Питер Мэй - A Silent Death

Mackenzie turned quickly back towards the stairway and heard a muffled cry from the top floor. He shone the beam of his torch ahead of him as he climbed into darkness, becoming aware that there were no longer any walls around him. The tower that housed the stairwell, and what would have been the lift shaft, was completely open to the elements on three sides. Moonlight flooded in now, casting oblique shadows across the steps. Out there, where stars shimmered in the night sky, seemed a world away, and the ground below a dangerous drop into the dark.

As he stepped out on to the topmost level he realized that there was nowhere else to go. An unfinished doorway to his left led on to a small square of roof terrace. Turning to his right he stepped on to the top landing, dusty concrete laid on four sides around a square opening intended to house the lift mechanism. Concrete pillars at each corner supported the roof above.

A gathering of three men and a stricken Cristina stood with their backs perilously close to the drop at the far side of the empty shaft. One of the men held her from behind, his hand over her mouth, the barrel of her SIG Pro pushed against her temple. He was dangerously thin, wearing a torn singlet and filthy sneakers. A soiled red bandanna wrapped itself around greasy hair that fell to his shoulders. The other two dangled scarred baseball bats from arms that bulged beneath stained white T-shirts. They faced off to Mackenzie across the gap, and he could see the terror in Cristina’s eyes by the light of the moon that angled in across his shoulder.

He realized that having light behind him gave him an advantage, and he raised the beam of his torch to shine directly at the group opposite. He would barely be visible to them, but could see almost every pore on the unshaven faces of Cristina’s captors.

In what seemed to Mackenzie like a stage whisper one of them said to the man holding Cristina, ‘What do we do?’

‘Has he got a gun?’

‘Can’t see.’

And Mackenzie realized it wasn’t Spanish that they spoke. But Arabic. He relaxed a little and started moving cautiously around the perimeter of the lift shaft towards them.

‘Listen,’ he said. ‘We don’t have to do this the hard way. No one has to get hurt here.’ And he registered their surprise. This strange pale Caucasian was speaking to them in Arabic.

Cristina’s fear morphed into confusion as Mackenzie appeared to engage her captors in conversation. A language that she didn’t understand. He seemed unnaturally relaxed as he and the man pressing the gun to her head swapped several short exchanges. Then to her astonishment she felt the hand around her mouth relax its grip, and as her captor let her go he stepped forward to lay the SIG Pro carefully on the concrete floor.

Mackenzie approached along one side of the opening, and all three men moved warily along the facing edge. When Mackenzie stooped to pick Cristina’s gun from the floor, they made a break for the stairs. She heard their footsteps clattering down into darkness and thought she was going to faint with relief. But Mackenzie was there with a hand on her arm to steady her. He smiled and handed back her gun.

‘You should be a little more careful about who you let play with this,’ he said.

It took her a moment to find her voice. ‘What... what just happened?’

Mackenzie shook his head. ‘When I said I was going to learn Arabic, people told me I was an idiot. The only use I would ever have for it, they said, was if I joined the foreign office or became a spy.’ He laughed. ‘But I always figured it would come in handy someday.’

‘What did you say to them?’

‘I told the fella with the gun at your head that your weapon was faulty. That the safety catch had jammed and that if he fired it, not only would it blow your head off, it would take his hand and probably half his face with it.’

Cristina gawped at him in astonishment. ‘And he believed you?’

Mackenzie shrugged. ‘Apparently.’

‘So why didn’t you hold them at gun point once you’d got it back?’

Mackenzie said, ‘I’m not authorized to use your gun. And if I had, you’d only have got into even bigger trouble.’ He started steering her towards the stairs. ‘As Sun Tzu explained in his Art of War , if we do not wish to fight we can prevent the enemy from engaging us if we throw something odd and unaccountable in his way.’

‘A jammed gun?’

‘Well, here’s the thing... one way or another these guys were illegals. Involved in people-trafficking or drugs. Who knows? But they didn’t want a fight any more than we did. They were just scared. So I gave them a way out. Whether or not they believed the story about the gun doesn’t matter. They accepted the chance it offered to escape. So now you can call this in, and it’s someone else’s problem.’ They started down the stairs. ‘It’s just a pity we’ve wasted our time here.’

Cristina stopped halfway down to the next landing. ‘But we haven’t. Before I met the charmers who dragged me up here, I caught a couple of teenagers spray-painting walls. Showed them a photograph of Cleland and told them I’d turn a blind eye if they could give me any information about this guy. It was obvious they recognized him. Not exactly someone you’d expect to stumble across in a place like this. They said they’d seen him here a few times in the last couple of days. In the company of some unsavoury characters. Not the ones who took my gun. Spanish, apparently. So at least we know where he’s been hiding out.’

They stepped on to the first landing, and Mackenzie glanced back along the corridor towards to where poor people fleeing conflict were no doubt collecting their belongings and preparing to move on before the police arrived. He said, ‘If this is the best Cleland can do, he can’t have many friends left. And he must be pretty desperate.’

Ana is dying a little inside. Cleland has been moving around her house. She is aware of the smell of him, of his body heat as he comes and goes, of the movement of air as he passes. At one point she feels his breath on her face. Not realizing he is quite so close she cries out.

She is terrified. For herself. For Cristina. But more imminently for Sergio. She knows that sometimes they work late at the bank, even if it is not open to the public. The dots raised on the surface of her braille watch tell her that it is nearly nine. If he is coming, as he promised, it will be soon, for people will start eating at ten.

She hopes against hope that something will prevent him from returning tonight. Even that he has taken cold feet after meeting her earlier, and reconsidered. Yes, even that.

A vibration alerts her to a new message on her screen and she raises her fingers to read the braille.

— Who is Sergio?

Fear runs through her bones, chilling her to the very core. It’s as if he can read her mind. ‘Who?’

— Don’t play games with me, Ana. When I first arrived you asked if I was Sergio.

‘He’s just a friend.’

— But you were expecting him.

‘No, not really. He drops by from time to time.’ She tries to keep calm, control the trembling in her voice.

— You’re lying to me, Ana.

‘No. Honestly, I’m not. I’m not expecting anyone.’

And as if to make her a liar, fate chooses that moment for the bell to ring downstairs. Her hand flies to the vibration on her chest, as if somehow she can stop it.

— So who would that be, then?

‘I’ve no idea.’

— Open the door.

She is desperate now. ‘Why involve anyone else? It’s me you want.’

— And Cristina. Is it her?

‘Not at this time of night, no.’