Dark Tomorrow (Bo Blackman Book 6) (14 page)

‘Mrs Goldman,’ I begin.

She shakes her head. ‘Sorry. Don’t mind me. My psychologist says moments like that are bound to happen. That they’re natural.’ She sighs. ‘I really was so sure.’

I try to sound casual. ‘Where was this?’

‘Westminster. I only remember because I’d gone to meet my MP. He kept promising to do more.’

For a horrifying moment, I think she means Vince Hale then I remember that he’s the MP for some town up north.

‘Can you remember when?’

‘Two years ago or thereabouts.’ Her expression tightens. ‘Why?’

‘I was just curious.’ I glance back at the van. ‘Look, my dog is in there. I probably shouldn’t leave him for too long.’

‘Of course.’ She hefts Hope in her arms. ‘This little one needs changing.’ She lifts her chin. ‘You are going to look though, aren’t you? I can tell. You have this stubborn set to your mouth that reminds me of Alice when she wanted something.’

The ache in my heart deepens. ‘I will look. I can’t promise any more than that.’

Walking back to the van, the guilt eats away at me. Why didn’t I tell Mrs Goldman what I already know about Alice? I’m sure I’m doing the right thing but I can’t help thinking that she deserves to know. If it was me, I’d want to know. I sigh heavily.

Kimchi’s bark draws me out my reverie. I open the van door and, with an amazing feat of dexterity, he squeezes past me and leaps out. I curse. Without a care in the world for traffic, people or my pointless shouts, he bolts across the road towards the nearest lamppost, then immediately begins sniffing at it with doggy desperation.

I grab his collar. ‘You can’t do that! I understand it might smell interesting but there might be cars. You might get run over.’

Kimchi is entirely uninterested. ‘Look,’ I tell him, remembering Rogu3’s litany from the night before. ‘There’s the Goodsons’ car and the shouty neighbour’s car and the Lairds’ car. Any of those could start up, drive over and not see you. And then you’ll be squished dog. Look at that black van! Its suspension is so low that it…’

I freeze. There wasn’t a black van here the other night. In fact, I’ve never seen a black van in this neighbourhood before. My skin prickles. Kimchi looks past me and starts to whine.

I whip round as something purple and noxious is sprayed in my face. I cough and cover my mouth but it’s too late. I’ve already inhaled it and I can feel my head starting to swim. Kimchi barks, a ferocious series of yelps, but the sound is already growing distant. All I can think is that I should have killed that damned black witch in the shop when I had the chance.

I don’t think I’m unconscious for long. Whatever chemical was in that sodding gas was enough to knock me out but not to keep me under. When I wake up, my face is pressed against a cold metal floor and there’s the sound of an engine in the background. I can feel motion. My hands are cuffed – and this time with the energy-sapping crap from Magix – and when I try to twist round and sit up, my head knocks painfully against something a few inches above me. As I blink and look around, it’s clear that I’m being held in what can only be a coffin.

Whoever has captured me doesn’t want me dead, at least not yet. If they had then I’d have already breathed my last. The thought of torture flits through my mind; maybe they’re looking for Michael and they’ll bleed me until I give him up. But hardly anyone knows he’s still alive.

I tell myself it doesn’t matter what they do to me, I will never break. I know the truth though. Ideas like that are best kept for Hollywood; the truth is that, sooner or later, everyone breaks.

I think of the Kakos daemons. Perhaps this is all their doing but it doesn’t feel like their style. During every encounter I’ve had with X – and the one with the female daemon – they had no qualms about letting me know who they were. They made a point of it.

I try to breathe normally. I have to be logical. Know thy enemy, Bo, I tell myself. Right now it’s the only chance I’ve got.

Eventually, I narrow it down to either the Tov V’ra members who’ve managed to avoid arrest, the government, or some as yet unknown entity. My bet is on the government. Who else would own a black van that was sitting heavily enough in the road to suggest that it was carrying a lot of expensive equipment? Metallica, perhaps? Last time I checked, they didn’t hang around pretty London suburbs. In any case, I already know from Foxworthy about the new initiative to round up all remaining bloodguzzlers. This kidnapping must be connected with Vince Hale. Prick. About the only silver lining I can think of is that either MI7 are beyond clueless, or my grandfather was correct when he said they worked independently to the elected Westminster officials.

Impatience surges through me. Whoever these bastards are, they’d better not take me far away. I’ve got Alice to deal with and I can’t lose precious time being carted to the other side of the country and working out how to escape. If Alice is alive,
she
can’t afford that time.

I squirm, pushing against the cuffs with every iota of strength I can muster. I know from past experience that it’s next to useless but I have to do something. Only when I’m absolutely certain that I can’t free myself do I move on and start banging against the side of the coffin. Every thud is an effort ‒ those bloody cuffs really work – but I’m not about to quit.

After about my twentieth attempt, someone finally bangs back. ‘Shut the hell up!’

I pause. Male. Perfect Eton-educated accent. Yep. This is down to Vince Hale and his cronies. I start banging against the coffin again.

There’s a clatter as a lock is drawn and the lid is raised. I blink against the sudden bright light. A smooth face with a carefully tended moustache and cold eyes peers down at me. ‘I told you to shut the hell up.’

‘I’m claustrophobic.’

‘You’re a bloodguzzler,’ he snarls. ‘I thought you all slept in coffins.’ He smashes his hand down towards my face. I jerk to the side but there’s not enough room to escape the blow fully. His fist connects with my cheekbone and jarring pain shoots down towards my jaw. Now I’m getting pissed off.

The coffin lid is slammed down. I count to three then start throwing myself against the side with even more gusto. The angrier I can make him, the more chance that he’ll mess up. This time I only have to do it four times before the lid is flung open again. He grabs the collar of my T-shirt and hauls me up until his face is inches from mine. I don’t look at him; I already know what he looks like. This time I want to see where I am.

‘If you don’t stop that,’ he threatens, as I take in two goons – one male and one female – and an array of blinking lights and computer screens, ‘then you’ll be dead.’

‘He won’t like that,’ the woman remarks. ‘He wants to talk to her first.’

I glance past her to the van doors. I can’t see a handle, which means they’re electronically controlled. Arse.

‘I don’t give a toss what he’ll like. He’s not here.’ The posh boy glares at me. ‘Look at me when I’m talking to you!’

I pull my attention back to him. I’m not getting free until we reach our destination so there’s no point in continuing to scan the van. ‘What have you done to my dog?’ I enquire. Clichéd it might seem but if they’ve so much as harmed a single hair on Kimchi’s back, I will destroy them.

His lip curls. ‘I don’t harm innocent animals,’ he spits. ‘Only rabid beasts.’

I take that to mean Kimchi was smart enough to run off before they could grab him, otherwise this tosser would delight in showing me his remains or using him as collateral to get me to behave. In return, I give him a brief taste of what a rabid beast like me is really capable of. I elongate my fangs and I snap my head forwards. He yelps and skitters back, falling over a chair. I smile.

‘You bitch! You’ll pay for that!’

‘I didn’t even touch you,’ I purr. ‘Is that all it takes to get you to piss yourself?’

‘Freaking hell!’ the woman exclaims aloud. ‘Have you wet yourself, you plank? Because if you have, you can be the one to clean it up.’

He’s even angrier now. A thick vein bulges in his forehead and starts throbbing. I lick my lips; I don’t actually mean to but the sight of all that pulsing blood so close to the surface of his skin is difficult to ignore. He gets to his feet and backhands me but he’s not as strong as he looks. It’s easy to throw your fist at someone who’s trapped in a box but he’s going to have to try a lot harder than that if he wants to knock me off my feet.

‘Just put her back in the damn coffin.’

‘Don’t bother,’ says the other man, speaking for the first time. ‘We’re already here.’ The words have barely left his mouth when the van rolls to a halt.

I tense. Just like Maria when the lorry she was transported in stopped, I’m aware that this is my best opportunity for escape. Once I’m inside wherever it is they’re taking me, it’ll be a lot more complicated.

I’m not going to be able to move quickly – the sodding energy-sapping handcuffs will see to it – but I’m still strong. And faster than them.

There are a couple of barked instructions from outside, followed by a thump on the other side of the door. Without saying another word, the men walk over and stand on either side of me, each grabbing an upper arm. I have the unpleasant thought that this isn’t the first time they’ve done this.

‘Don’t bother trying to get away,’ the first one growls in my ear. ‘Not unless you really want to know what pain is like.’

I try not to roll my eyes. He’s been reading too many Ian Fleming novels; he’s already proved that he’s not as badass as he thinks he is. All the same, I force my body to become loose and relaxed. I can play meek and mild if it will surprise them when I finally make a bolt for it.

The woman presses a button on one of the blinking machines and the door opens. I peer outside, trying not to obviously scope the area. We’re in some kind of garage. Damn it. That makes things a bit harder – but not impossible.

The woman hops out and takes a clipboard from a boiler-suited goon. ‘We got her,’ she says, satisfaction layering every damn word.

‘Bo Blackman? You guys rock.’

I stare at him, half-expecting a fist pump. To have been captured by this lot is starting to become embarrassing.

He lifts his head and stares. ‘She’s shorter than I expected,’ he comments. ‘And kind of cute.’

Good grief.

I’m hauled out without ceremony. The air in the garage is dank and oppressive; I think we must be underground until I see daylight at the far end. Nope. This is just a vast space; I can work with that.

I can see two men on the ground, together with the three who got out of the van with me. There’s another electronically controlled door about twenty feet away, which I assume is where we’re heading. My eyes flick from side to side as I plan my escape route. I’ve got this.

The two men holding me drag me forward while the woman flips open a keypad. Even with my lack of techie ability, I can tell that this is a far inferior version to the one on the MI7 warehouse entrance. That makes me happy. I wait until she’s finished and there’s a quiet whoosh then I leap upwards, yanking myself free, and spin ninety degrees. Goon One gets a kick to the balls and Goon Two receives a blow on his nose from the back of my skull. There’s a satisfying crunch. As the other three jump to it, I skip away. I can’t sprint – not with the cuffs – but I can be smart.

As soon as I reach the side of the garage and the first row of parked vehicles, I drop to the ground and roll under one of them. They’ll expect me to make a run for the exit so I head in that direction. When their yelled curses alert me to their location, however, I twist round and roll left to the next row of cars rather than forwards into the sunshine.

Adrenaline is pumping through my system and making my skin prickle with delight. I’m not sure whether my change in direction has gone unnoticed until I scoot round once more and see the feet moving past me. I head away from the door and push myself up so I’m hanging from the undercarriage of a Range Rover. Then I peer out.

As expected, the woman has stayed behind. Her hand is on a remote control and, as she presses it, there’s the sound of clanking machinery. The far door begins to trundle closed. I watch her but I also count; I need to know how long it takes the garage door to close. It’s not quick. A full eight seconds pass by until it finally judders shut.

‘Did she get out?’ someone calls.

‘No, she’s still in here.’

‘Turn on the freaking lights! She’s under one of the cars.’

Almost immediately, the place is illuminated by fluorescent strip lights hanging from the ceiling. Shadows flicker and move as my captors start ducking down and checking. I adjust my position slightly. Unless they look directly under this vehicle, they won’t spot me. I’m going to smell of engine oil, though. That’s irritating. Still, the last time I tried this was on a moving vehicle which was heading into a well-guarded army outpost. This is far easier.

The goons skitter around making too much noise. I train my gaze on the woman. She doesn’t look anything more than irritated. She might know my name but she still doesn’t have a clue who she’s dealing with.

I wait until the others are far enough away then drop silently to the ground and roll my body towards her. I can’t afford the movement to catch her peripheral vision so I take things easy and it’s a good opportunity to rest a bit. The longer the Magix cuffs are on, the more sluggish I feel. I need to conserve as much energy as I can.

There’s a shout from the other side of the garage and her head jerks towards it. It provides me with all the time I need to get past her. Now I’m two cars – and less than ten feet ‒ away.

‘It’s just a bloody cat!’

There’s a harsh curse in response. The woman tuts to herself and taps her foot impatiently. I ease out from under the car, taking care not to let the cuffs scrape the ground. With precise movements, and holding my breath, I get to my feet. I can’t let her make a sound. Without the use of my hands, this is going to be difficult.

I sneak up, using her body to block me from view should one of the others turn round and look this way. I’m only inches away from her when I stop. I smile to myself then blow gently onto the nape of her neck. Her hand rises and she looks round as I launch myself towards her, aiming for her head. She falls backwards with one sharp yelp which is almost instantly muffled because my shoulder is wedged in her mouth. I wrest the remote from her and shuffle round slightly until I’m the right position. She writhes underneath me. I’m not going to be able to hold her for much longer but I don’t need to. I move my shoulder from her face at the same time as my head swings round and slams into hers, knocking her out instantly.

As I hear pounding feet racing back towards me, I leave her where she is and roll again, this time to my right.

‘Shit!’

‘What’s happened?’

‘Lane is out cold.’

I pray that they won’t notice the absence of the remote but they have other things on their minds.

‘She’s separating us, then taking us out one by one. We need to stick together.’

I grin. Yeah, you do that, you’ll be easier to avoid if you stay in a group. I didn’t imagine the tremble of fear in the goon’s voice. Let them think I’m the perfect predator rather than their helpless prey. If it helps me get out of this, it’s all to the good.

They abandon their companion and start looking under the nearest cars, heading back towards the wall rather than towards the door. They’re not the brightest sparks but then again, they do work for the government. As their group edges back, I roll forward. The unfortunate thing is that all this exertion is really beginning to take its toll. It feels as if the handcuffs are tightening round me and I have to keep shaking my head to avoid blacking out.

I heave a sigh of relief when I’m scant feet away from the closed exit. I take a moment to recoup my strength as best as I can and ignore the shouts of frustration from behind me. Blood is roaring in my ears. Come on, Bo. You can do this.