Adrian Magson - No Help For The Dying

Palmer walked across and inspected Angelina. She groaned faintly and turned as he touched her shoulder. But it was soon apparent that she couldn’t move, as her hands had been tied to the bed frame with nylon rope.

‘It’s all right,’ he said soothingly, as the girl struggled to pull away from him, eyes flaring in terror. ‘We’ve come to take you home.’ He signalled to Riley, who scooped up the hunting knife and brought it over to him. While he began to saw at the ropes, she knelt down so the terrified girl could see her face. Seconds later the girl was free and Palmer was able to slide his hands beneath her, lifting her without effort. ‘Time to go, kiddo,’ he said easily, and looked at Riley. ‘They were definitely expecting company.’

Riley nodded and led the way past the two men, who were still groaning in pain, and peered through the open door. Satisfied the way was clear, she jogged down the street with Palmer padding along behind her, carrying Angelina.

Minutes later, they were on a broader street and spotted a taxi dropping off passengers outside a pub. Riley whistled and seconds later they were in the back and on their way, explaining to the driver that the girl had food poisoning. As they turned onto a main road leading towards the river, a white van going the other way drove past at speed, the street lights reflected in its darkened windows.

‘Surprise, surprise,’ murmured Palmer, looking back. ‘Are they going to be pissed.’

The van skidded to a halt just as one of the men staggered from the arches, angrily kicking aside the remains of the door. He stared left and right, then swore viciously at the night sky.

Quine stepped down and faced the man, head cocked to one side. ‘Please don’t tell me we have a problem.’ His voice was unnaturally calm, and the other man seemed to shrink in reply.

‘They took her away!’ he said defensively, gesturing into the dark. ‘You must have been followed here. Yeah, that’s it — how else would they have got here? We want our money.’

‘I don’t think so.’ Quine’s voice was coldly emphatic. ‘You paraded her around, didn’t you? Allowed her to be seen.’ He loomed over the other man like a menacing shadow. ‘You should be the one paying. Know what I mean?’

The girl remained silent all the way to Portland Place. Huddled into one corner of the cab, she stared resolutely at the floor, shivering and tense. She had made no attempt to get away from them, and Riley guessed she was in shock. If she recovered enough to start thinking about what was happening, she might panic that she was being moved on somewhere else and start screaming her head off. Riley gradually eased closer, trying to establish contact as a reassuring presence.

‘She ok?’ the driver asked, peering over his shoulder. ‘She ain’t gonna be sick, is she?’

‘Just drive,’ Palmer said quietly, and the man turned back to concentrating on the road. Palmer took out his mobile and dialled the Boothe-Davisons’ number.

‘Will they try to get her back, do you think?’ said Riley softly. She was wondering how much value the Dukes or Quine and his companion placed on Angelina, and whether it might be sufficient to compel them to recover their investment. If they did, then the genteel and open surroundings of the building off Portland Place wouldn’t be the safest place to leave her.

‘I doubt it. But they might not let this go without some kind of response.’ He gave a slight start to indicate the phone had been answered.

‘Great,’ murmured Riley. ‘Maybe this time they’ll tidy my place up again.’

Palmer calmly informed whoever had answered the phone that they were twenty minutes away. By his succinct manner, Riley guessed he was speaking to the former Air Commodore. ‘She’s fine,’ he concluded reassuringly. ‘But you might want a doctor there to check her over, just in case.’ He clicked off and sat back, and Riley wondered if he was as calm as he seemed. She had seen Palmer in action before, and she was under no illusions about how effective he must have been in the military police. He would remain single-minded and controlled until this thing was over — or at least, until Angelina was back with her parents. After that, well, time would tell. She just hoped that when the reaction to her own part in the arches set in, which it surely would, she wouldn’t fall apart like an old wardrobe.

He seemed to sense what she was thinking, and turned to look at her. ‘You ok, Riley? You did well back there.’ He so rarely used her name, it sounded odd. Then he smiled with casual indifference, a welcome trace of the normal laid-back Frank Palmer. ‘Of course, I would have taken the other bloke, too. You just got there first.’

Riley patted his hand in the exaggerated manner of a concerned big sister and gave him a patient look. ‘Of course you would, Palmer. I know that. But you wouldn’t deny a girl some fun, would you?’ She sat back, wondering if she hadn’t just seen another chink in the armour of the Palmer façade; a glimpse to show the man was feeling guilty at having dragged Riley into a situation where things could have gone dramatically wrong.

The cab dropped them outside the front entrance to the building. The street was quiet, with only a few vehicles and very little pedestrian traffic. If anyone had followed them, they had used a stealth craft. With Palmer hovering close by, Riley ushered Angelina across the pavement and through the front door, gently murmuring to her that everything was going to be fine. She had no idea what was going through the girl’s mind, but she guessed she was probably dreading stepping back into her parents’ lives after whatever drama had compelled her to leave.

Mrs Boothe-Davison was waiting at the front door to the flat, and rushed forward to greet her daughter, arms open. Gone was the restraint of their last visit, and amid tears and murmured apologies, they disappeared into a bedroom, followed by a youthful man carrying a black leather briefcase. That left Riley and Palmer with the Air Commodore, who handed them an enormous whisky each in crystal glasses. His whole body was tensed with worry and he nodded gratefully to them in turn before downing his own drink in one hit. The shudder which ran through him afterwards said it all.

‘Don’t know how to thank you,’ he muttered finally. His voice caught on the words, but Riley couldn’t tell if it was the emotion of the moment or the belt of whisky on the back of his throat that caused it. ‘I’m so relieved I can’t explain.’ He sniffed and shook his head, and poured himself another drink. When he came back, he seemed calmer, and it was plain he was exerting a massive amount of self-control. ‘Where did you find her?’

Palmer gave the details in crisp report fashion, as if he was attending a de-briefing session after a military exercise. ‘As far as we know,’ he said carefully, ‘they didn’t harm her. There wouldn’t have been any value in it. But the experience will stay with her for some time. She may need specialist help to see her through — but I’m no expert.’ He drained his whisky and placed the glass on a coffee table. ‘I think you should take her away for a few days. Both of you. Give her time to recover.’

Boothe-Davison nodded. ‘Of course. Good idea.’ He was no fool, and seemed to consider what Palmer had said, before asking the same question that Riley had earlier. ‘You think these men may try to get her back?’

‘Seriously? No. They must know who you are — that you’ve got connections with the MOD. They’ll know if they push it too far and identify themselves, you could call down a lot of firepower on them. They won’t want that. My guess is they’ve already cut their losses and gone. I can give you the address where she was held, but I doubt you’ll find anything. It was a hole they used, that’s all. They’ll have others.’