by Andy Lucas
'They checked in a few hours ago,' Baker informed him. 'They have found where Barbara was camped but it was all messed up. Clearly she has been captured, probably by whoever is running the mine. Max said there was a great deal of blood staining in the snow.' He left that point hanging ominously in the air. 'They're going to investigate the mine building now.'
'Have they seen enough of the security yet to find a safe way inside?'
'He did not say,' Baker admitted. 'They'd just been hit by a heavy snow storm and the signal must have cut out. I haven't been able to get back in touch with him since but I'm sure it's just the weather.'
Pace wasn't so sure but he had enough of his own problems to deal with at that moment. 'Alright. As soon as you hear from Max, ring me.' On a different tack, his thoughts turned to Sarah. 'How is Sarah? Is she out of isolation yet?'
Baker's tone lifted noticeably. 'Yes, James. She came out yesterday and is now back at your place. She is under strict orders to rest for the next forty-eight hours and I have maintained a triple guard in the woods just to make sure she is safe. Nobody will get to her again, I promise. And she isn't alone there, either. A couple of good friends are babysitting her, much to her disgust I might add.' A short chuckle rumbled in Pace's ear.
Pace was flooded with a great sense of relief that Sarah was finally out of danger. As an overwhelming urge to talk to her flared up inside his chest, he killed the call with Baker and dialled Sarah's number. It rang five times before finally being answered. A vaguely familiar voice; not hers, answered in whispered tones.
'Hello,' responded the hushed female voice. 'Who is this?'
'It's James. Where is Sarah?' Then, as an afterthought. 'And who are you?'
'James!' The voice rose in volume excitedly before remembering herself and dropping back to a whisper. 'Sarah is sleeping. She has been desperate to ring you but her father strictly forbade it until we heard from you first, in case you were busy flying, or something.'
'Is she okay?'
'Yes, she's fine. Most of her strength has returned and she has been eating a little. The doctors have prescribed sleeping pills for a couple of days to make sure she rests. Sarah did not want to take one today; she was hoping you would call. I finally got some soup down her and convinced her to take one, which is why she is asleep already.'
Pace knew there was a five hour time difference between them. Checking his watch, he noted it was now a little after ten p.m. That would make it late afternoon back home. Still, she needed her rest so he was glad she was getting it.
'I recognise your voice,' Pace smiled, despite himself. 'Sorry but could you remind me who you are?'
A giggle at the other end gave away her identity just as she vocalised it.
'Charlene,' she said. 'Charlene Pringle.'
Pace felt himself relax a little, although his other ear was keenly listening for sounds outside the building. Sarah and Charlene had developed a close friendship over the past couple of months, building upon a few hair-raising experiences eluding ARC killers. Short, with natural red hair and a body covered in tattoos, Charlene epitomised the strength and determination of youth. Highly intelligent, her multiple ear piercings, tongue stud and nose stud often gave people the wrong first impression about her. A distant relation to the unfortunate Paul Pringle; lost WW1 submariner whose faded journal had triggered the McEntire Corporation's involvement in the Skeleton Gold affair, Charlene had found herself recruited into their inner circle and was now working at the Headquarters building, applying her mathematical genius to the company accounts, under the direct tutelage of Max Hammond.
Sarah had eventually told Pace all about the brief moment when the two of them had kissed and how, in her grief when she'd thought him to be drowned in the frigid waters off of the Antarctic, that it may have turned into a more passionate evening. Charlene still clearly had a crush on his girlfriend but their friendship was a genuine one and Sarah had assured him that the crush would pass soon. Charlene would protect Sarah fiercely and had done so already.
'I've just spoken with Baker,' he said. 'He mentioned there being a few people at my place, looking after Sarah. Who else is there?' The phone seemed to go dead. 'Hello?'
'Hello James.' A new voice came on the line. Male and instantly recognisable to Pace, his light smile deepened into a broad grin. 'I couldn't leave Charlene to take care of Sarah all alone. As soon as I heard about what happened, I made sure I was around and I hassled McEntire himself to let me come. I hope you're okay with it?'
'Thatcher? Good to hear your voice.' Thatcher had been instrumental in their successful escape from Scott Base, in Antarctica. A rugged, tough scientist, he had proven himself to be good in a fight, Together with Stacey Mortos; another of the base scientists, he had signed up to join the McEntire Corporation the previous month, after finally recovering from the ordeal in the snow. Both scientists, like Charlene, had been snapped up by Doyle McEntire to add capacity to the darker activities that his business required. All three, Pace knew, could be trusted.
'Stacey is here with me too.' That made Pace even happier. 'Look, James. Please don't worry about Sarah. She is sleeping like a baby and we are all closely watching her. All three of us have now been issued with a .25 Colt, with some kind of special bullets?'
'Hollow points,' Pace explained. 'Even a small calibre bullet like that is devastating, especially at close quarters.' Good, so they were all armed. 'If you need anything bigger, I have a small collection of weapons there. Feel free to use whatever you need.'
'Thanks, I will, but I don't think we will need to shoot our popguns at anyone. Just the look of those men who are guarding the woods down below us should be enough to frighten any intruder to death. They look terrifying.'
'McEntire has an arrangement with the SAS,' Pace said slowly. 'Serving members of the regiment are loaned out to the Corporation for a range of duties and operations. It ensures that our security teams are the best trained in the world and, when these soldiers decide to hang up their boots, they come straight over to Baker and start working security operations for us full-time.'
'They're armed to the teeth so you have nothing to worry about,' Thatcher repeated his message. 'I don't know where you are, just that you're doing some flying on your current assignment. Focus on staying in one piece and I promise to get Sarah to call you when she wakes up, if you can be disturbed?'
'Definitely. I won't bore you with the details of what's happening at my end. We can catch up about it when I get back to England, with Max, over a glass of Jack.'
'Oh, and Deborah's here too,' Thatcher suddenly seemed to recall. 'I believe Doyle McEntire is not too sure that her journalistic instincts won't resurface and expose you all to the glare of public scrutiny. He's decided that she's better off here, with us lot keeping an eye on her.' He had a jovial tone to his voice and Pace heard a very pleasantly delivered curse coming from somewhere at the other end, where Deborah decided she wasn't taking the joke lying down.
Deborah Miles had been to hell and back, mentally scarred by the terrible indignity inflicted upon her. Physically, the scars would heal but her mind had been permanently injured. If he and Hammond were not successful in finding Josephine, and retrieving her reproductive organs, Deborah would likely end up either in a mental institution or on a mortuary slab.
'Okay, stay safe and I hope to see you all soon.' Becoming increasingly aware that his attention was being distracted from the very real risk of imminent death at the hands of a ten-foot primate, Pace finished the call. Slipping the phone in the pocket of his snowsuit, he checked the holster on his hip and was pleased to see that the Webley remained snuggled up beneath the Velcro flap.
He had already killed the Maglite and head torch, preferring to allow his eyes time to adjust to the dark rather than sit in the centre of the room, lit up like a beacon for a hungry Yeti to see. He was not physically cold; his snowsuit was designed for mountaineering exploration and he felt warm enough but his spirit cried out for a fire to so
othe his troubled mind. Strangely, his stomach chose that moment to grumble that it was hungry.
Inside his backpack, Pace knew he had a small cooker and packets of soup but now was not the time to set up camp. Choosing instead to make do with a few swallows of water and a couple of ginger biscuits, he resigned himself to a fractious, sleepless night. He tried not to think about Hill but the man's sightless eyes, staring up at him from the bloody snow, kept popping back into his mind's eye.
Pace shuddered as the thought of the archaeologist's corpse being torn apart, probably at that very moment, as the creature feasted on his flesh.
The footfall outside the window was so light that he nearly missed it. The wind chose to drop momentarily, which is the only reason his straining ears latched on to the sound. Barely a crunch but it was there; the sound made when something pressed down in to deep snow.
Already sitting upright, cradling the Mauser, Pace's heart leaped into the back of his throat; its beats trebling within a single breath. The sound came again, more pronounced, right outside the shutters that he'd recently jammed closed with Hill's small shovel. There was no heavy breathing, snarling or growling but the creature was clearly treading very delicately, hoping to surprise him.
Pace lined the rifle up on the shutters and curled his finger tightly, taking up the minuscule amount of slack in the trigger. At any moment, he expected a huge Yeti to come crashing in through them, smashing them aside as if they were made from matchsticks, reaching those huge arms inside to kill him.
Slowly, something tested the shutters from the outside. A very gentle pull until they were stopped by the shovel.
'Let's be having you,' he whispered to himself, fixing the window down the iron sights; his eyes now well accustomed to the gloom. 'I'll put a bloody bullet between your eyes.'
Then came a harder pull, with the shutters groaning under the pressure until the wooden brackets holding the shovel started to splinter. On hearing the sound of the wood giving, the pulling force from the outside increased and the shutters exploded outwards, heralded by the noisy clattering of the shovel falling to the wooden floor. In the dark silence of the room, the sound jarred painfully on Pace's ears.
A figure was framed in the window, still with the edges of each shutter in its hands. Pace could see it silhouetted clearly against the lighter blackness of the night sky. A perfect shot.
But he did not fire. Instead, he sprang to his feet and lunged at the window. Reaching his arms through, he grabbed hold of a handful of clothing and yanked for all he was worth. Stunned by the unexpected move, he met no resistance and found himself falling backwards on to the hard floor, bringing the figure crashing down on top of him, winding them both.
Just in time, he brought a hand up and cupped it firmly over a pair of small, female lips.
'Don't scream,' he commanded. 'Move off me. We need to close those shutters again.'
The figure immediately complied, pulling away from his hand without making any sound, rolling off his chest and allowing him to scramble rapidly to his feet. Pace half expected to see the creature at the window but it remained filled only with sky.
Placing the Mauser quickly on the floor, he leaned out and pulled the shutters closed again. With no way to jam them, they would have to rely on the stiff wooden hinges to prevent them blowing open in the dying breeze.
Stepping back to the centre of the room, Pace eyed the stranger cautiously, not taking his eyes off the shape while he leaned down and picked up the rifle. Clicking the Maglite on, the powerful beam lit up the entire room, causing both of them to blink painfully.
'Who are you?' he asked coldly.
'I could ask you the same thing?' replied the quiet voice. There was no sense of aftershock; she had recovered her senses immediately.
'I asked first and I've got the gun,' Pace added, snapping at her sharply. 'I don't have time for games.'
'Do you always drag people into buildings by the scruff of their necks?' Her English was fluent and clear but she had an unmistakably European lilt to her tones. German.
'I won't ask you again.'
'Then I'd better answer,' she said agreeably. 'My name is Shilan.'
The enormity of the name; at the heart of the terrible crime perpetrated against Deborah Miles by Josephine Roche, exploded in his mind. His eyes widened with recognition and instant fury as he internally reeled from shock. It was such an odd name but she fitted the bill, especially with her German accent. Could this really be her?
'Dr Shilan?' Shilan nodded, seeing the sudden wildness in the man's eyes and recognising danger there. 'Does the name Josephine Roche mean anything to you?'
Shilan's stomach, barely recovering from the surprise at being plucked through the window, iced over with dread at the mention of that name. She did not reply immediately, trying to size him up. What did he want her to say? She noted that his finger was resting on the trigger of the old rifle he was now levelling at the floor between them, to reduce the brilliance of the Maglite a little.
'Unfortunately, yes. I do know that name,' she admitted carefully.
'What about Deborah Miles? Do you remember her?'
Shilan knew, at that moment, the man was going to kill her. Deborah's name burned into her as if she'd been physically cut with a razor. She also knew, in a moment of stunning revelation, who the man was. She had been forced to listen to Josephine Roche bitch about him often enough.
'You're James Pace,' she blurted but had no further time to say anything else, or even begin to explain herself.
Bringing the Mauser up instantly to his shoulder, flooding the room immediately again with the full glare of the Maglite, Pace fired the rifle.
The heavy bullet was on target, in time to the thundering explosion of its discharge within the dusty room.
Shilan tensed her belly against the searing agony she expected to feel but the ringing echoes of the shot faded, leaving her alive and intact. A split-second later, a thunderous roar of pain erupted from just outside the shutters, through which Pace had just fired his shot. Not planning to go anywhere near the window, he squeezed off the last three shots in the rifle, evenly spacing them around the area of the shutters but was not rewarded by any more sounds of impact.
Dropping the empty weapon on the floor with a clatter, his hand blurred to his hip, rising a moment later holding the Webley. Bringing his other hand around to create a two-handed shooting stance, the hammer was cocked back with audible authority and he aimed the handgun at the shutters, waiting.
The silence would not last for long.
25
Unlike her unfortunate archaeological colleague, Sadie Monro's expedition had been highly successful, despite the Chinook's satellite phone jumping off the hook a few hours after they had arrived on site. The news, of Prior's death and the deaths of several other staff at the facility they'd only just left, led to inevitable questions regarding her possible involvement. Why had she and her team left in the middle of the night? Had they seen or heard anything?
The questioning, not surprisingly, did not come from any official authority. No policeman's voice spoke to her on the telephone. The security manager of the facility was running an initial investigation. The police would be notified shortly, she was assured, but Sadie knew that was unlikely.
She was not aware of his involvement with ARC's fugitive boss but the nature of the job, and the secrecy insisted upon, were all the clues she'd needed that this was a private business situation. Unscrupulous to a fault, she was only concerned with getting on with the work, having a healthy injection of cash into her bank account and finding time to regularly befriend a bottle of the nearest booze.
They had barely made it up into their target valley before the weather had closed in completely. Sitting at fifteen thousand feet, thinly forested and thick with fresh winter snow fall, the pilot had performed a herculean task in setting the massive aircraft down in one piece.
The frenzy of activity upon landing, taking well over two hours
to disembark all the passengers and equipment, had barely been completed before the first of several phone calls came her way. Promising to search the Chinook for possible stowaways, she had given the order. Nobody was found and her team were very thorough.
Barely five minutes after touching down on the mountainside, Shilan had seized her moment and slipped out of her hiding place, through the cavernous rear door which had now been opened, running down the ramp that led outside invitingly.
Having no idea where they had landed because she'd spent the entire flight fast asleep, Shilan only knew she had to escape. The helicopter had landed on the top lip of a steep, ice-encrusted ravine which was barely wide enough to accommodate it. She had to acknowledge the skill of the pilot, who had navigated the descent with barely feet to spare. If the Chinook had clipped its rotor blade tips, they now would all be dead at the base of the narrow ravine, several hundred feet below.
She had not stopped to scope out the area all around the helicopter; she purely focused on the terrain that was directly in front of her; a gentle snowy slope that fell away for twenty metres, ending abruptly in a thin line of small pine trees. Snow was falling fairly hard, angled slightly by a tugging easterly wind that rose in time with the sun. It was the snow, a watery dawn and everybody else's fixation on their own jobs, that allowed Shilan to make it to the trees unseen.
Once through the first line, she wove in and around several others, where she quickly became lost from the view of anybody unloading the Chinook. The snow was very deep, plunging Shilan up to her waist every few floundered, struggling steps. Desperate to put some distance between herself and the others, she opted to roll down the slope instead, utilising the larger surface area of her prone body and the natural application of gravity to do the trick. It carried her down the slope for a hundred feet before she felt safe enough to stop. Dizzy; barely able to stop herself vomiting, she had to pause for a minute until the world stopped spinning.
With no food, water or idea which way to go, she had decided that downhill offered the path of least resistance and the likelihood of finding local people at some point. Pausing only to pull a sorry looking branch from the trunk of a tree, to use as a walking stick, Shilan had set off and hoped for the best. Having to leave the gun behind in her haste, it would also double as her only weapon.