The Dead Lie Down (Adam Lennox Thrillers: Book One)
Read The Dead Lie Down (Adam Lennox Thrillers: Book One) Online
Authors: G I Tulloch
The Dead Lie Down
G I Tulloch
Copyright 2012
The
right of G I Tulloch to be identified as the author of this work is asserted
by him.
Cover
photography by Alison Tulloch.
This
book is a work of fiction. Names, characters and incidents are the products of
the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or
dead is coincidental.
All rights reserved.(XV) No part of this publication may be
reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in
any form, or by any means without the prior consent of the author.
This
is dedicated
To my long-suffering wife Alison who has tolerated my disappearing for hours on
end without warning
TABLE OF
CONTENTS
PROLOGUE
The City of London lay almost silent, shortly before 11pm on a cold December
night. Office blocks stretched menacingly into the sky, silhouetted against the
city lights like modern day stalagmites. The roads glistened with recent rain,
the street-lights reflecting pools of life amongst the quiet of the deserted
businesses. In the distance there was the dull roar of traffic as the night
lived on elsewhere, but here you could almost hear the traffic lights change, if
only there had been traffic around to respond to them.
A
few of the buildings still showed some office lights ablaze, mimicking Christmas
tree lights in a darkened room. The Bartlett Building showed significant
activity, testimony that the shipping business never totally slept, but dozed
off, most things keeping until the bustle of the morning. One of the exceptions
was the radio office on the south-west corner of the building, which never slept
when ships were abroad, and with 50 ships at sea Bartletts was always on the
move abroad.
In
the stillness, movement caught the eye as a figure, hastily wrapped up against
the cold, emerged from the Bartlett building like a cork from a bottle, and
trotted down the forecourt steps as quickly as her high heels would allow on the
slippery surface . A closer look would have revealed her agitated manner. An
attractive face framed by blonde hair but distorted by an expression of fear.
She had reached the road now and stopped briefly, undecided on the next move.
She took the opportunity to bring a mobile phone out of her pocket then moved on
quickly across the road, glancing behind her as if expecting to see baying
hounds in pursuit.
As she continued down the broad pavement, her agitated fingers attempted to dial
the mobile, desperation causing fingers to fail her as faster she made ground
from lamplight to lamplight. The backward glances came more frequently now, as
if there was an inevitable that had to happen. It was just a matter of when.
What
should she do with her new found knowledge? She felt its danger percolating
through her mind. What would Adam do? The thought of him calmed her a little. He
would know what to do. When she got home he would open the door and everything
would be all right. Even in her fear she smiled at the thought of his reaction
and in her mind's eye saw him reach out his arms to make everything safe, saw
his face laugh as he pulled her to him. With him everything would be safe,
everything secure. 'In sickness and health, for richer for poorer, until death
us do part'. He'd wanted to miss those bits out but the vicar had insisted.
Damn. Why wouldn't the phone manage to get a signal? Ah there it was now. Dial
again. Yes, there it was ringing. Pick up Adam, pick up, pick up. She needed to
share this knowledge with someone. It was too important to keep to
herself.
Behind her, in the shadows of an underground car park a car crept at walking
pace and in virtual silence. Emerging finally into the light it came to a halt
at a junction as if in indecision. It continued out of the side turning almost
sedately as if unsure of directions but at the last moment accelerated as
quickly as a leopard spotting its prey. She turned at the sound of screaming
tyres and, almost in resignation of the inevitable, made no attempt to run. She
held out her arms in front of her as if to ward off the approaching evil but the
last thing she saw were white knuckles on the steering wheel as at the last
moment the car mounted the pavement. The roar from the car engine masked the
sickening sound of metal on flesh as her body hung momentarily on the bumper
before, like a life-size rag doll, bouncing off bonnet and windscreen and
landing once again on the pavement, life snuffed out, silence ensured, danger
eliminated. The shape, no longer human in form but a bundle of forgotten clothes
carelessly dropped on the way to the laundrette.
The
car, having achieved its purpose, pulled urgently to a stop. A door swung open
and the driver, darting across to the body, searched hurriedly for something
they knew was there. Within seconds it seemed the search was complete, and
regaining the car they wasted no time in taking off, to be enveloped once more
in the darkness. Silence, dropping like a blanket, once again shrouded the
scene, granting anonymity to the car and, for the moment, to the blonde rag doll
lying alone on the glistening pavement.
Chapter 1
The short stocky figure heaved himself out of the bunk and carefully checked his
footing on the deck of the cabin. This wouldn't have caused any comment from
other crew members, but for the fact that he was dressed entirely in black and
an attempt had been made at blacking out his lightly tanned face with what smelt
like boot polish. He moved off, resembling something out of The Famous Five with
a torch that had been carefully masked with black tape to leave only a small
pinhole light.
Despite
the fact that he had been invited onto the ship by the captain himself, he
didn't appear keen to be seen, as he cautiously made his way out into the
companionway. The smell of diesel invaded his nostrils like a bus depot on
overtime. To his relief his rubber soled shoes made no noise on the matting that
covered the internal decks. He knew his way around but only on paper, having
never actually set foot on the Hermes before. A mixed cargo vessel with a
capacity of six thousand containers, she was designed to carry bulk or container
cargo in her holds and plied trade between Europe and the States, not a route
popular with the crew as it didn't give as much scope for contraband profit as
the South American or Far Eastern routes. Of the seven crew only three were
permanent, the remainder being temporary crew taken on for each trip.
On this night crossing of the North Sea only two of the crew were out of their
bunks and up on the bridge. With the lights turned down there was a ghostly glow
from the instruments that lit the helmsman's face like a Halloween mask. The
First Officer out on the Bridge Wing was checking that the radar wasn't telling
lies, no one wanted to hit another vessel in the busiest shipping lanes in
Europe.
Two decks down and in the shadows the pin prick torch moved steadily down deck
by deck from the crew's quarters toward the holds. There was a purposeful edge
to it now as he moved closer to his goal. Although he obviously knew his way
around there was something in the way he moved that gave away the fact that he
was in an alien environment. That and the fact that he had already hit his head
on three overhead pipes, cursing quietly each time and feeling his forehead for
evidence of blood.
He
knew what he was looking for, he just didn't know where to find it and now
began to doubt the wisdom of his expedition. He was also disappointed at the
state of the ship, after all he owned the bloody thing and you would have
thought they would take better care of it. He stopped briefly and considered the
absurdity of the situation. Here he was, the owner of the ship and skulking
around like a thief in the night. In the darkness he shook his head and moved
on. He had thought long and hard about how to conduct this search. Of the three
holds, number two was regularly used for bulk cargo and he discounted it as he
was unlikely to find what he was looking for under three thousand tons of
Flemish coal. He had flipped a mental coin and decided to start with number
three hold, which coincidentally was the closest to him. In the dim light of his
torch he checked the painted sign on the watertight door, and knocking off the
latches stepped through into the dark cavern.
On
the Bridge the helmsman, tired of sweeping his tired eyes across the wide
expanse of the bridge windows in front of him, dropped his eyes to the vast
control panels in front of him. Long gone were the dials and chunky controls of
old, replaced by computer screens giving the status of everything from the
current course to the state of the crew quarters air conditioning plant. Had the
light been higher you would have noticed one eyebrow raised as he gestured for
the First Officer to come over. They both watched the indicator screen that
monitored the status of watertight doors and hatches whilst at sea. Normally a
bank of green lights, the forward hatch door of number three hold was showing
red, standing out like a beacon. They watched as it changed colour back to green
and glanced at each other before the First Officer picked up the bridge intercom
and made a call. It might have been a faulty micro-switch but they couldn't
afford to take any chances, and it wasn't the risk of taking in water that they
were worried about.
Number
three hold had proved a disappointment to Pinhole Torch and he made his way
briskly but carefully to number one. He was beginning to become accustomed to
his surroundings and it had been a full five minutes since he had hit his head
on anything. He stepped into number one hold and flashed his torch around. Even
in the relatively calm seas with which they had been blessed, the
cargo was groaning as containers and crates moved gently against the steel
plates, assaulting the senses along with the smell of oil and wood. Knowing
roughly what he was after, he ignored the larger containers and concentrated on
the wooden crates that had been used as the filling for the gaps between them.
Conscious of time he moved quickly around them with some semblance of logic,
although in the dark and with the noise all around him it would have been easy
to become disorientated. A set of four identical crates aroused his curiosity
and with the aid of a crowbar, which he had acquired on his travels, he set to
and levered open the first crate. The screech of the nails protesting, sounded
loud enough the raise the dead and he paused to listen. Satisfied that he was
undisturbed he pulled the lid off the crate and peered inside. German
porcelain was what it claimed to be and it didn't tell lies. He hammered the lid
back on and moved on to the second. Even before he had applied the crowbar he
heard the distant crash of a hatchway closing with force. He stopped to listen.
Once again he began to doubt his wisdom and briefly debated aborting his plan.
A mental coin came down heads and he put all his weight behind the crowbar.
Despite the cold down here in the hold he realised he was sweating, his hands
slipping on the greasy bar. The second crate was not as honest as its colleague
and his heart plummeted as he recognised what he saw, confirming his
information, the vindication of everything he had come for. The lid was swiftly
back on and with a desire for haste he checked the third crate for honesty and
integrity, only to find it also sorely wanting.
