Adrian Magson - No Peace For The Wicked

On the bedside table, her mobile phone began ringing.

She pushed furiously against the door and tried to slide the chain back into place, but the door slammed against her like a battering ram, propelling her backwards into the room. As she fell, she caught a glimpse of McManus’s huge shape bearing down on her, a smile of triumph on his face.

Although winded, she broke her fall with the flat of her hands and desperately kicked out with her right foot, connecting with the side of McManus’s left kneecap. He didn’t even flinch but grasped her foot and twisted it painfully, flipping her onto her face. In his other hand he was holding a length of rope. With practised ease and two turns of the rope, he had Riley effectively neutralised on the floor.

He pressed a foot against the side of her neck and leered down at her. “Ain’t no good strugglin’,” he told her. “You’ll only make things worse.” He stepped over to the bedside cabinet where Riley’s mobile phone was still ringing and stabbed the ‘off’ button.

“The good news is, your message got through to soldier boy. The bad news is, he couldn’t make it so I’ve come instead.” He flicked the curtain aside and peered out onto the car park. Satisfied the way was clear he came back and lifted her on to the bed. She could smell coffee on his breath and a strong aftershave that made her feel nauseous.

“Now listen, darlin’,” he said, face close to hers. “I ain’t messin’, so don’t piss me about. We’re goin’ walkies. Out of this room, down the back stairs and out to the car park. Simple and easy, okay?”

Riley stared up at him, her revulsion evident by the white-hot look in her eyes.

“Where are you taking me?”

“I said okay ?” He prodded her stomach with a massive finger, doubling her forward.

She nodded. “Yes… all right.”

“Good.” He cupped a huge hand around her neck. “Do anything silly, I’ll snap your spine like a twig. And believe me, darlin’, I’ve snapped stronger than yours.”

He untied the cord from her wrists and flung it to one side, then pushed her across to the door and opened it.

“Remember,” he whispered. “One wrong move and you’re dead.” Then he pushed her out into the corridor.

Mitcheson switched off his phone, a sick feeling in his gut. The phone had started ringing, then been switched off. Why should she do that?

He went out to the hallway and picked up a local business directory. According to the listing the Ascona was just along the coast road. He dialled the number. No reply. He swore, glancing at his watch. There was plenty of time before the afternoon meeting in Malaga. Lottie Grossman wouldn’t like the idea of him going walkabout, any more than McManus would, but that was too bad. They didn’t own him lock, stock and barrel — not yet.

He found Doug standing by the front door, eyeing the surrounding scenery.

“I’ll be back in a while,” he told him. “Did McManus go out?”

Doug nodded. “Yeah. Beats me the caveman can even drive. He looked like he’d won the Lottery. What’s going on?”

Mitcheson felt guilty not trusting a man he’d known for a number of years, but he couldn’t take the chance. “I’ll tell you later,” he said. “Keep your eyes open.”

The Land Cruiser was free, so he got in and wheeled it down the drive.

When Frank Palmer returned to the hotel for lunch, he walked along the corridor to Riley’s room and was surprised to see the door open. Inside he found John Mitcheson standing at the window looking out. The bed was rumpled and Mitcheson was holding a length of nylon cord.

“I wouldn’t have thought that was your scene,” Palmer said softly.

Mitcheson snapped round, eyes seeking a way out. When he saw who it was, he relaxed slightly, but began to move towards the door. “Frank Palmer, isn’t it?” His voice was calm and relaxed, as though meeting an old friend.

The investigator stepped aside and indicated the open doorway. He had no illusions about being able to take on the former soldier; the man was younger, fitter and had the advantage of desperation on his side. All Palmer would get in the process was a trampled body and bruised pride.

“You can go if you like,” he said coolly. “I won’t stop you. But I’d rather you told me what’s happened to Riley first.”

Mitcheson stopped and reassessed Palmer. “I don’t know,” he told Palmer with obvious honesty. “I was supposed to meet her here at midday.” He glanced at his watch; it was just gone eleven.

“Bit eager, aren’t you?”

Mitcheson ignored the crack. “I think the message was intercepted by McManus. If it was, she’s in real trouble.”

Palmer indicated the cord in Mitcheson’s hand. “Well, I doubt Riley’s into bondage, so that could only have been left by your primeval mate. Where would he have taken her — the villa?”

“No there, no. Lottie Grossman told him to deal with her. Where he takes her is up to him.” He glanced at his watch again. “I have to be at a meeting soon. If I don't turn up Riley definitely won’t survive.”

Palmer nodded. “Well, that gives us a bit of time, doesn’t it?” He glanced around the room, then went to the wardrobe where Riley’s laptop sat on a shelf. Evidently McManus hadn’t been interested in taking anything else. He left it where it was; Riley had already emailed her notes to Brask. He turned back to Mitcheson. “We’d better come up with something bloody quick. And while we’re about it, you’d best figure out which side of the fence you’re on.”

Riley felt the skin tightening on the back of her neck and debated driving the Mercedes into the nearest brick wall. But she knew it wouldn’t work. McManus was sitting beside her with a handgun in one huge fist and the other hand resting on the seat-back behind her. The proximity of the gun repulsed her almost as much as the touch of his hand.

After leaving the hotel, he had walked her to his car with his arm clamped around her shoulder, then pushed her into the driving seat, handing her the keys.

“You’re driving,” he told her. “And forget about any silly shunts on the way. Make a wrong move and I’ll top you where you sit.” As he got in the passenger seat he produced a gun, which he held under his jacket with the muzzle pointing at Riley’s stomach. “Yeah. Look at it, darlin’,” he muttered. “Imagine what kind of bullet comes out of a barrel this big. Think of the damage it’d do to that precious little body.”

She followed his directions onto the coast road towards Malaga, then out to a suburb of narrow streets and shabby housing. Whining mopeds buzzed around the big German car, overtaking on blind corners and slipping through gaps which looked suicidally small. And everywhere delivery trucks of all shapes and sizes seemed to fill the streets, causing jams and minor altercations as motorists leaned out of the vehicles and shouted at each other. McManus’s hand moved forward off the seat, resting heavily midway between Riley’s shoulder and neck as a reminder not to try anything.

“Slow down.” McManus leaned forward as they nosed along a narrow street, then indicated a parking space ahead. “Pull in there.”

Riley did as she was told and cut the engine, shivering as McManus’s hand curled warningly over her shoulder. She saw why: a hundred yards ahead, a dark blue car was nosing out of the gates to a house next to a hoarding advertising a new block of flats. A uniformed policeman closed the gates, then stretched a length of plastic tape across the front before climbing into the car. Another policeman stepped out of the front door of the house and closed the door, pinning another length of tape in place, before joining his colleague. Seconds later the car was disappearing down the street.