The Dead Lie Down (Adam Lennox Thrillers: Book One) (30 page)

A
horizontal rusty steel girder spanned the inside of the sluice some four feet
above the waterline, normally used for mounting lifting gear when maintaining
the sluice gates. Bel was strapped to the beam, lying on her back, with her
hands and feet tied around the beam below her. Her muscles ached through being
stretched and she had already lost the feeling in one foot because of restricted
circulation.

As her eyes became accustomed to the gloom she realised she wasn't alone. She
became aware of a figure gazing at her, more accurately at her torso, stretched
along the beam. Resisting the temptation to play the dentist's visit trick of
closing her eyes and convincing herself she was somewhere else, she spoke into
the gloom.

"Who are you? And where am I?"

Reilly's crooked smile shone out of the darkness. "I did try to warn you a long
time ago to stay out of it but you wouldn't be having any of it, so here you
are."

"So why am I here?"

In better light she would have seen Reilly shake his head. "You can't play
ignorant with me." He leaned forward bringing his face close to hers and reached
out to touch her face. When she recoiled he withdrew again, the cruel smile
returning to his lips. "I'm sure that you know what all this is about but since
we've got time to kill, as it were," he paused and smiled at the pun and then
continued, "I'll tell you anyway. All we're after is the package, the evidence
of our wrongdoing in the past. Put together by our old friend Granger Bartlett."
He made it sound like a child's misdemeanour at the dinner table. "We're not
interested in anything else nor anyone else." He spoke slowly as if it made it
sound more convincing, but Bel wasn't buying anything.

"Adam hasn't got the package, you know he hasn't got the package." As she spoke
she tried to move and ease the aching muscles but she was too tightly wrapped
around the beam.

Reilly almost managed to sound apologetic. "Well if he hasn't got it by now that
would be a shame because he might have to say goodbye to you, but ever so
slowly."

Even in the dim light she could now make him out, sat astride the girder playing
with a small knife in his hands. If she lifted her head and strained she could
see him but the pain eventually drove her head back, giving her a view of the
darkening but clear sky above her where the first stars were just visible.

"So what happens if he gives you the package?"

"Ah, well in that case things will be easier." He paused whilst appearing to
choose his words. "Of course we'll still have to kill you both, but perhaps
we'll make it quicker for you, as a mark of gratitude as it were. Of course I
wouldn't enjoy it as much but I couldn't be that selfish."

"Like you enjoyed killing John Bartlett and Gerard Kemp."

"Ah, see now, you're just making judgements and bringing up ghosts. I'm only
doing me job and it's not my fault if I enjoy my work now is it?" Bel kept her
thoughts to herself.

They lapsed into an uneasy silence. Close by, the sound of waves and surf
confirmed how near they were to the beach. Bel tried to erase her present
situation by bringing to her mind past happier events but the increasing cold
was making it more and more difficult to distract her mind from the present.
After what seemed like an eternity, Reilly leaned forward and spoke.

"If you'll excuse me I've just got to make a phone call." Somehow he made it
sound like a toilet break. He waved a mobile phone in one hand, but all Bel
noticed was that he still had the knife in the other.

They started the journey in silence, partly because each was wrapped in his own
thoughts and partly because the noise of the Landrover being driven flat out
made conversation difficult anyway. Somewhere between Chelmsford and Colchester,
Gerry, whose backside was starting to protest despite the cushion, broke the
silence with a question that had obviously been bugging him all day.

"So, who did kill Fran?" he shouted.

Adam appeared to be concentrating on the road but eventually volunteered a
response.

"I don't know. I haven't found anyone that I believe did it, but yet I haven't
met anyone I'm convinced didn't do it."

Gerry mulled this over for a minute or two. "Is that an answer or a logic
puzzle, you're not making sense."

A
minute or two passed before Adam responded.

"I don't believe Brad did it. I don't think he would cold-bloodedly murder even
in those circumstances. Don't ask me why, it's just my gut feeling."

"What about O'Rourke?"

"I think he was involved but I don't think he killed her."

"So who's left in the frame?"

"Reilly is the one I've met who could do it, who would do it. Whether he would
do it on his own initiative or on O'Rourke's orders I don't know but I intend to
find out."

They lapsed once more into silence until just south of Ipswich, barely audible
over scream of the engine, Adam's phone could be heard ringing.

Without a word of warning he slammed on the brakes, slewed across the road onto
the verge and killed the engine even before they had come to a halt.

He pressed the green button. "Lennox."

Afterwards Gerry would always swear that he thought Adam would crush the phone
to powder when he heard Reilly's voice.

"Mr Lennox."

Adam tried to control his voice before replying tersely. "What do you want?"

"I want the package Mr Lennox. You give me the package and I'll give you your
Miss Trent."

For some reason the phrase 'your Miss Trent' seemed to echo around his brain. He
didn't reply immediately. After a pause.

"I haven't got the package yet. I don't know where it is."

Reilly's voice seemed to change a gear. "Well I suggest you look harder Lennox,
because my information is that it was delivered to your office this morning.
Bring it to the ruined chapel at Dunwich, I know you know it well. I won't
insult you by telling you to come alone."

"I haven't been to my office this morning. I've just left Brad Wilding, or should
I say Greg Lake, and he's singing his heart out. You really shouldn't have left
him alive you know. Big mistake, he's likely to turn you in."

"He can wait, we'll deal with him later."

Adam tried to sound matter of fact. "That may be difficult because he's already
in police custody."

There was a silence then, the sound of waves in the background Adam's only clue
that Reilly hadn't hung up.

"You've made a mistake Lennox, a very big mistake. You're playing games with me.
I don't play games. If you don't want your Miss Trent back as damaged goods, I
would get a move on. Every fifteen minutes you're late I'll remove a piece of
her anatomy, and when I've finished with her I'll give you the recording."

"I don't play games either," retorted Adam. "I want to speak to Bel. I want to
know she's still all right or I'm not making any deal."

"Well make the most of it just in case it's the last time," replied Reilly.

There was a moment's silence during which Adam could have sworn he heard Bel's
protesting voice. Suddenly, without warning, a blood-curdling scream of agony
erupted from the phone and seared through Adam's head.

The scream cut off abruptly, the phone went dead and in the silence Adam went
through agony.

Chapter 41

Her body arched into the air as far as the ropes would allow, as her body
reacted to the agony erupting from her abdomen. She gasped for breath,
constricted by her clothes and her prostrate position. Her eyes stared into the
distance, unfocussed, trying to deal with the torment of pain. Eventually her
body slumped back onto the girder. Blood started to seep from the lacerations on
her wrists caused by her struggle to get free.

Reilly watched on in almost academic-like detachment as if mentally writing
laboratory notes for future reference. His punch had come suddenly and
unexpectedly to her prone, unprotected abdomen with enough force to rupture
organs. Once she had relaxed he reached over and re-bound the gag in her
mouth.

"Very satisfactory reaction indeed, very satisfactory. I couldn't have asked for
anything better."

He reached for her face and gently stroked her face and throat, now streaked
with sweat, tears and dirt.

"You have a remarkable complexion my dear," he said contemplatively, his voice
creating more fear in Bel than his physical assault. "So different to my own."
He regarded his scarred and gnarled hands and held them up for Bel to see.

"It's so unfair don't you think. Maybe we should see if we can even things up,
redress the balance perhaps. Let's find a way to pass the time waiting for Mr
Lennox shall we? It would be a shame to waste an opportunity to experiment on
such a beautiful body now."

He lifted the knife in his hand, gazing at it briefly and almost fondly. His
voice took on a harsher tone. "Because when we've finished with your friend
Lennox he'll have no use for you anyway."

Without warning he once again rammed his fist deep into Bel's stomach and her
body repeated its previous reaction but this time only a muted howl escaped from
the gag filling her mouth.

He waited until her convulsions had once again subsided and with deliberate slow
precision, as a heart surgeon about to make the first incision in a transplant
operation, began to cut the buttons securing the jacket across her chest,
revealing her once-white shirt now taut across her breasts. Despite the cold air,
sweat broke out on Reilly's forehead, and he licked his thin lips as he raised
the knife, ready to cut clothes and skin alike.

Bel closed her eyes and in a moment of ridiculous clarity wondered whether her
fear was of death or the suffering contained in the process of dying.

Gerry feared for his life, not necessarily at the hands of their adversaries but
certainly from Adam's driving as Adam completed the drive to Dunwich like a man
possessed. The Landrover engine seemed to scream for mercy but Adam was giving
no quarter and by some quirk of British Leyland engineering it didn't fall to
bits. There are a significant number of speed restrictions and roundabouts
between Ipswich and Dunwich but Adam ignored both with equal contempt on this
occasion, relying instead on the time of night and light traffic to keep them
free of incident, or arrest for that matter.

Having established a plan in his mind, close to Dunwich village he left the road
and took off across heathland towards the coast, using farm tracks etched into
his mind from long walks in the area in the past. After a few miles the heath
gave way to birch woodland and he dropped his speed marginally. To Gerry's
dismay he also switched off the headlamps, leaving Gerry with the distinct
impression that he was travelling a cross between a 'big-dipper' at night, and a
ghost train. He hung on to anything solid that came within his grasp.
Occasionally the moon came out from behind a cloud, illuminating their path.
Gerry was unsure which he preferred.

Eventually Adam was forced to slow to a crawl, partly to reduce engine noise and
partly because the track through the trees was becoming increasingly rutted with
larger and larger roots. Despite the recent dry weather the track was still
waterlogged in places where the ground wasn't porous, and water poured through
the gaps in the Landrover's bodywork as they forded these mini-lakes, causing
Gerry to lift his feet off the floor in an effort to remain dry.

At last they left the birch forest as they approached the marsh, whilst the track
itself continued through shoulder-high bracken. The ground became softer and
less predictable and Adam had to pick his way carefully, aware that before long
the engine noise would be carrying out over the open ground and giving them
away. As Adam was debating whether it was time to abandon the Landrover it
mounted a bank, became stranded without traction and the decision was made for
him.

Adam grabbed gun and torch from the rear seat and jumped down onto the bracken
surrounding the Landrover. Stuffing both into his belt, he stopped and surveyed
the ground around him, refreshing his memory with the relative positions of
various landmarks, and the general lie of the land. He could hear running through
his mind the words of their instructor during local training in the reed-beds of
northern Kuwait prior to the Iraq invasion. He'd never anticipated that they
might be of use in the Suffolk marshes. Something in him sparked to life,
adrenaline seeping into his body. He realised that Gerry had joined him.

"So who were Thunderbirds?" demanded Gerry sotto-voice.

Adam did a mental double take. "Sorry?"

"Focus," said Gerry. "Who were Thunderbirds?"

Adam thought he had lost the plot entirely but briefly saw a glimmer of light.
"What, the five Tracy sons?"

"That'll do to start."

Adam used his fingers, an old habit, dies hard. "Virgil, Scott, Gordon, John,
Alan."

"Good. And their old man?"

Adam had to think. "Jeff." He paused briefly. "Who was Tintin's father?"

Gerry smiled. "You're talking to the master here. Kyrano. What was Parker's
previous occupation before working for Lady Penelope?"

"Safecracker." Adam replied without hesitation. "Who was International Rescue's
main adversary?"

"The Hood." declared Gerry triumphantly. "So, now you're focussed, let's go and
kick some ass."

The going started relatively easily, the soft bracken interspersed with the
gorse that threatened to scratch an unwary hand. Adam's general knowledge of the
marshes layout allowed them to avoid most of the boggy areas and make relatively
good time.

Now that Adam was focussed on the job in hand, barring the odd flashback to
Thunderbirds, he found himself questioning the real objective and motivation. He
had started out this whole business determined to find out who had killed Fran
and why, but now he found himself concerned less and less with this question and
more and more concerned over Bel. This was entirely natural given the
circumstances, yet he realised that his whole attitude and relationship with
Bel had changed, regardless of their common goal in regard to Fran's death. He
recalled the shared pleasure in the flat, the warmth and smell of her body, the
sight of her showering, and that smile.