Spiral (61 page)

Carter turned around; there was a small black boat. A man peered down at him, goggles pushed up on his head, a cheeky smile on his broad face. Jam winked.

‘We saw you take a dive. Thought you might need a ride,’ rumbled Slater.

Carter grinned. ‘Was that your firework display?’

‘Nuke in a suitcase,’ said Jam with a laugh. ‘Low radiation yield - quite eco-friendly, when you think about it.’

The two men reached down and dragged Carter into their little boat, which bobbed alarmingly. ‘You’ll have to hug him, share your body heat,’ said Jam, firing up the engine and heading out into the darkness.

‘I’m not fucking hugging him. I’m not a poof!’

Jam rolled his eyes. ‘Slater, look at the man! He’ll die of hypothermia! Now, I’m not casting aspersions on your sexuality, but you really need to get him warm.’ He stared hard at Carter who was shivering uncontrollably, eyes closed, pain his mistress. ‘In fact, I think this is going to be a threesome if we don’t want the fucker dead.’

They both gathered round Carter, and as the boat sped through the dark waves under the storm-filled heavens, they huddled close to him and waited for the dawn to come.

A cold late-autumn wind blew the brown and yellow leaves down the road, swirling them up into the air, decorating the tarmac with those symbols of summer’s death and winter’s impending onslaught. The gleaming black Mercedes sped through the wind-scattered leaves, turned left at the bottom of the street and headed out towards the deserted docks.

It was early. Five a.m. and not yet light.

The Mercedes stopped, engine ticking over, tendrils of smoke trailing from its exhaust; one of the rear doors opened and Carter - a bruised and battered Carter, missing a front tooth but cleaned and bandaged up and whole again - stepped onto the rough concrete and breathed deeply of the nectar that was the morning air. He limped slowly across the dockside, panting and wincing in pain as his broken sternum pierced his thoughts, and halted, staring down into the black, lapping water. He pulled free a packet of cigarettes, freed one from its paper cage with a heavily bandaged hand, and lit the weed.

Smoke plumed above the water and Carter sighed.

He turned at the sound of another car; the Range Rover cruised past the parked Mercedes and approached Carter where he stood beside the sea wall.

A cold wind blew as the Range Rover cut its engine.

Carter glanced in at the group of large men. One of the doors opened and a figure stepped out; it was a man Carter had never met before, and yet Carter instinctively recognised him as Spiral; he was tall, and broad, and quite old. His grey hair was short, his eyes bright and pale. A neatly trimmed moustache and a long overcoat gave him something of the look of a gangster.

‘Mr Carter.’

Carter shook the man’s leather-gloved hand.

Carter nodded, drawing deep on his cigarette. ‘Good morning, sir.’

‘Yes, it is,’ said the man. ‘Come, walk with me.’

They walked along the edge of the docks, the wind blowing beneath their collars and making coat tails flap. An occasional seagull cried overhead as it swept low, searching for food.

‘You know who I am?’

‘No, sir.’

‘That is probably for the best. But it has come to my attention that after your recent... exploits, shall we say, you have come to know rather a lot of things about Spiral that maybe you shouldn’t. And yet we cannot forget your sterling service - albeit unknowingly - in leading us to the filth of the Nex, and in your destruction of the traitors known as Feuchter and Durell.’

‘I appreciate that, sir.’

The man stopped and gazed deeply into Carter’s eyes.

‘Hmm,’ he said. And then Carter saw it: the Browning 9mm. In the man’s gloved hands.

Carter swallowed hard.

The man smiled.

‘Here, this is yours. It was recovered when they dived for Durell’s body. A miracle, don’t you think?’

Carter took the gun. It was marked; scratched; old and worn. It had character.

‘A miracle. Yeah.’ He laughed then, staring out over the water. ‘Did they find him?’

‘No.’

‘Oh.’ Carter scratched thoughtfully at his brow. ‘Look, sir, you can be assured of my loyalty concerning the things that I have discovered. I was maybe just a little pissed off at the beginning, because I thought that Spiral was trying to kill me at the start of these ... shall we say,
adventures.
It would appear that I was mistaken.’ Carter’s voice had turned somewhat cool. His eyes glittered and his mouth tightened into a grim line.

The man nodded. ‘Information is power, Carter. Look what too much information did for Feuchter and Durell. You cannot tell everybody everything; as DemolSquads you are only tiny cogs in the machine, only small players in the whole game. That happy pair of our enemies nearly brought Spiral down because of information: their knowledge; their complete understanding; the things that they
shouldn’t
have known.’

Carter rubbed wearily at his eyes. ‘Even if they had brought us down, others would have taken our place.’

‘Yes.’

Carter nodded. He threw his cigarette butt into the sea. The black cold waves took the glowing tip and it disappeared from view. The wind howled softly; Carter shivered, remembering his thoughts of drowning in those distant ice-laden waters.

‘I have some questions...’ said Carter.

The man held up his gloved hand. He shook his head in the negative, just once.

‘Maybe another time.’

Carter smiled sardonically. ‘You mean another time as in never?’

‘It is for your own protection,’ said the man. He smiled then, but it was an uncertain smile, a smile without a trace of humour - a smile on a face not used to the expression. ‘I want you to remember, Carter, that our soldiers are never expendable.’ He lit a cigarette. Held it delicately.

Carter met the tall man’s gaze: grey eyes, hooded and masking a thousand emotions. Their stares locked for a long time. Carter held the man’s cool look. Without another word, he turned and strolled leisurely down the dockside, admiring the dark expanse of churning sea. He climbed into the Range Rover which started its engine, turned, and was gone.

Carter turned back, staring out over the distant black waves. He shivered, pulling his coat tighter around his shoulders.

‘Arse-kisser,’
said Kade.

‘What the fuck are you doing back?’

‘I
was lonely. I missed your company.’

‘You’re a fucking worm, Kade, and I am cursed with your presence.’

‘You’d be lost without me,’
said Kade softly.

‘Why? What fucking possible help could you give me?’

‘You’re touchy today. Maybe you just need more time to think through our relationship.’

‘What relationship is this? You driving me insane?’

‘Lighten up, Carter: y‘know, our
relationship -
me getting to kill people on your behalf when you need a little encouragement. That sort of brotherly deal thing? You scratch my back
—’

‘And you put a knife in mine?’

Kade laughed softly.
‘Here, listen ...I...I...I apologise. For sulking with you. There. I’ve said it.’

‘That was big of you.’

‘You motherfu
—
No, no, you are right. I’ll leave you. Let you gather your mental composure.’

‘Better leave me for a
while;
say, a thousand years?’

Carter lit another cigarette. He heard the footsteps approaching and he did not turn. Natasha stood beside him, staring out at the sea and the distant buoys. Then she looked up at him. ‘You all right?’

He nodded.

‘They fire you?’

‘No. Not yet. I think they’ll probably want a few more psychological tests and medical reports. Then, if I’m real lucky, a desk job.’

Natasha took his hand; their fingers entwined and squeezed.

‘You’re a lucky man,’ she said. ‘Lucky to be alive.’

‘Hey,’ said Carter, grinning. ‘Lucky is my middle fucking name.’

‘Come on; the others are waiting. We have a party to go to.’

‘Those other stinking curs? And at five o’clock
in the morning
?’

‘Well, it’s the tail end of a party. You know what Slater and Jam will be like. They’ll still be pissed...’

Carter nodded. ‘I’m game,’ he yawned. ‘Unless ...’

‘Yes?’

Their gazes met.

‘I thought you were injured?’ smiled Natasha.

‘I’m not
that
injured. I still have, shall we say, various functioning parts.’

‘I’m sure you have. Your place or mine?’

‘Mine,’ said Carter. ‘I’ve got to pick up Sam.’

‘He OK?’

‘Great,’ said Carter. ‘Well fed on assassin, apparently. Made a right mess of the corpses in the woods; went back for a midnight feast when he was let out, the dirty dumb fat mutt.’

‘That is one sick dog.’

‘Hey - I suppose to his eyes it was fresh meat. Fair game. He was only thinking of his belly. Like the rest of us men. Listen, you go and wait in the car. I would like a moment alone.’

Natasha nodded. ‘Sure.’

She moved away, and Carter stood staring out at the dark rolling sea. Waves crested with foam lined the horizon. The cold breeze reminded him of the coming winter.

From the pocket of his coat he removed a small object: a silver disk. It rested against Carter’s cold skin and he stared at it for a while, wondering at the secrets it held. The riddle of how to rebuild the QIII. The code and data required to replicate events now done ...

‘You’re better off dead,’ he muttered.

Reaching back, he threw the silver disk as far out into the sea as he could. There was a tiny
splash.
The last copy of the QIII schematics sank without a trace in the dark waters.

Carter smiled softly.

‘It is finally over,’ he breathed. He walked back towards the Mercedes and climbed into the warmth of the plush heated interior. The gleaming vehicle turned with a crackle of tyres on concrete and headed smoothly for the network of UK motorways - leaving behind nothing but bitter exhaust fumes and the promise of an oncoming cold winter.

CLASSIFIED 000/000/artic SPECIAL INVESTIGATIONS UNIT

ECube transmission MEMO digMail sec:code:0056

Date: October 2XXX

Mission status: successful

Losses: 18 6 DemolSquad members dead resulting in the regrouping and collapsing of 38 squads. Training has been initiated and recruits searched for on worldwide basis.

Progress: the counter-attack by Spiral has culminated in the destruction of the mobile anti-Spiral warship and a loss of nearly 400 Necros. The rest have gone underground and SAD teams will be deployed on missions of extermination. The body of the traitor, Durell, has not been recovered.

Conclusion: a thorough clampdown on Spiral operatives and closer mental screening measures need to be implemented in the future. It was too easy for a small group to bring about some degree of internal collapse; power will be redistributed in future months.

Cartervb512: subject has been seriously wounded// condition presently under close scrutiny// severe mental monitoring required// return to DemolSquads doubtful at this stage.

\\###TRANSFER TERMINATED###

A
turquoise sea lapped against a white sand beach. A gentle breeze dissipated the tropical heat, swaying the palm trees and heavy broad-leafed ferns that lined the wide white stone walls. Shells lay scattered among splashes of green seaweed, spatterings of pink and white, grey and blue, spirals leading trails from the lapping lagoons to the heavy foliage behind the bordering white wall.

The small boy ran barefoot across the sand, leaving footprints, his bronzed body gleaming with sweat as he sprinted towards the sea. Behind him, the shrill squeal of an angry mother followed with a promise of punishment, but for now the boy was safe ... the harsh slaps would follow, but now he dropped to a crouch with his feet in the lapping waters and sucked at the fruit, juices running across his deeply tanned face, dripping from his chin into the blue waters.

The boy finished the stolen fruit and looked sharply to the right, his shock of black hair tumbling around his face. He stood quickly, and moved towards the shape lying half in and half out of the water. It was black, and at first sight resembled a thick tangle of old seaweed. But as the boy drew near he saw that it was vaguely human in shape, curled into a tight ball as if to ward off pain. Reaching down, he picked up a sun-bleached stick and crept close to the object. His nose wrinkled at the smell and, reaching forward, he prodded it gently.

When no movement was forthcoming, the boy shuffled closer, his interest piqued. The sea provided many treasures, but most of them the boy had long ago become tired of. This, however, was different.

He prodded again, then tentatively reached out and ran his fingers across the husk of black.

What is it? he thought in youthful wonder.