Dark Places

by Evans, Jon

  "So which one?" Hallam asked.

  That was the proverbial sixty-four-megabyte question, wasn't it? What would Morgan do? What was he after? We didn't know anything.

  No; scratch that. We knew he was here, and that he'd followed us up the gorge today. (Unless one of us was in cahoots with him and had told him everything?… no.) We knew he had taken Nicole not more than half an hour ago, when she had gone to take a shower. Not an easy thing to do, even if he was twice her size; Nicole was stubborn as hell and wouldn't stop fighting unless there was no alternative.

  And we knew who he was. Morgan Jackson. We knew him well.

  "I think he told us the truth," I said. "I'm pretty sure. But I can't be totally sure. I think we should split up. One group goes down the trail. The other group stays here, checks the hotels and checks the road towards the village. But I don't think they'll find anything. I think I've got a pretty good idea what he's up to."

  "What's that?" Lawrence asked.

  "I think he's got a gun," I said. That explained a lot. It explained how he had spirited Nicole away without a scream or a loud battle. I couldn't see him ambushing her, clubbing her over the head, and carrying her away from the hotel — then he would have a hundred pounds of deadweight to carry, and if he doesn't judge the blow just right he only stuns her or he hits her too hard and she's got blood streaming from her head, and we are in a fairly populated tourist zone, it's just too risky for him. And I couldn't see Nicole meekly giving in to him if he only had a knife, she would have screamed or kneed him in the balls or run for it or something, she knew we were only steps away. But a gun, that was different, that was a trump card. No sense screaming and getting us all killed right then and there.

  "And he's just planning to lure us up there and shoot us all," Lawrence said.

  "The simplest plan is most likely to be correct," I said. "And it doesn't get any simpler than that. Which is another good reason to split up, so that he doesn't just off us all."

  "So he has a gun," Steve said. He sat down. So did Lawrence, and then Hallam. Hallam looked a little better. I think now that we had defined the terms of the engagement, had reduced some of the uncertainty, it was easier for him. And if I was right, he still needed Nicole alive as bait, alive and ambulatory, and wouldn't have time to do anything awful to her. All good things.

  "I think so," I said.

  "And Nicole," Steve continued.

  I nodded.

  "And we don't."

  I nodded again.

  "Bit of a bloody problem, isn't it?" Steve said, and scratched his head.

  "I don't think there was any struggle," Hallam said all of a sudden. "The note was in our room. I expect he got her coming in or out of the shower and took her back to our room to get dressed."

  "So what do we do?" Lawrence asked me.

  What am I, the Answer Man? I wanted to shoot back. I wanted to defer to Hallam. But he was too rattled to think clearly. And maybe I was the right man to ask. I felt that fury rising inside me again. Since we'd entered Morocco I'd thought of facing Morgan with trepidation, thought of it as some kind of unspeakably awful chore that had to be performed, best done and finished and never thought of again. But now that it was at hand I felt very differently. Now I welcomed it. Now I relished the chance.

  "We have to decide who stays back here," I said. "And then, then I have got a plan. It's not a very good plan but it's all I've got. If anyone has a better idea, believe me, I would so much love to hear it right now."

  "What's your plan?" Hallam asked.

  I told them.

  Everybody agreed it wasn't a good plan. But nobody had a better.

  Chapter 26 Showdown At Big Sky

  Lawrence and I left the hotel and began the long walk up Todra Gorge. To that boomerang-shaped bend in the trail between two sheer cliffs. To the kill site. That was what I had mentally christened it. Somebody was going to die there tonight. I could very easily become one of the night's victims, but that thought didn't trouble me unduly. It was the thought of Nicole and my friends being killed that frightened me. Killed because of me, because of what I had told them and where I had brought them.

  We walked as fast as we dared. The moon was still hidden behind the towering walls of rock, and I illuminated our path with my Maglite flashlight. The same Maglite I had used to follow Morgan in Tetebatu, only two weeks ago in Indonesia. I was glad I had bought new batteries in London. They would last all the way to the kill site. Not all the way back, I didn't think, but if dead flashlights were our major problem at that stage I would be a happy man.

  We had already done a good deal of hiking earlier that day, and adrenaline rushes don't last for two hours, but I didn't get tired. I could probably have trekked all the way to the youth hostel and back. The Annapurna Circuit had been ideal training for this; my feet were hard as stone, blisters long since replaced by callous, and my legs were machines made of iron. Lawrence didn't seem weary either. He was one of those thin wiry indestructible types who never slows down.

  I entertained vague hopes of catching up with Morgan and Nicole before we got to the kill site, they probably only had a twenty-minute head start on us, but I didn't think it would really happen. He wasn't going to let her slow him down. Nicole was tough, and capable, and maybe she could get away from him in the dark. But I had my doubts. Morgan was bigger and stronger and faster, and if I was right, he had a gun. If it looked like she was going to get away he would shoot her without hesitation. And she knew that.

  It was quiet, incredibly quiet, and incredibly dark. It's easy to forget, living in a First World city where there is a constant background glow of street lights and office towers even at midnight, just how dark the night can be. A thin ribbon of stars was visible high above, between the walls of the gorge, but otherwise we might as well have been a mile deep in a coal mine. There were no sounds save for the ones we made; no wind, no animals, no trickle of water, nothing but the noise of our rustling clothes and our boots scraping on rock. It was cold, amazingly cold so soon after the egg-frying heat of the day. The desert was blistering by day but bitter at night.

  We walked, fast and quiet. At first there was nothing to talk about. But it was a long walk, I figured ninety minutes at our quick-march pace, and there was plenty of time to think. And the more I thought, the more a terrible suspicion began to creep into my mind.

  For a moment, back at the hotel, only a moment, I had wondered if one of us might be helping Morgan. I had immediately dismissed the idea. The notion of Hallam or Nicole aiding Morgan was simply insane. I was absolutely certain that Steve, for all of his ex-con past, was more likely to French-kiss a crocodile than do anything to unnecessarily harm anyone else, especially Nicole. And I had figured that surely Lawrence too was beyond suspicion. But now, as I walked and thought, dangerous facts began to array themselves in my mind, and I began to question that last conclusion.

  There was a reason Lawrence had been one of my original suspects. Not just because of his fling with Laura and his almost-overwrought grief after she died. He was a quiet man, closed off to the world. Funny and friendly, sure, but he had never shown much of what lay hidden beneath that layer of personality. I couldn't say that I knew what Lawrence was like, what made him tick, the way I knew the other three.

  Morgan could have sniffed out the threat to him here, ambushed and captured Nicole, all by himself. He was quite capable of it. But it would have been easier, much easier, if one of us had fed him information, had been on his side.

  In Indonesia, when Morgan and I found each other, when he was briefly rattled by my presence, the only other trucker he had mentioned by name was Lawrence.

  The night Laura had died, Lawrence had gone off with Morgan to the nearby town of Limbe. They had left together. And Lawrence hadn't been seen until the next morning.

  Nothing conclusive. Far from it. Suspicious. That was all. Surely there was no reason, no conceivable reason, for Lawrence to aid Morgan.

  Unless Lawrence too
was a member of The Bull.

  For a moment I felt like my legs were marching along by themselves, as if the connection between my muscles and by mind had been severed. A cold trickle of sweat began to seep down my back. It added up. I wanted to pretend it did not, but it all added up. Nothing conclusive. But try as I might I couldn't think of any way to disprove my terrible new theory. It was entirely consistent with the facts. And if it was true, then we were walking straight into an inescapable trap.

  I wanted to stop, think, change the plan. But it was too late. We had to keep going despite my newfound doubts. There was no time to come up with some excuse to change things so that Lawrence stayed behind at the hotel. Not if we were going to save Nicole. The only thing I could do, the thing I had to do, was somehow try to work out whether Lawrence was trustworthy before we made it to the kill site.

  I was tempted to just stop and ask him straight out. The surprise might force a revelation from him. But if it didn't, and if he was guilty, then he would be wise to my suspicion. Maybe it would be better to leave him guessing.

  "Lawrence," I said.

  "Yeah."

  "How do you think he figured it out?"

  A pause. "No idea, mate. No fucking idea."

  "He must have been suspicious. Maybe he traced our company and found out it didn't exist. He must have been following us right from the start. It's like he was watching everything we did."

  "Nothing we can do about it now. Hope and pray, mate, that's all."

  "What about Steve?" I asked.

  Lawrence's pace faltered. "What about him?"

  "What if he gave us up?"

  "Steve? What in Christ's name are you talking about?"

  "He's an ex-con. I don't know half of what he's been involved in. Neither do you. He keeps it all pretty shady. What if he's working with Morgan? What if he's part of The Bull?" If Lawrence was guilty he would be eager to deflect suspicion elsewhere.

  "Your nerves are getting to you, mate," Lawrence warned. "Try and stay cool. For Nic's sake. There's no fucking way. You know that. Steve part of The Bull? That's as likely as —" He stopped abruptly.

  I waited a moment, then said "What?"

  "You're a subtle motherfucker, aren't you?"

  I didn't know what to say to that.

  "You're not really asking about Steve." It wasn't a question.

  I swallowed. "No."

  Lawrence came to a full stop. After a moment so did I.

  "Look at me," he said, his voice taut and intense. "Shine the light right in my fucking face."

  I did so. Every muscle on his face was rigid, etched with tension and emotion.

  "I loved her too," he said. "At least as much as you did. At least as much."

  We stared at each other for a moment.

  "I'm sorry," I said, quietly, inadequately.

  "Fuck it." He shook his head. "Let's move."

  For the next hour we walked in silence.

  * * *

  "That's far enough, boys," Morgan called out, and we both started with dismay and took a few quick steps back. A bright light winked into existence, a flashlight beam, and I covered my eyes as he shined it at my face. This wasn't supposed to happen, we were supposed to hear them before we reached them and take at least partial cover behind a rock. I waited hopelessly for him to shoot.

  He didn't, and I took advantage of the delay to unscrew the head of my Maglite, turning it from a flashlight into a lamp. Even after a ninety-minute trek the light was bright enough to illuminate the scene. We were about ten feet past the turn into the fifty-foot straightaway that we had selected. The trail here was about eight feet wide. About midway there was a big boulder against the cliff face, maybe five feet in diameter, and Morgan leaned on the other side of it, using it for cover. He had his Maglite in one hand and, as expected, a sleek black handgun in the other. An automatic. We could barely see his face, it appeared only in outline, except for the whites of his eyes and his pale toothy grin.

  A few feet in front of him, between him and us, Nicole sat beside the boulder with her back to the cliff face, her arms tied behind her, gagged with some kind of rag. Like Laura had been gagged. Nicole seemed unhurt. She swiveled her head back and forth at us and Morgan, eyes wide.

  "Hands up," Morgan said nonchalantly, and we complied. "Now where are the others?"

  "They're not here," I said. My mouth was dry but my voice was steady.

  "Don't fuck around, Woodsie. You want to see her get a kneecapping and have this conversation over a nice soothing soundtrack of screams?" He aimed his gun at Nicole's knee. She froze and closed her eyes.

  "They're not fucking here," Lawrence grated. "We thought you were lying, you fucking bastard cunt. We thought you'd gone the other way."

  Morgan looked at us both, shone his light at our faces again, and then nodded regretfully and lowered the gun. "Aye. Suddenly realized when I got here that that might happen. The boy who cried wolf, hey? O ye of little faith. Tis a pity Hallam didn't join you. I had this delicious notion of making the rape and torture of his wife the last thing he saw in his life. Still, like Meat Loaf didn't say, three out of five ain't bad. Now why don't the two of you get down on your knees like good little boys? Don't like seeing you all ambulatory and all. You might get some crazy ideas in your heads about rushing me or running away and, well, you know, it's like a dinner party. After all this preparation you'd hate for some cunt to get stupid and ruin it all."

  We dropped to our knees, encouraged by his gun.

  "That's better," he said. "Bit surprised, were you? Bit shocked to get that note from your old mate Morgan? Old Hallam, old king of the heap, he was a bit taken aback I reckon?" He laughed. "Don't think much of your old mate's mental capacities, do you? Figured I was a bit slow on the uptake, eh Woodsie? Figured if some random stranger called me up and offered me a practically complimentary trip I'd just sign up and be damned? Didn't think a few alarm bells might start ringing in the old cranium, thinking, crikey, this sure is coming thick and fast after I nearly separated old Woodsie's head from his shoulders, isn't it? I reckon I haven't got your lightning computer mind, Woodsie, but I can put a thought or two together when I need to, aye? I can keep a step ahead of you when needs be."

  "Did you bring the gun from England?" I asked.

  "From England?" He chuckled. Clearly he was relishing every word of this. "Christ on a pogo stick, they don't have guns in England, Paul, I would have thought you would have known that. Really, if you're going to go shopping for a gun, an illegal gun mind you, d'you reckon you'd seek one out in London or Tangiers? Pretty simple fucking question if you ask me. You wouldn't believe how easy it is to buy a gun in this country. But the haggling, that you probably would believe. The sales clerks in this country's supermarkets of sinful goods, Christ, what tossers. Almost wasn't worth it. Good quality, though. Genuine original Glock manufacture, thirteen bullets in the clip. More than enough to play around with. I reckon you're both desperately praying for a misfire or summat. Well, pray on. Those Czechs make quality killing machines, I can assure you whole-fucking-heartedly."

  "You are so fucked in the head," Lawrence muttered. Morgan's face tightened and he swung the gun to bear on Lawrence. I stiffened. Wrong approach.

  "You were on the other bus, weren't you?" I asked quickly. "Last night."

  Morgan glared at me, then back at Lawrence, then shook his head and lowered the gun again. "A moment, Paul," he said, "I pray your indulgence for a wee moment while I invite our other guest to the party. I have been unforgivably rude." He stepped out from behind the boulder, keeping the gun pointed in our general direction, and untied the gag from Nicole's mouth. His shaved head gleamed in the light, and he seemed absolutely enormous next to Nicole, like a member of a giant alien species. I wondered if even a professional soldier like Hallam could take him in a struggle. He retreated back behind the boulder as Nicole wrinkled her face and spat on the ground.

  "I'm sorry," she said to us, dully. "I'm so sorry."
/>   "It's not your fault," Lawrence said urgently. "Nic. It's okay."

  "I'm so sorry," she repeated. She knew it was all over, I could tell. She knew that she was going to die in a few minutes. That we would all die in a few minutes, once Morgan was finished crowing and gloating. I thought she might be right.

  But we still had a chance. I could see it from where I knelt near the edge of the trail. Twenty feet below me, up close against the sheer cliff face, about midway between myself and Morgan, was a tiny spark of light. It moved slowly, in quick bobbing motions punctuated by periods of stillness, towards Morgan. It was Hallam. He had followed just behind Lawrence and me, and now he climbed sideways beneath us, illuminating each new hold with the mini-Maglite he held in his mouth, trying desperately to stay silent and invisible while up above a madman gloated about the upcoming rape and torture and murder of his wife. He was an expert climber but I knew this had to be fantastically difficult, climbing barefoot, without chalk or any gear, through the night. A single mistake and he would plummet to his death.

  "Now then," Morgan said. "Not to interrupt your spectacularly dull conversation, but the question was, my whereabouts last night, and yes indeed I was on the other bus last night. Actually I thought you might have seen me, Woodsie. Was a little concerned that my master plan had been rumbled. When your bus passed mine I looked out the window and I thought you were looking straight back and I was more than a little concerned. Most relieved that you didn't see me."

  "Not consciously," I said, thinking of the dream I had had.

  "Any more questions, Woodsie old boy?" he asked. "Any more facts you desperately need cleared up before I dispatch you to the great hereafter? Time's a-wasting, you know."

  "One or two," I said, desperately trying to think of some. We had to keep him talking long enough for Hallam to climb past Morgan and come up behind him. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Lawrence reaching out along the ground, closing his fist around a baseball-sized stone while Morgan's attention was on me. "Those notes you leave, they're not in your writing."