Chapter Six

21 December, Daybreak

He was trapped in the middle of an earthquake.

His head was spinning and he couldn’t see, couldn’t breathe. Panic spiked. He fought it. You have to think.

Even getting that far hurt. Better if he could drift back into the welcome darkness …

Not happening.

Whatever drug he’d been given – and he recognised it for a drug from the pounding in his head and the disgusting chemical taste in his mouth – it was wearing off. Slowly his senses were coming back and his mind was beginning to process. He couldn’t see, and breathing was difficult, because there was some sort of bag over his head. The world was moving in a stomach-churning fashion because he was being half dragged, half carried over uneven ground. The persistent buzz from somewhere near his left ear resolved itself into low-pitched rumble.

‘Bloody, buggering hell, the bugger weighs a ton!’

Drew’s left side dipped a little. Whoever had charge of that side was flagging.

‘Shut up and keep moving.’ That was the right side.

‘We should have been out of here hours ago.’

‘And whose fucking fault was that?’ Heavy breathing and grunting, as they heaved him over some sort of low obstacle. Where the hell are we? ‘Sodding flat tyre. Your sodding sister and her poxy sodding van.’ Another heave.

‘My sister’s kid. It’s my sister’s kid’s van,’ Lefty corrected. ‘Kyle – my nephew. He wasn’t supposed to know we borrowed it.’ A disgruntled huff. ‘You should have let that bloke help. At that farm. He wanted to. Dead keen to get us out of the way of his gate.’

‘Oh yeah. Thanks very much, mate. Don’t mind if I do.’ In amongst the laboured breathing Mr Right’s voice dripped sarcasm. ‘Yeah, I got a tool kit. I’ll just open up the back. No worries about the unconscious bloke lying next to it.’

‘We could have said he was drunk or something. Christmas – everyone gets drunk at Christmas.’

Mr Right didn’t even bother to answer that one.

It sounded as if his captors had had a rough night.

Know the feeling.

Drew took as deep a breath as he could manage inside the constrictions of the hood. They didn’t seem to have realised he was coming round. He was more or less awake, but there was still an uncomfortable swimming sensation as they heaved him along. Doggedly he concentrated on keeping his body limp. If they thought he was still unconscious, he might hear something useful.

Spy School 101.

There was a sudden curse from Lefty as he stumbled over something. It was all Drew could do to stop himself bracing for a fall. Mr Right was made of sterner stuff and kept them all more or less upright. ‘Mind what you’re doing!’

‘Can’t we just dump him here? It’s well off the road.’ Then something Drew couldn’t make out. A low grumble that sounded like ‘bloody trees’ and ‘leaving the van’.

‘Nah.’ Mr Right was still dragging them forwards. ‘The hut’s all ready, so he can’t get away.’

‘I dunno …’ Drew had the impression, head drooping and through the folds of the bag, that Lefty was looking around him. ‘We dump him there, and he can’t get out, is he gonna get that hypo thing?’

‘Hypothermia?’ Mr Right filled in. ‘Nah. Anyway, it’s not our problem.’

Their progress had slowed to a crawl. The ground seemed to be getting even rougher and Mr Right was doing most of the work. He was big.

The second guy, the one with the needle.

‘But what if he – you know – if something, like, goes wrong.’ Lefty’s voice rose on the last word.

‘Not. Our. Problem. We’re just delivery. What we’re getting paid for.’ There was a pointed edge to Mr Right’s voice.

‘Yeah, but—’

‘Just doing what we was paid for.’ Mr Right repeated. ‘None of this is down to us. We was hired to take the bloke and bring him here. All part of the stunt, innit?’

‘Yeah – but – the stunt was those other guys.’

‘Different stunt.’

‘But why—’

‘Look it’s all for publicity, innit? Them celebs get up to all sorts of weird shit to get themselves noticed. Just shut up and get it done. We’re making a thousand apiece for this. Pick up the bloke and deliver him. And that’s it.’ Mr Right was breathing heavily again. ‘What happens then is nothing to do with us. For fuck’s sake, let’s just get it finished and get out of here. I think his head moved just now. If he’s coming round we got to get him in that bloody hut before he wakes up proper. So shut up and get a move on.’

Busted.

They set off again at an increased pace.

Hanging limply between his captors Drew digested the price that had been put on his head. Four thousand, assuming the third guy and the driver got the same rate. Someone was prepared to shell out four thousand pounds to make the kidnap real. A slow, cold shudder went through him, bile rising in his throat. Oh, God, don’t throw up. Think! Somehow you’ve got to get out of this.

Mr Right and Lefty had been told it was a second stunt. They probably think you’re in on it – weird shit. Could he admit to being awake, tell them it was all a mistake, offer them more money to take him back? Would that work? If he made a break for it, would they bother to chase after him? Lefty, possibly not. Mr Right? He wasn’t sure Mr Right entirely believed the story about the stunt, but he was damn sure he’d stick to it.

Where the hell were they? Was it still night, or was it daylight outside the confines of the hood? He focused his senses. The sacking was thick, but not that thick. He had the feeling that what was out there was daylight, not darkness. If he strained hard to listen, over his captors footfalls and heavy breathing, he thought he could hear birdsong. Something soft and papery scuffed against his feet. Fallen leaves? Were they in woodland?

He caught himself up with a jerk that he hoped wasn’t distinguishable to the two men hauling him along. He had to concentrate on getting out of this, not falling into the writer’s trick of assessing experience as material, for God’s sake!

If you get free, can you run for it? He’d mapped out plenty of fights and escapes on paper, then choreographed them with stunt men and martial arts experts, but he’d never done any of that stuff in cold blood and for real.

Trying it out on two men in a wood with a sack over your head is not a good place to start.

Owning up that he was awake and striking a bargain was the best bet. Plus you can get a name. The person who paid for this.

He was about to straighten up and stand on his own feet when there was a sudden yell, his left arm was yanked hard and then it was free. From the sounds and the cursing, Lefty had gone down. On pure instinct Drew straightened and swung on the balls of his feet, giving Mr Right a hefty shove. Mr Right let go, with another volley of curses.

Both arms free, Drew powered forward, scrabbling at the covering over his head. He raised it enough to get mouth and nose free, wincing as he pulled it higher and the brightness of a low winter sun hit his eyes. Squinting, he could make out shapes and a blur of colour.

The edge of a wood. Straggling trees. Grass. A hillside.

The fallen branch caught his ankles, half swung, half thrown from behind. He pitched sideways, off the rough path, in a tangle of limbs. The sack fell back over his eyes.

The boot hit his ribs before he could roll away.

Mr Right.

Gasping for breath he grabbed Right’s leg, pulling himself up, or the other man down, he wasn’t sure which. They swayed together for a moment. Right’s hand closed on his throat, dragging him upright. Drew hauled in an agonised breath. ‘Not stunt …’ He sucked in more air. ‘Pay you … more.’

‘I don’t give a shit, you stupid bastard.’ Right’s voice was soft, low and deadly. ‘Getting this done.’

The edge of the hood twitched. Drew tried to raise his hand, to block the move. ‘No … I …’

The needle stung against his neck. Two sets of hands closed on him. Lefty’s back. The thought formed woozily. Will he listen? ‘I’ll pa …’

Before he could finish the word, everything faded to black.