by Jim Eldridge
He dialled Michelle’s number, but just got voicemail. Where was she? Why wasn’t she answering? The awful thought struck him that the people who’d beaten Robert up so badly had got to her. In which case, they could well be watching the offices of the magazine where she worked, waiting for him to show up.
I’m caught, he realised. I can’t go home. I can’t go to Michelle’s office. I can’t stay around Robert’s house.
He headed into the tube station and got on an eastbound train back towards the city centre. He had to hide; and the best place to hide was in a place filled with people. Safety in numbers, while he worked out what he was going to do next.
Chapter 20
As Jake came out of the entrance of Tottenham Court Road station into Oxford Street, his mobile rang. Michelle calling him back? He looked at the screen: number withheld, but it could still be Michelle.
‘Hello?’ he said.
It was Gareth.
‘All right, Jake. Bring it to me.’
‘Bring what?’
‘The book you found at Glastonbury, of course.’
‘Book?’ queried Jake.
Gareth exploded in anger.
‘For heaven’s sake, you didn’t think I was that gullible to believe you’d suddenly developed a major interest in all things King Arthur, did you? We knew what you were up to, but we decided to let you go ahead and keep an eye on you and see if you turned up anything. And look what happens! Your friend, Robert, for example. In a coma with a fractured skull.’
As he heard these words, Jake felt sick.
‘Is he going to be all right?’ he asked.
Even as he said it, the words felt lame and foolish. Inadequate. Robert had been beaten almost to death, and it was his fault. He had got Robert involved.
‘Is he going to die, you mean?’ snapped Gareth. ‘Frankly, we don’t know. The doctors say he’s only got a forty per cent chance of surviving. The point is, Jake, the people who did it are still out there, and looking for you. You’re next. So bring the book to me and stop this now.’
‘I haven’t got it,’ Jake mumbled.
There was a brief pause, then Gareth said, ‘Jake, I don’t think you understand your position and how much danger you’re in, so I’ll spell it out for you. Your friend has had his skull crushed. He may well die. They thought he had the book. He didn’t. They are now coming after you, and they will kill you unless you give them the book, or tell them where it is. I can protect you. Bring the book to me now.’
‘All right,’ said Jake. He had to play for time. ‘I’ll bring it to your office.’
Before Gareth could respond, Jake ended the call. Almost immediately, his phone rang.
Michelle, or Gareth calling back, angry at having been cut off?
‘Jake Wells,’ he said.
‘Alex Munro,’ said Alex Munro’s familiar self-assured voice. ‘Your friendly taxi service.’
Jake tensed.
‘I’m a bit busy at the moment,’ he said. And that’s an understatement, he thought.
‘Yes, the book you’ve got,’ said Munro in an almost casual way. ‘The one you found at Glastonbury.’ There was a brief pause, then he added: ‘A pity about your friend. I understand he’s in a bad way.’
How did Munro know all this so soon? thought Jake. But then he reflected that Pierce Randall had contacts everywhere: in the police, inside the Department of Science, possibly in Gareth’s own office.
‘Yes he is,’ he said grimly, adding angrily: ‘and if I find you were behind it . . .’
‘No no, Jake, I assure you,’ said Munro quickly and smoothly. ‘You should know by now that violence is not our style.’
No, but it’s the style of some of the people you use, and who you represent, thought Jake. The Mafia and a whole load of other organised criminal gangs, for example.
‘You’re at serious risk, Jake,’ continued Munro. ‘I can save you, and give you what you want. Just bring me the book.’
‘No,’ said Jake. ‘This one’s going out into the public domain. This one is going to prove to the world that the secret library of Malichea exists.’
‘Which is our aim, too, Jake,’ said Munro smoothly.
‘No it isn’t,’ snapped back Jake. ‘You want to sell this to the highest bidder and keep it secret, just like everyone else. The difference is that you’ll patent what’s in it and make a fortune from it.’
‘You mean you’ve looked inside it?’ said Munro, and now Jake heard a new eagerness in his voice. ‘What’s the subject matter, Jake? Who’s it by?’
Jake hesitated. He was on the point of admitting he didn’t know, he hadn’t even opened the book, then he stopped himself. Don’t give anything away, he told himself. Let Munro think that Jake knew what the contents were. He might need a bargaining chip of some sort in the future.
‘Jake, we can help you,’ said Munro. ‘You want Ms Graham back, we can arrange that. As I told you earlier, dealing with governments is one of our main areas of expertise. Just bring me the book . . .’
‘No,’ said Jake.
‘I understand,’ said Munro. ‘You’re worried about your own safety. So we’ll come to you. Just tell me where you are and we’ll collect you. We’ll send our best people. They’ll make sure you’re safe . . .’
Suddenly, it hit Jake that Munro knew where he was. He remembered what he’d been told, that people could be tracked by the signal from their mobile phone. Munro was using this call to pinpoint Jake’s position. Quite likely, even now, Munro’s people were on their way to him. And maybe Gareth’s people as well. Gareth’s secret services certainly had that same technology.
Fumbling with nervous fingers, Jake opened his mobile phone, took out the battery and SIM card, and slipped them into one pocket, with the dismantled remains of his phone into another. He looked up, and saw a black car pull up about a hundred metres away from him. Two men got out of the back, both dressed in dark suits. Their heads turned swiftly from side to side, scanning the crowds in the street, searching. Plain-clothes police, or secret agents, or Munro’s men? It didn’t matter, Jake just knew that he had to get away.
He ducked down a side street and found himself heading down one of the short streets that linked Oxford Street with Soho Square. Out of the corner of his eye he was aware of the two men turning towards his direction, just before he nipped into the street. He ran, and as he did he heard shouts of complaints from behind him. The two men were obviously pushing people aside as they gave chase.
Jake ducked down as he ran, hoping to keep out of sight. Were the men armed? Were they the people who’d beaten Robert almost to death?
He ran, pushing people aside himself, desperate to get away from his pursuers, but the crowd on the street were too busy. His only chance was to run out into the road, but if he did that he risked them getting a clear look at him, and possibly a clear shot.
Suddenly he saw an alley through an archway, just to his right. He ran towards it, and immediately turned right into yet another narrow alleyway, and as he did so he felt a hand grab him.
Fear surged through him and he turned, and came face to face with a short black teenage girl.
‘In the dumpster!’ she hissed at him.
‘What?’ said Jake, bewildered.
She punched him so that he turned round, and he saw a teenage boy standing by a tall dumpster, holding a hand ready for him to use as a step.
‘Come on, man!’ the boy said urgently, in a whisper.
Jake ran to him, put his foot in the boy’s open palm, and found himself lifted up, and then falling into the large metal box, landing on a foul-smelling mix of paper, cardboard and rotting vegetables.
Immediately, he heard raised voices from just outside the dumpster, the boy’s voice, angry, challenging: ‘What you doin’ smackin’ me like that?’
‘I didn’t,’ came the curt reply.
‘Yes you did,’ said the boy. ‘That’s assault, that is. I could bring the law in and have you arrest
ed. Get compensation.’
‘Shut up,’ snapped the man. ‘Where did he go?’
‘Who?’ came the girl’s voice.
‘The man who ran through that arch,’ said another voice, the second man.
‘Why you wanna know?’ asked the girl.
‘That’s our business,’ said the first man sharply.
‘Yeah? Well, that’s what this is, business!’ said the girl firmly. ‘How much?’
Oh God, thought Jake, they’re going to sell me out! That’s what this is about, street kids making money!
There was a pause, then the first man said: ‘Here.’
The girl responded with a derisory laugh.
‘A fiver!’ she said. ‘You jokin’ me? A fiver!’
‘We’re losing time,’ said the second man urgently.
Immediately, the first man said: ‘Here.’
The girl said, ‘A twenty. That’s more like it.’ Then, with a smile that Jake heard in her voice, she said: ‘You must want him bad. What’s he done?’
‘Just tell us where he went or I’ll have that back!’ grated the first man.
‘Whoa!’ said the girl. ‘No need to get crazy.’
No, begged Jake silently. Don’t tell them. If I’d known this was about money, I’d have given you every penny.
‘He went that way,’ said the boy, ‘down Dean Street.’
Jake heard a grunt, then the clatter of shoes running off. There was a pause, then a bang on the side of the dumpster. He raised his head and looked down at the boy and girl.
‘They gone,’ said the boy.
‘Thanks,’ said Jake.
He struggled to get a grip on the top of the dumpster, and then climbed out and dropped down to the pavement.
‘You was lucky we was here,’ said the girl.
‘I know,’ agreed Jake.
‘They’re cops, right?’ said the boy.
‘Sort of,’ said Jake.
‘So what you do?’ asked the girl.
‘Nothing!’ protested Jake.
‘Yeah, like the cops is gonna chase you for nothing!’ sneered the boy. ‘And you wearin’ proper good clothes ’an all, not a hoodie or nuthin.’
‘Yeah, you ain’t street, and they plain clothes, so it’s gotta be somethin’ heavy.’ The girl nodded in agreement. She frowned at Jake suspiciously. ‘You a murderer?’
‘No I am not!’ said Jake vehemently.
‘So who are they?’ asked the boy. ‘Them people chasin’ you?’
Jake hesitated. He was about to brush the kids off by saying he didn’t know, or it was mistaken identity, but one look at them told him they were too smart for that. And they had saved him, so he owed them.
‘They’re government agents,’ he said.
The kids looked at him, momentarily awed, then the impressed expressions on their faces were replaced with sneering disbelief.
‘Yeah!’ said the boy, his lip curling, and he spat on the ground. ‘Expect me to believe that!’
‘It’s true!’ insisted Jake. ‘They tracked me through my mobile phone. I had to take it apart.’
And he reached into his pocket and pulled out the remains of his mobile phone, the battery and SIM card.
The boy and girl exchanged questioning looks. Then they turned back to Jake and the girl demanded: ‘So why they chasing you?’
‘They think I’ve got something they want,’ said Jake.
‘And have you?’ asked the girl.
Jake hesitated, then he shook his head.
‘No,’ he told them, and reflected that it wasn’t a lie, the book was still at Euston Left Luggage office. At least, he hoped it was.
‘So why you run?’ asked the boy. ‘Why don’t you stop and tell them you ain’t got this thing, whatever it is?’
‘Because they won’t believe me,’ said Jake.
The two kids looked at him quizzically. Finally, the girl asked: ‘You a spy?’
‘Yeah,’ the boy nodded, ‘that’s who he is. He’s James Bond.’ He grinned. ‘Even if he look a wimp.’
‘I’m not a wimp!’ responded Jake, put out.
‘Well, you sure look one,’ said the boy.
The girl nodded in agreement.
‘Anyway, you owe us,’ she said.
‘I do,’ said Jake humbly. ‘And I thank you.’
The girl looked at Jake challengingly.
‘You thank us?’ she echoed. ‘You think your thanks is gonna get us a bed for the night, or put food in our bellies?’
Of course, they wanted paying, Jake realised.
‘Look, I haven’t got much cash on me,’ began Jake.
‘That’s OK, we don’t want your money,’ cut in the boy.
The girl glared at the boy.
‘What you tellin’ him that for, fool!’ she said angrily. ‘Of course we do! You got any money?’
The boy looked uncomfortable.
‘That ain’t the point,’ he said. ‘He was on the run from the man. We’ve all been on the run like that, and we got help when we needed it. People was there for us. That’s what this is about. What goes around comes around. You gotta pass it on.’
The girl shook her head and looked at the boy disdainfully.
‘You’re full of bullshit,’ she snapped. ‘You bin hanging around them Hare Krishna people too much!’
‘I’m just sayin’ . . . !’ the boy snapped back at her defensively.
‘Look, please . . . !’ cut in Jake, eager to stop an argument developing between the two.
‘You’re right, I do owe you. And I want to give you money for helping me.’ He took out his wallet and looked inside. He had thirty pounds in ten-pound notes. He took two of them and held them out. ‘This is all I’ve got, except for ten pounds left for me,’ he said, and he showed them the inside of his wallet to prove he wasn’t lying.
‘I don’t know . . .’ began the boy thoughtfully, but the girl snatched the two ten-pound notes from Jake’s fingers.
‘I do,’ she said firmly.
The boy looked Jake up and down, curious.
‘So, what you gonna do now?’ he asked.
‘Do?’ repeated Jake.
‘Yeah. Those agent dudes still after you.’
‘Easy.’ The girl shrugged. ‘He’s gonna go home and come up with some other story to explain why he’s all smelly from being in that dumpster.’
‘I can’t go home,’ said Jake. The girl and the boy looked at him, the boy puzzled, the girl suspicious.
‘Why?’ asked the boy.
‘Because they’ll be watching my flat, waiting for me.’
The boy’s expression hardened, then he turned to the girl and said, ‘We gotta take care of him.’
‘Oh no!’ said the girl quickly. ‘Not another of your lame pigeons!’
‘Duck,’ Jake corrected her automatically.
‘What?’ she demanded.
‘The saying is lame duck,’ said Jake. ‘Not lame pigeon.’
The girl glared at him, then she said defiantly, ‘Well, I ain’t never seen no lame duck, but I seen plenty of lame pigeons. So, it’s a lame pigeon, right.’ And she turned to the boy and said, ‘And he’s on his own. We ain’t takin’ care of him.’
‘Why?’ appealed the boy. He gestured towards Jake. ‘Look at him. He’s scared. He’s messy. He ain’t got nowhere to go. He’s on the run. This is a man looking for help. It’s up to us to help him.’
Jake stared at the boy, and a feeling of amazement came over him. Here were two kids, street kids, he guessed, much younger than him, and they were talking about protecting him, an adult — well, more of an adult than either of these two. He wanted to run away from them and hide, but where? He was adrift and alone on the streets, and until he could get hold of Michelle and get the book to her, he needed help. And here were these two kids, offering that help.
‘I’m Jez,’ said the boy, ‘and this here’s Ronnie.’
‘I’m Jake,’ said Jake, and he held out his hand. The boy, su
rprised, took it and shook it, then released it. Ronnie just looked at Jake’s proffered hand with a cold eye, as if it was some suspicious thing that was about to bring them bad luck, and sniffed disdainfully again.
She turned to Jez, her expression one of disapproval.
‘Guess we got us a lame pigeon,’ she said.
Chapter 21
‘First thing we gotta do is get you off the street,’ said Jez.
‘And cleaned up,’ added Ronnie. Her nose wrinkled in distaste. ‘There was some real stinky stuff in that dumpster.’
‘Benjy’s,’ suggested Jez. He looked at his watch. ‘He’ll be in.’
Ronnie laughed.
‘He’s always in when it’s daylight,’ she said. She grinned at Jake. ‘We call him the vampire.’
‘Benjy the Vampire?’ said Jake, laughing despite himself. ‘It doesn’t really have a terrifying ring to it.’
They walked north from Oxford Street, to the outer reaches of Regent’s Park, and then crossed Marylebone Road, where luxury houses and flats gave way to street after street of council flats. Benjy, it seemed, lived on the third floor of one of the blocks, and as they walked along the balcony to the flat, Jake could hear music coming from inside — so loud it made the concrete beneath their feet vibrate.
‘Don’t his neighbours complain about the noise?’ asked Jake.
Jez shook his head.
‘That ain’t from Benjy’s,’ he said. ‘That’s from his neighbours, some old gran and grandad couple.’
The trio walked past the flat with the thumping music, and arrived at the door of the next flat. Jez rang the bell. Jake was surprised that anyone inside the flat would be able to hear the sound of the bell with the deafening sound of drums’n’bass from the next flat, but Benjy obviously had his ears tuned in for it. He opened the door a crack and peered out suspiciously, and then opened it wider when he saw it was Jez and Ronnie.
‘Yo!’
Jez gestured with his thumb at Jake.
‘We got a refugee here,’ he said. ‘Needs some help.’
Benjy opened the door wider.
‘Come on in,’ he said.