them, remember? Their security used to be as tight as a camel’s arse in a sandstorm, and nowadays under Charlie Sharland’s leadership it’s even tighter. No, you’ll need other methods to see this through, and that’s where I really come into play.’

‘You’re just full of hot air, Villiers,’ said Levoir. He stood up, tossed the empty coffee cup into a dented metal waste bin by the bed. ‘I’m through playing games, I’m outta here. And I have to warn you that Mr Napier isn’t going to be too pleased about what I have to tell him about our little nark’s lack of cooperation.’

Villiers held up his hand in mock horror. ‘Ooh! Now I’m terrified! Mr Levoir is threatening me!’ He laughed. ‘Sit down. They shouldn’t be long as they’re here.’ As if on cue his mobile phone rang and he answered it. ‘Yeah. Fine. Any problems? Great. Room 34.’ He stowed the phone away. ‘Far from being full of hot air, Levoir, I’ve already been busy. We have our contact joining us in approximately three minutes. I’d hang around; this is going to be interesting.’ He saw the puzzlement in Levoir’s eyes and fed off it like a cat drinks cream. ‘Sit down. You’ll get all you need eventually. See, we’re a team, you and me. You have your area of expertise, I have mine. If we work together we can both come out of this smelling of roses. No sense in fighting each other, is there? We both want similar things, don’t we – partner?’

Partner? Levoir was beginning to boil inside. ‘I’m in charge, Villiers. On Mr Napier’s orders.’

‘Whatever,’ he said shrugging. ‘But I’ve always had this thing about taking orders. I simply don’t like them, especially having to take them from a piece of piss like you. Look, I’m a fair man; we can do this the hard way or the easy way. The choice is yours. I can’t say fairer than that, can I? At least I’m not after being top dog here. I just want a bigger share in the fun.’

‘Fun? Are you crazy, Villiers?’

‘A bigger share in the action, then.’

‘You’re an arsehole, Villiers. I don’t want you near me any more than I have to. The deal is you spill the beans on your contact, I get my hands on CSL’s equipment and you bugger off out of my life forever.’

‘And let you take all the credit?’ He shook his head. ‘Sorry, no can do, Levoir. This is my big opportunity to impress Napier and Lindegaard and I’m not going to pass it by.’

There was the sound of scuffling out in the corridor, a murmuring and then a hurried but deliberately muffled knock at the door.

‘We’ve got company,’ said Villiers, rising languidly and going to the door.

A man wearing a cloth bag over his head was thrust by someone into the hotel room. He groaned, staggered and almost fell over. He was followed immediately by the man who’d casually tossed the man inside as if he were discarded litter. A huge, brick wall of a man, broad at the shoulders and chest, thick-necked, face like a beat-up boxer and hair cropped a whisker away from bald. Adrian Levoir’s eyes widened and he jumped off the bed as the man with the bag over his head, his hands secured by washing line tightly behind him, came within two feet of him.

‘Jesus, Villiers! What the hell’s going on?’

The beat-up boxer grabbed the bound man by the scruff of the neck and yanked him back. The man whimpered pathetically, his legs looking like they were about to buckle beneath him. Levoir noticed the unmistakable patches of blood on the man’s dirtied jeans.

‘Levoir, I’d like you to meet my man Jungius.’

The beat-up boxer nodded a greeting, hauling his prisoner by the neck and sitting him down in the armchair recently vacated by Villiers. He went swiftly to the curtains and drew them against the night. He stood behind the armchair with his arms folded.

‘What are you doing to this man, Villiers?’ Levoir insisted.

‘Making conversation,’ Villiers replied, going to the seated man, whose head was flinching from side to side in a blind effort to pinpoint where people were.

‘And who the devil is this ape Jungius?’ Levoir was attempting to control the fact that he’d been stunned by the two men’s sudden appearance. He hadn’t expected this.

Villiers tut-tutted. ‘Don’t upset him, there’s a good man, Levoir. Even I don’t like it when Jungius gets upset.’ He strode over to the seated man and whipped off the cloth hood.

The man first squeezed his watery eyes closed and averted his head, and then slowly opened his eyes and turned to face Villiers, the light making him squint and blink. His mouth was gagged with a piece of filthy cloth, wet with saliva, tied tightly around his head. It held in place a wad of yet more cloth, filling his mouth so completely that he could hardly breathe through it and had to suck air noisily up his flaring nostrils. His face was a mass of bruising, one eye swelling up and threatening to close it entirely; his lip was busted and blackening, dried blood mixed with fresh had dribbled from the cut to put a streak down his chin and drip on his shirt.

‘My God, Villiers, what have you done to him?’ said Levoir.

‘Jungius here just wanted to talk, but this guy didn’t want to join in, and Jungius considers that very rude, don’t you?’ Villiers bent to the bound man. ‘You’ve been a very rude man!’ He patted him on the cheek and the man flinched.

Jungius remained silent.

‘Who is he?’ Levoir was struggling to maintain his calm. ‘Does Mr Napier know you’re doing this?’

‘Napier wants results, doesn’t he?’ Villiers said. ‘He’ll approve alright, when I give him those results. And as for who this man is, he can lead us to what we want, can’t you? Though he is proving more than a little stubborn, even for Jungius.’ He stood tall and put his hands behind his back. ‘Jungius, take the man’s gag off, will you? And I have to add,’ he said to the seated man, ‘that crying out for help will not aid you in the least, not here. What’s more, Jungius will break your neck if you do anything so stupid as call out. So my advice is to stay calm and quiet, cooperate with us, and this will all be over before you know it. You can go back to watching
Eastenders
and I can go and have my curry. Understand?’ The man gave a sharp nod. Villiers signalled for Jungius to remove the gag. The man gasped for air as soon as the wad of cloth was pulled from his mouth. Villiers bent to his haunches before him. ‘OK, first things first, it’s no use denying your connection to CSL. Your real name is Roland Fuller, you’ve been married two years and have a baby on the way. Nod if I’m right.’ The man hesitated. Nodded slowly, his eyes glancing over to Levoir. ‘In fact you’re expecting a baby girl, eh?’ The man snapped his attention back to Villiers. ‘Girls are so much less bother than boys, I’m told. But what do I know? I’ve yet to have kids.’ He grinned. ‘What? Wondering how I even know that little, so-called private detail about you? Well, Mr Fuller, I know all manner of things about you. Jungius and I have been very diligent in our digging. Get just one piece of vital personal information and it’s a key that unlocks everything. I got hold of just such information. So what do I know, you’re thinking? I know how closely you’re linked to CSL. I know you’re very intimate with their operation, just as I know you hold valuable information as to where I can find their latest operations site.’

The man gulped visibly, licked his bloodied lip. ‘I… I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t know about CSL…’

Jungius slammed a meaty hand across the side of Fuller’s head and he was almost knocked sideways from the armchair, and would have done so hadn’t the padded arm held him in place.

‘Must we continue with this charade, Fuller?’ Villiers asked impatiently. ‘We both know this can only end one way, and that’s by you giving us the location of CSL’s operational base. What do you have already – a busted rib or two? We can add to that quite easily…’

‘Villiers!’ said Levoir. ‘This is monstrous! You are to stop this at once!’

‘Back off, Levoir,’ he returned without looking back at him. He stooped lower, his face a mere foot away from Fuller’s. ‘You think CSL really care about what happens to you? What did they tell you – that it was safe working for them? No one will ever find out who you are and what you do? Well I’ve got news for you – that’s a load of baloney. See, you’re here, I’m here, and that sad little assurance of theirs has been blown out of the water. You’re playing with the big boys. Lindegaard doesn’t like it when people start to meddle in his business. And CSL have been meddling too long now. So you don’t have to feel guilty about things by opening up to me. CSL have already washed their hands of you. I mean, what have you got to gain by keeping clammed up like this? You’ll get badly hurt and they’ll continue to get rich off the back of Lindegaard.’

‘They’re not in it for the money!’ Fuller said.