Blind School (7 page)

   As Ryan saw him floored with a gun butt to the side of his face by the second man, no doubt remained to Ryan that he was running for his life.

   He burst out through a back door and into a side alley, picking up stride as fast as he could.

   He ran past a delivery truck, one man by it’s tailgate checking off on a clipboard as another two unloaded cartons of shellfish.

   Already his breath falling short, he glanced back as he heard the back door open sixty yards behind him.

   The second man went to level his gun, but the first man stayed his arm – perhaps considering it too tight with the men unloading the truck in-between.

   The first man took out his cell-phone.

In front of the hotel, the chauffeur sat in Coby’s limousine took the call from Coby.

   ‘Yeah... yeah. Teen kid, you say. Blue top... brown hair.’

   ‘Yeah. Unlikely he’ll run back your direction – unless we’re lucky. So you’ll probably see him along the road from you or in one of the side alleys. Shouldn’t be too hard to spot – because he’ll be the only kid running like crazy.’ 

‘Okay. Got yer.’

   The chauffeur swung the limousine out into the traffic, a couple of horns blaring sharply from behind.

Ryan ran out into the main street, bustling with shoppers and office workers. He had to bob and weave as he sprinted furiously to avoid bumping into people.

   The two goons chasing him were less observant as they came on to the same street. People were barged or pushed aside, others side-stepped or kept a wide berth when they saw a gun.

   Ryan glanced back briefly before ducking into the next side street, then after twenty yards ran into another service alley on his right. Hopefully they’d be confused as to which way he’d gone.

Coby and Rami came alongside the alley and paused, listening out.

   Another alley was ten yards down on the same side. Picking up the sound of running footsteps after a second, they turned and ran towards it.

   Ryan turned into another alley thirty yards along, and was only halfway down it when he heard the bang.

   His breath catching in his throat, he looked frantically behind: a cleaner emptying trash into a dumpster.

   He sprinted on, and had almost reached the end of the alley when he heard another bang. He would have looked back towards the dumpster, but the bullet zinging and lifting brick dust off the wall close by told him what had happened: his pursuers had entered the same alleyway.

   He ducked quickly round the corner as the gun was levelled for a second shot.

   Ryan became frantic. He ran out into a wider side street at the alley-end, then chose one of two alleys opposite and turned sharp right into another service alley.

   His breath was ragged, and he paused for a second to catch it back. He hoped his sudden dog-leg switch in direction had lost them, and looked keenly back: no sign of them. No sound of running footsteps either.

   He picked up stride again just in case – when something ahead suddenly stopped him in his tracks. A limousine drifting slowly past the alley end, its driver peering sharply down.

   Ryan ducked in quickly behind a van to one side, praying he hadn’t been seen. He could see the end of the limousine hood, hear its engine idling.

   The driver stayed there for all of ten seconds, though it felt like a lifetime, then continued on. Ryan pulled back fully out of sight as it drifted past.

   He’d unconsciously been holding his breath, and finally eased it out again when the limousine had gone fully from sight.

But short-lived. He sucked his breath back in sharply again as he heard footsteps approaching the other end of the alley.

   Frozen, breath held, his attention was fixed so keenly towards the alley end – he didn't notice the van doors opening behind him and the man leaping out until it was too late.

He caught only a blur of movement and managed only a half gasp before the cloth was clamped hard over his mouth.

Darkness.

EIGHT

Ellis Kendell looked at the frozen cam image as Josh Eskovitz pointed to the screen.

‘Same triangulation area as the other two girls. And not too different looks-wise, either.’

Ellis nodded. Similar blonde hair, though a slightly darker corn-shade. And this girl looked a good year or so younger; no more than sixteen.

As Josh released the frozen image, the opaque light refraction was more evident in her eyes for a second, until she turned to look at her two friends by a car. Josh grimaced tautly.

‘Given recent activity in that area, reckon we should fast-track this one?’

Ellis closed his eyes for a second. He nodded slowly, solemnly.

‘Yeah. Reckon we should. And pray that we're wrong.’ He studied the girl again: smiling as she talked to her two friends, carefree; totally unaware of what might soon happen to her. ‘And that if we're not, we're not already too late.’

Jessica Werner was with Denise and another friend, Tasha, as they left the shops.   Tasha was two years older, a posy platinum-blonde.

Tasha pressed the remote to put the roof down on her ice-blue Mercedes cabriolet, then swung her three shopping bags into its back seat.

‘You'd think for a birthday present he'd make sure to get it right.’ Tasha rolled her eyes. ‘I told him clear: lavender blue Kompressor... lavender blue.
Not
steel blue.’ No hint of irony in her complaint; she was seriously miffed. She waved a hand with lavender blue nails. ‘Man, my dad can be such a dork at times. I told him straight: I'm not keeping it.’

‘I'm sure he meant well.’ Jessica offered a cramped smile. ‘Like they say –  it's the thought that counts.’

‘Yeah, and that's what happens whenever my dad thinks: he screws up.’

Denise shook her head. ‘I know – '
thinking
'. Whatever's the world coming to?’

Jessica bit back a smile. But the sarcasm had obviously gone over Tasha's head. She checked her Cartier watch and got into her car, fired its engine up.

‘Oh, better rush. My PT's due at my place now.’ She smiled slyly as she backed out. ‘You should check him out. He's a hunk....’

A gold-bangled arm was waved their direction as Tasha zoomed off. Jessica and Denise looked pensively at the departing Mercedes.

‘I'll be lucky to afford an old Honda when I'm ready to drive.’ Jessica smiled wistfully. ‘But,
hey
.’

‘Know what you mean. I'll probably still be driving this thing when I'm thirty.’ Denise got on an old Yamaha 115cc moped and donned a helmet. ‘Give you a ride back?’

‘No, it's okay. Only six blocks – and if my mom saw me riding pillion without a helmet, she'd go crazy.’

Denise grimaced. The misfortunes and ailments besetting the Werner family. She didn't trouble to argue.

The streets rapidly became quieter and lonelier as Jessica headed away from the town center.

   And as she passed the third cross-street, a black van with tinted windows turned in and started following her sixty yards behind.

She didn’t take much notice it at first, but as it edged closer, to within thirty yards, she became more aware of it. And as it stayed the same distance behind, only doing a few miles an hour, she became unsettled.

She walked faster. It stayed with her.

She looked round at it more anxiously, but couldn’t make out anything beyond its tinted glass windows. Couldn’t see its driver.

She picked up pace, almost at a jog now – when suddenly she was hit with another asthma panic attack.

Breathless, she fumbled in her handbag, put the inhaler to her mouth. She drew heavily on it as she took the last turn towards her house.

Then, her breathing evening out again, as soon as she got round the corner out of sight of the van, she started running.

   She looked round frantically as she saw it swing in the corner following her, its engine revving furiously as it put on an extra spurt.

She ran full pelt, could now see her house clearly, jolting in her vision only a hundred yards ahead. Surely she could make it?

But the van swung in sharply then, its side door opening – and she caught only a blurred shadow of movement before she was grabbed round the shoulders, the cloth clamped over her mouth.

   Darkness.

Darkness. Ryan's voice broke sharply through it:

‘No, no...
No
!’

Heavy pause, then a man's voice. ‘So, you're awake?’

A penlight torch switched on and shone on Ryan. He shrank back and squinted. The light was harsh, blinding; the man behind was little more than a hazy silhouette. Ryan couldn’t make him out clearly.

‘I... I didn't see anything. I promise.’

The man smiled. ‘I'm not with Culverton.’

‘Then who are you? What's this all about?’ 

‘You'll get to know soon enough.’ Some rustling in the darkness. ‘Probably sooner than you'd like. And I'm sorry to have to do this again, kiddo.’

The man reached out, clamped the cloth back over Ryan's nose and mouth. ‘The only safe place for you now is
Blind
School
.’

The last words Ryan heard before he sank back into blackness.

Ellis Kendell was in the ATF offices with ATF agent Brent Cohburn and the FBI agent assigned to the air-crash, Paul Weiss.

Behind Cohburn was a board with numerous photos of the crash, some marked and red-circled. An ominous reminder. Ellis gave the photos one last scan before bringing his attention back to Cohburn.

‘Okay. We're pretty much agreed that a key factor is Culverton Industries' new missile defence system. And if they've got a bag of tricks that can lock on to an incoming missile and guide it away – then not much of a stretch to get that same system to lock onto an aircraft.’ Ellis took a fresh breath. ‘But the one bit that doesn't fit is why John Culverton would get rid of a key Senator lined up to green-light a big contract for the company?’

Cohburn nodded. ‘But that works equally for Alex too: why would he do that?’

‘Well... if he had bigger fish to fry.’ Ellis laid out the photos of Alex Culverton meeting with Teischen on Cohburn's desk. ‘Bruno Teischen. Code 6 with the
CIA
due to fears of him supplying arms through the back door to
Iran
and
Syria
through
Kazakhstan
. Mix in Culverton's hot-ticket missile technology and it could be the final flash-point for the biggie: World War Three.’

Cohburn looked at Weiss. Weiss took a moment more studying the photos before looking up.

‘Okay. We'll keep tabs on Alex too,’ Weiss said. ‘But even discrediting his brother to give him a clear path to deal with Teischen – he's still got the old man to answer to. And old Joe Culverton would never sanction deals with Teischen.’

Cohburn nodded thoughtfully. ‘Also how Alex was able to make that crucial signal call while he was in full sight in the marquee? And put his brother in the frame at the same time?’