Spiral (42 page)

Natasha squinted through the gloom. Behind them, hidden below a ridge of rock, sat the BMW, engine clicking softly.

‘What can you see?’

Carter was staring through the scope. The Barrett rifle was seated on a steadying bipod. Carter’s hands worked smoothly and efficiently, slotting bullets into the magazine. ‘Nothing much,’ he replied. ‘The building is huge, most of the complex apparently below ground. Very little activity for somewhere so large. I’m just checking for external guards now.’

‘You think it will be hard to infiltrate?’

‘I’m thinking that the QIII is rumoured to be the most powerful processor in the world; and we are sitting in no man’s land. It can’t be the most lightly fortified building in the history of the universe.’

Carter slotted the mag into the weapon and returned to the telescopic sight. Natasha handed him the digital aim rectifier, which he checked carefully with the practised eye of a weapons professional. He slid it into place and screwed home the retainers.

‘What are you hoping to see?’

‘In an ideal world, Feuchter. But I’m not that optimistic. I’ll settle for a few lame-ass guards; that will give us time and a window into the building. After that ... the hunt begins. We want answers to questions, like who or what are the Nex, and what the fuck is going on with Spiral.’

There was silence, except for the occasional scuttling of some lizard through the dark sand. Carter scanned the building carefully, moving the scope backwards and forwards with extreme precision so that he would not miss anything; there was nothing he hated more than surprises.

‘Well, look at this,’ he said eventually.

‘What?’

‘Lot of movement going on,’ said Carter softly. ‘Listen, you can hear the Chinooks taking to the air; and there are trucks, quite a few of them. They’ve set off in a cloud of dust - heading away from Spiral_Q.’ He waited for a while, still scanning as the sounds of the helicopters faded into silence.

Natasha peered over the ridge. Spiral_Q spread out below her, modern in an ancient landscape, the single visible storey all steel and aluminium and shining smoked glass. It looked completely out of place in the desert.

She gazed down from their vantage point. She squinted into the gloom and saw the headlights of the last trucks winding to the perimeter fence and the gate with its armed guards, nothing more than indistinct blobs from this distance. She tried to make out individuals but couldn’t. She scratched at her healing wounds, mainly the one at her shoulder. Most of the pain had gone now, leaving her with dull aches and annoying itches.

Carter’s voice came again, soft, an almost animal-like purr. ‘Look who just crawled out of the sand dunes.’

‘Who?’

‘My old friend Count Feuchter. What a most pleasant surprise.’ Carter wriggled down a little against the sand; Natasha read the body language, understood it from the firing ranges she had attended both during training and active service in Spiral. He was getting comfy. Getting ready. Expecting action. Carter wanted the best aiming position ...

Carter flicked the Barrett’s safety off. Rolled tension from his neck.

‘What are you going to do?’ asked Natasha softly.

‘I’m going to shoot the bastard - shit, he’s gone. Back into the building. He’s like a fucking snake in oil.’

Carter watched as two more trucks rumbled off from Spiral_Q. He wondered idly what they were carrying. Shipments? But shipments of what? This was a development plant, a research facility, not a factory.

‘Have you got a cigarette?’

‘That’s the twenty-seventh time you’ve asked.’

Carter muttered something unrecognisable but probably lacking humour or tact.

‘What I’d give for some fine smooth Lagavulin,’ he said eventually, smiling. He had looked briefly away from the scope. He winked at her and ran a hand through his cooling but sweat-streaked hair. ‘Fuck me, it’s hot.’

‘It’ll just start to cool down and then the sun will be up again.’

They waited; a welcome breeze blew in, the hot air gently stirring the sand. Nats returned from the BMW with a bottle of water from their supplies; Carter drank the water thirstily, and handed the bottle back to her.

‘We’re going to have to conserve this,’ she said quietly.

‘There’ll be water down at Spiral_Q,’ mused Carter.

‘You seem pretty sure of getting in.’

Carter grinned, flashing her a dark look. It was the grin of a shark. ‘I always get in,’ he whispered.

He scanned the surroundings through the scope and spotted the Nex pilot of the Chinook jumping down to the sand and moving to the loading doors of the huge vehicle.

Carter calmed his breathing.

Sighted.

And fired.

The bullet took the Nex through the back of the head; the figure flopped to the ground and stained the sand with blood. Carter swept the scope back and forth, looking for more enemies...

Feuchter emerged and moved towards the Land Rover.

‘Here we go,’ murmured Carter.

Natasha had been lying on the rocks, her weary eyes closed, sweat trickling through her hair and soaking her clothing. After hearing the
crack
of the weapon, she had scrambled over to Carter and now peered over the ridge at a dark Land Rover. The engine fired up and the vehicle moved off.

Again, there was a
crack.

Carter breathed out.

The Land Rover swerved, then rolled to a standstill against a bank of sand.

Everything was silent. Still. Calm ...

And there was a ...
moment
—

Carter chewed over the delicious sweet moment of revenge; he could sense Feuchter’s panic in the car. His driver, a bullet through his skull, blood splattered over the interior of the vehicle, the motor idling or dead. What to do? Where to run?

The passenger-side door opened - slowly.

Feuchter’s head poked out, then disappeared back in. He was gauging the distance he had to cover - illuminated by the lamps provided by Spiral_Q itself that were now lighting up the impromptu firing range with a brightness that Carter was sure Feuchter was cursing.

The man’s finely crafted shoes hit the sand and Feuchter began to rim, arms pumping like mad, head down, low ... a true sprint at a speed that surprised Carter greatly.

‘Running fast for an old man! Running like his little life depends on it,’ drawled Carter calmly, a man at ease. He squeezed the trigger. There was the snap of a round discharged. ‘Which it does, of course,’ he smiled.

Natasha saw Feuchter tumble into the sand to lie stunned.

‘It’s at moments like this I truly revel in my profession,’ said Carter, smiling. He put his eye back to the scope. Watched Feuchter, his face twisted in pain, gather himself and crawl to his feet and then launch himself, limping and bleeding, towards the sanctuary of Spiral_Q.

‘Where did you shoot him?’

‘The right shin. Stings like a motherfucker.’

Carter pulled the trigger once more. Feuchter spun into the sand and lay there.

‘Left shin. Bull’s-eye.’

For a while Carter watched, checking for other sentries, guards, or cursed Nex. Then he stood, lifting the rifle and bipod with him. ‘Let’s go talk to the man. Might be cooperative now, eh, Nats?’

Natasha did not reply.

Feuchter lay on the dirt road leading to the entrance of Spiral_Q, wondering what the fuck had hit him.

And then he remembered the driver - a single heavy-calibre round smashing through the windscreen of the Land Rover and taking the man full in the face.

Panic.

Flight.

Pain, smashing through his leg. Waves of pain ...

And then the second round—

And tears.

He struggled, whimpering, into a sitting position and examined the two bullet holes. The fine tailoring of his suit was mangled and had merged with his scorched flesh. Blood pooled to the dirt, spreading viscously from the twin wounds.

Blood...

Feuchter’s head came up, eyes scanning the darkness in panic. Where was the fucking sniper?

And the association ...
could it be?

Carter?

He shook his head, almost in disbelief. This can’t be happening to me, he thought. After
everything
that I have been through! And then he understood the mechanics of the situation - he had been shot in the legs. Whoever had tagged him wanted him alive and was on their way down ...

Gritting his teeth, Feuchter rolled onto his belly and started to crawl. His suit tore in several places and got covered in sand. His neatly combed dark greying hair became a ragged dirty tangle. His calm and calculating face developed lines of panic, of understanding, of
time ...

Weeping with frustration Feuchter watched the bike move cautiously across the sand. Turning, rolling over, Feuchter pushed himself on, dragging his damaged legs behind him, fingers digging into the dirt and rock and sand with cracked and battered nails, pulling, clawing, grating...

The huge silent bike stopped. Feuchter heard the thud of boots on the ground and he injected his efforts with psychological cocaine; he did not turn, did not look back, felt no curiosity whatsoever, just the basic raw animal instinct to survive ... to push himself on ... to stay alive, to stay ahead—

There came a metallic
click:
the sound of a bullet slicking neatly into a firing chamber. Feuchter slumped forward, exhausted, his pain-fuel spent. He could taste dirt. He didn’t even have the energy to roll onto his back...

Boots crunched over the track. They stopped.

The tip of something metallic prodded Feuchter in the back.

‘You still alive, you fucker?’

‘I’m alive,’ said Feuchter softly. ‘I knew you would come back, Carter. I knew it from the look in your eye in that storeroom at Castle Schwalenberg ...’

‘I don’t like being betrayed,’ snapped Carter.

‘As you wish. It was a necessity.’

Feuchter felt hands grab him roughly and roll him over. He looked up into Carter’s face - much more battered than the last time they had met, the nose more twisted, many minor cuts and scrapes marking the skin. Carter’s eyes were dark, brooding, unforgiving, his mouth a nasty straight slash revealing the tips of his teeth. Beyond Carter’s palpable hate stood Natasha, a Glock in one hand, a Browning in the other. She appeared, through Feuchter’s haze of pain, to be twitchy, on edge, looking nervously about to see if they had been spotted ... whereas Carter was focused, dark eyes like hardcore-drill bits boring into Feuchter’s soul.

‘How many are still here?’ he hissed. His fist wrapped around Feuchter’s well-tailored jacket, drawing the man closer. Feuchter could smell stale sweat and a lingering aroma of coffee.

He smiled softly.

‘You nervous, Carter?’

‘Nervous? You’re gonna give me and Nats some fucking answers.’

‘Or what? You’ll kill me? I’m already dead, Carter. The QIII has already been compromised. I was a condemned man awaiting execution ... But now, now you are too late.’ He started to laugh.

Carter shook his head. ‘We had this guy, in Qingdao. He was an ex-Para; worked as a mercenary for various Far East countries. We used to call him Needle - because of his skills as a torturer. This man could get a fucking pig to swear it was a duck. You understand me, Feuchter? I learned a lot from that man. I learned a lot about pain, and a lot about
not
killing a man - no, killing was not the point. I learned a lot about keeping a man alive.’ Carter glanced up at Natasha, then to the perimeter fence and the desert beyond. There was no sign of activity.

‘You hide the bike around the side. I’ll get this walking corpse indoors. Set him up for his operation.’

‘Operation?’

‘You ever seen a man’s face when he’s presented with one of his own kidneys? Thought not. Being a kind of scientist I thought you might like to be party to the experiment.’ Carter started to drag Feuchter across the track towards the doors of Spiral_Q - which hissed open helpfully at his approach. Carter peered carefully into the interior, the Barrett rifle held aggressively, then dragged Feuchter into the cool luxury of the lobby.

He dumped Feuchter on the marble floor, then moved off between the plants, couches, glass screens and marble-clad pillars. He moved warily, checking every corner until he was satisfied. He whirled as Natasha approached, both handguns still in her grip. He smiled over at her and she responded weakly, her face showing exhaustion and pain.

‘You see any activity?’

‘No. There’s nobody else inside the Chinook, just the dead Nex.’

‘The only good Nex is a dead Nex. Let’s get some fucking answers.’

‘Carter.’ She placed a hand on his arm. ‘You’re not really going to torture him, are you?’

Their gazes met. He saw the pain there, saw the weariness, but, most of all, saw the humanity. ‘No,’ he lied softly. ‘It’s a bluff. But don’t tell him I told you.’ Carter winked and smiled. Then he moved over to where Feuchter had dragged himself to a couch and sat with his back propped, trying to tear open the trouser material round the twin wounds.