by Andy Remic
Her heart was still hammering as she contemplated the figure she had witnessed; clad in grey, wearing some sort of lower face mask and with dull copper eyes. The hair was non-existent - shaved to the skull. The figure had seemed relaxed and yet—
Threatening.
Very, very threatening.
Jessica shivered, and sipped again at her brandy.
Who was the guard?
Must have been some new kind of security drafted in to watch over the QIII in this late stage of development. But weren’t all the other security measures good enough? Weren’t the electrified fences, the armed guards, the huge concrete walls and steel doors and electronic passes -weren’t these enough to protect this revolutionary new processor?
But of course.
Jessica laughed softly, bitterly, to herself, and stared out over the desert through the monitor. Spiral_H had been hit. Detonated. Wiped from the face of the Earth.
Pondering her strange and very near encounter, Jessica took another drink of the brandy, enjoying the hot fire in her throat. A word crept into the corners of her mind; a word she had once overheard, when barging in during a fit of temper, into Count Feuchter’s office and an ops meeting between Feuchter, Durell and Adams ...
‘The Nex...’
They had stared at her. She had apologised and retreated.
But now; now the word seemed to come unbidden from Jessica’s forgotten vaults of memory. It seemed to fit. Nex. A Nex. The Nex? Was Nex the name of a person? A guard? A killer?
She shivered, realising that she had drunk a little too much, and then downed the rest of the brandy in one.
She decided she would ask Adams in the morning.
Yes; a good idea; he would explain the Nex.
Maybe.
CHAPTER 10
FLIGHT
Carter hit the snow with Kade screaming in his brain. Kade’s words were so anger-filled as to be unfathomable; Kade’s hatred was a tangible thing and as his energy fled him so a cold detachment took his soul in its fist and gave him a nasty squeeze ...
‘Fight,’ howled Kade in his brain.
‘Fuck you, Carter, don’t let me die like this! Fight!’
But Carter could not; for the briefest of seconds, he could not; it was as if all the worst moments of his life had been distilled, a potent liquor of horror with the power to drop him instantly. Without knowing it, he changed mags by sense of touch in his pocket as the footsteps came close and his brain seized and the footsteps suddenly increased in pace and—
‘Roll!’ screamed Kade.
Carter rolled, the Browning out and in his hand and pumping bullets up into the night sky—
A kick sent the weapon spinning into the darkness. ‘Let me,’ came the soothing voice of Kade.
‘Fuck you,’ snarled Carter.
An engine started - the BMW. The Nex’s head snapped left - a sudden-impact movement, so fast that Carter’s eyes could not follow. He leaped, clumsily, arms encircling the attacker, and they both hit the ground. Carter slammed both arms down, the heels of his hands smashing into the Nex’s head. One blow, two, three, four, five. He felt something break within the mask—
The BMW, pluming smoke, accelerated away from the scene.
Carter staggered up.
The assassin’s foot lashed up into Carter’s groin and he stumbled back; the scene flashed red, there was a screech of brakes, tyres crunching snow, brakelights illuminating the snow in a soft red glow. Exhaust fumes jettisoned like dragon smoke.
Carter looked up into the Nex’s face—
Grey-clad. Unreadable—
But the eyes. The eyes were copper, glowing in the BMW’s red lights.
The figure lifted its arms above its head, as if in some martial-art preparatory stance. Carter scrambled up and the figure’s stare fixed on him, eyes boring through him, and he grinned, bloodstained teeth bared through thick strings of saliva. ‘You fucking surprised, motherfucker?’ he snarled.
‘We have danced for long enough,’ came the soft voice.
From hidden arm-sheaths the assassin drew two short black blades and lowered his head. Carter pulled his own darkened blade from his boot and spat blood into the snow.
‘But I like the dance,’ said Carter. ‘It’s just getting interesting. And you want to fight with knives ... I will cut you so fine, my boy ...’
The BMW revved, plumes spitting. Carter could see Natasha looking back over the seat; the white reverse lights came on and Carter understood...
The Nex charged—
They clashed, blades flashing—
Carter came away with blood weeping down his bicep. He felt the pulse of freed muscle within sliced skin and the smile fell from his lips. They circled and Carter edged the Nex closer—
Carter charged - as Natasha floored the BMW’s accelerator and the engine screamed high and loud. The assassin slashed left and right, then turned - Carter dived left.
The high boot of the BMW hammered into the assassin; the body was plucked from the air and tossed away in a tangle of limbs to collide with the wall of the house. The knives fell dark and bloody to the snow. The Nex collapsed in a tightly curled broken heap.
Carter - breathing hard - looked slowly to the left at the tyre merely two inches from his nose. He dragged himself to his feet and glared at Natasha through the smashed window.
‘You trying to kill me?’
‘Get in,’ she hissed, pain lancing lines across her face.
‘I want my gun. And I want to check our friend there—’
‘Get in!’ screamed Natasha.
Carter turned, and his jaw dropped. The Nex had rolled to his - or her - feet. Those copper eyes met Carter’s gaze and he caught a glimpse of black; the Nex sprinted forward, a blur of motion powering across the snow ... Carter dived, scooping up the battered Browning, then dragged open the door and sprawled full length across the back seat of the BMW as Natasha hit the accelerator. Spitting snow, the car screamed down the track, sliding left and right, bouncing from a fence and then shooting off down the darkened lane with lights suddenly extinguished—
Carter stared out of the back window.
The Nex was close, copper eyes burning into his own. A gloved hand reached out, brushed the boot and Carter swallowed, hard, as the BMW’s engine screamed and Natasha’s foot floored the accelerator pedal with a harsh stab ...
The Nex slowed, then halted and stood, arms limp by its sides, copper eyes watching them flee. The would-be assassin was not panting, nor showing any signs of exertion.
‘I don’t fucking believe that,’ said Carter.
‘Are you hurt?’
‘I’m hurting all right,’ he said. ‘How about you?’
‘I’m bleeding. I think I might...’
The car swerved. Carter clambered into the front seat, and helped Natasha guide the car to the side of the road. They swapped positions, and Natasha held a sterile dressing pad to her reopened shoulder wound as Carter, hands slippery with his own blood, gunned the 4-litre vehicle’s engine and they sped off into the darkness.
Carter drove at high speed, and after thirty minutes left the snowbound highways behind, tyres gripping tarmac once more, the BMW purring in its natural environment. He found a small side road, and drove into the darkness. Finding a secluded copse beyond a fence and a heavy galvanised gate, he jumped out, leaving the engine running. He unlatched the cold metal, then stared around at the silent dark woods, eerie and watching. The silence made him shiver, and the darkness was so complete that it formed an infinite horizontal void; Carter hurried back to the light and warmth of his mobile sanctuary. He eased the BMW over woodland debris and killed the engine, then the headlights.
‘Let’s take a look at you.’
Carter helped Natasha onto the back seat and checked the reopened gunshot wound. It had clotted, the bleeding nothing more than a trickle now. Natasha’s face was grey with pain.
‘I’m sorry, I have no painkillers,’ said Carter, brushing a stran
d of hair from the woman’s brow.
‘That’s OK,’ she said, smiling. She coughed, and winced. Carter ran his hand through her hair, then eased his own jacket free with difficulty, his broken finger stabbing anger at his every movement, his ribs grinding and biting him inside, clicking within the cavity of his chest. He checked the knife wound across his bicep; this too had clotted and had almost ceased bleeding. He eased the flesh open - could see a muscle part within. Blood started to seep once more and, ripping a strip from his thick woollen shirt, he tied a makeshift bandage around the wound. Blood soaked it immediately.
‘That needs attention,’ said Natasha.
‘I don’t dare risk the hospitals. They could be watching.’
‘You think so?’
‘I know so. Come on, we’ll stop at a motorway service station; pick up some provisions. How much cash have you got on you?’
‘None. What about plastic?’
‘No good. It leaves a trail. I’ve only got a couple of hundred - it will have to be enough.’
‘Why don’t we leave a false trail?’ said Natasha. ‘Draw a shitload of cash out of a machine - let them tag us, tag our location - and then switch directions?’
Carter considered this, scratching at his stubble. They would need money, wherever they were going. He nodded, smiling, and, bending down, kissed Natasha on the cheek.
‘Thanks for saving my life,’ he said. ‘Now we’re even.’
Natasha’s arm came up and pulled his head down to her. They kissed again, tongues dancing, and for a couple of seconds the world spiralled down into nothing more than this intimate moment.
Carter pulled away, his gaze locked to hers.
‘Come on. We have to get moving.’
‘Can’t we rest here? For the night?’
‘No. We have to put some serious distance between that meat fucker and us. You understand?’
‘Yeah. Can I sleep?’
‘With my blessing,’ said Carter, smiling. He kissed her again, passed her his coat and then climbed into the front seat. He started the huge engine and turned the heater up. He checked the fuel gauge, then reversed slowly from the copse, tyres crunching twigs, and out onto the lane.
‘Where are we going?’ said Natasha sleepily, snuggling under coats against the raping wind, which violated the cabin through the recently smashed windows.
‘I’ll tell you when we get there.’
‘Do we have to fly?’
‘Yes.’
‘I thought you hated flying?’
‘I do.’
‘Oh.’ Natasha snuggled against the rolled-up jacket and closed her eyes. Carter angled the rear-view mirror and watched her sleep as he drove through the darkness; the cool air from the smashed windows made him shiver occasionally as mile after mile of catseyes and the occasional midnight traveller sped by in a blur.
The horn beeped.
Carter blinked. Looked up, over the BMW’s steering wheel. Heavy rain pounded the bonnet and roof, spitting through the smashed side windows. The windscreen was awash. Thunder boomed in the dark night sky; he readjusted his mirror and saw the headlights glowing behind him like yellow eyes. The horn blared again.
‘OK, OK,’ hissed Carter. He flicked on the wipers, eased up on the clutch and took the BMW around the roundabout and off towards the south - towards the Lake District and Lancaster beyond. Glasgow was now a ghost in the night behind him...
He drove on bitterly through the rain.
It was an hour after dawn when Carter pulled the BMW into the lay-by. An hour earlier had seen him buying supplies in a service station - everything from crisps and Coke through to travel medical kits containing needles, sterile dressings and emergency airways, T-shirts that weren’t stained in blood and some mysterious items which he kept locked away in plastic bags. Now, both bandaged, scrubbed in the service-station toilets, and clad in garish coloured T-shirts, they looked at one another and Natasha ran a hand through her hair. She’d just taken some Ibuprofen - the maximum dose - but was obviously still in quite some pain ...
‘What now?’
‘We steal a plane.’
‘Steal a ... you are joking?’
‘Not at all,’ said Carter grimly. ‘We can’t risk requesting air transport from Spiral, and over the wire, on the other side of these trees, is an MoD airbase. A special airbase where they keep some of Spiral’s aircraft and other vehicles.’
‘Carter,’ said Natasha slowly, ‘there will be armed guards. Dogs. We’ve only got one gun between us.’
‘One gun is enough. I find in these situations that one gun tends to breed more guns.’
‘And you think you can fly a ... well, whatever it is you want to steal?’
‘Of course. It’s been a few years, I haven’t flown since Egypt. But they’re all the fucking same. Joystick. Rudder. Flaps. Landing gear. Hey, come on, liven up - it’s not as if we’ve been betrayed by everything we have come to know and trust and believe in. Why the grim smile?’
‘You’re mad,’ said Natasha slowly. ‘And tell me you don’t still plan to visit Gol.’
‘Yeah, I’m sorry, Nats - but I do. Gol can help us.’
‘He will shoot us. Well, you,’ she corrected.
‘Don’t overestimate him. The big oaf had a heart of gold...’
‘Yes,’ said Natasha slowly. ‘But remember? Remember when you fucking shot him ... you can’t possibly have forgotten?’
Carter shrugged. ‘It was for the best - he’ll understand,’ came the simple reply. ‘He’s still alive, isn’t he?’
Natasha tutted. ‘Man, have you got a death wish?’ She sighed, and rubbed at her tired pain-filled eyes. ‘Where will we find the Big Man? Do you know if he’s still playing games on the African continent?’
‘I cannot divulge this information,’ said Carter with a lop-sided grin.
‘You are mad,’ Natasha repeated with feeling.
‘Of course. That’s why I work for Spiral.’ He coughed. ‘Used to work, I mean. You think they’ll accept my formal resignation?’
‘You don’t know that, Carter. You don’t know who sent the Nex.’
‘You said they were Spiral’s best-kept secret? Well, put two and two together.’
‘Yeah, they sometimes make seven. If you’ve still got your ECube we can try and contact—’
‘Oh no.’ Carter’s words were soft. ‘No contact. We do it my way; if it is Spiral, and the fuckers are tracking us, then the ECube will light us up worse than any flare on a winter night.’
‘But if they aren’t the ones - well, they could help,’ said Natasha simply.
‘I don’t need any fucking help,’ said Carter, his humour gone. ‘I do it on my own. I always have.’
Natasha shook her head slowly, and ran a hand through her short black hair. ‘When are we - ah, I mean you - going to accelerate into this mad scheme of theft from the British government?’
‘Theft. Ha.’ He smiled wryly. ‘Am I hearing you right, Nats? I am no thief... I am part of the huge machine that is Spiral, and Spiral not only have part-ownership in the MoD but own this very airfield and the equipment therein. Because I belong to Spiral, and they to me, I am merely taking what is already rightfully mine. You get it?’
‘I don’t think the armed guards will see it that way.’
‘Well, I haven’t got the time to sign in fucking triplicate.’ Carter pulled the battered Browning from his pocket. He stared lovingly at the dull black surface. ‘I am sure I will be able to persuade them with Sergeant 9mm here.’ He smiled without humour.
Night fell. With it came more rain.
Carter slammed the BMW’s door shut. The hunters would find the vehicle soon enough, he was sure - but then, hopefully, the couple would be far away from this place. Far away from the promise of bullets and pain.
Carter supported Natasha as they crept through the damp woodland. Before long they came to a heavy-duty fence topped by the customary barbed wire. ‘This is where we climb,’ said
Carter softly. ‘But don’t worry - this is a pretty unimportant base and subsequently the ‘high’ security is shit. Unless the fucker has been compromised.’
Natasha stared hard at him. ‘Compromised?’
Carter nodded. ‘Somebody seems to be trying hard to bring Spiral down. There are links. Spiral keeps aircraft here at this base. It’s a long shot, but hey, so was that fucking Nex almost killing me back at my home...’ He shrugged, moved forward, and scaled the rattling fence. Using pocket cutters he snipped through the coils of barbed wire. Then he reached down, hauling a grimacing, groaning Natasha up behind him and they climbed warily over and dropped to the grass, panting, sweat stinging their eyes.
The base squatted mostly in darkness. A few dark buildings, with weak lonely yellow lights, sat over to one side of the compound. Several airstrips criss-crossed the gloom, and beside several more outbuildings sat a collection of damp and darkly glistening aircraft.
‘Can you see the markings?’ said Carter.
Natasha shook her head.
‘My eyesight is getting bad with old age, I fear,’ he said. ‘Come on.’
They made their way slowly across the grass, and Carter halted. He pointed, to where a low shed obviously housed chained dogs. Making a huge detour, they circled the base and finally scurried through the rain to crouch under the limited shelter of a galvanised roof overhang. Water poured around them from inefficient guttering, splattering and clashing. Carter pointed through the gloom. ‘You see her?’
‘What is it?’
‘A Cessna T206H Turbo5. Fully fuelled and with good range. Fast. We can sling her under radar, keep her low over the hills; she’s got excellent navigational equipment but isn’t military, and so won’t arouse too much suspicion.’
‘Are we going far?’
‘Far enough,’ said Carter. ‘You wait here, I’ll check her out.’ He moved away from Natasha, and was soon a ghost in the rain. His senses sang, and he felt incredibly awake: energy washed through him and no longer did the pain from his strapped finger, his broken ribs, his broken nose, his sliced bicep — no longer did it push him into the borders of angry red teeth-grinding acceptance. Now it flowed away and left him feeling ... alive.