Алистер Маклин - Prime Target

‘It warrants digging into.’

‘So you think we should go to Texas?’

Whitlock stared.

‘The European and North African aspects of the case are in competent hands,’ Philpott said, ‘or so I’ll assume until I hear anything to the contrary. The possibility of an American side merits attention.’

‘So when you say we…’

‘You and me.’ Philpott studied Whitlock’s face. ‘You think perhaps I’m not up to field work?’

‘I didn’t say that.’

‘I’ve been considering this move since I left the reception this evening, but at that point my first instinct was to send Geoff Prentice. But I learn he’s laid up in the Punjab with a touch of Delhi-belly. A second choice would have been Timothy Osborne, but new intrigues in Bosnia are exercising a powerful draw on him right now.’ Philpott shrugged. ‘So then I thought, why not go myself? I’m an old cop, after all, an old conniver, and frankly I spend too much time behind this desk. The change will do me good. My secretaries can earn their keep for a change and front for me while we’re away.’

‘The trip could all be a big mistake, of course,’ Whitlock said. ‘But I suppose wild goose chases are OK now and then.’

‘Of course.’ Philpott’s eyelid dropped a fraction, as near as he ever came to winking. ‘Time away from New York could work wonders for your domestic situation.’ He stood and stretched carefully. ‘If I don’t sleep soon, I’m going to collapse.’

‘Don’t for pity’s sake do that.’ Whitlock had been with Philpott when he suffered a myocardial infarction, two years before. ‘I’m under enough stress already.’

‘So the decision is taken?’ Philpott got his coat. ‘We go to Texas and we do some prospecting.’

‘Whatever you say.’

‘I thought you might have put up some resistance.’

‘At another time, in different circumstances, maybe.’ Whitlock switched off the computer and came to the door. ‘Right now it seems like a good plan. Besides, I couldn’t really trust anyone else to keep an eye on you.’

Dusty beams of light had moved from high on the wall on Sabrina’s right to low on the wall to her left. She had long since lost the power to shout. For a while she must have slept, though she could not be sure. It had grown hotter in the room but, ominously, she no longer felt thirsty. The handcuffs had chafed away the skin on both her wrists, and she was aware that her hip and buttock had gone completely numb where they touched the floor.

She tried to move now, and found that her body seemed too heavy to shift.

I’ve lost my strength.

Water was the answer. Even in near-death situations, a few ounces of water could revive a human being and trigger the faculties.

Water.

She looked up at the cracked and grimed sink above her head. It looked as if it hadn’t held water in years, it was a derelict like the rest of the place. Sabrina had realized, after the first hour of consciousness, that this was not the place where she had spoken to Maruf-al-Hakim. That had been a house and gave off a smell of habitation. This place smelled of decay. It was a neglected hovel.

She had heard no human sound here. Not even distant voices, or the shuffle of feet on a street. Once a rat had scuttled across the floor, but that was it; that was all the living nearness she had experienced.

Her knees were skinned, and so was the top of her left foot – the sandal thongs on that foot were scuffed, too. She had been dragged, roughly; some of the pain in her head felt displaced from the point where she had been hit. She could picture herself being unceremoniously dragged along a stinking alley and dumped in here to die.

Except they didn’t want her to die. Not yet, or they would have killed her by now. They wanted her weak and despairing before they questioned her – with torture, she would bet – so they could find out what she knew about Yaqub Hisham’s death.

The scenario wasn’t new, although it was the first time for Sabrina. She had never been treated like this in the past, never made so weak. Before, people had simply tried to kill her. It was a dis-piriting thought that she had been jumped upon by more men trying to kill her than by men trying to make love to her.

She began to sink into a delirious slumber, then she heard a sound and felt her skin prickle. A chain rattled and a bolt slid. The door swung open.

A man came in. It was not Maruf. This one was shorter and thinner. As he came nearer Sabrina saw that although he was not old, his lack of teeth and his wispy hair gave him a seedy, crabbed look. She stared at him and mustered her loathing. In her position any chance for survival relied, among other things, on a clean wellspring of focused hatred.

The man carried an enamel jug and a plastic tumbler.

‘You wish water?’

‘Please,’ she croaked.

He knelt beside her and poured water into the tumbler. It was fresh and she smelled its coldness. He put the tumbler to her lips and the small cool wave washed over her tongue. Her throat seemed to swell when she tried to swallow and the man drew back the tumbler. He knew what to expect. Sabrina coughed weakly, then he put the tumbler to her mouth again and she was able to take another sip. As the water went down it felt hard and sharp.

The man withdrew the tumbler and looked at her. ‘You must wait a few minutes,’ he said. ‘Then you can drink more.’ His English was accented, but perfectly distinct.

‘Why is this happening to me?’

‘Do not talk.’

‘But I’m afraid.’ She managed a tremor in her lip. ‘Please tell me what’s happening.’

‘I do not know anything.’ He looked at her dis-passionately. ‘I am following instructions. Orders. You understand?’

‘But please…’ She took a deep shaky breath and produced a semblance of tears. ‘I haven’t done any harm. Can’t you tell me anything?’

‘I can tell you my guess.’

Sabrina stared at him, looking pitiful.

‘I can guess that before tomorrow is over,’ he said, ‘you will be found in the rubbish at the Guersa el Kebir market, with no hands and no head.’

She shuddered. ‘Can I have more water, please?’

‘Drink it slowly, then.’

When the cup touched her lip she sucked in water and swilled it around her mouth.

Focus, she thought.

She let the water pass over her throat in tiny trickles, while with her lips she pretended to sip.

Focus.

When she had swallowed all the water in her mouth she deliberately coughed against the rim of the cup, pretending she was choking.

‘Please…’ She whimpered as the cup was withdrawn. ‘Please, let me have one hand free, I can’t swallow properly when you hold the cup.’

The Arab grunted but made no move.

‘Just for a moment,’ Sabrina whined. ‘I’m so very thirsty.’

He grunted again and stood up. He fumbled in the pocket of his voluminous trousers and pulled out a bunch of keys on a chain anchored to his belt. He found a small shiny key and squatted beside Sabrina. The smell of his breath and his sweaty clothes assailed her. He undid the right bracelet then locked it round the waste-pipe.

Sabrina flexed her fingers, feeling them tingle as blood surged to her fingertips. She made a sad, grateful face.

Focus.

She held the man’s eyes with hers as he handed her the cup. He is between you and your freedom.

‘Thanks.’

She put the cup to her lips and revolved her wrist sharply forward, throwing the water in his eyes. As his hand came up to his face she caught his thumb, jerked it back and down, breaking it.

He screamed.

Still twisting the thumb, Sabrina lowered her head and butted him twice on the nose. He fell against her, howling, blood running from his nostrils. Sabrina wrapped her legs round his waist.