Ruthless (12 page)

"Wouldn't he be good as back-up?" asked Nigel.

"Not when he sees what we're gonna do with his money," said Johnny.

"Which is?" asked Nigel, shouldering the bag and walking towards the stairwell.

"Well, best case scenario is I bring them in, get the reward, and Ruthie back."

"And the worst?"

"If necessary," said Johnny. "We will pay those sneckers off."

He took the steps down in hurried, small steps, one hand on the banister, his face in torment. Stealing from Wulf, albeit temporarily, was the least of his worries. Nigel might be a little slow on the uptake, but he wasn't completely dumb. There were a bunch of scenarios far worse than paying out the money, and dead bodies played a part in pretty much all of them.

Johnny just hoped that one of them wouldn't be his sister's.

PITILESS

Nigel peered around the door of warehouse nineteen and saw that it was completely dark. He turned on the torch and cast a beam around the long corridor of anonymous plastic packing crates, each one as big as a family saloon vehicle. Nigel waited at the door, like he'd been told. He shone the torch around at ground level and did his best to look alone. He cleared his throat loudly.

"Is anyone there?" he called, clearing his throat again.

Johnny eased himself down through the skylight and slowly onto the topmost crate. Nigel had made just enough noise to cover the sound of Johnny's sesame gun firing on the window lock. His brother-in-law had made some mistakes in the past but at least he followed orders.

Johnny's alpha eyes gave him a better view of the warehouse, still dark, but with night-vision outlines in light green. He saw not one corridor illuminated by a single beam of light, but a hall the size of a football field piled with crates in twos, threes and fives. To someone at Nigel's eye-level, the crates formed a labyrinth, but from Johnny's vantage point, they looked like a series of mountains and valleys. Johnny perched on the top of the crate and gently stretched a foot out to settle on the next.

He scowled at the wall of the crate, but could not see through it. Each was lightly lined in lead as insurance against Core riggers who occasionally strapped cargo to the outside of their vessels. Some were painted with corporate decals and logos, others blank but for serial numbers. Something clammy interfered with Johnny's grip. His alpha vision saw dust. Some of these crates had been here for years. He peered at a label that was partly legible.

The date was ten years old. The legend simply read "Furniture". The warehouse seemed also to be used for storage, Johnny surmised, and if there was dust on a container three crates off the ground, then the ones underneath had to be even older.

A couple of forklift trucks sat idle in a clearing among the cargo. Bingo. There in the middle sat two men, one with his feet resting on the dashboard of the nearest forklift. The other sat level on a crate above him, slowly surveying the dark warehouse with infrared goggles. He was armed with a rifle, his trigger finger pointing forward. This was no shot-happy thug, elated at the chance to play with guns. Johnny could see that he was a practised killer who knew never to touch the trigger until it was time to use it. It helped prevent accidents, but it only worried Johnny more. It was the last kind of pro he needed at this point.

Two glints shone in the moonlight as the night goggles began to look in his direction. Johnny shrank back behind the lead-lined crate, out of view of the only man in the warehouse who could see better than him in the dark.

"Anyone there?" called Nigel. His voice was strong, overconfident. Johnny shook his head sadly. The guy with the night goggles spun to face in the direction of Nigel's voice.

"That you, Mister Less?"

"Of course it is."

"Alone?"

"Nobody here but me." Nigel seemed almost cheery. The fool thought the trouble was almost over. Johnny hoped he was right.

"Keep walking straight ahead, Mister Less."

"Okay..."

Nigel's footfalls advanced towards the middle of the warehouse. Initially, his pace was brisk, eager to conclude business. Johnny caught glimpses of him as he marched between the crenellated walls of crates. Nigel came to a sudden halt when he tripped on something. There was an "ouch" and an obtrusive clatter as his torch bounced to the ground.

Johnny heard Nigel pick it up and advance again. Slower this time, taking the opportunity to scan more of the ground in front of him.

"Easy now, Mr Less," laughed the seated man into the darkness. "There's no hurry."

The lookout clapped his hands twice when Nigel reached an intersection among the crates.

Nodding at the prearranged signal, the seated man switched on the headlights on his forklift and leapt from the seat. The centre of the warehouse brimmed with blinding white light, forcing Johnny to turn away, blinking searing spots from his vision.

"Walk into the light, Mr Less," called the criminal, a smile in his voice.

Johnny watched as the man leaned against a crate, his arms folded. Nigel was still several steps away from the forklift.

Smart, thought Johnny, really smart. If things turned nasty and Nigel pulled a gun, all he'd be shooting at was a pair of headlights.

Nigel's footsteps advanced closer. Johnny crept along the top of the next crate and leapt across a divide to the next. He wanted a clear shot at both men and he wanted to keep an eye on Ruth's husband.

"Okay, that's far enough," said the kidnapper. Nigel shuffled to a halt.

"Throw the bag forward, Mr Less."

Johnny saw Nigel pitch the bag underarm. It flew a few feet in front of him and then slumped to the floor. The plastic sheaths of the credit bundles inside clicked together momentarily like disturbed crickets.

Johnny pulled out his gun and held it ready. If there was going to be trouble, he was going to be part of it. He took aim at the man in the night goggles and silently dared him to shoot at Nigel.

"Where's Ruth?" called Nigel. Good boy, thought Johnny.

"She's safe, Mr Less."

"Where?"

"Look to your left."

Cursing silently to himself, Johnny took his aim off the gunman and darted to the other side of his crate, hoping to get a better shot.

"She's in this one?" called Nigel.

"See for yourself," came the reply.

Johnny had reached the end of a ridge of crates. If he wanted to see the action, he had no choice but to drop to ground level. It would take the gunman out of his line of sight, but he had to see Ruth. Without the faintest glimmer of guilt, he realised that Nigel was expendable to him if it meant Ruth made it through alive.

Johnny dropped to the floor and poked his head out from behind another storage module. He was rewarded with the sight of Nigel, about ten feet away, gently opening the door of a crate. Within, nestling in a crawlspace wedged through piles of coffee packets, was the unmistakeable outline of a stasis cylinder. The lights on the status panel all glowed a reassuring green. And through the frosted glass faceplate, Johnny saw a woman's head.

It was her; there was no mistaking the ash-blonde bob of fine hair. Johnny could see the familiar long eye lashes over the pale blue eyes she'd inherited from her father. It was Ruth, frozen in time, and in the hands of criminals.

"Stay right where you are, Mr Less," said the voice. "I'm checking the money. You are in a sniper's sights. Don't try anything stupid."

Nigel waited impatiently, one of his feet tapping against the ground.

"Do you think you'll get away with this?" said Nigel. Johnny clenched his fist, suppressing an annoyed yell. Now what?

"Sure I will," said the voice. A few feet away, the unseen sniper patiently trained his rifle at Nigel's head. His forefinger rested right on the trigger now and he was ready for action.

The kidnapper sidled forward and opened the bag, tilting it into the light from the forklift. He swirled his hand among the chips in search of duds or decoys, and then nodded in satisfaction.

"This checks out," he said, zipping the bag shut and hefting it onto his back. Ten thousand credits weighed a fair amount in such small denomination chips. Johnny remained tense. He'd personally thwarted too many ransom situations to know they weren't out of trouble yet. The coast was not officially clear until the kidnappers were gone, Ruth was confirmed unharmed, and no police had come to break the trade up.

"You can't operate without Alnitak's protection," said Nigel, causing Johnny to wince.

"Alnitak is finished," said the kidnapper. "The navy saw to that. He's history."

Johnny glanced back towards the door through which Nigel had entered, seeing two crouched shadows shuffling through. It was difficult to tell at a distance, but both postures implied they were carrying large-bore sidearms. The deal was just about to go wrong.

"You're a sneckwad, Morgan," said Nigel. Johnny's eyes widened in shock; what was the idiot doing?

"I'm doing fine," said the kidnapper.

The man peered out through the gloom at his accuser.

"Is this what you've come to?" said Nigel. "Squabbling over a few thousand?"

"Times are hard, my friend," said the man, an edge creeping into his voice. "We take what we can."

"You double-crossed me," spat Nigel. "You broke your promise."

"Oh, please," said the man, irritably. "I thought we were beyond that."

"I
trusted
you," growled Nigel.

Johnny darted another glance back towards the entrance. The two shadows were still creeping up on the handover. The leader gave a hand signal to the left and the other followed. They both must have been wearing nightvision goggles to make such an exchange possible.

"There's your wife," said Morgan. "All safe and sound. And even in the right bay."

"Excuse me?" Nigel sounded confused.

Johnny looked between the calm sniper and the advancing strangers, his gun held aloft, not pointing at either. He tried to gauge who was going to ruin things first. Somewhere in the dark recesses of his soul, a voice reminded him that Nigel was Just Some Guy, but Johnny's true conscience knew that this wasn't just about saving Ruthie any more, it was about keeping the father of her baby alive as well.

"She's in the shipping line for the
Sherman
," explained Morgan. "They'll come to load her onboard in thirty minutes."

"I see," said Nigel, sulkily.

"She's on her way to Mars. You can just pick her up at the other end. You don't even have to break your schedule."

"You didn't have to break my toes!" said Nigel, quickly, fiercely, like his words were climbing an obstacle. Johnny had heard it too many times before. Nigel was working himself up. Didn't the idiot yuppie know this wasn't a quarrel at a badminton court? To fighting men, fighting words led to
fighting
.

The advancing shadows weren't as experienced as they'd first seemed. The second one had just doubled back, his hands upraised in an exasperated shrug. The leader had sent him down a dead end. Johnny stared in disbelief as the two figures conducted a silent argument, comprising animated hand signals and accusatory finger pointing.

So these amateurs didn't know their way around the warehouse maze. They weren't with the kidnappers. That meant they were either cops, or other bounty hunters. In a strange gesture, one of the figures seemed to lick his hand and smooth it over his head, and suddenly Johnny knew.

Squid. Squid was here to save the day. And the moment he yelled, "Freeze," Nigel could get a bullet in the head.

"Does it hurt to walk?" crowed Morgan at Nigel in mock concern, his voice tugged by a large smile. "Spare me," added Morgan before Nigel could reply. "I'm not doing this for you. I'm doing this for her. I've been in her shoes."

Morgan wasn't making much sense to Johnny, but he was past caring about what he was saying. There was no way he could keep Squid and Blarg back without making a noise. No way he could let them interfere without setting off the sniper. He was going to have to take out the sniper himself and hope that Morgan wasn't quick on the draw enough to blow Nigel's head off in retaliation.

It had been a long time since Johnny had gone into a fight without knowing Wulf was there to back him up. He began to appreciate how much the Viking helped keep him alive at times like this.

"You've got what you want,
Mister
Less," said Morgan. "You can take your wife and sneck off to Earth. And stay there."

Morgan turned to leave, swinging the bag of ransom money onto his other shoulder.

"I want to hear you count to a hundred," he added.

"Right," said Nigel, clasping his hands behind himself. From his vantage point, Johnny saw Nigel reaching for something, his right hand closing around something in the small of his back.

"We won't meet again," added Morgan.

"I know," said Nigel, pulling the snub pistol from his waistband.

Johnny was no stranger to revenge. Nigel might have drawn his gun, but it was Johnny who fired first, putting a standard round right through the eye of the sniper. The noise was deafening as several gunshots overlapped. If a concerned Gronk had been present, the gunfight would have taken several subjective hours. With only humans and a Betelgeusian in the room, it was over in less than two seconds.

"Freeze!" shouted Squid in vain as the sniper's dying reflex pulled his own trigger. A third gunshot rang out as Nigel shot his tormentor. Even as Johnny swung his gun to fire on Morgan, he saw a flare of red leap from the kidnapper's head. Morgan was dead on his feet and Nigel was the killer.

From somewhere behind Johnny, Blarg reflexively put two rounds in the dead sniper, adding to the unbearable noise. Taken aback by the sudden burst of action, it was Squid who fired last. He so rarely got the chance to use his gun. The boom from the larger of his Westinghouse's two chambers announced the launch of a number four round - a high explosive. Johnny had just enough time to think "oh sneck" and duck before the slug tore right through Morgan's chest and into the bag he was carrying.

The bag of credits erupted in a fountain of high velocity plastic, sending discs, chips and shards in every direction. They ricocheted and bounced in the narrow confines of the corridor of crates, creating a storm of hot particles.