“What do you know of Locke?” Purcell snapped, suddenly defensive, his allegiance to his old Commanding Officer still strong. “Have you killed him, too?” He raised the gun, ready to shoot if Sam’s answer did not please him.
“No!” Said Sam, shaking his head furiously. “I don’t even know where he is, honestly! I just thought he was the one who was calling the shots, that’s all.”
Purcell, who seemed to be somewhat appeased by this, said, “No. Locke was in charge but he was just acting on instructions from DeVilliers. As to who actually ordered the hit I don’t know - and I genuinely couldn’t give a rat’s ass - cos whoever they were paid us very well - which makes ‘em okay by me.”
Sam was suddenly deep in thought, his eyes cast down, seemingly oblivious to the gun or the desperate situation he was in. Then Purcell spoke again to snap him out of it. “So, if that’s everything,” he said with heavy sarcasm, “then I think it’s about time we said our last goodbyes, don’t you?”
As Sam looked up again into the face of Claudette’s killer, preparing himself to now die at his hands, too, he saw Natalie clambering to her feet, her arm stretched out as she grasped for something on the drainer.
Having regained consciousness, Natalie was determined not to let Purcell win again. Furthermore, when she had placed the tray of glasses down on the drainer a few minutes earlier, she had noticed the sink still full of dirty dishes. At the time she thought it odd because the Kitchen Porter normally did the washing up at night to save work for himself the following morning. Yet Natalie had assumed due to their extremely tiring day, he had decided to leave everything until tomorrow.
She realised now that might not have been the case and that, in fact, Purcell might be the reason for the deserted kitchen and leftover washing up.
Nonetheless, she remembered seeing amongst the dirty crockery, a bloodied meat cleaver sitting unwashed on the side and knew if she could just reach it then she might yet be able to end Purcell for good.
However, the inadvertent flicker of Sam’s eyes and the slight crackle of glass underfoot, alerted Purcell to Natalie moving behind him and he reacted quickly to silence her once more.
In one swift movement, he twisted from the waist and smashed her violently across the face with the back of his gun hand sending her clattering into the sink unit.
However, the brief distraction gave Sam just enough time to snatch the Damascus Bowie from his boot and drive the keenly sharpened blade forcefully up into Purcell’s belly causing him to cry out in terrible agony.
Yet Sam did not care and, still on his knees, he thrust the knife deeply into Purcell’s gut. “Die you bastard!” He roared, as he twisted the blade with gratuitous delight.
But even though pain was exploding through him, Darius Purcell was not a man to give up easily and bellowing like a speared lion he struck Sam hard with a powerful blow to the head, striking him just above the ear with the rounded butt of the gun.
Stunned by the heavy impact, Sam fell backwards, his knife still sticking out of Purcell’s belly, blood now pumping from the hideous wound.
Yet Claudette’s killer remained firmly on his feet whilst Sam was floundering on the floor, sprawled on his back, dazed and utterly defenceless, his adversary still holding the gun.
“You tried real hard, I’ll give you that,” Purcell gasped, wincing sharply as he slowly tugged the knife out, exerting a great deal of effort and self control. He even took a moment to study it briefly before dropping it on the floor beside him; his sticky fingers then pressing down on the open wound in an attempt to stem the bleeding.
However, the strain of removing the knife had made him light-headed and he began to sway slightly, but still he remained upright. “But now, demon,” He said, using the term disparagingly as he raised the Glock and took an uneasy aim, “it’s time for you to finally join that black bitch we killed in Cambridge.”
In that moment, just a split-second before he could pull the trigger, Natalie reared up behind him, the meat cleaver raised high above her head before she swiped it down upon him with devastating force.
With the noise of an axe splitting wood, Darius Purcell’s skull was cleaved in two, from the tip of his scalp to the curve of his chin; the equal halves each with their own eye and nostril, the lethal blade dividing his head directly down the centre.
Blood erupted from the grotesque injury with volcanic force; spraying up in a fountain of red that was mixed with fragments of skull and brain matter.
As this dreadful shower rained down upon him, Sam could do nothing but watch as Purcell’s legs gave way and he collapsed lifelessly to the floor.
His bulky form no longer obscuring her, Natalie was suddenly revealed; standing there, horrified by the terrible thing she had done, the meat cleaver still held tightly in her grip.
She was swaying weakly, about to pass out, and Sam leapt up and caught her before she, too, collapsed alongside Purcell’s corpse.
“It’s okay,” he said, as he held her tightly in his arms. “Don’t worry. No one can harm you now.”
Natalie stared dreamily up into his eyes, fighting shock and the blackness that threatened to overwhelm her. Yet she knew what Sam had said was true.
Because Darius Purcell was now dead.
***
When he was certain that Natalie was strong enough to be left, Sam nipped through to the bar to fetch her a tot of whiskey, just to calm her frayed nerves.
However, she rallied remarkably quickly. Indeed, she felt little remorse for actually killing Purcell but was merely appalled by the manner in which he had died - moreover, at how she had killed him.
But the fact remained he was an evil man and she had acted in self-defence - or in defence of Sam at least, which amounted to much the same thing.
Either way, she would not lose any sleep over what she had done.
Whilst she sipped her whiskey, Sam went through Purcell’s pockets and discovered a set of car keys. Upon further investigation, he then found the jeep out back, parked in the bay close to the kitchens.
Both of them knew it was vital that no trace of Purcell was found at the hotel, which meant they had to dispose of his body and clean up all the blood.
With this in mind, Natalie ran to the laundry room and grabbed several sheets, then she and Sam wrapped Purcell up in them before bundling his corpse into the back of the jeep.
Leaving Natalie to mop the floor and rid the kitchen of all evidence of blood, Sam then drove the jeep out of Kinshasa and into the surrounding bush land. Under the cover of darkness, he drove almost ten miles beyond the urban reaches of the sprawling city until he was out into open countryside, even though it was most unwise to do so alone.
Nevertheless, when he was certain that he could not be observed, he pulled the jeep over close to the banks of the wide Congo River and pulled Purcell’s corpse from the back. He then unwrapped it and loaded it with several large stones to give it extra weight before parcelling it back up and tying it securely with strips torn from several more sheets.
When completely satisfied that the body inside the package would not float free, he hauled it into the river and watched it sink deeply below the surface.
He then got back into the jeep and returned to Kinshasa where he parked Purcell’s dusty chariot near to a brothel that was regularly frequented by mercenaries.
Confident that he had not been seen, Sam then walked the short distance back to the hotel to assist Natalie in the clean up operation.
However, by the time he arrived, the kitchen showed no sign that Darius Purcell had ever been there; all surfaces scrubbed clean, all washing up done and all utensils disinfected, polished and put away.
Yet it was now nearly midnight and Sam and Natalie were utterly exhausted.
So silently, they switched off the lights in the kitchen and headed for the elevator which would take them to
Sam’s room and at last to bed.
***
They slept naked in each others arms for four straight hours before Natalie roused, aware that dawn would be arriving soon.
She woke Sam and they made love, neither mentioning what had happened earlier, content just to glory in the wonder of each other.
Their passion erupted as it had before but it was now tinged with a hint of sadness as they both knew this would be their last time together.
In the dawn, Natalie would be gone and by early afternoon Sam would too - on a helicopter bound for Mombassa, by way of Angola, Zambia and Tanzania; the first few stages of his long journey back to America and the comparative normality of New York.
Yet neither of them let the imminence of his departure spoil the brief time they had left. Indeed, it made them even more determined to make the most of it.
In the space of just two days they had become extremely close, providing much needed comfort at a time when it was required most. Together they had become friends, lovers and killers - each having saved the other’s life - and it would never be forgotten.
They were destined never to see one another again but for a fleeting moment, in that hotel, they had proved to be each other’s salvation.
Part Six:
Dark Descent
Chapter Forty
London, England 2003
Vasily felt good to be back in England. He had enjoyed his time with his father and brothers in Moscow very much but the hard Russian winters had played havoc with his gammy ankle, making it even more painful. Moreover, in cold weather it would throb almost constantly, allowing him very little respite either day or night.
So, eight years after believing it too dangerous to stay in England, his father had now deemed it safe enough for him to return.
Indeed, with Sam having spent a great deal of time abroad, first in Siberia and then in Africa, Vladimir thought it highly unlikely that anyone would still be paying attention to what Vas was doing. Furthermore, it was his belief that they would assume his son’s association with his former university roommate to be a thing of the past. This, of course, was exactly how it was intended to appear to anyone wishing Sam or Vasily harm, but in reality it could not have been further from the truth.
As for Vas’ ankle, it was much improved by the move. Even though the average climate in England was generally not much warmer than Russia, the winters, although cold, were nowhere near so severe as the freezing conditions of his homeland. Furthermore, no matter where he went in London, the central heating just naturally seemed to work, whilst in Moscow the same could not be said.
Nevertheless, thanks to improved technology, the world was now a much smaller place than it had been eight years earlier, so Vas was still able to oversee his father’s legal affairs from his new offices in Kensington. He had also managed to cultivate a number of other well heeled clients for the small legal practice he had established just a few months before; his keen mind and incisive business smarts standing him in extremely good stead.
His plush new offices were just a short walk away from where he now lived in a more than adequate apartment overlooking Kensington Gardens with his new bride, Alina.
The pair had met at Moscow State University where he had completed the law degree he had previously been studying for at Cambridge. Alina, a farmer’s daughter from Vladivostok, had been studying agriculture. Since finding themselves on the same park bench whilst drinking coffee and swatting for their finals, they had been madly in love. So much so, that six months after that first fateful meeting they were married.
Vasily was attracted to large, muscular women and Alina was no exception; squarely built with a powerful frame and a short, practical haircut, she had big brown eyes and an attractive face which was pretty in an unconventional way.
Furthermore, she had once been a shot-put champion - only missing out on Olympic glory due to injury. However, athletics’ loss was academia’s gain as she possessed a quick brain and a thirst for knowledge that was more than a match for her husband’s.
Yet in London, a decadent, fast-paced world away from the comparative austerity of Mother Russia, they had found wedded bliss and were happily embarking on an exciting new life together.
However, Vasily’s abundant happiness was tinged with guilt.
He had been back in England for nearly six months but had still not plucked up the courage to pay a visit to Miriam - knowing how much he and Sam must have hurt her eight years earlier.
Now, though, it was time to make amends and confront his guilt head on. After all, apart from Sam and Alina, Miriam was perhaps his best friend, and not making an effort to see her was simply reprehensible.
What is more, he missed her and hoped she might find some way to forgive him.
Yet Vasily was surprised to learn that Miriam was no longer working as a doctor. Upon further investigation he discovered that she had given up the career she had previously been so committed to shortly after marrying a surgeon from St. Thomas’ Hospital, a certain Dr. Allan Gillespie who, it seemed, had a rather dubious reputation.
Nonetheless, Vas knew Miri to be a woman of sound intelligence and supposed her reasons for marrying such a person must have been valid. However, from what he had heard, the good doctor was a notorious womaniser whose career trajectory of late had been seriously damaged by the scandal of him being arrested at an illegal fetish club in Ealing.
The secret establishment had been the subject of an undercover sting by The Sun newspaper who were investigating the illicit dealings of a corrupt politician and Gillespie had been unwittingly caught up in the ensuing melee.
In the sensationalist photograph subsequently splashed across The Sun’s front page, the naked politician could be seen gleefully whipping a scantily clad girl bound to an elaborate apparatus specifically designed for the purposes of sadomasochism.
In the background of this rather tawdry picture, the image of Allan Gillespie’s smiling face could clearly be seen amongst those of the several excited men looking on.
Apart from having their names splashed all over the media, everyone who had been present at this sex party had been duly arrested. The disgraced politician had been charged along with several others also involved. Gillespie, however, had been lucky enough to escape with just a caution.
Even so, the ensuing fallout had all but destroyed his social standing and had very nearly cost him his job. It was only because he was such a gifted surgeon that he had managed to cling on to his position at the hospital, although his reputation was beyond repair.
Yet upon discovering all this, Vasily’s concern was for Miriam, knowing that she must have been through hell after all that had happened; no doubt devastated that the man she loved could do such a thing to her.
Vas found it remarkable that she had stuck by her husband, yet had to concede it was a testament to her loyal nature.
Vas was curious, however, to meet Allan Gillespie, and see exactly what sort of a man he really was. Maybe then he would properly be able to understand why Miriam was still with him.
So, eager to see his friend again, and his dreadful guilt notwithstanding, he set out with the sole purpose of doing precisely that.
***
After the dust from the fetish club scandal had settled, the Gillespies moved to a modest three bedroom semi in Surbiton where Allan hoped to rebuild his social standing and repair his sullied reputation.
However, the excitement of the city proved too much to ignore and he was soon lured back, deciding the mundane existence of suburbia was definitely not for him.
Fortunately he had kept on his flat in Knightsbridge and before long he took to staying there during the week on the pretence of being closer to the hospital. Indeed, having lost almost all interest in his wife since being ostracised by the very elite social set he had previously been so eager to impress, he now spent almost all of his
time at the flat, leaving Miriam alone at their new home in Surbiton.
Yet even though Miri much preferred it when her husband was not there, it was far from an ideal situation. He was prone to turn up at all hours of the day or night with no prior warning and if she happened not to be there when he arrived, she was made to pay harshly for her absence upon her return.
Many times she had pleaded with him to divorce her as he clearly had no interest in her other than as a glorified punchbag - using her as an outlet for his boundless anger. But he had adamantly refused, revelling in the power he had over her and basking in the sadistic joy of keeping her as his captive to do with as he pleased.
Every single day Miri plotted her escape but life under the cosh had made her afraid and had sapped her confidence. Gillespie’s treatment of her had steadily whittled away at her already dwindling self-esteem until she felt too ashamed to ask anyone for help, believing herself to be as worthless as her husband declared her to be.
What is more, he had repeatedly warned her that if she should ever try to leave him he would kill her.
She had not doubted this when he first uttered it during the early days of their marriage and she had no reason to doubt it still. If anything this threat had become more palpable over the years and now Miriam was almost too afraid to leave the house. Indeed, whenever she did, it was only to run to the corner shop or the nearest supermarket for some necessities. But she was never gone longer than an hour, forever dreading what her husband might do to her should he come home and found her gone.
Miri was little more than a prisoner in her own home, living in fear of the day when her husband might finally kill her. During their loveless marriage, she had suffered numerous concussions, several broken ribs, a broken arm and too many bruises to count. She had also been repeatedly whipped, bound and forcibly penetrated by her husband whenever he felt like it.
However, since spending his weekdays in the city, Allan’s interest in her sexually had dramatically waned, which had been a great relief to Miriam. Yet the beatings had continued. If anything, they had grown more intense as he vented the frustrations of his social decline.
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