Bolan’s hand flipped open the sheath holding his lock knife. He slid the weapon free, flicking the blade open and launched himself across the floor.
The sentry’s hand closed over the 93-R’s butt, finger finding the trigger.
Bolan’s right arm swept down, the steel blade of the lock knife piercing the man’s wrist all the way through, shearing tendons and flesh. He screamed in pain. Blood was already spouting from the wound, spreading across the carpeted floor. The man’s hand opened, fingers splaying out in response to the shock of the wound.
Leaning forward Bolan retrieved his Beretta. He brought his arm back, put the muzzle in line with the back of the man’s head and hit him with a single tap. The man gave a convulsive jerk as the 9 mm slug burst his head open. Bolan placed a foot on the outstretched arm and pulled the lock knife free, wiped it on the dead man’s coat and returned it to the sheath.
He holstered the Beretta and crossed to where Lauren lay. He turned her over. Her face was white. There was a blossoming bruise on her left cheek. Bolan scooped her up in his arms, carried her across to one of the large sofas and laid her on it. He picked up her discarded shirt and used it to cover Lauren’s nakedness. He checked her pulse and found it strong and steady. She would come out of it.
He took a look around the spacious apartment. There was a lot of money invested in the décor—top-of-the-range furnishings, discreet lighting, expensive digital electronic music center, wall-mounted plasma television. There was also a huge, plain wood-and-aluminum desk, the surface clear. Bolan tried the drawers. He found little of interest. Nothing that might have given him any information regarding Clair Sorin. He had noticed the lack of any kind of computing equipment. No cell phones.
Corrigan, it appeared, was not the kind to leave anything lying around that might prove useful to anyone breaking in.
“Something suggests you’re here for anything rather than just getting me out.”
Bolan saw that Lauren had roused herself. She was on her feet. A little unsteady but upright. She was pulling on the shirt, fingers clumsy with the buttons.
“You okay?”
“I have the beginnings of one hell of a headache,” she said, “but yes.” She was trying to ignore the sight of the dead sentry but her gaze was drawn to the bloody mess his head had been reduced to. “Stupid question, but is he dead?”
“He kept pushing,” Bolan said by way of explanation.
“And you refuse to be pushed.”
Bolan didn’t answer and she took that as a yes.
“Tell me why you’re here, Cooper.”
“I’m looking for someone these people have.”
“Young woman? I recall Corrigan mentioning a Clair Sorin?”
Bolan nodded. “Do you have any idea where they might have her?”
“There’s something at the back of my mind. Can’t work it out yet. About a boat. Cooper, I want to help you. I just need to clear my mind.”
“No pressure,” Bolan said.
He wasn’t about to push her despite the urgency of the situation. If Lauren had information about Clair it would have to come when she was ready to talk.
Chapter 20
Lauren stared around the apartment. She went behind the desk and lifted a framed picture from the wall, revealing a built-in safe. She tapped in digits on the keypad and pulled open the door. Inside the small safe were blocks of banknotes. She took them out and tossed them on the desk.
“Corrigan isn’t as smart as he believes,” she said. “I wasn’t always as out of it as he thought. And I have good eyesight. So I watched him open that safe and memorized the numbers. Now it’s payback time. If I’m getting out of here... I am getting out, aren’t I?” Bolan nodded. “Then I’m not leaving empty-handed.”
“Go and get what you need,” Bolan said. “We can’t waste any more time.”
She left the room to push open a door to one of the bedrooms. Bolan paced the apartment, frustrated that he hadn’t come up with any more information. All he could hope was that Lauren might give him something useful when she remembered.
She reappeared, a large leather handbag in her hands. She had on a belted coat with a high, wraparound collar. She crossed to the desk and scooped the money from it into the bag, closing the zipper.
“Have bag, will travel,” she announced. Her voice cracked as she said, “Please get me out of here, Cooper. I can’t concentrate in this place.”
Bolan led her toward the elevator.
She paused as they passed the wet bar. Bolan saw her swing the bag at the assorted bottles and glasses, smashing them to the floor.
“Make you feel better?”
“Closest I’m going to get right now,” she said and followed him into the elevator.
Bolan kicked the obstruction away and let the door slide shut. He pressed the button to open it again and they stepped inside. Bolan hit the down button.
“Stay back when we reach bottom,” he said, the Beretta in his hand again.
Bolan took his time when the elevator door opened. He was able to check the parking area. No more vehicles had shown up. The only difference was the rain slanting down from the dark sky.
“Keep on my left,” Bolan said as he led the way across the concrete to the deserted street.
When they reached the parked SUV Bolan used his key to unlock it. Lauren climbed into the passenger side and Bolan started the engine. He drove away quietly, setting the SatNav for the M25. From previous visits to the U.K. Bolan recalled a large service area that had restaurants and a motor lodge. He needed somewhere anonymous where he and Lauren could talk.
Lauren lay back in her seat, the coat collar pulled up around her face, staring out through the rainy windshield. Bolan glanced across at her. Her eyes were open but from her expression Bolan didn’t imagine she was seeing very much. He decided to leave her alone while he drove. In the aftermath of her experience with Corrigan she most likely had a lot on her mind. There would be a chance to speak to her once they were secure in the lodge.
The road was reasonably quiet and Bolan made it to their destination in three-quarters of an hour. He parked outside the lodge and grabbed his own holdall, made his way round to the passenger side and roused Lauren. She followed his lead as they went into the lodge. The reception was quiet, just one young girl behind the desk.
“Hi,” Bolan said, his disarming smile putting the clerk at her ease. “Tell me you have a vacant room because we need to rest up. Been a long drive and we are bushed.”
The girl glanced at Lauren who was leaning against the reception desk, eyes drooping. She had turned up the large, enveloping collar of her topcoat, hiding the bruise on her face.
“It has been a long drive,” she repeated. “All I want now is a cup of coffee and a soft bed.”
The girl smiled. “You’re in luck. We have a couple of vacancies. Both double rooms.”
Bolan had taken out his wallet and was extracting his credit card. He took the registration card the girl slid across to him and quickly filled it in. She completed the transaction with the credit card and passed it back. She barely glanced at the registration card before handing Bolan the room key card.
“Through the double doors,” she said. “About halfway along the corridor. Breakfast served from 7:00 a.m. in the restaurant.”
“We too late for any food now?” Bolan asked.
“I could have some sandwiches sent to your room.”
“That would be fine. And a pot of fresh coffee. Double portions of everything,” Bolan said pleasantly.
They pushed through the doors and along the corridor to the room. Bolan used the key card and got them inside. Without a word Lauren crossed to the bed and let herself down on it.
Bolan checked out the room, closed the blind over the window. A soft sound attr
acted his attention and he realized it was coming from Lauren. She was sobbing. He left her alone because he knew at that moment she needed to get it out of her system.
He tossed his jacket on a chair and went into the bathroom, turning on the cold tap so he could sluice water on his face. He leaned on the sink and stared at his reflection in the mirror, rubbing a hand across his stubbled cheeks. The face staring back at him looked tired. That was because he was tired. The last days had been hectic, fraught with the pressures of the mission he was on. Though he was reluctant to admit it, he needed rest, a time to recoup and charge his internal batteries. But Clair Sorin possibly didn’t have time on her side. Wherever she was, she needed his presence before the mob decided that maybe she was too much trouble to keep alive.
Bolan didn’t allow himself to be fooled into thinking Clair had an infinite amount of time ahead of her. The people who had her were violent and brutal. If they had ever possessed any kind of morals they had lost them a long time ago. If they had retained any semblance of humanity, they would not have been in the business they ran. They thought only about their own protection, and the profit they made from the operations they lorded over. Organized crime, in its various guises, traded on the suffering of innocents. These people did not give a damn about the hurt they heaped on their victims.
Clair was simply a tool to them. A pawn in the game they were indulging themselves in over the information Sorin possessed. And, like any tool, she could be discarded at a moment’s notice.
Bolan had to keep that in his thoughts.
He sluiced more water over his face, then toweled it dry. He felt a little refreshed, but he needed sleep. And he decided he would get some once he had spoken to Lauren.
Back in the room he saw she was sitting up. Eyes slightly reddened, hair tangled.
“God, I must look a bloody fright,” she said.
“No. You feel any better?” Bolan said.
“Sorry about going all girly on you.”
“No apology needed. After what you’ve been through it’s allowed.”
“We need that talk,” she said. Bolan nodded. “Let me get freshened up first. A hot shower’s in order.”
She dropped her coat on a chair and headed for the bathroom, kicking off her shoes. She stripped off her clothes as she walked to the bathroom. There was no kind of sexual provocation in her undressing. Simply a need to get out of her clothes. She pushed the bathroom door partway shut and moments later Bolan heard the rush of the shower being turned on.
Bolan longed to stretch out on the bed, but he held back because if he did lie down he knew he would be asleep in minutes. He busied himself checking the Beretta and feeding in a fresh magazine from his holdall. He did strip off the shoulder rig, placing the pistol under one of the pillows when he heard a knock on the door.
“Room service,” someone answered when he asked who it was.
Bolan opened the door and a uniformed young man stepped inside, carrying a large tray that held the food and drink order. He placed the tray on the small table. Bolan fished a five-pound note from his wallet and gave it to the waiter.
“Thank you, sir. Anything else you need just call Room Service and ask for Jerry.”
“Will do, Jerry, and thanks.”
Bolan locked the door after the man left.
“Hot coffee,” he called at the bathroom door.
“Okay,” Lauren said. Bolan heard the shower turn off. “Hey, you want to pass me one of the bathrobes by the door?”
White robes, sealed in plastic, lay on the clothes unit by the door. Bolan picked one up and peeled off the plastic. He turned as Lauren came out of the bathroom, a large towel wrapped loosely around her body. She was drying her hair with a smaller towel. Bolan dropped the robe on the bed.
“What do you take with your coffee?” he asked.
“Tonight it’s no cream or sugar. Just plain hot and black.”
She dropped the large towel and pulled on the bathrobe, tossing her hair back from her face.
They gave themselves some time to relax, drinking the coffee and sampling the large plate of sandwiches, both of them aware of how hungry they were.
“Tell me how it happened,” Bolan said. “About the drugs.”
“Corrigan never overused the drugs,” Lauren said. “Just enough to keep me subdued and expecting more. But the last few days he’s had other things on his mind.” She gave a wry smile. “I think that’s down to you, Cooper. Since you showed up, Corrigan has spent so much time on the phone he almost forgot about me at times. Not that I’m complaining.”
“What about the bruises?” Bolan asked.
“All part of Corrigan’s charm. Something he enjoyed when he was having sex. I learned early on not to resist. The more I did, the rougher he got. Corrigan is not a nice person.”
“How long were you with him?”
She smiled again. “A month too long. I guess it was my own fault. I fell in with a party crowd. We were having wild nights, sleeping all day. Just drinking and having fun. Corrigan kept showing up at every club we went to. Seemed to want to spend time with me and I fell for him.” She refilled her coffee. “God, was I naive. I believed every word he uttered. Then one night after a meal out he invited me back to his place....” She paused, her eyes mirroring her bleak thoughts. “When I woke up the next morning I didn’t even know where I was. I felt good though. Later Corrigan told me I was high because of the drugs he’d injected into me. I saw the needle mark on my arm and that was when the fun times turned into a nightmare. It didn’t take long for me to figure out the rest. So I watched and listened to him and his people talking when I got the chance.”
“So you know what they’re involved with?”
“Drugs. Trafficking. Illicit goods. Big-time crime. I did hear about guns a couple of times. And I was there in the middle of it. Corrigan didn’t seem to care that I heard it all. He kept telling me that when I was used up he was going to sell me on. I believed him, too. After a couple of weeks... I guess he was tiring of me...so he let his men...” Lauren fell silent, hiding her face in the big coffee cup.
Bolan didn’t need her words. He understood what she had gone through. It was not the first time he had heard such stories. He reached out to touch her shoulder.
“But you survived, Lauren, and there’s no way you’re going back there.”
“The last few days they all left me alone. Even Corrigan.” She looked at Bolan. “Someone was causing all kinds of problems for Corrigan. Someone they referred to as the Yank.” She gave him a tired smile. “You, Mr. Cooper. Whatever you’ve been doing has rattled Corrigan’s cage. So I played dumb and they forgot I was around until they wanted drinks-pouring or coffee-making. I was waiting for a chance to get out if it came up. But there was always someone around the apartment. No telephone. Corrigan always used the cell he carries with him.”
“Couple of things I need to ask, Lauren.”
She nodded. “This girl. Clair. Is she someone important to you?”
“Not in that way,” Bolan said. “But she’s important because Corrigan is using her to blackmail someone who has information he wants back. Clair’s brother is part of an OrgCrime unit working to break up the mob. The information he has could seriously damage them. There’s a possible mole in the OrgCrime task force. So we’re in a tricky position. Clair is being used to try and force her brother’s hand.”
“And there I was believing I had all the problems.” Lauren poured herself more coffee. “I hope there’s plenty in that pot.” She took a breath. “Okay, here’s what I can remember. Corrigan did have a conversation via his cell with someone he called Tony. The name Clair came up a couple of times. Then Corrigan said he had her safe on the boat. He had a talk with someone about strengthening the crew on the boat in case you showed up. I managed to overhear him calling someone and
telling them to get down to the coast and join the crew on board, getting Clair across to France. He was making a lot of calls around then. He got really crazy when someone called with some news. Obviously bad news.”
“Hope he didn’t take it out on you.”
“No. He had too much going on even to think about me.” She touched his hand. “I have you to thank for distracting him.”
“All part of the service,” Bolan said. “Lauren, the next part is important. This boat. Did you hear a name? And do you know where it’s kept?”
Lauren stared at him. “Oh, yes,” she said. “Corrigan called it the Venture. I overheard him talking to the man Tony over the phone. They berth it at a small channel port just up the coast from Dover. It’s called Sella Point.”
Lauren poured more coffee. She circled the room, watching Bolan closely. Something was on her mind.
Then she said, “You’re going down there, aren’t you?”
“They won’t come to me.”
“Corrigan isn’t going to be pleased at what you’ve done.”
“His feelings don’t matter, Lauren. He’s on borrowed time. And I have to find Clair.”
She looked away for a moment. “I don’t like to think about that.”
“In the morning we part company. You can stay on here if you want until you decide what to do.”
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