Anthony Horowitz - Evil Star

Or so he thought.

“You are Paul Carter?” the policeman asked. Even from the four words, Matt could tell that his English was good. He had a heavy Spanish accent but there was a certain rhythm to the way he spoke. And despite his looks, his voice was soft.

“Yes. My name is Captain Rodriguez. I have been waiting for you. Where is your friend…” He smiled unpleasantly. “…Robert Carter?”

“He’s not here.”

“Where is he?”

Matt was becoming increasingly nervous. The policeman had referred to Richard as his friend, not as his brother – which was what he was supposed to be. And he had spoken the names as if he already knew they were false. Pedro had warned him not to go into the hotel and Matt was beginning to wish that he’d listened. He certainly hadn’t been expecting this degree of hostility. The senior policeman was standing right in front of him. The other three had moved to surround him. They weren’t treating him as if he needed help. It was more as if he was a suspect, a wanted criminal.

“Did Mr Fabian call you?” Matt asked.

“Fabian? Who is Fabian?”

“Listen… I was attacked last night. I need help.”

“Your name is Paul Carter?”

“Yes.” Even as Matt spoke the word, it died on his lips. The policeman knew who he was. He had only asked the question to test him. Slowly, he reached for the passport and turned it around, handling it as if it was something dirty. Then he picked it up and opened it. For a long moment, he squinted at the photograph at the back.

“Where did you get this?” he asked.

“It’s my passport.” Matt felt a nameless terror opening up beneath him.

“This passport is a forgery.”

“No…”

“Tell me your true name.”

“I just told you. It’s Paul Carter. Didn’t you hear what I said? I was attacked last night. There were men with guns. You have to ring Mr Fabian…”

The girls at the reception desk were watching all of this, their eyes filled with fear. One of the policemen rapped something at them and they hurried away, disappearing down a corridor. Another policeman went over to the main door and stood there, making sure nobody could see in. It was still early in the morning. None of the guests had got up yet. There was nobody to witness what happened next.

The senior policeman – the one who called himself Captain Rodriguez – punched Matt. He barely had time to see the huge fist swing in an arc towards him before it had made contact with his stomach, throwing him off his feet. If he’d eaten anything in the past twelve hours, he would have been sick. As it was, he felt the breath explode out of him as he crashed backwards onto the floor. Darkness shimmered in front of his eyes as he hovered at the edge of consciousness and he had to fight with all his strength simply to breathe again. He felt the cold marble against his cheek. He needed it. It helped fight the dark away.

“You are lying to me,” Rodriguez said and Matt knew that he was in more trouble than he could begin to imagine. The policeman knew everything. He had been waiting for Matt at the hotel. Perhaps he had been there all night. “You think, perhaps, that I am an idiot? You think that the police officers of Peru are not worthy of your respect?”

“No…” Matt tried to speak but he still hadn’t caught his breath and he was in too much pain. He couldn’t believe what had just happened. There was a bitter taste in his mouth. He forced himself to go on. “I want…” he began. He was a British citizen. It didn’t matter what he’d done. They couldn’t treat him like this.

Captain Rodriguez swung a foot almost lazily and Matt yelled out as it came into contact with his ribs. A new wave of pain seared through his body. For a few seconds, the hotel went red and he wondered if they were going to kill him, here and now, in this upmarket hotel.

“What do you want?” Rodriguez taunted him, imitating his voice. “You want to confess? I think that would be a good idea, my friend. I think you should tell me who you really are and why you have come here. I think you should tell me now!”

He lashed out again. Matt saw the boot coming and was able to ride with it, rolling over and over across the marble floor. The other policemen laughed.

Rodriguez walked over to him, one slow step at a time.

“You should not have come here, my friend,” he crowed.

“I… haven’t… done… anything… wrong.”

“You have no papers. You have no nationality. You have entered this country illegally.” Rodriguez reached down and grabbed Matt’s hair. He tugged it so hard that Matt cried out. He could feel the tears being squeezed from his eyes. “Maybe you are a terrorist. Yes. You are young, it is true. But there are others who are younger. Are you prepared to tell me the truth?”

Matt nodded. What else could he do? He would tell this man everything.

“Where is Richard Cole?” Rodriguez asked.

So the charade was over. The policeman knew who they were. He had known from the start.

“Where is he?” Rodriguez pulled even harder.

“I don’t know!” Matt screamed. He was sure the hair was going to be torn from his scalp. There was blood trickling from his nose and down the corner of his mouth. “He said he’d meet me here! I don’t know where he went.” It was a lie – but it didn’t matter. He just had to say anything to stop the pain.

He heard the sound of a bell and the lift doors opened. A businessman had appeared, on his way to an early meeting. He stepped out of the lift and saw the four policemen, the boy lying on the floor between them. Nobody said anything. The businessman blinked and disappeared back into the lift. Matt could imagine that he wouldn’t even draw breath until he was back in his room.

But at least Captain Rodriguez had let go of his hair. Matt lay where he was, sprawled out on the floor like one of those drawings the police make after there’s been a murder. He wondered if some of his ribs had been broken. His entire body was in pain.

Rodriguez dropped down next to him and cupped a hand under his cheek. For a moment he could have been a father, consoling an injured son, but every word he spoke dripped with venom and hate. “You are a very foolish child,” he muttered. “You have come, uninvited, to my country and nobody can help you. Because, you see, you are ‘Paul Carter’. You do not exist. Nobody knows that you are here and nobody will know when you disappear. For that is what will happen to you, my friend. We have places here that nobody knows about. Prisons far away where you can go in and never come out. It would be easy to kill you. I could kill you now and go to have my breakfast and not think twice. But that is not what is going to happen to you, Matthew Freeman. You are going to be buried alive in a concrete cell far beneath the ground and you are going to be left to rot and nobody is going to hear from you again.”

He raised Matt’s head a little further so that his lips were almost touching his ear. And then the final words came, a whisper of sheer hatred.

“Diego Salamanda sends you his regards.”

He let the head fall and Matt felt another spasm of pain as his skull came into contact with the marble floor.

Rodriguez must have given a signal. The other three policemen closed in on him and scooped him up. Between them, they dragged him out of the hotel. Matt didn’t even try to resist. He could feel his feet, toes downwards, sliding along behind him. His vision was blurred. He could just make out the reception desk with Rodriguez standing in front of it, but both of them were out of focus. He was bundled out through the door. There was no sign of the doorman. Like the businessman, he must have got out of sight as quickly as he could. Matt remembered the two cars parked at the front. They had been waiting for him! And he had just walked in and given himself up.