Blood Money (22 page)
Hex withdrew hurriedly, like a turtle into his shell. He whipped out his phone. As well as being able to snap photos it could also take short amounts of video footage. He activated it and peeked out from the tarpaulin, videoing the policeman as he argued with Trilok. While he was doing that, he put his palmtop carefully away. It had done its job.
Sergeant Chopra finished his call. Absorbed in videoing, Hex failed to notice another figure approaching. It was only when a boot nudged his hand that he looked up – into the barrel of a police gun.
32
P
ASSENGERS
ASSENGERS
Alex had his ear to the partition between the back of the van and the driver’s cab. It was mounted on a slide, like the screen in a taxi cab. It would probably be noisy to move slowly. If he was going to make a move it would have to be short, sharp and sudden. But when?
It sounded like there was only one person in the front; he hadn’t heard any conversation throughout the whole time they’d been travelling. The road noise had got louder and more liquid as the rains came again. They hammered on the roof like nails on a tin can. Now and again Alex did hear a noise from the front: the driver was swearing as he negotiated some obstacle in the rain.
The van was stopping more frequently. Alex guessed they must be hitting traffic lights and junctions, so they must be nearly in the city. That was good because the driver would be more preoccupied with traffic.
The pelting of the rain suddenly became ferocious, like chains being dragged over the roof. If Alex was going to make a move, it had to be now, while the noise inside the van would block out any sound he made.
He slid back the partition. The driver was hunched forwards, peering out from under his baseball cap through the windscreen at the rear lights of the vehicles in front. The wipers were on top speed but still they couldn’t clear a path through the blurring water.
Alex launched himself through the partition, pulled the cap down over the driver’s eyes and yanked on the handbrake. The van jerked, then skidded on the wet road. The driver looked round, but Alex was leaning over him and had the door open. The driver gave a yell and tried to grab his attacker, but Alex knew exactly what he was doing. He grasped the man’s belt and shirt, and tipped him out of the open door.
Alex pulled the door shut and locked it, settling in the driver’s seat. In his wing mirror he saw the driver get up, confused by the cars that tooted around him. In the rain everything looked as though it was melting. Two cars ahead Alex could just make out a police car. If the driver started trying to catch up, they might come and investigate. The last thing Alex wanted was to attract the attention of Sergeant Chopra and friends. The traffic lights changed. Thank goodness. Alex floored the accelerator.
The van jerked to a halt, the dashboard lights blazing. He’d stalled. Cars beeped ferociously and cut around him from behind. He started the engine again, trying to keep calm. This was nothing like a motorbike or a quad, where you did everything with your hands. There were all these pedals. What were they? Clutch on the left, brake in the middle, accelerator on the right. Keep foot on clutch all the time, that’s what Paulo had said.
In the mirror Alex saw the driver running towards him. He put both feet down, clutch and accelerator. The engine rattled. Was it going to stall again? But then the gear bit and he moved off slowly – too slowly The other traffic was overtaking, beeping irritably. He needed to change up a gear. Left foot down, hold speed with right foot, pull back on gear lever. The engine screamed, then got into the next gear with a great clunk. Alex let out a sigh of relief. He knew what to do but it seemed so complicated to have to do it all with your feet. It was like trying to write with your toes instead of your fingers. He looked in his mirror to check on the driver and saw him dive into a phone box.
This was not good. Once he called his friends they’d whistle up some help from the police. Alex had to take evasive action. If he went with the traffic he’d still be vulnerable.
He leaned on the horn and revved the engine. The van gathered speed. He passed a taxi and a car. He beeped again. Maybe that was the trick: just go fast and expect everyone else to get out of your way. He was doing fifty-five k.p.h., but the engine sounded a bit hysterical in the low gear.
Ahead, in the bleary gloom, was a set of traffic lights. Alex prayed they would stay green. A bike nipped in front of him and he had to stand on the brakes. He could feel the wheels slipping in the wet and the van stalled again. Alex cursed and restarted it. The lights were red, but a filter to the right was showing green. Very well, that’s where he’d go. It was better to keep moving. With one hand on the horn, he hopped across the lane and turned off.
He didn’t know where he’d make for, or even where he was. Once he’d got well away from where he’d abandoned the driver, he’d stop and call Hex to arrange an RVP.
The main thing now was that he had Bina and was taking her to safety.
Paulo didn’t know how much longer he could hold on. Despite the tourniquet, some of the drug was getting through. He wasn’t as co-ordinated as he should be; he rummaged through the stores in the fridge with his free hand and it felt like it belonged to someone else. He swept boxes clumsily to the floor. They were labelled with drug names he’d never heard of.
Then one name he recognized: adrenaline. Hospitals used it when people had severe allergic reactions or cardiac arrests. It might counter the effects of a sedative. It was dangerous – Paulo had enough first-aid training to know that. But if they both blacked out now, after what they had seen, they might never come to.
He tore the end off the box with his teeth and shook out its contents. A pre-loaded syringe clattered to the floor. Should he give it to Amber or take it himself?
He looked at Amber. She stared back groggily. She must be a couple of stone lighter than him – so the drug would have more effect if he gave it to her.
Paulo tried to straighten up but fell over instead. The drug was definitely creeping through his system. His left arm had gone to sleep. It was like a dead weight, floppy and heavy, as if made of rubber. He would have to loosen the tourniquet soon. But when he looked at Amber he realized how powerful the sedative must be; if he hadn’t made the tourniquet he would be like her – unable to move.
‘Amber, listen,’ he said. ‘Can you hear me?’
She nodded.
He put the syringe between his teeth, grasped the trolley with his good arm and hauled himself up to sit next to her. He took the syringe in his hand, took the cover off with his teeth and spat it away. ‘Amber, listen. I’m going to collapse in a minute. I’ll give you this adrenaline and you’ll have just a short time to make an escape.’
He looked at the syringe. Where should he inject it? On the tube were the letters IM. Intramuscular. Good; any big muscle would do. He jabbed the injector downwards into the muscular part of Amber’s thigh. His left arm was an awkward, rubbery weight underneath him. He could put his whole weight on it and not feel a thing. He couldn’t wait any longer. He reached over with his right arm and loosened the tourniquet.
Amber managed to speak. Her lips moved, but no other part of her body did. ‘What am I supposed to do, the van’s moving.’
Paulo saw her torpor with dismay. Had he given her enough? Should he give her another shot? He felt pins and needles starting in his arm. It was agony, but worse was knowing the drug would claim him in moments. But then he saw her twitch, as though an electric current had passed through her. Was it working?
Amber was suddenly on her feet. Her head thrummed. Her heart raced. One moment she had been fit for nothing, limp as a rag doll. Now it was as though she had been started with jump leads. She felt like running, fast. Paulo slumped down on the trolley, his brown eyes looking up at her.
‘Paulo,’ said Amber, ‘what shall I do?’
When Paulo replied, it was like he was speaking in slow motion. ‘Just do something.’ His voice was quiet, almost a whisper. ‘Just get out, get help.’
Amber looked around wildly. ‘What about you?’
Paulo’s face was squashed by the hard vinyl cushion of the trolley, It made his lips a strange shape and the words came out as though his mouth was full. ‘No . . . time. Find me later.’ Then he closed his eyes.
Amber looked at the doors.
Get out,
said her brain.
Get out get out get out.
She tried to think. Where
were
they?
Get out,
said her brain.
Get out get out get out.
She tried to think. Where
were
they?
It was raining – she could hear it. How fast was the van going? Hard to tell; the rain was so heavy it drowned any other noise. How long would the adrenaline last? She might conk out again at any minute.
The van braked suddenly, throwing Amber to the floor. The adrenaline in her system said this was it. She sprang up and threw her shoulder to the door. It swung open and she felt rain on her face like a hot shower.
A pair of arms caught her.
Amber tried to run but more arms grabbed her. It took a lot of them, but they pinned her down. She twisted ferociously and caught a glimpse of something that made her blood run cold: the khaki shirt of a police uniform.
Alex drove on. Progress was slow, even with one hand permanently on the horn. He was still too close to where he had left the driver; he had to get further away. An articulated lorry passed him, sending up a large bow wave of water like a ship. The wheels of the van lost traction and Alex surfed helplessly towards the wrong side of the road. A taxi floated towards him on a direct collision course, its driver beeping while his other hand wrenched the steering wheel. At the last moment Alex slipped past him and the tyres bumped onto the kerb. At last they had something to bite on. Alex floored the accelerator and the van stalled. Alex cursed and started the engine again.
There was a narrow side street to the left. If he could get down there he might make up some distance. He wheeled the van round. The back end skidded out. In his wing mirror he saw he had created a giant wave that sent a bicycle rickshaw floating into a market stall. ‘Sorry,’ muttered Alex.
But at least he was alone on the road. He accelerated hard, even managing third gear. At the end he could see more traffic on another busy road. He looked in his mirrors: no one was following. There was just a choppy wake like two ploughed furrows. Good. If he could find a few more roads like this he’d make some progress. He changed down a gear roughly and the engine made a howling protest. ‘Oh shut up,’ he said.
Then, ahead, Alex saw what he didn’t want to see. A police car turned into the end of the road and came towards him. Its headlights were flashing alternately and the wail of the siren rose like a cry above the roar of the rain.
He’d have to go back. There was no way out of the alley and no way to turn round. He braked and the wheels skidded on the wet road. The van stalled and carried on for a good hundred metres before stopping. He started the engine again and rammed it into reverse. He looked into his rear-view mirror and saw another police car coming up behind. He was trapped.
Alex yanked on the handbrake and climbed into the back of the van. He had to get Bina out. If Chopra got her again they’d be back to square one. ‘Bina, we’ve got to go.’
Bina stirred slowly. She had been asleep. Alex pulled her up into a sitting position and shook her. Her eyes opened blearily. Even though she had been talking to him fairly normally earlier, the drug must still be in her system. What could he do?
He could get away on his own – he was a fast runner and must be a lot more nimble than the policemen. But with a drugged girl as well?
There was a scrabbling at the door. This is it, thought Alex. The door opened and two policemen were pointing guns into the interior of the van. Could he fight off two at once? With guns? How many more were there?
Alex heard more police getting into the front. They’d definitely taken control of the vehicle. Any minute now Sergeant Chopra would turn up and his fate would be sealed.
One of the policemen climbed in, looked closely at Alex and lowered his gun. ‘Are you all right?’
This wasn’t what Alex was expecting. Was it a trick? His blood was hammering in his temples. He was ready to fight, to run, but he wasn’t ready for this.
The policeman repeated his question. ‘Sahib, are you all right? We heard reports that you were in danger.’
Alex nodded. ‘Yes. I’m all right.’ What was going on?
The policeman in the front turned off the engine. ‘All clear in here, sir.’ He splashed out into the street.
Alex said, ‘Where’s Sergeant Chopra?’
The policeman put his gun back into the maroon leather holster. ‘Sergeant Chopra is under arrest on charges of corruption. Thanks to your friends.’
Slowly Alex allowed himself to believe it. It was all over. These were good, honest policemen. He and Bina were in safe hands. They’d done it.
He let out a great sigh and sat down on the trolley. Bina stirred a little but carried on sleeping. ‘What about Amber and Paulo?’ he asked suddenly. ‘They were taken prisoner.’
The policeman grinned. ‘We sent another unit to find them. The girl Amber is quite a fighter. She broke an officer’s nose. It took four men to hold her down. They’re at the police station now being examined. The driver is in custody for kidnap. What happened to the driver of this vehicle?’
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