BLINDFOLD (41 page)

`Sod all but trouble,' Joey admitted. `It's just ... Well, I know how it feels. You know, sisters.' He dried up, palpably embarrassed. `Oh, shit! I don't know what I'm saying.'

`But you work for him. How do I know you're not doing his dirty work right now?'

`Not since I found out he was behind that fire,' Joey stated. `So where's Slade now?' Gideon wasn't convinced.

`I don't know. His car's at the Grange but he wasn't in his flat. I even asked Milne if he knew - he's a miserable old bugger, that one! - but he didn't know either. Renson was there but if he knew he wasn't telling, and he's gone out now to refuel the chopper.'

`So, where else might Slade go? Does he have any other hideouts?'

`Well, I'd've looked there if he had, wouldn't I?'Joey pointed out reasonably. `Anyway, his car's there. It's like a friggin' alien abduction or a black hole or something.'

Gideon frowned. `And Naomi's car is here . . .' Then sharply, `What did you say?'

`What did I say when?'Joey was bewildered.

`A black hole. That's it! George Callow's bunker!' Joey shook his head. `You've lost me now, pal.'

`There's supposed to be an underground wartime bunker somewhere on the farm, or rather under it,' Gideon explained, starting to walk back towards the stables. `Slade must have got wind of it - don't ask me how - and he visited George Callow to find out where it was. George had a map, you see. At least, he did have. I've a strong suspicion that your friend Slade has it now. You see, George had a heart attack the other night. A window was open when they found him and they thought he might have surprised an intruder, although nothing appeared to be missing.' `Except the map,' Joey supplied.

`Well, his wife was going to show it to me but she couldn't find `So you don't know where the entrance to this bunker is?' `Somewhere round the farm buildings,' Gideon said helplessly.

`Rose couldn't say for sure and I didn't know it was going to be important.'

`What the hell would Slade want with a bunker?'

`How the bloody hell would I know?' Gideon demanded. `He's not my mate.'

He stopped in front of the old stableblock. `It would be a lot easier if we knew what we were looking for precisely. I suppose the trapdoor, or whatever you call it, would be made of concrete or iron.'

`Somebody's been digging over there.' Joey pointed in the direction of the farmhouse.

`That's where the new stables were. The ones they lost in the fire.'

`No. Further over,' he said, impatiently. `There's a spade or something.' He started to move. `And a crowbar. This could be it, pal.'

Gideon moved with him. `That's where the mobile home stood.' He Shone Logan's torch ahead of them. `Hey, I think you're right. Some of the paving's been moved.'

They reached the spot and stood looking down. Four paving slabs had been lifted, to expose a square of concrete underneath, and within that, a rectangle measuring about three feet by two, outlined by a thin line of metal. Also, a matter of two feet away to one side, another slab had been removed, under which was a cavity containing a heavy iron handle, shaped like a ship's wheel. In the light of the torch it appeared to be remarkably rust-free.

It was easy to see how Gideon and Logan had missed it earlier. In the muddle of devastation and imminent rebuilding, the significance of loose slabs lying around was easy to miss, especially when there was no thought of hidden trapdoors.

`Now what?'Joey asked quietly.

Gideon wished he knew. If Slade was down there, just what was he up to? Was access to the bunker the reason Milne had been so desperate to drive Tim and Naomi off the farm? What could possibly be so important about a derelict military bunker? Gideon would have been tempted to think that Milne had had nothing to do with it, if it weren't obvious that Slade had only recently discovered its existence.

`Have you really no idea what he's up to?' Gideon asked. `Sweet FA, pal. I wish I did.'

`Well, I suppose I'd better go down and have a look,' Gideon said, with a marked lack of enthusiasm. `I'll just have to hope this hatchway doesn't open straight into the business department of whatever's down there, or I could be in big trouble!'

Joey put a hand on Gideon's arm, his head up and listening. `Hold on a moment. There's a chopper coming. It could be a coincidence but I wouldn't bet on it. Renson pretty much answers to Slade these days, even though it's Milne who pays him.'

They waited a moment. The helicopter drew ever closer and then began to circle the field behind the farmhouse.

`Best if I go and see who's on board,' Joey suggested. `If it's Slade, it'll be easier for me to talk my way round it than it would be for you. If it's just Renson, I'll give him some story about a change of plans and tell him to come back later. The fewer we have to deal with, the better.'

`Er ... Okay, thanks.' Gideon was finding it hard to adjust to the idea of he and Joey batting for the same team, and the doubt must have sounded in his voice because Joey paused, looking back.

`Yeah, I probably wouldn't trust me either, pal,' he said helpfully, and with a gleam of white teeth in the darkness, was gone. Oddly enough, Gideon felt in some way reassured. His head was telling him he was mad to believe anything Joey Dylan said but the instinctive liking he'd felt on their first meeting was still there, and his instincts rarely let him down, with animals or people.

In the field, the helicopter sank ever lower, the draught from its rotors reaching Gideon even where he stood. He shivered. Now the rain of the last few days had stopped, the sky was clearing and the temperature dropping fast. If he was cold, what would it be like underground? Were Tim and Naomi really below his feet somewhere? It seemed unreal.

The word `underground', with all its funereal connotations, gave rise to a sudden feeling of panic in Gideon. It was intensely frustrating to be standing there doing nothing while his sister almost certainly needed help.

`Come on, Logan. Where are you?' he muttered, gazing impotently into the surrounding darkness, although to be fair, it could only have been five minutes or so since he'd driven off and the Grange was the best part of a mile away by road. Gideon wondered how Joey was getting on. The helicopter had landed now, its engine idling and rotors turning slowly. What was he saying to whoever was in the machine?

Was he mad to trust the man?

After a minute or two more, the helicopter engine died completely, leaving an almost deafening silence. Gideon crouched to listen at the bunker entrance but could hear nothing and stood up, stepping back and stretching his tense limbs. Stiffening muscles pulled across his shoulders, reminding him painfully of the earlier conflict. He groaned wearily. What he wanted most in the world was to see Naomi safe and then sink into a steaming bath.

A noise behind made him turn. Was that Logan back? Over the racket of the approaching helicopter, he'd never have heard him. `Logan?'

No answer.

His skin prickled. Had Joey ever gone to meet the helicopter? Had he, instead, circled round to come up behind Gideon? Or was someone else waiting in the darkness?

Another slight sound, like a pebble being dislodged, made him swing the torch to his right, and in that instant he heard a step behind him and knew he'd fallen for the oldest trick in the book.

In a flash, a length of wire was brought down over his head and pulled viciously tight round his neck. Gideon managed to get the fingers of one hand inside the loop before it tightened and, dropping the torch, clawed at the other side desperately as it began to bite.

He wasn't sure if the intention was to strangle him or slit his throat, and either way he didn't fancy it. He knew that if his windpipe collapsed he'd be beyond help.

Even in the heat of the moment, struggling for breath as he was, Gideon's self-defence training didn't desert him. Still gripping the wire, he dropped his bodyweight downward and back, landing at the feet of his assailant and crashing into his lower legs.

For a brief, agonising moment the wire felt as if it would cut his fingers off but then his weight unbalanced the man behind him, pulling the top half of his body forward. Gideon continued to roll backwards, bringing his feet over to drive into his attacker's chest.

Instantly the pressure was released and Gideon completed the roll, coming up on to one knee, gasping for air. He was very aware that, a few feet away and barely discernible in the darkness, his assailant was also recovering and would doubtless renew his assault, but for a second or two all Gideon could do was massage his throat and gulp in life-giving oxygen. The fallen torch lay at his feet, still miraculously unbroken and wasting its light on the muddy ground. Gideon scooped it up, turning as he clambered upright, and it lit Curly's unlovely countenance just as he gathered himself to charge.

The beam from Logan's powerful torch caught Joey's halfbrother full in the eyes, causing him to pause, blinking and turning his head away slightly.

`Where's my sister?' Gideon hissed.

`That blonde bitch?' Curly sneered. `She's dead meat, mate. Her and the vet. You'll never see her again.'

`You'd better hope I do,' Gideon advised in a low, furious voice; goaded in spite of himself. `If I find out you've laid a finger on her . . .'

Curly laughed. `Oh, we've all had a piece of her,' he said roughly, enjoying himself. `She screamed a bit at first, but there was no one to hear. Best lay I've had in a while-'

The words were cut off abruptly as Gideon's self-control, rendered precarious by tiredness and anxiety, finally snapped. The torchlight bobbed and swung as he charged across the half-dozen feet between them and aimed a haymaker at Curly's smirking face.

This furious, unwary approach was obviously what Curly had anticipated. He took a quick step back, and before Gideon's swinging fist had a chance to make contact, the end of a short length of timber caught him squarely in the solar plexus, stopping him in his tracks and bringing him retching to his knees.

`Not such a clever bastard now, are you?' Curly observed, and accompanied the words with a chopping blow across Gideon's head and shoulders that dropped him on the spot.

Even through the pain and dizziness, Gideon was conscious of a stab of desperate disappointment that he'd let Naomi down. He could expect no mercy from Curly - the very concept was entirely alien to him - and he was powerless to prevent him finishing what he'd started. He had a feeling that a mere roughing-up wouldn't satisfy the man. He'd seen before that only Joey kept the brakes on his violence, and Joey, unfortunately, wasn't here. How could he have been so stupid as to let his temper flare like that?

Curly pushed Gideon with a booted foot, rocking his body and rubbing his cheek against the cold paving on to which he'd partially fallen. Feebly, Gideon attempted to grab the boot, but a sharp kick loosened his grasp easily. He bit back a groan. That satisfaction, at least, he would deny his tormentor.

`Got any last wishes?' Curly enquired, bending over Gideon who lay on his side feeling lousier than he would have believed possible. Above them, the moon suddenly broke free of the clouds and Curly's face became dimly visible, full of savage enjoyment. `Oh, yes, your sister. Oh, well. We can't have everything we want, can we?' He hefted the length of wood again, tapping it on the ground in front of Gideon's face so the threat didn't escape him. `If you believe in God, this might be a good time to pray,' he suggested.

Gideon almost wished he would get on with it, then remembered Logan. Surely he must be on his way back by now. How to stall for time? He could think of only one thing that might influence Joey's thuggish half-brother.

`What about the money?' he asked, his voice coming in such a pathetic grating whisper that for a long moment he thought Curly hadn't heard.

The word `money' obviously found its way through the gloating though, for he leaned forward. `What did you say?' `The money,' Gideon reiterated; slightly more strongly. There was a pause. `What money?'

Gideon devoutly wished he knew.

`If you kill me, you'll never find it,' he said, forcing his brain back into gear.

He was finding breathing difficult. Anything more than the shallowest of inhalations set off a knifing pain in his side. Dully, he supposed he had one or more broken ribs. It didn't seem important.

`Why d'you think Slade ... wanted to lure me here?' he went on, groping for inspiration. `He won't be too pleased ... if he finds you've interfered.'

'Slade didn't say anything about money.' Curly still sounded bullish but a tinge of doubt had crept in.

`Well, he wouldn't, would he?' Gideon pointed out, relentlessly pressing home his slim advantage. He pushed himself up on to one elbow, grunting with the effort. `He didn't tell you to kill me either, did he?'

`Stay still!' His movement had unnerved Curly a little, which amused Gideon. His faith in Gideon's powers of recovery obviously bordered on the miraculous. Gideon himself severely doubted if he could even stand up, let alone pose a threat to a sixteen-stone thug with a length of timber in his hands.

`What money are you talking about?' Curly demanded. `I'll give you five seconds to tell me, and it'd better be good!' 'Gideon stared up at the vague outline of his head and shoulders against the sky and could think of absolutely nothing convincing to say.

`Fuck you!' Curly spat the words. `There's no money! You're just fuckin' me about!'

Gideon watched with a strange, detached fascination as, in what seemed like slow motion, Curly raised the timber, holding it vertically and preparing to drive it downward like a stake. He braced himself for the impact, knowing he should try to roll at the last minute but seriously doubting that he would be quick enough.

`I've been waiting for this a long time,' Curly told him, determined to milk the last ounce of sadistic pleasure from the situation, but before he could bring the timber down, another silhouette silently joined his against the moonlit clouds. There was a quick movement, a thud, and Curly fell senseless, wood and all, across Gideon's legs.

`You'll have to wait a while longer, pal,' a familiar voice remarked.