Paul Johnston - The Soul Collector

“The law’s the law, whoever you are,” the inspector muttered.

“Oh, come on, Taff, how many times have you overlooked things team members have done?”

He glared at her. “Involving firearms and murderers, none.”

Karen Oaten took a deep breath. “Look, I didn’t say Matt was off the hook. At the end of these cases, I’ll review the situation.”

“You’d better,” the Welshman said, “or the AC will tear your head off.”

Oaten thought back to the scene in the house in Stoke Newington-blood everywhere, but no body. It was obvious it had been in parts, though. “Nice metaphor, Taff.”

Inspector John Turner raised an eyebrow. “What? Oh, I see what you mean. Sorry.”

They proceeded to the cottage at Oldbury, a truce of sorts established.

It took us only half an hour to get to the railings that marked the limit of Earl Sternwood’s domain. The moon was casting a fitful light across the acres of parkland and forest. I got out of the Suzuki and listened. Apart from the faint noise of traffic in the distance, there was no sound. We checked our gear.

“Oh, shit, I just remembered this,” Pete said, holding up a brick-size block wrapped in clear film.

It was plastic explosive. Dave had trained us how to use it, but this would be the first time for real.

“Yeah, take it,” I said. “We’re trying to get into a castle, after all.” I looked at the satellite photo I’d found of the estate. A faint line wound through the dark patch of forest in front of us. “This looks like a path. If we follow it, we come out right in front of the main buildings.”

“Fair enough,” Rog said. “As long as His Lordship hasn’t had mines laid.”

“We’ll just have to take that chance,” I said. “For Andy.”

The others nodded and we set off. It was quiet in the woods, apart from the scurrying of small animals and the faint flap of owls’ wings. I was glad I had company. I wouldn’t have fancied walking through the ancient forest on my own-there were too many obscure places for enemies to conceal themselves. After about ten minutes, I made out the lights on the main house. There weren’t many of them. Either Earl Sternwood was strapped for cash-which seemed unlikely, given the drugs deal he’d done with the Albanians-or there wasn’t much going on. The area that the map showed as taken up by the castle was completely unlit. If I’d located it correctly, it was a brooding, shadowless presence.

We reached the tree line. Now the mass of the old stronghold was visible, its vertical walls blocking out the stars and satellites that stood low in the northern sky. We squatted down behind a tree and looked at the photos that Safet Shkrelli’s investigator had obtained. They gave us an idea of the tower’s size, but didn’t tell us anything about the interior structure. On the other hand, the meetings of the notorious Sternwood Hell-fire Club had taken place in a subterranean cavern. I reckoned that the present earl kept his secrets down there and that Sara wouldn’t have been able to resist stashing Andy there.

“The door’s at the back,” Pete said.

“Right,” I said. “I’ll go first. If a motion-sensor turns on lights, I’ll see if I can spot it. We’ll need to shoot it out.” I racked the slide on my Glock, then nodded at the others.

“Three, two, one, go,” I said under my breath, running across the gravel as fast as I could. I made it to the castle wall without anything happening-at least, anything obvious. I had no idea how good the earl’s security system was. I might already have been spotted.

“One at a time,” I said via my cheek-mike.

Pete came first, then Rog. I led them around the side of the tower, pointing to the two cars that were drawn up to the rear. It didn’t look like many people were around, though there was plenty of parking space on the far side of the house.

We reached the door. It was a great wooden thing with metal studs all over it, but it didn’t look old. The locks were also modern and solid. I wouldn’t have fancied trying to pick them. Pete moved past me, heading for a square ventilation panel. It was about a meter above ground level, with each side measuring about three-quarters of a meter. It would be a tight fit, but I reckoned we could make it-if we managed to separate the louvered panel from its metal frame. Boney set about it with a chisel, cursing under his breath. After five minutes, he had to admit defeat. I had a go, but the join was tighter than a banker’s lips.

“Only one way to go now,” Rog said.

“Don’t tell me,” Pete whispered. “The plastic.”

I nodded. “Who wants to lay it?”

Rog was already rummaging in Boney’s pack.

“Not too much,” I said. “Maybe the explosion will be muffled by the stone walls. In any case, we’ll have to get inside very quickly after it blows.”

Pete and I watched as Rog rolled out four strips of the explosive, and then molded them around the frame till they joined up. He pushed a detonator in and set the radio-controlled fuse. He ran back and we retreated behind the cars, an old Land Rover and a Citroen minivan. That made me wonder how many were in the opposition team.

“Ready?” Rog asked.

Boney and I nodded, then put our fingers in our ears. Rog pressed the button on the control unit. There was an explosion that wasn’t as loud as I’d expected-the walls must have absorbed a lot of the noise. When I looked up, I saw the remains of the panel hanging down.

“Nice one, Dodger,” I said, getting up and running toward the hole. Dust and smoke were still rising when I reached it. I pulled myself over the rough edge and dropped into the tower. It was dark as the devil’s armpit, but I couldn’t hear any of the sounds people usually make after explosions, such as loud screaming or shouted orders. I moved aside as the others came through.

“What now?” Pete asked. He shone his torch around the square area. There was no furniture or anything else in it, just bare stone walls and a few arrow slits. Stone projections showed where the castle’s upper floors would have once been. The only direction to go was down.

“There,” Pete said, pointing to a large flagstone that had initially looked the same as the others. There was a small indentation on the right side, and in it had been fixed a well-disguised steel ring.

I went over and got two fingers under the ring. Then I looked at the others. “Ready?”

“Let’s roll,” Pete said, brandishing his pistol.

Rog shook his head in disbelief. “Just do it, Matt.”

I nodded. “Lights out.”

We switched the torches off. In the darkness, I braced my back and heaved.

The stone panel came up with surprising ease.

Now came the difficult part.

Andy had been using the vibration of the van, which was being driven at high speed again, to help him edge his fingers around the small knife. Finally he managed to grip it and slide it out of his pocket. Now he had to be seriously careful-if he dropped it, he’d lost the game. After a struggle with his damaged nails, at last he succeeded in levering the blade out. He stopped to rest his quivering fingers, then started to saw through the ropes that had been looped tight around his wrists. He felt the point jab into his skin several times and blood began to run, but he was glad he always kept the knife sharp-that meant he got his hands free quickly. He removed the gag and breathed deeply through his mouth. Then he cut through the bonds on his ankles and then stretched his legs without standing up-he wasn’t sure if his shape might be visible in the rearview mirror. Besides, his only chance was to play possum until Sara or the old woman got close. He flexed his fingers and toes, feeling the pain of his blood circulation returning to normal. It was a good pain.