The Deadly Game Page 2

Gareth’s happy smile returned to his face.

  ‘Good,’ he purred. ‘Then we have an understanding?’

  ‘Yes.’ Jake nodded again.

  Chapter 3

  Jake caught the bus home. It was crowded and slower than the tube, but after his experience a few months ago, when a would-be assassin had almost succeeded in pushing him under a tube train, he felt safer. He still didn’t know who had been behind that attempt on his life. He suspected Gareth’s secret service people, but it didn’t make sense. Not now, now that Gareth knew about Jake’s interests in the secret library, and Jake knew about Gareth being the person responsible for keeping the books hidden and the truth about them hushed up.

  He thought about Lauren, far away in New Zealand, exiled. Never able to return. Unless he could find a way to force the government to change their mind. And there was only one way to get them to do that, and that was to get the whole business of the Order of Malichea and the books out into the public arena. End the secrecy. Once it was out in the open, they wouldn’t have the same hold over Lauren. OK, there was the murder charge. But Jake still felt that was a bluff. For one thing, it wasn’t murder, Lauren had killed Parsons in self-defence. For another, if they prosecuted her, it would bring out a lot of stuff they’d prefer to keep hidden: like the secret experiments at the government research laboratory from where Jake and Lauren had taken the one book he’d seen.

  Jake thought about contacting Pierce Randall, offering to work with them. They had at least one of the old books; Alex Munro, the chief executive at Pierce Randall had told Jake so himself. But Jake also knew that Pierce Randall weren’t interested in finding the books for ‘the common good’, as Munro had claimed. The international law firm wanted the books for their clients for the money they would make, for the power they would bring: to be able to hold governments and companies to ransom, to destroy and remake national economics, to use the scientific information as weapons.

  No, Pierce Randall would be the wrong direction. They wouldn’t help him gain Lauren’s freedom.

  The bus pulled up at his stop in Finsbury Park, and he walked to the small block of flats where he lived. As he walked, he cast glances around, looking for anyone suspicious, anyone who might be keeping a watch on him. It had become a habit of his, ever since he had become involved with the Order of Malichea.

  I have to stop worrying, he told himself. Gareth and his men know about me. They’re keeping watch on me. Pierce Randall aren’t interested in me if I don’t have one of the books. No one’s after me. I’m safe.

  But he didn’t feel it. Sometimes, he thought he’d never feel safe again. That was another reason to get the whole business of the Order of Malichea and the hidden library out into the open. No one would touch him or Lauren once it was out there.

  He opened the door of his flat, picked up the mail from the doormat, walked into his kitchen, and stopped dead. A large envelope was lying on his kitchen table. He knew it hadn’t been there when he’d left. Someone had been in his flat and put it there. They hadn’t broken in, the lock on his front door was undamaged. He looked at the windows. All of them were shut, and locked, exactly as he’d left them. And no one had keys to his flat except him.

  He approached the table warily. The envelope looked bulky. It had his name, Jake Wells, printed on it.

  Warning bells sounded in his brain. His mind went back to the site in Bedfordshire, when he’d seen that digger driver dig up one of the books, open it, and then the man’s whole body had been consumed by a mass of writhing vegetation within seconds. Was there something like that in this envelope? Some booby trap, waiting for him to open it, and fall victim? Jake wondered if he should plunge the envelope into a sink full of water as a safety precaution, just in case. But then he reflected that whatever was inside the envelope might be more dangerous when it came into contact with water.

  Of course, he could always throw the envelope away, unopened. But someone had deliberately come into his flat and placed it carefully there for him. And he reasoned, if they wanted to kill him, there were plenty of easier and more straightforward ways to do it.

  This was to do with the hidden Malichea books, that was obvious. And any piece of information he could get about them could be a step nearer to freeing Lauren.

  Jake picked up the envelope carefully. Whatever was inside it was light. And soft. Nothing hard-edged or rigid. Not metallic. So, hopefully, not a bomb.

  Jake opened the flap. It wasn’t sealed. Cautiously, he peered into the envelope. There was something thin and dark in there. He upended the envelope, and an object dropped out on to the table. He recognised it straight away: old darkened leather, still soft, dull but with a strange sheen to it where it had been made waterproof. It was the cover of a book, with its pages removed. On its flat surface was the embossed symbol of the Order of Malichea, a capital letter M with a snake coiled through it. And carved into the leather, the Roman numerals CXXI. 121.

  It was a protective cover from one of the hidden books, hundreds of years old. And it was book number 121. It was identical in style and material to the book that Jake and Lauren had rescued from the research centre at Hadley Park. That book had been number 367.

  Why send me just the cover? thought Jake. Straight away, he knew his question was idiotic. The information in the books was what was valuable. So where was the book? And what was it about?

  Jake looked again into the envelope, and saw there was a piece of paper inside. He took it out. On it were typed the words: Suggest we meet.

  Yes, please, thought Jake. This could be exactly what he needed to get Lauren back to England: one of the books. Proof of the existence of the library.

  The sound of his doorbell ringing startled him. He wondered who it could be, he didn’t get many callers. Then it struck him that his caller could be the person who’d delivered the cover to him. If so, why didn’t they just walk in, like they had before? Perhaps they wanted to play it carefully, not frighten him by just appearing inside his flat unannounced.

  The doorbell rang again. Whoever it was, was impatient.

  ‘Coming!’ called Jake.

  He hurried to the front door, and looked through the spyhole on to the landing. A figure in a courier’s yellow top and wearing a crash helmet was standing there, holding a small parcel. Could this be the book itself?

  Jake unlocked the door and opened it. As he did so, he was aware of another figure out of the corner of his eye, this one appearing from by the wall of the landing. Then something was sprayed into his eyes. He let out a yell and stumbled back, groping for the door to slam it shut, but before he could do so, they were on him. Strong arms wrapped themselves around him, pinioning his arms to his sides, and then a pad was pressed over his mouth and nose. A sickly smell filled his nose. Chloroform . . . !

  Chapter 4

  Jake came round. He felt sick. His head felt heavy. He was blindfolded and with a gag over his mouth. For a second, he couldn’t work out where he was, he seemed to be suspended. Then he realised he was tied to something with ropes across his chest. He was sitting on a hard chair with his head hanging forward. His hands were tied behind him at the wrists, and his ankles were also tightly bound.

  He lifted his head up, and pain flooded through it.

  Where am I? he thought. Who’s doing this to me? Why?

  He strained his ears for movement, trying to work out where his attackers were, but there were no sounds nearby. Maybe he was in one room and they were in another. He tried to work out his location from the acoustics, but there was nothing to help him. No echoes, no noises up close.

  He sniffed the air, seeing if he could get any clues that way. Indoor smells. Industrial. Grease, timber and other things he couldn’t quite place.

  He tried to move, but the chair itself was heavy, and his own weight made it hard to manoeuvre. He attempted to push himself up and bring the chair down on its legs, but he was tied too firmly for that. All that happened was the chair moved a bit, its legs scraping
on the ground. But the sound of that scrape was metal on concrete, not wood. And there was a hint of an echo.

  He waited, just in case anyone had heard the chair scraping and was coming to him. No one came. He tried again, dragging the chair this time. It only moved a few centimetres, but there was definitely a touch of an echo. He guessed it was a large building with a high roof. The smell of wood and grease suggested it was a warehouse of some kind.

  Suddenly he heard a sound. Footsteps in the distance. Careful footsteps. Someone moving cautiously.

  They don’t want me to hear them coming, he thought. Why? What are they going to do? Creep up on me and hit me to silence me? They must have heard the scrape of the chair.

  He stayed still, every nerve and sense now straining to follow the footsteps as they came nearer. Come on, he urged them. Get near enough so I can . . .

  So I can what? he thought miserably. I’m tied up so tight I can’t move. I can’t even fall over on to them.

  The footsteps came nearer. Light footsteps, by the sound of it. Soft shoes.

  He sat in the chair, waiting for them to get close beside him, tensing himself against the blows he expected to rain down on him.

  They were beside him now. He felt something pull at the blindfold . . . and then he was staring into the face of a young woman, who looked at him in astonishment.

  ‘My God!’ she said, awed.

  Jake stared back at her, his mind a mess of bewilderment. Who was she? And what was she doing here?

  He felt a sudden pain as she tore away the tape from over his mouth.

  ‘It’s OK,’ she said, her tone still one of awe and astonishment. ‘I’m a journalist.’

  This only made Jake feel even more bewildered.

  ‘A journalist?’

  ‘Yes. My name’s Michelle Faure. I had a phone call telling me if I came here I’d find something interesting. I thought it was a crank call, but I’m just starting out, and a story is a story . . .’

  As she began to untie the ropes that held his wrists to the chair, she apologised. ‘Sorry, I’m gabbling, but I’ve never been in this situation before. Are you hurt?’

  ‘No,’ said Jake, his mind still racing. What was a journalist doing here?

  As she worked at the knots, he looked around. As he’d guessed, he was in a large warehouse. Timber was stacked around in piles, but it didn’t look as if any of it had been moved for some time. There seemed to be a fine layer of dust over everything. The ropes fell away as the knots around his wrists and ankles were finally loosened.

  ‘There!’ she said. ‘Now we’d better phone your family, let them know you’re safe.’

  ‘I don’t have any family,’ said Jake.

  ‘Well, whoever paid the ransom,’ said Michelle.

  Jake stared at her.

  ‘What ransom?’

  Michelle looked at him, and now it was her turn to look puzzled.

  ‘Well, someone must have paid the ransom, otherwise why did I get the call?’

  Jake shook his head.

  ‘Look, I’m not a kidnap victim. Yes, OK, I was grabbed and tied up and left here, but I don’t think it was that long ago.’ He shot a look at his watch. ‘In fact, it only happened about two hours ago.’

  ‘And I got the call twenty minutes ago,’ said Michelle. Suddenly her expression changed and she looked at Jake suspiciously. ‘Is this some kind of gag?’

  ‘Gag?’ echoed Jake indignantly.

  ‘Some sort of practical joke.’

  ‘God, no!’ said Jake, heartfelt.

  ‘So, who did it? Did you see them?’

  ‘I saw one of them, he was wearing a sort of courier’s uniform and he was holding a parcel.’

  ‘Where was this?’

  ‘Outside my flat. And when I answered the door, this other figure was there, and the next second I had some stuff sprayed in my eyes, and then a pad with chloroform was put over my mouth and nose.’

  Michelle still regarded him suspiciously.

  ‘You’re sure it’s not some kind of joke?’

  Jake shook his head.

  Michelle fell silent. Then a look of determination entered her eyes.

  ‘We need to phone the police,’ she said.

  ‘Why?’ asked Jake.

  ‘Why? Because you’re a victim of a crime! And a weird crime, at that! Kidnapping for no reason. Assault.’ She looked even more determined as she added: ‘And I need some kind of police comment, otherwise I don’t have much of a story.’

  ‘You don’t have a story,’ said Jake. ‘They let me go unharmed.’

  ‘No,’ said Michelle firmly, shaking her head. ‘This is obviously a warning of some sort. Gangsters? Drug dealers?’ she asked hopefully. ‘You’ve been poking your nose into their business and this is a warning to you.’

  ‘I don’t do drugs,’ Jake told her, ‘and I stay away from people who do.’

  Michelle let out a heavy sigh.

  ‘Then why call me to tell me you were here?’ she complained.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Jake. ‘To release me, I suppose.’

  ‘But if that’s all it was, why not phone a friend of yours?’

  Because I don’t have many friends, thought Jake ruefully. ‘I don’t know.’

  Michelle shook her head.

  ‘There has to be a story here,’ she said grimly. ‘Something I can use.’

  And suddenly it hit Jake that this was the opportunity he’d been thinking about for getting the Order of Malichea into the public domain. Getting Lauren’s freedom. Of course, he’d have to keep some things back from this woman. Like Lauren killing Carl Parsons. But, if he managed it properly, it could be the answer.

  ‘Actually, Michelle,’ he said, ‘I think I may have a story for you.’

  ‘And is what’s happened here part of it?’

  Jake nodded.

  ‘Oh yes,’ he said. ‘This is definitely part of it.’

  Chapter 5

  On the promise that Jake would tell her everything that would provide her with a major story, Michelle agreed to drive Jake back to his flat. As it turned out, it wasn’t far, the timber storehouse was in an alley off the Holloway Road. Whoever had kidnapped Jake had known the area well enough to know that the timber store was no longer in use, and hadn’t been for some time.

  Michelle did most of the talking as she drove, and Jake learnt that she was just starting out on her career as a journalist on a magazine called Qo.

  ‘It covers everything,’ she said. ‘News. Fashion. TV. Politics.’

  Jake vaguely remembered seeing it on news-stands. Glossy, and usually with a glamorous celebrity on the cover.

  ‘So how does this kidnapping fit in with that?’ he asked.

  ‘It’s news,’ she said.

  ‘Not for a weekly, I’d have thought,’ said Jake, still puzzled.

  She shrugged as she drove.

  ‘Yes, well, everybody knows it’s just a stepping stone for me,’ she said. ‘What I want to do is get into hard news. Investigative journalism.’

  ‘When you say “everybody” . . . ?’

  ‘Well, not everybody, obviously,’ said Michelle. ‘Most of the people I work with. Though I’ve told the editor I see my career as being part of the Qo family. No sense in telling him I’d be off like a rocket if the opportunity came up.’

  ‘And you thought discovering a kidnap victim was that opportunity?’ asked Jake.

  ‘I didn’t know what I’d be discovering,’ Michelle reminded him. ‘All they said was: “If you go to Patterson Timber Store, you’ll find something worthwhile to further your career.” That was it.’

  ‘And you went, not knowing what you were going into,’ said Jake. ‘It could have been anything. A trap. Anything might have happened to you.’

  Michelle grinned and patted her pocket.

  ‘I always carry a can of mace with me,’ she said. ‘For protection. Anyone tries anything, they’ll get a faceful. This way, I level the playing field.’
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br />   As Michelle parked outside Jake’s flat, Jake was worrying about the book cover. His whole story depended on it. He hoped it was still in his flat. Or had the two men taken it? His kidnapping was definitely connected to the hidden books, of that he was sure. But who’d done it? And why?

  But when they got into his flat, Jake was relieved to see the book cover was still where he’d left it, on the kitchen table.

  ‘This is what it’s about,’ said Jake, picking it up and giving it to Michelle.

  Michelle looked at the piece of ancient black leather, puzzled. She turned it over in her hands, examining it briefly, then put it back on the table and turned to Jake, her expression as puzzled as before.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ she said. ‘What is it? And what’s that symbol on it?’

  ‘That’s the symbol of the Order of Malichea,’ explained Jake. ‘And that thing is the protective cover of a book that was hidden over five hundred years ago.’

  Michelle looked at the piece of leather with new interest.

  ‘Wow,’ she said. Then she frowned. ‘Why was it hidden?’

  ‘OK,’ said Jake. ‘What I’m going to tell you is going to sound weird, but it’s all true. And I can back it up.’

  Michelle studied Jake warily.

  ‘Is this going to be one of those “I was abducted by aliens” things?’ she asked. ‘Because we get a lot of those, and my editor says they’re a No-no.’

  ‘No, it’s nothing like that,’ said Jake. ‘It’s very practical, but it is a government secret.’

  Michelle still looked suspicious.

  ‘We also get a lot of people coming to us with conspiracy stuff,’ she said. ‘You know, the government’s using radio waves to control our minds. That sort of thing. This isn’t one of those, is it?’

  ‘No,’ said Jake. ‘It’s about a secret scientific library that was hidden five hundred years ago, and why the government doesn’t want it found.’

  Michelle still didn’t look convinced.

  ‘This doesn’t sound like a major-interest story,’ she sighed. ‘For one thing, five hundred years means it’s all in the past.’