Below Zero (Ryan Kidd Thriller series)

by Roger Hurn

  The two of them were having quite the wave fest, but he finally made it to the door and, with one last wave, reluctantly left the woman of his wet dreams and dragged himself off to wherever it was he was going. I figured that it would have to be something extra special to make him leave his dirty blonde English rose and, for once, I wasn’t wrong.

  ‘Aww, he’s quite sweet.’ Carly eyes were sparkling with mischief.

  ‘Yeah, he’s a regular Prince Charming but how come he ran out on you? Were you more dog rose than English rose?’

  The sparkle went out of her eyes. Oh well done, Ryan, I thought. Top marks for witty banter.

  ‘Actually, he said he had an urgent business meeting but if I could find it in my heart to forgive him, he’d make it all up to me later. He wants me to go to the place he’s staying. He begged me to cancel any other arrangements I’d made because he would die if I didn’t go and spend the whole night with him.’ Carly looked as haughty as a movie star from Hollywood’s golden age. ‘You see, Ryan, far from thinking I’m a dog rose or even an English rose, he said I was an angel sent from heaven and, if I’d only let him, he would worship me in the way my loveliness deserved. So there!’

  I blew out air from my lips. ‘Woo, that sure beats saying, “Oi girl, get your coat, you’ve pulled”.’

  Carly picked up her cocktail and downed it. ‘Yeah, well, if that’s the standard of your pick-up lines then it’s no wonder you’re married to a complete bitch.’ I was still trying to process that left field remark about my missus when she said, ‘Look, it’s obvious he’s meeting up with the opposition so we need to get to this address before they do so we can make our offer. And trust me Ryan, I think he’d prefer to hear it coming from me rather than you, OK?’

  She thrust the coaster at me and I saw an address scribbled there. It was about half a mile away, near the Bull Ring and the Casino. We left the hotel at a run and grabbed a taxi. We gave the driver the address and after the guy had stopped ogling Carly he finally put the car into gear and drove off. I couldn’t help noticing that he’d adjusted his mirror so he could see her legs and he was going as slowly as possible so he could prolong his enjoyment of the view. I told him to “follando pisa el acelerador” which is Spanish for step on the frigging gas. I’d learned this when my DPG team were riding shotgun on a Latin American president when he came to London for a state visit. I never thought I’d ever need to use it again. Well, I did now.

  The bloke dropped us off outside a semi-detached house on a new estate. I didn’t give him a tip.

  There was an SUV parked up outside and I reckoned it didn’t belong to our man. Carly was for steaming in but I held her back.

  ‘If he’s got company they’re not going to appreciate us gate crashing the party. So let’s just hang back until they’ve gone and then we can pay your mate a visit.’

  Carly wasn’t happy with this. ‘Yeah, but what if he’s already sold them whatever it is by then?’

  ‘Well, shit happens, hun. We can’t exactly stroll in and stop them by the force of our personalities, and we don’t have any other way of making them see reason, so I’d say we’ve just got to wait and hope for the best.’

  She did that folding-her-arms, pulling-a-sulky-face and tapping-her-foot thing which she always does when she’s pissed off with me but knows I’m right. I breathed a silent sigh of relief because I really didn’t want her charging in all gung ho ‘cos if she did I’d have to go in after her. Something was telling me that would be a very bad idea indeed.

  That something was right on the money because about two minutes later we heard a shot from inside the house. I grabbed Carly as she made to run to the front door and dragged her back into the shadows.

  Two guys came hurtling out of the house and jumped into the SUV. They gunned the engine and fishtailed it off down the road.

  As soon as they were out of sight I let Carly go and we sprinted up to the house. The front door was open so we stepped inside. Carly was calling out Stere’s name but there was no answer. Then we saw him lying on the living room floor. Blood was welling out of a nasty looking wound on his chest. I grabbed a couple of cushions and half sat him up. The bullet had punctured his lungs and he had what we in the trade call a sucking wound. Basically this means his chest cavity was drawing in air instead of his lungs and by the bubbling noises he was making it was clear that his lungs were rapidly filling up with blood. I stuffed a cushion onto the hole in his chest to try and stop it sucking in air so he could breathe a bit more easily. I pressed the other against the exit wound in his back. The guy looked at me with panic in his eyes but then he shook his head.

  ‘No,’ he gasped, ‘I want my angel to do it.’

  Carly took over and held the cushion on his chest with one hand while she stroked his hair with the other. She started to tell him he was going to be OK; that we were with British intelligence and that help was on its way — but he shushed her.

  ‘Listen to me,’ he said. ‘If I must die then I want to die in the arms of an angel and here you are.’

  It was all very touching and I’m not a callous guy, but I knew we only had a minute at most to find out who’d done this so I butted in.

  ‘Who shot you, Constantin and did you sell them your research?’

  He didn’t take his eyes off Carly.

  ‘It was Bratva, the russkaya mafiya. They took a memory stick that I told them held all my findings and then, instead of keeping their side of the bargain, they shot me. But the Bratva are greedy fools. The memory stick is a fake. The real one is in a locker in The Melting Pot Hostel in the Medina in Tangier. The key is in my pocket. Take it, angel. It is my gift to you. Tell Rashid that Constantin sent you.’ He swallowed and gasped. ‘That’s where I’ve been otherwise I would have found you sooner and maybe we could have been happy together.’

  Then blood streamed out of his mouth and his eyes stared at nothing. He was dead.

  Chapter 8

  Tears ran down Carly’s cheeks as she looked at Stere. Sometimes her smart-mouthed, street-wise mask slips and you get a brief glimpse of the girl she really is. But now wasn’t the time for sentiment. I pulled out the phone Greenstick had given me and hit speed dial.

  ‘Carly, honey, get the key, yeah?’

  She wiped the tears from her eyes with the back of her hand and sniffed hard but she did as I asked. Meanwhile I gave Greenstick an update on what had just happened.

  ‘Hey, you guys have done well,’ he said. ‘OK, so Stere’s dead but he was a busted flush anyhow. At least the bad guys haven’t got what they wanted and we have a fighting chance of getting the real flash drive. So have you guys got the key to this locker?’

  I was just about to give him chapter and verse when we heard a car draw up outside. ‘Sorry, gotta go. We’ve got company.’

  I cut the call and we legged it out of the back door before whoever it was came in the front. I heard voices as we slipped out into the garden and it sounded like they were talking in Hebrew. Not that I’m an expert but I’ve worked with a few guys from Mossad in the past and I would have bet folding money that’s who they were. Those guys had been hard as industrial diamonds and I really didn’t want to get up close and personal with this lot ‘cos I figured that they’d be out of the same compressor. So we clambered over the side wall and dropped down into the adjoining property. Luckily there was no one about and we carried on wall hopping until we climbed over the last one in the row and found ourselves on some scrub land at the end of the street.

  The car was still parked outside Stere’s house but I knew the men inside the house would be out again as soon as they’d given the place the once over. I couldn’t risk walking by it or being spotted hurrying away in the opposite direction so I put my arms around Carly, held her tight and nuzzled her neck.

  ‘What the heck are you playing at, Ryan!’

  ‘Work with me here, Carly. If those guys come out all they’re going to see is a couple getting it on. And that’s the last thing we�
��d be doing if we’d just assassinated somebody. If they think anything at all about us it’ll be that we should get a room.’

  Suddenly her leg was wrapped around me and her mouth was jammed on mine. Four guys had just come out of Constantin’s house. I put my hands on her arse and squeezed it. She ground her hips against me and we looked for all the world like just another couple who should have a bucket of cold water thrown over them to stop them screwing in the street. It happens all the time in Puerto Banus – the screwing that is, not the cold water remedy. Though, judging by the effect this charade was having on me, maybe it should.

  We heard car doors slam and the engine start. The car rolled down the street and stopped when it got alongside us. Carly took her tongue out of my mouth and scowled at the four men.

  ‘Why don’t you pervs fuck off and die,’ she screeched. ‘Ain’t you never seen people screwing before?’ She pulled at my hair. ‘Hey you, whatever your bleedin’ name is, tell ‘em to fuck off.’

  She sounded like the worst kind of slutty harridan. But I took my cue from her.

  ‘Yeah, fuck off!’ I shouted.

  The guys in the car exchanged glances and then shook their heads. They looked disgusted. I saw one mouth the words “Drunken English scum” at us and then they drove off. Sometimes the stereotypical view of how the English behave abroad works in your favour. It certainly had this time.

  Chapter 9

  Early the next morning we took the fast ferry from Tarifa over to Tangier. It was a choppy crossing. The wind whistles through the Straits of Gibraltar faster than a fart out of a drunk’s backside after a night on the lash, so it’s no surprise that that stretch of water is a mecca for windsurfers. However, it’s not so great if you’re prone to seasickness. Now I’m a good sailor but five minutes into the voyage Carly’s peaches-and-cream complexion was an unhealthy shade of green and her stroppiness setting was cranked up to eleven. She “hated fucking ferries”; the state of the waves was apparently all my fault and I’d chosen to go to Tangier by sea deliberately just to make her suffer. I pointed out that the hydrofoil was the quickest way to get to there and anyway it was only a 35 minute trip. She didn’t reply. She threw up.

  But she wasn’t the only one hurling into the complimentary sick bags. It seems that a whole bunch of our fellow passengers had also eaten sliced tomatoes and chopped carrots for breakfast – which was odd because all I remember Carly chomping down was a croissant.

  Surprisingly enough, Carly didn’t actually die on the trip even though she told me repeatedly that that was exactly what she was going to do. Though, by the time we arrived at the port, the stench of vomit was making even my cast iron stomach feel a tad on the queasy side.

  We disembarked. The heat hit us like a hammer, and we were mobbed by a scrum of touts, guides, beggars and people wanting to put snakes round our necks. It was a scene straight out of Dante’s Inferno but we forced our way through and into a blue taxi, which are the only ones to take if you don’t want to get ripped off, and told the driver to take us to the medina.

  We’d looked up the Melting Pot and knew that it was close to the Hotel Continental so the driver dropped us there. The medina was a nightmare of hustlers of every description and, even in her less than glamorous state, Carly still caused a stir. She ignored all their blandishments, remarks, leering expressions and lewd gestures and walked on with her eyes fixed on the ground. I took her arm and hurried us down some side streets to the hostel.

  Look, I know the touts, hustlers and con men in the medina are just trying to make a living, so you have to roll with it and try not to let it get to you, but it was freaking Carly out so I was mightily relieved when we finally rolled up at the Melting Pot.

  We ducked in through the low door and walked up to the guy at the reception desk.

  ‘Hi,’ I said, ‘We’re looking for Rashid.’

  With a reluctance that was palpable he dragged his eyes away from Carly and stared at me.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because Constantin Stere told us to ask for him.’

  There was a flash of recognition in the man’s eyes at the mention of Constantin’s name, but he didn’t welcome me like a long lost brother.

  ‘And why would this Constantin Stere do that?’

  ‘Because he gave me a key to a locker you’ve got here. There’s something inside it he wants me to have. It’s his gift to me.’ Carly smiled her sweet smile at the guy and I watched him melt.

  ‘Ah yes, I can see that Constantin would like you, mademoiselle. You are just his type of young lady.’

  Carly took the key from her bag and held it up. Rashid reached out and took it with a gallant smile. He then turned and opened one of the lockers from the bank on the wall behind him. He put his hand inside and took out the memory stick. He passed it over to her and gave her a little bow.

  ‘Here you are ma chère. It is all yours. But I wonder what it contains?’

  Carly opened her eyes wide. ‘Oh that’s what I can’t wait to find out. But, knowing Connie as I do, I can bet it’ll be worth it.’ She gave him a seductive little pout. ‘‘Cos Connie says that I am too!’ Then she winked at him. I watched him wince with lust. I hazarded a wild guess that Constantin and Rashid shared the same tastes when it came to women — which is probably why Rashid was his go to guy when he needed somewhere safe to stash the memory stick. I was prepared to bet they’d shared a few wild nights on the razzle together. I decided not to break the sad news that those nights were now a thing of the past for Constantin Stere.

  ‘Why don’t you guys stay and have a mint tea up on the roof terrace,’ he said. ‘You can enjoy the wonderful views of the city, smoke a shisha and relax.’

  We took him up on the offer, as neither of us fancied plunging back into the maelstrom of the medina quite so soon. He was right. The views were stunning but if we had been hoping to relax we were soon to be disappointed.

  Chapter 10

  I was about to give Greenstick a bell and tell him the good news when a bloke came and sat uninvited at our table. He was a big lad with sandy hair, a ruddy complexion and watery blue eyes. He was wearing a safari jacket and slacks, and you would have pegged him for an Englishman anywhere.

  He smiled in a slightly self-deprecating way. ‘Forgive the intrusion but I believe Miss Bloom has something that belongs to me.’

  Carly scowled and sat back. ‘Oh for fuck’s sake!’

  ‘OK, pal. Just exactly who are you and want do you think it is we’ve got of yours?’

  He sniffed. ‘The name’s Dalrymple and I’m with the SIS. You may have noticed me sitting in the reception area reading the paper when you got the clerk to open the locker.’ Then he grinned slyly. ‘Or maybe you were too intent on getting your hands on Constantin Stere’s memory stick to give me so much as a second glance.’

  Carly refused to look at him and drummed her fingertips on the table top.

  ‘So, how did you know about it?’ I asked.

  Dalrymple chortled. ‘Do you really think that someone as important as Constantin Stere can go missing and we wouldn’t know about it?’ He shook his head in amazement at our naivety. ‘I know dear old Crispian Hunt likes to kid himself that security in his department is as tight as a camel’s arse in a sandstorm, but it really isn’t. And when one of our little monitor elves at GCHQ picked up your call last night the powers that be decided I should toddle along and relieve you of the aforementioned USB before it falls into the wrong hands.’

  ‘And you’re gonna make us hand it over now?’ Carly snarled.

  ‘The bulge in my jacket pocket that’s pointing at you, Miss Bloom, does not mean I’m pleased to see you. It’s a gun with a silencer that I will not hesitate to use if you don’t do as you’re told.’ He glanced around the deserted rooftop terrace. ‘I think you’ll agree I could shoot you both and be long gone before anyone found you up here.’

  I gave Dalrymple a long hard stare. ‘Is the info on the memory stick really important enough f
or you to kill us to get it?’

  Dalrymple’s watery blue eyes now had an icy sheen to them. ‘Oh yes. Make no mistake about that, old chum.’

  ‘Oh for Christ’s sake.’ Carly slammed the memory stick down onto the table. ‘Here, have it dickhead, if it means so fucking much to you!’

  She stood up and flounced over to the balustrade at the end of the terrace. Dalrymple grinned and slipped the stick into his jacket pocket. ‘Tetchy little madam, isn’t she?’

  Carly turned back to us with her arms folded and a face as sour as curdled milk. I could see she was going into full on hellcat mode.

  ‘I told you not to phone yesterday, Ryan,’ she screeched, ‘but you never fucking listen!’

  She hadn’t said any such thing, but I went along with her.

  ‘I’ll listen when you’ve got something clever to say,’ I snapped back. ‘As it is I only bring you along for the shag.’

  Carly stared at me in molten fury. ‘Yeah? Is that so? Well let me tell you you’re as useless in bed as you are as a detective,’ she spat.

  ‘Yeah? Well maybe that’s because you’re frigid!’

  Dalrymple snorted with derision. ‘Look, much as I’d love to stay and listen to your lover’s tiff, I’ve got things to do and places to be, so I’ll take my leave of you.’ He pushed his seat back and stood up.

  ‘Hey, Ryan don’t you gimme that dirty look, you bastard! I’m not your cow of a wife!’ Carly came storming back to the table and bashed into Dalrymple. The two of them stumbled and Carly clung onto him. ‘Get out of my way, you git,’ she snarled as she pushed him away.

  For a second I thought he was going to hit her but instead he sneered at me. ‘Good luck with the little slapper, kid. I must say I don’t envy you.’ Then he turned on his heel and strode off down the stairs.