Candleburn (22 page)

44

“What do you want?” Asp asked.

“You
know the answer to that. I want the puzzle box,” the voice said. “In exchange for you handing it over, I will return your family, unharmed.”

“When
and where will the exchange take place?” Asp enquired.

“Since
you have the journalist and box with you, you can step out of the car and leave it at the side of the road. You will drive away. Your family will be returned to your home in two hours.”

“You’re
watching us right now?” Blake interrupted.

“Naturally,”
the voice replied.

“And
how exactly did that work out for your henchmen the last time they tried it?”

“You
will leave the box at the side of the road and drive away.”

“That’s
not going to happen,” Blake said. “I have no faith that if we give you the box, you’ll return the hostages. Here is how this will work: at 7am, two and a half hours from now, you will meet us at the sand dunes of Al Kaspar...”

“This
is not a negotiation. Leave the box now or I start chopping little pieces off the youngest girl.”

“Cut
the crap and the silly voices Aarez,” Blake said. “You will meet us on the sand dunes at Al Kaspar. There is a good two miles of visibility in all directions there. We won’t be able to ambush you and we can have faith you won’t be able to ambush us. You will bring the girls and we will bring the box...”

There
was a sobbing from the other end of the phone.

“Daddy?”

It
was Persephone’s voice.

“Daddy?”

Asp sat forward in his seat and placed his hands around the phone cradling it as though it were the girl’s face.

“Hey
my little Pepper Pig,” Asp said softly.

“Daddy,
the man killed Zain with birds and it was horrible,” the young girl gushed. “We saw his body and they hit mummy and...”

“Leave
the box now or the girl loses a finger,” the mechanical voice interrupted.

“Blake,”
Asp said, “get out of the car and put the box at the side of the road.”

“You
have a man watching the car?” Blake said loudly. “Then he can watch me destroy the box right now. You hurt that girl, the box is gone.”

Blake
opened the glove compartment

“Blake,
what are you doing?” Asp asked.

“Destroy
the box and they all die.”

“You’re
going to kill them anyway,” Blake replied. “We do this my way or you lose the box.”

“Blake
– what the fuck?” Asp shouted.

Blake’s
hand clasped the box. Asp grabbed his wrist.

“No,
no, no!” the young girl screamed at the other end of the phone. “Daddy! He’s got my fingers in giant scissors!”

“Blake?”
Asp’s voice quivered with fear.

Blake
moved very fast. With a twist of his wrist, he simultaneously freed his arm from Asp’s grip and hit him on the nose with the back of his hand. Asp was momentarily stunned. When his eyes reopened, Blake had the barrel of the PSS silent pistol lodged against his forehead.

“Your
men are watching the car?” Blake yelled. “Then they can see I have a gun to Nate’s head. I will spread his brains all over the passenger side window and then destroy this box if you so much as breathe heavily on that little girl, you hear me?”

The
girl continued screaming in the background.

Blake
held the box out into the night.

“They
will also confirm I have the package and you know I am fully capable of both killing Nate and destroying it if you cross me. Now – do we have an agreement, Aarez? You, me, Nate, the hostages meet at Al Kaspar and I’ll even allow you to bring as many of your henchmen along as you like for protection. 07:00, sharp.”

The
girl continued to wail.

“Blake,”
Asp hissed. “Please...”

A
tear formed in his eye. His hands were raised in half surrender, his breathing short and shallow.

Blake
clicked the firing pin of the pistol back. The distinctive metallic tone was audible even over the screams and sobs from the phone. He shook the hand holding the puzzle box. It rattled in the quiet of the street as the acid phial in the lid tapped against the carved wooden sides.

“Any
injuries of any kind to any of the women and I kill everyone there, even if it means I die in the process,” Blake said. “The same goes for any kind of double cross.”

The
girl’s cries were muffled.

Silence.

Seconds passed.

“Very
well.”

The
phone cut off.

Blake
slowly brought his palm back into the car.

“You
bastard,” Asp whispered. “You utter, contemptible son of a bitch.”

Blake
tossed the puzzle box back into the glove compartment. The gun clicked again as he gently returned the firing pin to an un-cocked position and lowered the weapon.

“Relax,”
he said. “I just saved their lives.”

45

Alexandria was hoisted to her feet.

Once
the initial terror of the kidnapping was over, she’d acclimatised to the dust from the burlap sack tied loosely around her neck by breathing slowly and remembering the lessons learned from a two month stint spent training to be a yoga instructor.

She’d
pretended to be meditating to take her mind off the pain of sitting in stress positions – cross legged, hands on head – for four hours.

“Pah!
Yoga instructor!” she thought as she shuffled forward. “Another failed career move.”

The
binders around her ankles kept her footsteps small as a convict’s and she scuffled through the dirt, kicking up small puffs of dust with each pace.

“Mum?”
a timid voice cried out.

Guinevere.

“It is okay, my sweet,” she said as softly as she could. “I’m here.”

Now
she’d spoken she realised how swollen and rubbery her tongue was. Her throat was dry, and felt cracked like the paint on an old master.

“Mummy,”
Ginny simpered. “I want a hug.”

The
rope around Alexandria’s wrists clasped them together so tightly that the skin was raw and bleeding. The coarse fibres irritated the cuts. If she closed her right eye, she could just about see directly down through a half inch gap in the sacking near her chin. Her fingers were polystyrene white. They prickled with pins and needles.

So
did her feet.

She
extended her arms in the direction of Ginny’s voice.

She
was slapped across the back of the head.

“This
is not a fucking disco. Hands in. Walk straight ahead.”

The
voice behind had Russian inflections.

“Where’s
my other daughter?” she called out. “Where’s Persephone?”

Alexandria
tried to sound bold. She wanted to present a measure of defiance. Instead, she stammered over her words; her speech, high pitched and wavering, seemed not her own.

The
Russian was so close to her ear that she could smell his coffee-stained breath through the thick fibre of the bag.

“It
is not your place to make demands.”

The
barrel of a gun jabbed into her ribs.

She
felt blood rush to her head. Her breathing quickened. The space inside the sack, tolerable just minutes earlier now seemed even tighter across her face. Once again, she could taste the dry mud of the bag as she began to suck on the hemp with each pull of her lungs.

“For
God’s sake, get a grip,” she thought. “Stay strong for the children.”

She
tried to will saliva to coat her mouth. She force-swallowed.

Nothing.

“If you yourself have a mother,” she said haltering, “you’ll know she would do anything to save you. Let me know my children are safe and I’ll be easy to handle – I’ll be compliant.”

A
deep, chesty laugh.

It
was joined by others – three, perhaps four, further people.

All
men.

A
different man came close. A hand was slapped to her thigh and ran lasciviously up her leg.

She
shuddered involuntarily.

“I
think we have ways to make you compliant,” the new thug said. “Whether you want to be or not.”

More
laughter.

She
felt the hand move higher. She began to quake. It reached the top of her jeans and a thumb hooked inside against her skin. It moved across to the button and began fumbling at it.

She
shook her body, trying to break loose.

The
pistol poked at her back again.

She
bit her lip.

“I
like these English women, you know?” the second man said, talking away from her, towards his laughing friends. “They put up a fight. Much more satisfying.”

Alexandria’s
mind began to work very quickly through her options.

“Do
I put up a fight?” she thought. “Does that give him what he wants? I can’t do much with bound hands and feet. And does it put the girls at more risk? Or do I lie back? Accept what’s coming?”

The
button of her jeans unclipped. Fingers tugged at the fly zip. She wanted to bow and pull away but the gun barrel pushed her forward.

“Oh
God, oh god – how did I end up here?”

A
huge rattle, then rumbling.

A
lock-up door opened.

Bright
light and intense warmth illuminated the right side of the burlap.

“You!”
another new voice shouted.

It
was almost Oxford English in tone – yet somehow she knew it to be a well-educated Arabic man: “I said no harm to the women!”

The
laughter stopped. The hand jerked away.

“Mum?”

Persephone!

“Are you there now?” her daughter implored.

“Yes,”
the Oxford-educated Arab said in a hush. “Your mummy and sister are here. I will take you to them.”

Alexandria
could feel her face dampen and she realised she was weeping. Her trousers were still up but with her button and zip open, she felt as vulnerable as if she were totally naked. Her ears focused on Persephone’s sniffling. Tiny hands grabbed her around the legs.

“Thank
you,” Alexandria croaked. “Thank you so much.”

A
second pair of small arms wrapped around her.

Ginny.

“I
trust we will have no more trouble?” said the Arab – so educated, so gentlemanly spoken.

“No,
no,” she replied. “I have my girls safe. I’ll be good, I promise.”

She
couldn’t hear what happened next, she was too focused on feeling with her fingers as she ruffled the girl’s hair. Something must have happened, as she was being herded, daughters about her waist, towards the light.

She
felt the compacted dirt beneath her shoes soften.

Sand.

They
were moving outside.

Oxford-voice
was on the phone. He’d stepped away from the entrance.

“Yes,
yes,” he said. “We’re putting them in the Jeeps now. It’s a way from here. We’ll be there in two hours.”

Alexandria
had to work harder to maintain her balance as she shuffled forward. With each step, the sand eased beneath her soles. The girls, struggling too, tugged at her on both sides. She slowed lightly, as much from the difficulty of walking as to catch what the Arab was saying.

“I’ve
done as much as I can,” he said. “This should be the final piece on my side... Yes, I’m aware of... I’m not taking the blame for that!”

He
broke into Arabic as he got angrier – but then, strangely, reverted back to English. Alexandria wished for the first time since arriving in the country that she’d immersed herself more fully in the local culture and learned the language. Perhaps he’d said something important in his tirade.

A
shock.

She
bumped her body against something large.

“You’re
at the car,” a Russian said. “Stand still, while I open the door.”

“Do
you have any water?” Alexandria asked.

“Da.
I will get. Do not move. On foot it is days on all sides to civilization.”

“We’ll
stay right here,” she agreed.

“Good,”
the voice said. “In any case, I doubt you can outrun a Kalashnikov.”

***

Dubai Mall’s car park is larger than entire districts in other cities.

Blake
sped through one of the dozens of entrances and headed straight for the circular system of ramps that led to higher floors.

“Should
I even ask why you’ve decided to come to a shopping centre at five in the morning?” Asp said.

“Have
you ever tried to use this car park?” Blake replied.

He
picked up the pace as the Audi span around the wide spiral ramp, passing the third storey.

“I
have a wife and two daughters,” Asp replied. “And you’re asking if I’ve ever been dragged to the world’s largest shopping centre?”

The
Audi sprung off the ramp onto the fourth floor. Even though the mall was closed and would remain so for several hours, the concrete level was still peppered with vehicles left overnight.

“Ten
levels into the sky and another three into the ground,” Blake said. “Bigger in volume than two Canary Wharfs, with a nightmarish one-way system. It’s easy to get into and hard to find the exits.”

Asp
swivelled in his seat. He briefly had time to see, two floors down, a blue sedan struggling to follow them up the steep, curved incline.

The
Audi raced on.

Blake
snaked across the level, slaloming around the vehicles left overnight and ignoring the marked roads.

“They
told us, they were watching,” Blake said. “For what comes next, we need to be free of eyes.”

The
Audi juddered. There was an unpleasant scraping as it bounced over the low cement blocks designed to separate sections.

The
blue sedan was now on the fourth level with them.

Too
late.

Blake
was already ripping a path up to the next one.

When
he reached the flat tarmac, he opened the throttle.

He
raced diagonally for a ramp leading to yet another floor.

Once
there, he changed levels again, drove swiftly towards a sign marked “To Street”.

“You seem to know pretty well where you’re going,” Asp observed.

“Yep,
” Blake replied. “This one exit is inaccessible from any other point. It takes you out to the roof by the cinema. From there it’s straight out to the highway.”

“It’s
almost like you’ve pre-scouted the route,” Asp said.

The
Audi bumped again over a new set of low concrete markers. They rushed in the wrong direction down a one-way stretch of road.

“I
did,” Blake replied. “About six months ago.”

“But
you couldn’t possibly have known...”

“I
didn’t have to know I’d need it,” Blake said. “It’s just what I do. I walk into a room and you could blindfold my eyes. I could tell you how many exits there are – not just doors, but windows, air vents – how many lights, I could point to the toilets, the light switches, and even tell you how many electrical sockets there are and their locations.”

Blake
pulled the handbrake. Tyres screeched. Smoke billowed. The car skidded. It accelerated again in a new direction.

“Even
if that little stunt only gains us a few minutes until they realise we’ve left,” Blake grinned. “It’ll take them another five to find a way out and when they do, they’ll be on a completely different part of the street system. We’ll be long, long gone.”

“I presume all of this was part of your training for whatever military organization you were in: Rubicon, Ron called it?” Asp asked.

“Rubicon,”
Blake said through clenched teeth.

The
Audi left the ground as it zoomed onto a new downward ramp that led directly to the motorway.

Asp’s
heart leapt to his mouth while the car was airborne. His spine crunched as the Audi hit the ground.

“Not military,” Blake corrected. “It was the bastard child of a fight between the CIA’s Special Operations Group, an organization called ‘The Activity’ and other units within USSOCOM – the Special Operations Command. The bits of that you’ve heard of are the Delta Force and the Navy Seals but there are many, many more.”

The
speedometer climbed higher.

50
mph.

Traffic
lights at the bottom turned from green to yellow. 60 mph. Asp began to feel he was on a deadly roller coaster. 70 mph. He started scanning the road for traffic. 80 mph. His hands reached up unconsciously and clutched the strap dangling from the ceiling above the door.

“Jesus,
Jesus, Jesus...” Nate whispered.

A
cannonball, the Audi hit the bottom of the ramp and rocketed across three lanes. A van swerved honking. A truck roared into the space they’d occupied just seconds earlier.