“Let’s go,” he said.
They all made their way into the reception area. Dennis Maloney waved at the male clerk behind the check-in desk, who was arguing with a customer.
The clerk smiled at Maloney and winked in acknowledgement. The customer in front of him saw the pleasant exchanges and burst into a fit of angry arguing. The last words Ahmad Fadel heard as he left the room and entered the lift was, “If there is no room, why did you just let him in?” expelled from breathless and frustrated lungs.
Fadel smiled at the customer’s complaints and watched the buttons light up for the various floors. His room was on the eighth. There he would wash, dress, eat and relax. He had a long day ahead of him.
35
The two hours dragged by. Conversation in the car was limited; a thick cloud of anxiety and apprehension killed any desire to start a conversation. For the most of the journey, Jester’s head had been slumped against his left shoulder, his eyes lazily staring out of the window. Only the sound of the engine and the noise of the road broke the awkward silence. Every now and then, stopping at traffic lights or waiting for a line of school children to cross the road, Edinburgh would turn to Jester, utter a few words, receive a few mumbles in reply and then they’d fall silent.
A few miles from the hotel, Jester – after seeing it sign-posted – turned to the driver. “How are we going to do this?” he asked. They hadn’t discussed how they would get into the hotel and what they would do whilst inside.
Charles looked across at him, his face a picture of worry, his temple coated in cold sweat. “I … I’m not sure,” he stuttered.
“You okay?” Matthew asked.
“I’m fine,” Charles replied, faked composure in his voice. “Just a little worried, that’s all,” he explained, his eyes on the road.
“So what are we going to do?” Jester wanted to know.
Charles pondered on the question, his mind raking through the possibilities. “You want to get your hands on Fadel, right?” he asked.
“Of course,” Matthew said with a great deal of anticipation. “I want to rip that bastard’s head off.”
“Well, first we need to isolate him, get him on his own.”
“I don’t care if he’s on his own or not,” Matthew said.
Charles nodded slowly. “I don’t want to be around when you do it,” he said eventually, his voice timid.
“What?”
“If you’re going to kill him, I want no part. I’m not a murderer.”
“According to the paper, you are,” Jester smiled. “What about Chambers? Don’t you want a piece of him?”
“Possibly,” Charles said. “But I won’t kill anyone.”
“Fair enough,” Matthew agreed. “So, how are we going to do this then?”
“First we get to the hotel. We can take it from there.”
“We can’t just walk in,” Matthew argued. “They’ll recognise us.”
“If we do this quickly enough, it won’t matter if they see us or not. But just in case, you keep your face hidden and I’ll do the talking. I’ll book the room.”
“A room? Why do we need a bloody room?”
Charles thought about this before his answered. “We can’t just walk around the hotel without booking a room. They’ll get suspicious.”
“Fair enough,” Matthew shrugged his shoulders. “How are we going to get the guns in?”
“What guns?”
“In the back,” Jester hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “The machine guns we nicked from the assassins back at the cabin.”
Charles raised his eyebrows, a motion of shock or worry, Jester couldn’t decide. “Smuggle them in a bag,” he said after a long pause. “There’s a sports bag in the boot.”
Jester nodded, “Pull over,” he instructed. “We can do that now.”
He pulled over to the curb on an empty street, just next to a phone booth. Charles popped open the boot. Jester took out the sports bag and loaded the guns inside. He then climbed back into the front seat, the bag on his lap, the rimmed cap from the cabin owner on his head. “I can use this.” He tapped the rim of the hat. “If I keep my head down,” he lowered his head to demonstrate, the rim of the hat shaded his whole face, “I might get inside unnoticed.”
He picked up the newspaper from the back seat, spread it out in front of him and lowered his head again. “See,” he said. The view of his face was blocked by the newspaper. Anyone who looked over the newspaper to catch a glimpse of the reader would only see the rim of the cap.
Charles nodded, smiling. “It might just work,” he agreed.
“If not, I’ll take one of the guns, run to the conference room and gun down every fucker in there,” Jester said with a grin.
Charles laughed briefly, pausing when he realised Jester wasn’t joking.
***
They parked outside of the hotel at 10:10 a.m. Charles shut off the engine and looked across at Jester. “You ready?”
Jester nodded and they climbed out of the car. The cool morning air felt fresh on Matthew’s tired flesh.
“May I take your car, sir?” a valet appeared next to them, a smile on his face.
Charles dropped the car keys onto the valet’s open palm without looking at him. “Let’s go.” They both walked up the flight of concrete steps. At the top, they were greeted by a well-dressed doorman who opened the glass door to allow them through. When they stepped into the reception, Jester handed the bag of assault rifles to Charles and pulled out the newspaper, spreading it on a random page and ducking his face inside.
There were no customers inside, despite the many lounge chairs and coffee tables. Standing behind a bar at the far end of the room was a woman slowly cleaning a pint glass, her eyes riveted by the sight of the newcomers.
Charles walked straight up to the desk and, with his head held low, he asked to book a room. The man behind the desk didn’t even check the log book, and he never tried to determine the features of his new guests. “How long will you be staying?” he asked, his eyes wandering.
“Just one night, please.” Charles pulled a wad of cash, counted the correct amount, handed it over and received the key card to their room. As soon as it fell into his hand, he moved away from the reception desk, quickly thanking the man behind it.
“That was a lot easier than I expected,” Jester said as the pair entered the lift.
Charles didn’t reply. He reached out and poked their floor number. The doors slid shut and the lift jolted into action.
“Is it me, or is this place unusually empty?” Jester noted. When the man at reception had reached for their room key, Jester had peeked above the top of the newspaper and noted that the board which displayed all the key cards for all the rooms was nearly full.
“Probably something to do with Fadel,” Charles said. “Maybe he wants an empty hotel. Keep people out of his business and whatnot.”
Jester nodded, his mind running through that idea. His eyes flickered to the numbers displayed next to the elevator door. They flashed to indicate which floor they passed, 2, 3, 4. Jester turned to Charles. “Then why did they let us in?” he wanted to know.
The number 5 lit up and a ‘ping’ melody sounded as the doors slid open.
“I’m not sure,” Charles said distantly as they left the elevator. They were in a corridor, lined with a plush, red and black patterned carpet. The walls, a delicate shade of red, were decorated with art prints of famous paintings from history’s finest artists.
The long corridor was flanked with doors, all of them numbered. The one they sought was the first room on the left, room 5A1. Charles checked and rechecked the name plate above the door before swiping the card in the slot. A mechanical click sounded and the door unlocked.
He ushered Jester into the room, checked up and down the corridor and then walked through the door himself, locking it behind him.
“Nice.” Matthew dropped the bag onto the floor and began to explore the room ... cosy décor fused with mo
dern furniture and kissed by the lips of luxury. The bed was a king-size four-poster covered in cream silk sheets that were devoid of any creases or offensive blemishes.
Across from the bed on a slick metallic stand was a forty inch LCD television, currently tuned in to a pay-per-view channel offering expensive films, porn and live sporting events at the touch of a button. At the back of the room was a walk-in wardrobe, its sliding doors painted silver, matching the space age finesse of the room.
“This is really fucking nice,” Jester said again. He walked through to the bathroom, separated by a sliding door. “They have a fucking Jacuzzi,” Jester shouted. “And …” he paused, “what the fuck is this?”
Charles frowned and walked into the en-suite bathroom.
“It’s a toilet for little people,” Jester said smiling.
“I think it’s a bidet,” Charles corrected, looking down at the ceramic object.
Jester shrugged his shoulders and left the bathroom. He sat himself down on the bed, found the remote control and tuned into a music channel. A half-dressed blonde girl danced alongside topless, muscular men, her movements provocative and sexy, her voice loud and full of energy.
Charles stood with his hands in his pockets, his face a picture of nervousness.
“Sit down,” Jester said, “we have two hours to kill.” He paused and smiled. “Literally.”
Charles frowned at the comment and stayed upright, rigid. “This is a big deal,” he said. “You don’t seem to be taking this seriously.”
“I have nothing to lose,” Jester said. “I don’t need to take things seriously. Would you prefer it if I did?”
“No,” Charles was quick to reply. “I just find it …” He trailed off.
“Weird, yeah, I know,” Jester finished. The song finished, the sexy blonde replaced by adverts. Switching channels, he found a documentary about survival, dropped the remote on the bed, scuttled up to the headboard and rested his back on the pillows.
“You should get some sleep,” Charles said. “We both should. We’ll need the rest.”
“Agreed,” Jester nodded, his eye slowly closing.
36
Jester found himself alone, lost in darkness. He was in a small room, the four walls tight and getting tighter, closing in on him.
He stood in the corner, his mind scared, worried, his body carefree. Inside he felt like crying. An endless pit of worry had dug itself deep inside. He could see the inside of his mind. He could see the worries and the horrors in pure form.
In the corner of his mind, Jennifer Wilkinson sat huddled up in the foetal position, her hands and legs bound with rope, black tape over her face.
In the far reaches of his subconscious, past the darkened corner where Jennifer lay, Darren Whittall – the fat man from the warehouse – the cabin owner, and the two hit men all stood, rigid and expressionless, their eyes on Matthew.
On the outside he felt fine. Leaving the confines of his mind, Jester found himself back inside the room. The walls had grown tighter, closer. There was a door now, solid steel, reinforced and locked, but there was a door and in his eyes the door was hope. He flung his body at the door. He hit it like a rubber ball and bounced off, crashing to the floor with a thud.
He climbed back to his feet and attacked the door, throwing everything at it. Every muscle in every limb worked; he kicked it, he slammed his shoulder into it, he thumped it and he shoved it. It still didn’t move.
Taking a step back, Jester waited until he found his breath again. He noted that the walls were closer than before and his realisation forced them even closer.
Matthew dived at the door, but all his attempts, all his efforts couldn’t knock it from its hinges. He continued to try. The door wasn’t moving, but neither was Jester. As long as the walls encroached, he would try to break down the door.
The hard concrete walls closed in on him until he could feel them pressuring him from either shoulder. Screaming in agony, his feet still trying to kick the door down, he closed his eyes and waited for the pain.
Jester woke with a start. He was breathless, his face red, his mouth dry.
“Holy shit,” he mumbled, his voice coarse.
He pulled his sleeve over his wrist and then drew his wrist across his forehead, wiping away the sweat that had formed. He was still in the hotel room. The television was still tuned into the documentary channel, now displaying a program about global warming.
He picked up the remote control and switched it off. He collected his thoughts and then slowly rose from the bed. His eyes flickered across to a digital clock next to the television. The time read 11:55. The meeting was due to begin in five minutes.
He made his way over to the sports bag. It was on the floor in the centre of the room where he had left it.
“Charlie!” he shouted. He knelt down and unzipped the bag. “Where are you–” he paused, his mouth still open. “What the fuck …”
The guns weren’t in the bag, and neither were the spare magazines. The bag was empty besides a sheet of paper, neatly folded and placed at the bottom. ‘Matthew’ had been written across one side of the note.
He took the piece of paper out of the bag, returned to the bed and sat himself down on the edge. He unfolded it and began to read the hastily scribbled words.
Dear Matthew.
I would like to offer my deepest and sincerest apologies. You are a strong, empathetic man with a good heart. The last few days have taken a lot out of you. It would drive any man insane. You have stayed strong, and I respect that.
You may be wondering where I have gone or where the guns have gone. If that is the case, I am afraid I can’t answer your first question but will gladly answer the second. I have the guns. I took them away. Your idea to come here and kill Fadel wasn’t actually your idea. It was a set-up – the newspaper, the article, the fugitive nonsense. I didn’t bring you here to end the game, Matthew. I brought you here to start it.
Money makes the world go round. Thanks to you, I am set for life. I didn’t lie to you about Chambers, or my wife for that matter. I was a bigger part in this game than you could have ever dreamed. I was offered a large sum of money to bring you here and then leave the country, leaving my wife and kids behind. Chambers doesn’t want me around his family anymore, and for the money he paid me, I’ll gladly stay away. Being a fugitive has its disadvantages, of course, but I can buy my way through life now.
So it’s thank you and goodbye. Thank you for helping me and thank you for opening my eyes. I’ve seen courage in the face of adversity, and I wish you luck. You’re going to need it.
This is the game, Matthew. The hotel is empty. Every room, every crevice has been fitted with cameras. Your exploits over the next few hours will be streamed to an audience of thousands via an encrypted website.
There are five hit men in the hotel, Matthew; all of them are after you. You see, this is the game, this is the system. However and wherever you die, thousands will see, and billions of pounds will exchange hands. There is no way for you to escape. The windows have been sealed and barred, and the doors are blocked by reinforced steel; if you want to escape, you have to kill.
I will make my last words to you useful words. Right now you are being watched. They can see you reading. They know I wrote this letter and know of its contents, but this bit can be between the two of us; advice from old friend to old friend.
The control room is in the hotel, locked and guarded in a room you are never supposed to see. In that room, Ahmad Fadel, Mark Chambers and the man Dennis Maloney, who ordered the slaughter of your girlfriend, all sit, waiting on your actions. You asked to be brought to Fadel. You wanted your chance at vengeance. Here he is; here is your chance.
The games begins at twelve.
Charles Edinburgh
The letter fell from Jester’s grasp and floated to the floor. He turned quickly, his eyes on the clock, 11:58. He jumped up from the bed and headed for the door.
37
In the confer
ence room, Mark Chambers held out his glass as Fadel’s butler filled it with brandy. Next to him, Dennis Maloney checked his watch. “Two minutes before we let the hitters loose,” he said.
In the corner, Ahmad Fadel smiled, his eyes riveted by the man on screen who was reading a letter with horror in his eyes. He ran his eyes over the other screens. There were over a hundred, all fitted to the far wall. They showed various angles of the hotel: the bedrooms, games room, bathrooms, even the sauna. Every aspect had been covered.
Running Stupid: (Mystery Series) Page 22