by Helen Fields
The baseball bat that smashed into his ribcage was all the more forceful for the speed at which he was moving. He went straight down, winded and gasping for breath, as the boot he was staring at kicked upwards, smacking him in the soft flesh beneath his jaw. Teeth slamming together, Callanach’s head whiplashed to one side, seeing Alex’s sweet, round face above him.
The baseball bat was coming for his face. He got an arm in front of it first, the subsequent pain in his forearm matching the agony in his mouth. The gun was lost to him, spinning off down the corridor. Alex took a step away, giving himself additional space to swing the bat. Callanach managed to get up on his knees before the next blow, driving forward, headbutting Alex’s testicles. The baseball bat clattered down onto his back, the worst of its force gone.
‘You lied!’ Alex screamed as he doubled up. ‘You said you had liver failure, and I believed you.’
By then Callanach was up on his feet, and he drove the outer part of his bent elbow with brutal precision into the back of Alex’s neck. He met the floor face first, hands still cradling his balls.
‘I lied to help people. You lied to help kill people for money. Where have they taken Skye?’
Alex gurgled as he writhed on the slippery floor. Callanach couldn’t wait for him to start making sense. Grabbing the baseball bat, he took off again. The corridor rounded to the right, opening into a larger open room where the surgeon and Lucille Blaise were furiously attempting to destroy two laptops as they stuffed bags and fought loose of the fake, pointless scrubs.
Callanach skidded to a halt.
‘Don’t come any closer,’ the would-be surgeon said. She picked up a syringe and held the tip of it to Skye’s throat. ‘She’s still alive and you can have her, but we get out of here first.’
‘I need proof,’ Callanach said. ‘I can’t see any sign that she’s breathing.’
‘She’s fully anaesthetised. Her systems are starting to shut down. If I give her another dose of this,’ she waved the hypodermic needle, ‘I guarantee you she’ll never wake up and that’ll be your fault.’
‘I want to check her pulse,’ Callanach said. He stepped forward slowly, reaching one hand out to Skye’s wrist. The beat he felt was weak and erratic, but she was holding on. ‘Okay, how do you want to do this?’
‘I’m going to keep holding this needle to her neck while my friend ties you up. You’re going to stand still, hands behind your back, and agree not to move. There’s enough anaesthetic in that syringe to kill the girl first and have enough left over for you, so don’t make me nervous.’
‘Fine.’ He dropped the baseball bat on the floor and put his hands together behind his back. Lucille approached him hesitantly, stethoscope in hand, as if he were a wild animal. ‘You had me fooled,’ Callanach told her. ‘I’d have put money on Bruno Plouffe being the contact at the clinic. You and Alex working together was clever. Alex pretending to be wary of Plouffe, so innocent and friendly there was no way I’d have suspected him of being involved in something like this.’
‘Hurry up,’ the surgeon demanded. ‘And stop talking.’
‘He’s police,’ Lucille muttered as she pulled the knot of the stethoscope tight. ‘There’ll be more on their way.’
‘They won’t know all the exits and entrances yet. Do his ankles with that sheet.’
Callanach drew his feet together and allowed Lucille to wrap the sheet several times around his legs, doing the best she could to bind them together.
‘Done?’ the surgeon asked. Lucille nodded. ‘Good, now pick up that baseball bat and hit his skull as hard as you can. I don’t want any chance of him following us.’
‘What if I kill him?’
‘It’ll be worse if you don’t. He knows who you are.’
‘I can’t kill a policeman. I was only supposed to pass over the information from the clinic, and to pretend to be a member of your team. I can’t kill anyone.’
‘Don’t,’ Callanach said quietly. ‘You don’t know what it’ll do to you. At the moment you’re involved in a conspiracy. When you get caught, if you’ve refused to kill, then you’re in a good position to strike a deal in court—’
‘Fuck you,’ the surgeon said. ‘I’ll do it myself.’ Leaning forward with the syringe, she went to jab it into Skye’s neck.
Callanach let his weight carry him forward between the surgeon and Skye, the needle painlessly entering his shoulder, no more than a scratch, as he covered Skye’s body with his own.
‘Oh my God,’ he heard Lucille cry, his consciousness already dimming as if he were listening through a wall. ‘He’ll die.’ Something heavy clattered to the floor. Sounds of feet running.
Callanach tried to turn his head, but the only thing he could see was fairground ride movement of light and colour. Skye lay motionless beneath his chest, and he held on as long as he could before slipping to his knees, then crashing down into oblivion.
Chapter Forty-One
The first bursts of gunfire echoed through the complex just as the paramedics and Jojo Berger reached Ava.
‘What’s happening?’ Ava demanded, stepping back and allowing the medics the space to do their work.
‘The drone followed the vans to the gates of the complex but it’s taking some time to find the right building and gain access,’ Berger told her.
‘Skye Kelso?’
‘No news yet. Are you hurt? You’re covered in blood.’
‘I only wish it were mine,’ Ava said. ‘Look after him and get the paramedics whatever they need. Just keep him safe.’
‘There’s an air ambulance on its way. You go.’
Ava went. The door at the end of the corridor was unlocked. She took the covered walkway to the next building along, which was more modern – glass and chrome. Further gunfire. Shouting now. Sirens, and the sound of multiple vehicles. To her right were double doors into a large auditorium. Those were locked. To her left there was a fire escape. She took the latter, and found herself back outside, gaining pace as she raced towards the sirens, round the vast curved exterior of the enormous building.
Ava arrived at the edge of a crowd of police officers just as the first of Group 2029’s guards rushed out. Then came a straggle of people in cheap white cotton garments, and others in scrubs. As they exited, Ava ran in. Guns had been discarded along the corridor. Group 2029 had known the police were on their way, then. Callanach had started something.
As she rounded a corner, a woman fled through a side door, marked as the entrance to the incinerator. Ava looked around to alert other police officers to pursue, but they were scattering in all directions. Wrenching the door open, she followed.
It was dark inside. Someone had turned off all the lights in the passageway. Only emergency lighting remained, set into the floor, casting shadows everywhere. Ava reached out for the right-hand wall, keeping herself steady.
In front of her was a glass doorway to an office, beyond which she could see the giant incinerator, a wall of metal. A huge notice declared the incinerator out of use awaiting repair. As she read the sign, a reflection rippled above the words and behind her.
Ava swung round, hands together and clasped in one large fist, ducking her head and driving for the abdomen. Her aim was good. The woman she’d struck tumbled back into the opposite wall, one arm flying out and an object spinning from her fist. It took Ava half a second to assess the surgical scrubs and realise she was dealing with one of the monsters responsible for Malcolm Reilly’s death. It seemed a fair call to make doubly sure the woman was incapacitated.
Grabbing a handful of her hair, she pulled the woman’s head away from the wall, then brought it back again, harder. There was a grisly but satisfying crunching noise, and the woman’s forehead came away bloody. Ava told herself to breathe. She’d overstepped. As she moved away, something smashed beneath her foot. The syringe was in pieces, a few drops of liquid seeping out. That’s what the woman had been holding, with God only knew what chemical destined for her veins. To call it a lu
cky escape was an understatement.
‘Paramedics!’ Ava yelled, racing for the door into the main corridor.
As the medics entered, she left, shouting for Callanach as she went. The rumble-squeak of wheels was even louder than the feet running alongside them. Ava picked up the pace to meet the stretcher head on.
‘Is that Skye?’ she shouted. ‘Is she still alive?’
‘Yes, clear the corridor,’ the paramedic ordered.
A second stretcher approached. She recognised the hair before she could solidify the thought. It was Callanach, one arm flopping off the side, his head lolling as the paramedics jogged alongside.
‘Luc?’ she shouted. ‘What the hell happened? Oh shit,’ she tried to take his hand but it slid uselessly from her fingers. ‘What’s wrong with him?’
‘Out of our way.’
‘You have to tell me …’
‘You want him to live, then get out of our way.’
She got the message, clearing the space, making sure they were far enough ahead of her before she followed, telling herself to keep breathing. Trying to persuade herself that Callanach and Bart would both survive.
As the medics left, a stream of police officers entered. Ava grabbed the nearest of them and led the way to the woman she’d left unconscious on the floor in the incinerator area. She was put on a stretcher, hands cuffed over her stomach, and lifted out. So many bodies, Ava thought. So much spilled blood. And all because people would do – and pay – almost anything to live. The irony of it was depressing.
‘Did Skye survive?’ were Callanach’s first words, three hours later from a hospital bed. A doctor had given what amounted to an antidote to the huge dose of anaesthetic he’d been given, but then decided his body would need some time to recover from the shock of the dosage he’d received, leaving him mildly sedated.
‘She did,’ Ava said, sliding her hand gently from where it had been wrapped around his. ‘And she’s going to be fine. Certainly in a better state than you.’
‘What’s wrong with me?’ he asked. The words came out mushed.
‘Oh, right, you probably can’t feel your face yet. They gave you some painkillers while you were asleep. Hold on.’
She picked up a shiny metal kidney bowl, turned it over, and held it up for him to see. ‘From the baseball bat, I assume?’ Ava said as Luc surveyed the damage to his face.
He nodded.
‘No fracture, but your jaw’s going to hurt like hell for a couple of weeks, the swelling on your skull will go down, you’re being watched for concussion, you have various cuts and bruises, some nice swelling on your arm. Combine that with the anaesthetic they injected into you that was designed to end Skye’s life and you’ve had what some people would regard as a difficult day at work.’
‘Enough,’ he said.
‘Yeah, you’re right. That is enough. You should have waited for backup. We were on our way into the building.’
‘They were about to kill her. I didn’t know where you were.’
‘You did okay. Bart Campbell is in the intensive care unit. He cut his wrist and lost a lot of blood. Paramedics revived him, but the extent of any brain damage isn’t yet known. Everyone involved from Group 2029 is in custody. There’s one dead guard, one patient who got in the line of fire and who didn’t make it, and plenty of other injuries but none life-threatening. The female surgeon who was carrying a syringe, you know her?’ He nodded. ‘She and I met up, and I guess you could say I felt that I had no choice but to use considerable force to ensure my own safety.’
Callanach smiled then grimaced.
‘Wish I’d seen that,’ he said.
‘Sounds more exciting than it was. What you don’t know is that she turned out to be your friend Alex’s mother. It was all carefully thought out. He worked in the clinic, gained the trust of suitably desperate candidates, and offered other staff members large amounts of money to be involved.’
‘He had me completely fooled. Alex was a nice kid, quiet and unassuming. So clever.’
‘Don’t feel too bad. It looks as if they’ve been working medical scams for years, but there was never any firm evidence, no witness testimony. Alex always held down real jobs with good recommendations while his mother stayed under the radar. The family made sure they left a convincing trail of previous jobs and social media. Interestingly, Alex has a sister who is currently believed to be in Scotland …’
‘The woman who met Malcolm Reilly in the gym and Bart at the restaurant?’
‘That’s the theory we’re working on. She’s just been arrested in Edinburgh. Now that the police have started digging, I suspect the operation will widen substantially.’
‘This one’s closed down, but there’ll be others. There’s always someone ready to rip off the vulnerable. Lucky we made it in time,’ Callanach said.
‘Only just, as far as you were concerned. You scared me. I’m a bit pissed off with you, to be honest.’
‘Am I supposed to be able to remember a time when you weren’t pissed off with me?’
‘Touché.’
‘Wow, you can speak one whole word of French.’ He closed his eyes and settled back into the pillows.
‘You’re going to have to stay here a couple of days. Interpol are insisting. You were their liaison officer when this happened, so they’re responsible for you until you’re back in Scotland.’
He took a few deep breaths.
‘I’m going back to Scotland?’ he asked quietly.
‘Yes. You are.’ She wiped her cheeks quickly and turned to look out of the window before he opened his eyes again. ‘I’m travelling back tomorrow. Debrief today, then I’ll write up my statement. Bart and Skye can both be returned to their families tomorrow, and they’re anxious to get as far away from here as possible. I’m going to escort them home. Then there’s all the fallout from arresting a couple of hundred people in one operation. I think we’ve poached officers from every other city in Scotland to help.’
‘You must be popular,’ he said.
‘You know me. Why do anything simply when it’s possible to create a massive bloody mess?’
He gave a soft laugh.
‘Truce?’ she asked. ‘Get better, do what you have to do here, close the file and come home. Plus, Natasha needs you.’
‘Just Natasha?’
‘You going to make me beg?’ She folded her arms. ‘All right. I need you. You’re my best detective inspector. Even Lively’s missing you. It’s just not the same.’
‘Ava, of course I’m coming back. I was always intending to. And I wasn’t trying to make you beg.’
‘Right. Good. I’m glad you’re conscious. Sorry about your face. Can I take a quick photo to show the squad?’ He glared at her. ‘Spoilsport. I’ll see you in Edinburgh then.’ Ava walked to the door. ‘Get strong, okay? I don’t have enough money in my budget to have an officer out on long-term sick leave.’
Chapter Forty-Two
Luc put his suitcase down and took his passport from his pocket. Charles de Gaulle airport was strangely quiet, as if the whole place was being respectful of the hangovers Jean-Paul and he were suffering. He was winging it on two hours’ sleep, glad he wouldn’t have to drive when his plane set down in Edinburgh. Between the two of them, they’d consumed five bottles of wine, which given the antibiotics Jean-Paul was taking and the painkillers Callanach had been prescribed, had been not just stupid but reckless. Jean-Paul, still hypersensitive to sunlight after the skin burns, had insisted on wrapping his face up in a scarf and donning dark glasses to deliver him to his flight.
‘You going to be okay?’ Callanach asked.
‘If I haven’t thrown up by now, I’m pretty sure I won’t,’ Jean-Paul laughed.
‘I wouldn’t bank on that, but actually I meant are you okay about everything that happened. Your face …’
‘Is nearly mended. I’d be more concerned about yours. How do you feel about going back to Scotland?’
‘Good actually,’ Call
anach said. ‘I’ve missed it. You should visit some time.’
‘Oh no, I don’t do British food,’ he grinned. ‘So is there any chance of you coming back to live here? Interpol wants you back. I said I’d get you drunk and persuade you, but apparently I only managed the first part of that.’
‘I doubt it, and not because of what happened in the past. I want to try and make Scotland my home. It’s been good, getting a sense of my father, where he came from and my roots. I’ll miss France – especially the food – but Scotland is beautiful. It has history and this amazing sense of community.’
‘And a woman you’re in love with,’ Jean-Paul finished for him.
‘There’s always a woman,’ Callanach laughed it off.
‘Not like Ava Turner, it seems. It’s a shame I didn’t get to meet her. There’s a rumour she’s pretty handy with her fists and not afraid to use them.’
‘That’s not just a rumour. Anyway, I don’t think it’s going to happen,’ Callanach said. ‘I messed up. It’s like I broke her into too many pieces to even start putting her back together.’
‘I think I actually might vomit after that.’ Jean-Paul laughed, stepping forward to throw his arms around Callanach’s shoulders, squeezing long and hard. ‘Stop overthinking it. People screw up. Even you, golden boy. Women love you. It’s pissed me off for as long as I’ve known you, but if you’ve found the one woman in the world who doesn’t fall for your looks and your accent, then I’m delighted for you. Sounds to me as if she’s the only one you’ve ever met who’s worth fighting for.’ He released his hold and stepped away. ‘Come back soon. It’s not the same without you. Sooner or later I’ll have to get myself a wife and a bunch of kids if the party days are really over.’
‘You’re really considering passing those genes onto some unsuspecting kids?’ Callanach picked up his bag. ‘You know you have to find a wife willing to sleep with you first, right? And with that face …’