Desperate Cargo

by Don Pendleton

  When Gantley straightened up there was a contented smile on his face. It had been some time since he had killed a man with his bare hands. It was a satisfactory act for him. Any fool could kill with a gun or knife. He preferred this way. It still gave him a thrill.

  Crossing the kitchen he rinsed the blood off his gloves under the faucet. Then he left the house by the kitchen door, closing it behind him. He returned to his car the same way he had approached the isolated house, crossing a field and walking through a small stand of trees. He climbed into the car and drove away from Kepple’s house, using only his side lights, along the quiet lane, following it until he reached the main road. Forty minutes later he merged with the freeway traffic heading in the direction of London. When he reached the city he drove directly to his apartment block. Inside he changed his clothes, throwing what he had worn into his washing machine and switched it on. While the clothes were washed Gantley made himself a mug of tea, into which he poured a generous slug of whiskey. He watched a couple of hours of TV, then turned in for the night.

  WHEN HE ENTERED Hugo Canfield’s office the following day, around noon, at the Canary Wharf headquarters, Gantley saw that his employer had a visitor.

  Canfield glanced across the office, over Paul Chambers’s shoulder, meeting Gantley’s gaze. Gantley merely nodded. It was all Canfield needed in the way of explanation.

  “Sergeant Gantley,” he said, “would you have the car ready for me in ten minutes? I want to go direct to the airfield. Make sure the plane is ready for takeoff.”

  “Of course, sir.”

  Gantley stepped out of the office and closed the door, leaving Canfield to deal with Chambers.

  16

  As soon as Gantley closed the door Hugo Canfield picked up his conversation.

  “When I said back off, Paul, I didn’t suggest taking everyone away and leaving the place wide open.”

  “It wasn’t like that,” Chambers protested. “We always scale things down at weekends. It would have looked odd if there had been extra activity. The site was well covered by the security system. How was I to know Kepple would let that bastard just waltz in and take a look around? I mean, we hadn’t seen or heard from him since that last incident in Rotterdam. I figured he’d up and moved on.”

  “Too bloody right, Paul. He moved on here. You made a bad call, don’t you think? Not the first you’ve made recently. Rotterdam. Bickell dead. The fucking farm. You handled it all carelessly. If Cooper had died the day he was supposed to we wouldn’t be having our current crop of problems. Kepple was your responsibility. You hired the man. Not me.”

  “Now wait a damn minute. I hope you don’t hold me responsible for everything that went wrong over there. The farm getting hit, van Ryden, DeChambre. Bloody hell, Hugo, I’ll hold up my hands as far as Kepple is concerned but not for things that were nothing to do with me. I can’t be expected to be in every place at the same time.”

  Chambers was almost shouting at the end of his protest, then saw the hard expression on Canfield’s face. He had gone a step too far.

  Chambers became aware of the tense atmosphere in the room. He felt Canfield’s animosity toward him and the first feelings of apprehension began to make themselves known. In the past he had always felt comfortable being around Canfield, despite the man’s reputation. Canfield was all-powerful, almost arrogant in his dealings with others. That had never worried Paul Chambers. Since joining Venturer Exports his own standing had risen and he moved in wealthier circles, being introduced to a number of Canfield’s associates. Now, doubt manifested itself and Chambers’s nervousness showed as his hand trembled slightly, the contents in his glass shaking.

  If Canfield noticed he said nothing as he crossed the room and refilled his own tumbler, savoring the aroma of the aged whiskey. In fact, he was enjoying the moment—letting Chambers sweat. The man deserved to be upset. His stupidity had cost the Organization dearly, and that was something Hugo Canfield could never forgive. It was bad enough they had lost cargo, money and facilities. With the multinational task force still hovering in the wings, just waiting to pounce, anything that drew their closer attention should have been avoided. Chambers had jeopardized Venturer Exports. He was going to have to pay for that.

  “Hugo, let me put things right,” Chambers said in an attempt to smooth things over. “I made mistakes. I’ve lost out, as well. South East Containers was my business, too. How do you think I feel about that? I’ll make sure Kepple doesn’t get away with what he’s done.”

  His words had the sound of desperation. Chambers was floundering. He was aware he had committed a grave error and was eager to try and make reparation. He had no chance of doing that. In purely financial terms the cost of replacing the truck fleet was far beyond his means. Canfield could have made good the loss, but that was not the problem. It was less about the money, more about the damage to Canfield’s reputation and his standing in the eyes of his influential friends. He would, of course, play down the events for his contacts. It would take some doing but Hugo Canfield was confident he could overcome the recent setbacks.

  Chambers was another matter. His failure left Canfield only one course of action. Chambers could not be trusted any longer. The man had to be eliminated. Just as Kepple had been dealt with. More work for the dependable Sergeant Gantley. There, at least, was a man Canfield could depend on. There were never any doubts in Canfield’s mind once he sent Gantley out. His decision made he moved on mentally, turning his attention back to Chambers in order to dismiss the man.

  “I need to consider how to handle things, Paul. I need to get to Banecreif. I’ll call you tomorrow. Go back to your apartment and stay put until you hear from me.”

  The dismissal was final. Chambers knew not to argue. He emptied his glass and stood. Canfield was already concentrating on another piece of business, as if Chambers had already left the room.

  In the elevator on his way to the ground floor Paul Chambers went over the meeting. He was left with no doubt that any decision Canfield made would not be pleasant—for Chambers.

  Outside the building Chambers saw Canfield’s Bentley parked close by. The solid figure of Gantley was standing beside the car. Chambers had always found the ex-military cop slightly menacing.

  When Gantley caught Chambers’s eye he inclined his head, watching closely. There was a hint of a knowing smile on his lips.

  Chambers walked to his own car, searching for his keys and actually fumbling them from his pocket. He pressed the button that unlocked the door and slid behind the wheel, jamming the key in and firing up the engine. Without looking back he knew that Gantley was still watching. Chambers pushed the stick into first, let out the clutch too quickly and stalled, the car jumping. Swearing Chambers restarted the car, managing to pull away on the second attempt. He didn’t let out a breath until the office block had vanished from sight among the other tall Canary Wharf buildings.

  He had a twenty-minute drive across the city to his apartment and Chambers felt every minute of the trip. The sheer volume of traffic forced him to drive slowly, stopping and starting every few yards. He hated driving in London. The place was becoming gridlocked. Worse every time he visited.

  Still a distance from his destination Chambers’s in-car phone rang. He pressed the hands-free button.

  “Yes?”

  “Paul, it’s Greg.”

  “If it’s more bad news I’m not really interested.”

  “I think you need to hear this, Paul. It’s about Ray Kepple.”

  “Kepple? What’s he fucking done now? Burned down the village pub?”

  “He’s dead, Paul. Someone broke into his place last night and beat him to death. Really did a job on him. He was barely recognizable. Face was caved in. He actually died from having his neck snapped.”

  Chambers was driving on autopilot, his gaze fixed on the car in front. He was recalling Canfield’s cold attitude toward him during their office meeting. The indifference. The curt dismissal. And then the glimpse o
f Gantley outside the building. The quiet look that spoke volumes.

  Gantley.

  Hugo Canfield’s minder.

  Gantley looked after Canfield and also handed out punishment to anyone stepping out of line.

  Canfield would have wanted the ultimate price for Kepple’s misconduct. Damn the man. He had allowed Chambers to ramble on about how he would discipline Kepple even while he had known Gantley had already done the job. And he hadn’t even considered letting Chambers in on the matter.

  “Paul, are you still there?”

  The moment passed. Chambers took a breath.

  “I heard, Greg. I don’t suppose anyone saw or heard anything?”

  “Nothing. Not surprising with Kepple living where he did. His closest neighbor was a quarter mile away.”

  “Local police handling it?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Okay. We have to stay out of it. Let them screw around all they want.”

  Chambers severed the connection.

  A cold sweat broke out on his forehead as he found himself reliving that moment when Gantley offered him that hint of a smile. He knew now exactly what it meant. Gantley had him on his list. Kepple’s error had earned him a painful death. Now he was on the list. With everything falling down before his eyes Canfield was cleaning up loose ends. Making sure his surviving team was composed of strong people. He wanted the defaulters out of the picture. Weakness in one area could lead to weakness in others. Canfield would want to make sure there were no loose mouths left open.

  The sound of someone hammering on a car horn startled Chambers. He snatched at the wheel and brought his car back into its own lane. He had let it wander. He hit the air-conditioning button, letting the cool air wash over his face. He realized his hands were shaking as they gripped the wheel.

  Jesus, Paul, wake up. Clear your mind. Don’t let the bastards do this to you, he told himself.

  Chambers almost missed his apartment building. He had to stamp on the brake, causing other drivers to swerve and give him the finger as he ignored them and swung into the parking lot.

  He went into the apartment building and took an elevator up to his floor. As he walked along the thickly carpeted corridor, the cathedral silence of the place made him even more nervous. He had never noticed before how quiet the upper floor was. He looked back over his shoulder a couple of times, shaking his head when he realized what he had done.

  Get a grip.

  He slid the key into the lock and worked the handle. The door opened and he stepped inside. As the door swung shut behind him Chambers froze on the spot.

  He was not alone.

  He saw a tall figure, dressed in black pants and a leather jacket.

  A lethal-looking auto pistol in his right hand was pointing at Chambers’s heart.

  “You were out, so I decided to stay around and wait,” the man said. “I think you should sit down, Chambers. You don’t look too well.”

  17

  Paul Chambers decided his life was falling apart. The mistakes he had recently made, Canfield’s loss of faith in him and the unspoken threat posed by Gantley—things could not get worse.

  Then he realized he was wrong about that, too.

  “I…How the hell did you get into my apartment?”

  “You’ve got more important things to consider,” the Executioner said.

  Chambers paled at the implication behind Bolan’s words. He looked around the room as if he had never been in it before, finally locating a chair. He sat down, rubbing a hand across his very dry mouth.

  “What do you want? Haven’t you already done enough?”

  “You remember how this all started? You, me, in Rotterdam. The last thing you said to me was that I wouldn’t get to see the sights. Wrong, Chambers. I’ve been seeing sights since then. None of them very pleasant. Innocent women and children caged up. Waiting to be sold like meat so you and your partners can turn a tidy profit. So scum like you can stay in an apartment like this. Must make you feel all warm inside.”

  “It’s a business. We supply a hungry market, Cooper. And it’s growing. What makes you think you can shut it all down?”

  “You’ll have to wait and see about that.”

  “So what do you want from me?” Chambers’s growing fear spilled over, his voice rising to a high shrill sound. “Damn you, Cooper, your fucking hits against us have put me in the firing line. Canfield has more or less hinted I’m on my way out. He holds me responsible. Remember Kepple? Canfield had him killed. He sent his trained dog, Gantley, to beat Kepple to a pulp, then snap his neck. And it looks like I could be next. Gantley will be coming after me. Canfield is launching a tidy-up campaign. Cutting out what he thinks is dead wood…”

  Bolan’s face remained impassive. Whatever trouble Chambers had got himself into made little difference to the Executioner. His business pushed him outside the limits for redemption. There was no get-out clause for a man like Paul Chambers. By the very nature of his employment he was already in Bolan’s sights.

  “Look, I can give you information. But I want protection. I don’t give a bloody damn what you think of me. I want to survive. We can trade,” Chambers pleaded.

  “Trade what?”

  “Canfield is moving into something different. To add to his business dealings. A new venture.”

  “I don’t expect it to be legal,” Bolan said.

  “Drugs. He’s struck a deal with a Russian supplier. Opium from Afghanistan. Had a big consignment delivered a few days ago to his place up in Scotland.”

  “Where?”

  “Canfield has an old house. Massive place. Pretty isolated. Up on the northeast coast. House is called Banecreif.” Chambers rubbed his dry mouth. “I need a drink.”

  Bolan gestured in the direction of the bottles on a side table. Chambers picked up a whiskey and splashed it into a glass. He swallowed the contents in a single gulp and immediately poured a second.

  “Well? Do we have a deal?”

  “I’ll let you know when we’re in sight of Banecreif,” Bolan said.

  Chambers laughed and downed his second whiskey.

  “You actually think I’m going to Scotland with you in tow? I might be desperate but I’m not suicidal.”

  “And do I look like I just came off the farm? Your choice, Chambers. You’re my point man on this, or I walk out that door and you’re on your own.”

  Chambers did some fast thinking. At least with Cooper at his side he might have a chance of staying alive. On his own, with Gantley hunting him, he had little chance. Paul Chambers had never considered himself a capable man in a fight. He always paid others to work violence for him and watch his back. Like it or not, the tall American holding the gun would seem the most likely man to prevent anything happening to him, and if Cooper managed to put Canfield down Chambers could take his chances. It wasn’t foolproof but it was better than being on his own and waiting for Gantley to show, because sooner or later Canfield’s trained dog would slip his leash and come looking.

  “Okay, Cooper. I can’t say it’s what I’d choose if I had any other options. Only I don’t. So we go together.”

  AN HOUR LATER Bolan accompanied Paul Chambers from his apartment. They picked up the rental car Bolan had left in the parking garage and drove across the city to London’s Euston Station where they boarded the train that would take them to Scotland. The train would terminate in Glasgow and Bolan would pick up another that ran up country, his destination the far northeast of Scotland, taking him closer to Canfield’s remote lair.

  As they settled in the private compartment Bolan had requested when he had booked their passage, the Executioner was aware of his companion’s nervous condition.

  “Chambers, sit down and relax.”

  “Easy for you to say. Christ, I’m a walking dead man. That bastard wants me buried. If Gantley is looking for me the far north of Tibet won’t be far enough away.”

  Bolan stowed his bag on the overhead luggage rack. He wasn’t happy having to
walk around with a cache of weapons but the situation called for extreme actions. Heading for Hugo Canfield’s base he was not going in empty-handed.

  “Right now we’re ahead of the game. If we can stay that way there’s a chance we might come through,” he told Chambers.

  “That’s bloody pessimistic. ‘Might come through?’”

  “It’s called being realistic. I don’t guarantee anything, Chambers. Every situation like this comes with a fifty-fifty chance of survival. I accept that.”

  “Maybe you do. I figure those to be poor odds. Why the hell should I be in a mess like that?”

  Bolan moved so fast Chambers had no chance to step aside. He felt a big hand close on his shirtfront. Bolan slammed him up against the compartment wall, the impact making Chambers gasp for breath. He found himself staring directly into chilled blue eyes.

  “Quick to forget what you’re involved in? Chambers, you trade in human lives. You buy and sell women and kids. Send them into virtual slavery. Into lives of sheer misery. The money in your wallet comes from the depravity some of those people have to endure. One of your own kind has turned on you and now you expect sympathy. Are you expecting me to forget what you do and hold your hand? Be thankful I don’t pull out my gun and put a bullet through your head. Now sit down and shut up.”

  Bolan released his hold, allowing Chambers to shrink away from him. Chambers moved to one of the seats and pressed himself into the corner, staring out the window in cowed silence.

  “THEY’RE ON A TRAIN for Glasgow,” Canfield’s man said from a pay phone at Euston Station. “I sent Breck and Munro after them. If they get the opportunity Cooper and Chambers won’t even reach the Scottish border.”

  “If they do, at least we know they’re coming,” Gantley said. “Keep me informed, Harris.”

  Gantley put down the phone and turned to Canfield.

  “Cooper’s on his way. He’s got Chambers with him, sir. They left London on a train for Glasgow. Breck and Munro are on board, as well. They might get the chance to intercept and deal with them.”