Chapter 7
Being inside this black, damp labyrinth was a bullet-list of wrongs for Petra. She listed them in her head while her friends, sheep-like, followed their leader.
They were breaking the law. That was one. But she’d have expected that from Carly. Carly had always viewed rules, from school attendance to taxing her car, as something more like ‘guidelines’. But Petra was honest. And this was the first time she could ever remember trespassing. The fact that a policeman had shouted at them only cemented the fact that what she was doing was probably illegal.
It could cost Ed and Mary their business. She cared less about that. She’d already decided that she didn’t like Mary much. It was hard to say why. She worshipped Ed, that much was clear, but something about her wasn’t ... genuine? Authentic? She wasn’t sure, it was just a feeling. But worse than both of those things, what the hell were they doing here in the first place? No engagement ring was worth angry cops, piles of shit and an ape’s rotting corpse.
‘Carly?’ she called. ‘Why are we doing this?’
‘What d’ya mean?’ the voice echoed back.
‘Well, I was just thinking. Is it really worth it?’
Petra heard Mary mutter to Ed, ‘You gave her a chance to leave,’ which confirmed she was a bitch.
‘Petra, relax,’ Dane said. ‘We’ll be done in a few minutes. An hour from now we’ll be in a bar somewhere drinking G&Ts and laughing at our adventure.’
‘Quite right,’ Ed agreed. He’d stopped up ahead where a sealed gate secured the mouth of another tunnel. The iron gate was cluttered with signs from different eras, riveted or tie-wrapped on, each of them indicating that the route was barred and entry was forbidden. ‘We’re heading through there. There’s an opening round the side – but I warn you, it’s a bit of a squeeze.’
‘Lucky we didn’t bring Krishna,’ Dane quipped, but nobody laughed. ‘Bloody hell, where’s the funeral?’ he muttered, and Petra noticed how crestfallen he looked when he thought he’d said something foolish. His catalogue-model bravado was veneer thin.
Ed pulled hard at a wire-mesh fence anchored to the rock by thick industrial staples, peeling a section of it away to create a slender gap. He leaned his weight backwards and Dane led Carly through, saying a manly, ‘Cheers bud,’ as he passed. As Petra slid through after them she noticed tension across Ed’s shoulders and arms, his white knuckles further betraying the effort involved for him. As he slid himself through after Mary, the snarling barbed edge of the thick wire mesh forced his back against the rock and snapped home behind him.
‘That does not get any easier,’ he panted, brushing himself down. ‘How are we? All good?’ The gang nodded and he resumed his position leading them into the forbidden passage. Petra kicked something that skittered under her feet. In the torchlight she saw it and picked up a spent plastic glow-tube. It still had the chemical liquid inside. ‘Someone’s been here quite recently.’
No one seemed interested, so she dropped it and carried on behind them. After less than a minute of careful walking, the only sounds their own breathing and the occasional scuff against rock, they gathered at a dark junction. A side tunnel, the same size as theirs, maybe a couple of metres square, led off to the right.
‘There are still miles of these tunnels Ed and I haven’t explored,’ Mary said. ‘But we know this one very well.’ She swung her torch beam up to the wall. Glistening in the bright LED beam were the words Ed + Mary crudely scratched into the rock, surrounded by a crooked heart.
Carly made a cooing ‘Aaah’ sound and Ed said, ‘Bloody childish, really. Must be almost a decade since we did that.’
‘Not childish!’ Mary scolded. ‘Adorable! I wanted the whole world to know your name and this made us both immortal. People will come from miles around to see this when you’re famous.’
Ed chuckled and as Petra tracked her own torch beam across the rock she saw that Ed and Mary had not been the only subterranean visitors to leave their mark. Graffiti names and dates were scattered across the tunnel’s wall, some going back as far as the 1940s. ‘So much history. Why here, I wonder?’
‘A junction,’ Ed replied. ‘Mark your junctions. Track your way out.’
‘Last of the great romantics,’ Mary said flatly.
‘Can we just get going?’ Carly’s patience was now paper-thin and a history lesson was clearly not on her agenda. ‘How do we get to the bit underneath that grid?’
‘Of course,’ said Ed. ‘Just down here.’
Petra couldn’t tell for sure, but after about thirty seconds she sensed Ed slowing down. Maybe his bad leg was hurting. But he also seemed to be checking his surroundings a lot more closely. When they entered a small, hollowed-out space, a room just about the size of a van, he actually did a double-check down one of the carved-out tunnel openings before nodding and choosing the tunnel opposite. With every cautious, panting step the temperature ebbed away. As did Petra’s confidence.
Soon they reached a four-way junction and stopped. Mary walked a slow circle. ‘Is this right, Ed? I don’t recognise this bit.’
‘Yeah,’ he said, squinting into the dark options before them. ‘Yeah – it’s this way.’
Compared to the tittering group who’d hidden from the police officer just ten minutes earlier, their trepidation was palpable. The pace was slow, the air was icy, the chatter had stopped. ‘God, it’s so cold down here,’ Petra said, almost to reassure herself that she still had a voice.
‘We must be right in the middle of the rock by now,’ Ed said, his voice quieter than before, authority seeping away.
‘You mean … you don’t know?’ accused Carly.
Before Ed could respond they were jolted to a frozen halt by a loud crash somewhere in the distance, echoing through the arteries of the Rock.
‘What the fuck was that?’ demanded Carly.
‘Ed?’ Mary asked. She looked as unsettled as the rest.
But Ed ignored them. He was scanning the roof of their tunnel with his torch. ‘That grid’s got to be around here somewhere.’
Dane stepped toward him. ‘Seriously mate, what was that?’
Ed moved onwards, his head craned back, obsessed with the rock above. ‘Come on. This way.’ He sped up and the others shared a glance before reluctantly following in his wake. Petra looked behind her. She could find her way back from here, she was sure of it. She watched Carly and Dane chasing Mary, swallowed in the gloom, and dragged herself after them. ‘Wait for me!’
Ed’s pace had picked up to almost a jog. He scanned the roof, sweeping the torch beam like a light-sabre ahead of him, cutting his way through endless black. They stopped, a breathless gaggle of adrenaline. They were at another junction. The same junction? Petra couldn’t tell. Surely not. They’d been travelling straight, more or less. Hadn’t they?
Ed was murmuring as he peered into the distance. ‘I thought we … wait, is it …? I’m sure we …’
‘Are we lost?’ asked Carly at almost a shriek.
‘We’re lost,’ affirmed Petra.
‘I’m sure we …’ continued Ed, but he was interrupted by a loud metallic clank, much closer than the noise a moment ago.
They all jumped and Carly clung to Dane. ‘There’s something in here!’
Petra’s nerves were fizzing. ‘Carly. I love you, you know that. But no engagement ring is worth this. Let’s go back. I’m sure I can retrace our steps.’
‘Yeah, you’re right. But … we must be so close, though,’ she whined. ‘Ed? Tell me we’re close.’
After a beat of silence Dane said, ‘He doesn’t know where he is.’
Mary rounded on him. ‘Hey! There is no one better to have with you right now than Ed. Don’t forget who’s fault it is that we’re down here.’
‘Er, yours!’
‘I wouldn’t have dropped the stupid ring if you hadn’t shoved whatsisname.’
‘Stupid ring?’ Carly said.
Petra stepped in. ‘Look, this isn’t helping.’
‘All I’m saying,’ Mary mumbled, ‘is don’t bleat on about your lost ring and then have a go at the man who offered to help you find it.’
‘Who was paid to find it,’ Dane corrected.
Ed stayed silent. Tension crackled.
Petra spoke next. ‘I’m going back.’
‘Petra, don’t cop out on me. My ring –’
‘Oh for fu – really, Carly? Look around! We are lost. We’re somewhere in the middle of a … a maze. Except mazes are fun. This is terrifying. This maze is cold and dark and full of death. And God knows what else! I don’t know what those noises were, but right now your ring is unimportant. Understand? I just … want … to go!’ Her eyes were infernos locked to Carly’s icy glare. A hostile silence hung between them. Petra was the first to look away. With a sigh she said, ‘I could have been back at the hotel with Krishna.’
Dane took command, maybe as a distraction from the squabble, and taking the torch from Carly, he grabbed her hand and said, ‘This way.’
As he strode around a corner, Ed piped up. ‘Dane. That’s not the way. We should –’
A third loud crash boomed around them and this one was punctuated by Dane swearing. Petra heard Carly say, ‘Oh my God, are you all right?’ and as their torches swung round the corner she saw Dane sprawled on the ground gripping his shin. He’d tripped over something. He hobbled upright swearing through gritted teeth and the five of them stood there, three torches trained on the object languishing on the ground in the dark: a large metal box with hefty clasps and a green painted finish.
‘That,’ announced Ed with renewed authority, ‘is an ammo box. And not a very old one, by the looks of it. Which means it belongs to someone.’
‘Which means we should walk away,’ Petra said.
‘Which means we should open it,’ replied Dane.
Mary bit her lip, looking to Ed for guidance. He said, ‘If it’s ammunition, I’d leave it. Nothing we can do with it anyway.’
But Dane was already on his haunches and fiddling with the clasp mechanism.
‘Don’t, darlin’. Let’s just go.’ Carly tugged at his T-shirt sleeve. ‘I’m not even that bothered about my ring now. You were right. We’ll get another one on the insurance.’
Petra rolled her eyes and said, ‘Finally,’ under her breath.
‘Come on, Dane,’ ordered Ed. ‘The mission’s changed. This is not our objective. Let’s find a way out.’
As if in reply, the inanimate box jumped to life, its two latches springing open. Dane grinned and said, ‘Oops.’ As he pulled the metal lid open, the torchlight shone brighter, reflected back into their faces. Tightly packed into the heavy box were row upon row of polythene bags filled with bright white powder. ‘Shit. You didn’t tell us you were planning a party, Ed.’
Petra had never seen cocaine in real life before but had seen enough movies and schlock American TV shows to recognise this cache. As quickly as her brain could take in what she was seeing and make sense of it, she jumped. Right behind them the loud ker-chunk of a pistol being cocked made them all spin around. Dane leapt to his feet, while out of the dark a figure moved towards them.
An eerie silhouette cast crooked shadows in the pale orange light of a paraffin lamp. In seconds he was before them, calm, chuckling, malevolent: a tall, lean man with dark skin and wiry, scrappy hair. He didn’t look like a local to Petra, or even Spanish. Possibly Algerian. A bandana covered his nose and mouth but from the creases around his dark eyes Petra could tell he was smiling. He casually pointed a heavy silver pistol at Mary while he raised the lamp to get a better look at his captives. Petra, like her friends, was petrified, stuck fast. Her only movement was the shallow gasps of air from her chest. In the orange light she saw that the side of the man’s face was disfigured, burned: the skin was tight and the scalp exposed.
Then, with the metallic zing of a large blade being drawn, she saw the second man.
Chapter 8
Krishna wouldn’t have chosen to fund a third round of drinks for him and barman-Fraser, but as the landlord was apparently also Krishna’s self-appointed banker he had little choice. As foaming pint number three was pushed across the stained bar towards him, his bladder complained, giving him the excuse to take a break.
‘Round the side,’ instructed Fraser as Krishna slid from his high bar-stool. He followed the barman’s finger towards a hallway to the side of the bar. Rounding the corner, he found himself in a cluttered, dimly lit passageway that time seemed to have forgotten, as had the cleaner. What had once been merely a sticky floor was now a slick, shiny layer of dirt-encrusted lino. Once-white gloss woodchip wallpaper had gone beyond nicotine-glazed to become mahogany-smeared and battered. With no obvious sign for the toilets Krishna stalled, sure that he’d misunderstood, and poked his head back into the bar. ‘Er, where am I going?’
‘Down the hall, Chris,’ Fraser repeated.
Krishna was about to correct him: ‘It’s –’ but changed his mind ‘– just down here, then. Great.’
He returned down the grotty hallway, and past a stack of old plastic chairs he found a door. It didn’t open easily but with a grudging shove Krishna stumbled into a gloomy room. Not toilets, but a storeroom. An Aladdin’s cave of crap. A broken picnic table propped against the wall, a rusty barbecue; at his feet was a broken pool cue next to a crusty grey mop. A suitcase and a couple of backpacks were plonked in the middle, and even in the smoky light bathing them from the hallway Krishna could see they were dusty. And yet the backpacks were full and the suitcase bulged. His curiosity piqued, he cocked his head to read the baggage label that was still attached to the handle. It was a faded airline tag full of barcodes and bearing the airport code GIB and a date. This luggage had been gathering dust for months.
His bladder twinged, forcing him to concentrate on his task, so he left the storeroom and realised that, thank God, there was another door further down with the word BOG written on the chipped paint in black marker pen.
Back at the bar, relieved and reinvigorated, he mentioned his mistaken diversion into the storeroom. ‘I’ve heard of people leaving their bags with reception, but one of those cases is from months back!’
‘Oh, you found Lost Property,’ Fraser replied, casually inspecting a glass against the light for smears. ‘You’d be amazed what people leave behind. I keep it for a while, see if it gets claimed.’
‘And if it doesn’t?’
‘Kerching,’ he said with a grin, ‘eBay.’ Then his face dropped. ‘I can’t sell the yellow one. That’s hers.’ He pointed to the far corner, where Krishna saw the same tatty page he’d seen on the noticeboard outside. The missing girl. Her smiling face, fading. Strips of Sellotape were curling away from its corners, repelled by the nicotine veneer on the wall. She looked so happy, Krishna thought, trapped, beaming out of a printed page from the past. It made him shudder. ‘Cops have been through it,’ Fraser continued, ‘but the family won’t take it back. They reckon she’s still alive. Told me to keep it until she comes back.’ After a small stretch of silence Fraser said quietly, ‘Can’t see it, myself.’
‘Wait, really?’ Krishna asked. ‘She might have just gone into Spain – I mean, that happens, right?
‘And left all her stuff?’ the Scotsman asked. As he swirled the dregs in his glass he sang a muttered refrain from an old Queen song, ‘And another one gone, and another one gone ...’
‘You make it sound like people go missing all the time.’
‘Not really,’ said Fraser. ‘Couple in the last year. Like you say, wandered over the border, probably. Half the people on this rock came to get away from something. “Missing” is what they’d rather be.’
‘Get away from what?’ Krishna asked.
‘You name it. Wives. Tax man.’
He pondered a third suggestion for a moment, before Krishna said, ‘Overdue library books,’ which made Fraser chuckle.
‘Seriously, Chris. I’ve heard it all. And worse. Three golden rules in this bar.�
�� He pointed to three grimy brass monkeys squatting, cemented in filth, on a shelf among dusty bottles. ‘See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil.’
‘Suits me, mate,’ said Krishna. ‘I’m supposed to be in my sickbed. If anyone asks, I wasn’t even here.’ With a wink drained his glass and bellowed, ‘Barman! Another!’
Chapter 9
Petra gasped short gulps of air, fear gripping her chest so tightly that her lungs would allow nothing more. The second man was as different from the first as it was possible to imagine. Short, dumpy, a round, stubbled face shiny with oily sweat, he reminded Petra of a Tunisian market trader. A fez on his head would have completed the stereotype. The eighteen-inch machete glinting in his right hand was less jolly. He kept his distance, eyes flitting into the shadows around them. The lanky Algerian did all the talking, his revolver held so casually it looked like a natural extension of his bony hand. ‘Five naughty monkeys.’ He shook his head slowly and sucked his teeth, as if their death sentence was a foregone conclusion.
‘Dude, we didn’t take anything!’ said Dane. ‘I only opened it!’
‘Look, we’re from here,’ Ed said, his voice a steady authority after Dane’s panic. ‘You don’t need to worry about us. We’re actually on our way out. Didn’t see a thing.’
The hollow eyes of the tall man bored silently into Ed’s. He was completely still, while Ed shifted his weight awkwardly. Then Carly sniffed back tears and blurted, ‘We were just looking for my engagement ring! Honest! Please!’ at which the gangster gently shushed her like a parent calming a hysterical child. He slammed shut the lid of the cocaine-filled ammo box and placed the paraffin lamp on it, the flickering flame causing his looming shadow to leer high above them, a shifting giant bearing down on its prey. Petra flicked her eyes between him, the darkness which offered no obvious escape route, and the fat machete-man, who skulked a few paces away looking as nervous as she was.
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