Blood Prize (9 page)

A
s Noah communicated with the G11 placements around the building, Tom noticed the man’s eyelids stretch open in surprise and his pupils dart from side to side.

He exhaled, lowered the phone and spoke to them with urgency.

“They’re coming through both entrances. Isobel, get behind those drums and don’t move. Tom, you come with me. We can squeeze behind the boxes at the far end of the room.”

They raced to their allotted positions, with Tom the furthest away. He crouched behind a large cardboard box with: ‘DANGER - Highly Inflammable Chemicals’,
stamped across each visible surface. He could see more of these cartons stored in a caged area behind him. In front on a metal bench, he noticed a range of glass testing apparatus, beakers and Bunsen burners.

He stiffened.

Men moved towards him in SRP uniforms and another man wearing a dark-brown suit.

Tom ducked down as far as he could and waited.

_____________

Isobel heard the men enter through the rear door and move towards her position.

They’re probably the same men who threatened to rape me.

She felt fear gush through her system.

Rape … Stop thinking about it. Let it go … Not now.

She quietened her breathing and held her knees to stop her hands from shaking.

Her thoughts raced; an idea coming to fruition in her mind; a notion previously suppressed; now unstoppable.

Rape …?

The anatomy of rape. Rape not as an act of sexual intercourse, but the theft of her virginity. Control by another through violence; control ripped from her life. Control that she couldn’t get back.

No. That’s bullshit. That’s the ultimate bullshit.

She could take it back … If she chose. Without it, she felt that chaos and random events controlled her life.

No. No … I can’t. Look at me. I’m a little defenceless girl, hiding behind a drum with men coming to violate me; coming to take away any chance of control, ever again
.

The footsteps grew closer. They could see her. She could hear the men’s laughter.

She felt someone prod her with his boot.

“Well, look what we have here.”

Isobel thought about capitulation; just sit there like a victim, accepting no choice, no control … Even rape.

Alright … Take a deep breath … and do it girl.

Her tiny body shook as she rose; lifting the wooden three-legged stool above her head.

“Chief, look out …”

As the suited man held out his arms, nodding and accepting the smiled applause from his men, he heard one of them call out and he stopped mid-movement.

He remained rooted to the spot; one hand staying aloft as the heavier seat section of the stool, struck him high on the left side of his head, grazed his ear and slammed into his shoulder; inflicting no serious injury.

“What the hell …? Grab the little whore and hold her.”

Two SRP men ran forward and took hold of Isobel; one man for each arm.

She saw the suited man walk forward. With blood dribbling from his ear, he withdrew a knife from his belt and held it to her throat.

“You stupid, dumb bitch. Give me what I want or I’ll feed you to my men, right here and now.”

_____________

Tom understood fear; it acted as his greatest teacher. He also knew that it fooled most people, who often worried about fear rather than the reason for it; a misunderstanding resulting in stress and anxiety. He knew that terror helped him to survive; a natural phenomenon; an instinct that enabled the flight or fight in all of us.

He recalled his earliest and greatest dread.

Climbing to any significant height caused him gut sickening panic. He tried to avoid any scenario that required confronting this evil, making him a target for every crook and miscreant in the East End, including the SRP. Ground level doorways and windows provided little to no access, which left the roof highways as the best means of escaping an enemy.

One building frightened him the most and he whispered its name with reverence.

“The Red Citadel.”

That’s what the street kids called it. The old red brick building, once part of the West India docks, lay dormant and neglected since the nineteen eighties. The lifts and stairs to the top two floors collapsed years earlier, making it a secret haven for a few brave souls. Its climb guaranteed its exclusivity.

Tom couldn’t get the Citadel out of his mind. Every time he thought about it, he imagined failing muscles, limp with fear, yet he kept mysteriously arriving at the docks to view it.

He climbed the building on his twelfth birthday, setting out in the half-light of early morning, alone and terrified. He ascended the crumbling brick walls, by following a network of pipes, window sills and missing bricks. He overcame the panic of vertigo and the difficulty of determining his way in a vertical environment, until somewhere above the third floor.

“Oh God …”

He couldn’t find any handholds above him and his feet couldn’t retrace his previous course. He told himself he needed to relax his mind and his body, but how could he? A loosening of his fingers meant certain death. Then he heard something, like a distant voice; a single word.

“Trust.”

Tom’s body hurt from the extra effort that panic required, yet in that moment, his courage returned. He did let go and he did find the next handhold, and the next, and every subsequent one, until he reached his goal.

Trust …

The voice he heard came from inside; from his own lips. A knowing, an inner knowledge that fear couldn’t be defeated, without first accepting it as a friend.

Tom heard the man call out in anger and his memories dissolved; his mind racing back to the present.

“You stupid, dumb bitch. Give me what I want or I’ll feed you to my men, right here and now.”

Tom raised his head above the cartons and bales of cloth that acted as his sanctuary, just as the suited man raised his knife and pricked the girl’s flesh.

“You cowardly …”

Anger strangled his words. He must do something. He couldn’t just hide here while they hurt her.

His predicament didn’t improve with his decision. He fought against nine enemies and he didn’t have a gun. He began to search for some kind of weapon. He spotted the row of Bunsen burners on the bench and the cardboard boxes marked: ‘DANGER - Highly Inflammable Chemicals’.

A plan started to form in his mind.

This just might work.

First, he needed to find an escape route. The SRP seemed focused on the girl. This gave him the time he needed to get to Noah’s position without frying or getting hit by airborne debris.

Tom crawled around the fabric bales, past a row of stacked boxes and worked his way forward to the bench. He removed a four-litre plastic bottle from a cardboard box and poured its contents over the table and over the remaining containers, making sure that he opened as many lids as possible.

Come on, Tom. Think. What can I use?

He needed a wick and a means of igniting the chemicals. He crouched as low as he could, moving slowly forward towards a fabric sorting table. Raising his head to the height of the bench, he found a ruler and a pile of cloth scraps. He gathered them up, wrapping more than half of the ruler with the cloth. This left just enough room for his hand.

He crawled back to the first bench, sucked in a deep breath and doused the fabric with the remaining chemical. Turning on the gas for as many Bunsen burners as possible, he snatched up a lighter and crawled away to his launching site.

Tom lifted his head above the stack of cardboard packing boxes and spotted the girl. Two men dragged her towards the stairs.

Bloody cowards.

He lit the cloth and it flared up, affecting his sight. He rose, took a step for balance and launched the homemade wick as hard as he could towards the bench.

“Oh God. No …”

He couldn’t believe his misfortune. The cloth detached itself from the ruler and lay burning on the floor in front of him. He ran toward it, but only reached half of the distance, when he heard the sound of excited voices.

He raced on towards the failed missile; too late; the fire spread down a trail of previously dripped chemicals, towards the main storage cage and the naked gas.

With stealth no longer an issue, Tom turned and ran for his life. He dived for cover, just as the flames reached the first of the chemical deposits.

_____________

Noah realised his error of judgment. To make amends, he required a feasible solution to repair the damage.

Think
.

Three isolated placements with no way of exiting the area, and outer team locations that couldn’t assist without a full-on assault, put them in a bad position.

He raised his head and looked over the drum in front of him. They held the girl. She fought against her captors as they dragged her towards the stairwell.

Come on, man. Do something
.

He didn’t have many options left. He checked his weapon, took in a deep breath and began to rise.

“Tom … What the hell …?”

A flash of light gained his attention; a flame. He watched Tom fling the object forward, but the burning cloth dislodged itself.

He heard the girl call out from the stairs as he rushed forward.

“Tom. No …”

He spotted the blur of movement and stopped his own charge, just in time to see Tom diving beneath a pile of boxes.

_____________

Isobel stopped struggling with her captors. It only seemed to amuse them. She felt exhausted; the threat of rape destroying her resolve.

Something distracted her; a flash of light.

Her captors saw it and they reacted. In one motion, they dragged her up several more steps and dropped her. Her elbows struck the metal stairwell causing pain, then her body hit; producing even more pain. It brought her out of her apathy. With clarity, she heard one of the soldiers call out. She followed his pointing arm to where a flame hovered in the air. It seemed surreal; appearing to hang there, before slowly floating back to the floor.

Then she saw Tom Fox run and dive.

“Tom … Look out.”

Isobel pulled herself into a sitting position on the steps, as men ran towards him.

“Tom. They’re coming.”

Isobel didn’t see what happened next. Her world exploded; her mind overwhelmed by violent noise and the force of the detonation.

_____________

Noah lay on his back, motionless under pieces of wood and cloth, and the remains of a chair. He fought hard to gain some measure of control, as he viewed the carnage of the laboratory with an unthinking mind.

His vision swirled and his ears thundered. He forced himself up onto his knees and tried to make sense of his surroundings. He could see no-one standing through the thick smoke. He shook his head several times, but his senses wouldn’t clear.

A meaningful thought began to focus out beyond the confusion in his mind.

Tom … Isobel.

Then he felt strong hands gripping his arms and he tried to resist.

“Noah. Are you alright?”

“Surat is that you? What happened? Tom and the girl, where are they?”

“No time. Come on old man, we have to move.”

Surat dragged Noah into a stooped upright position.

“There could be a secondary explosion. We’ve got to get out. Stay low, under the smoke.”

He heard groans behind them, as men began to wake. Once again, he remembered Tom and the girl. He tried to call to them, but he could only hear the ringing in his ears. His thoughts began to spin and the more he tried to reach out and grasp their meaning, the further he slipped into unconsciousness. He remembered the smoke. Thick, black, choking clouds that turned everything into darkness.

F
rederick Vogel seethed; the opulence of the entrance hall unsettling him. He knew the building’s history. In the early nineteenth century, the celebrated dancer Maria Taglioni bestowed the estate with her tasteful elegance and style. It reeked of wealth. There didn’t seem to be another place in all of Italy where a commoner could feel less at home, than Villa Dal Santo.

Frederick tried to focus on his meeting with the cardinal, but he couldn’t stop thinking about the woman. Why show her to him now? What would they have to gain?

It doesn’t make any sense to me.

Time became a poison. He closed his eyes and listened to the constant tapping of insects as they bashed themselves against the windowpane. Despite his attempts to the contrary, the question of her appearance remained.

“Mr Vogel …”

Frederick jumped in surprise.

He recovered; following the cardinal through the near darkness to another room on the ground floor.

As they entered, light shone into the hallway, affecting his vision.

What the hell …?

Frederick took a step backwards. A face stared at him from the wall. He relaxed; recognising the intensity in the figure’s expression and the white Templar cross on his dark tunic; a Maltese Knight; a Caravaggio masterpiece worth more than his life’s wages.

They entered the music room and Frederick looked down, forcing himself not to stare at the frescoed ceiling. He pretended not to see the majestic looking grand piano, or to look through the windows, out beyond the balcony, to where the lights surrounding Lake Como sparkled on the surface of the water. To notice proved his inferiority. Secretly, he strove for this; the power to make others sick with envy.

Frederick watched the cardinal sit down behind an ornately carved desk and flick on the reading lamp. He noticed the man’s eyes staring out of the darkness at him with sullen malevolence, as if he saw Frederick as something foul on the sole of his shoe.

“I’ll get directly to our dealings, Mr Vogel. Total secrecy is paramount to our mutual interests. What I require is for you to deliver my gift personally. It must be presented verbally and to the Assembly board alone.”

Frederick could only nod his agreement.

My God …

The shape in the darkness moved forward; the light from the lamp bringing his features into focus. Pompous, effeminate … and truly beautiful. Frederick could only gape at the most striking human being he’d ever seen in his life. The man looked more like a Moorish princess than a cruel black-hearted cardinal.

“Are you listening, Vogel? It is most important that I meet with the board after they receive my gift.”

“Yes. Yes, of course Your Eminence.”

Frederick gave him a slight bow. Despite the man’s beauty, the security chief’s distrust grew with every smooth statement the cardinal uttered.

“What exactly are you offering?”

The cardinal smiled and Frederick couldn’t stop himself from smiling back.

“Your superiors wish to be honoured by the Church. With all of their collective hearts, they desire what they’ve always desired. They wish to be bestowed with what they believe is rightfully theirs and I can make it so.”

“Can you be a little more specific, Your Grace? I don’t quite follow your meaning.”

With a swirl of his robes, the cardinal rose and walked to the window.

“Out there is a world that is torn by opposing beliefs. It is in all of our interests, Mr Vogel, that ‘God’s True Ordained Order’ be once again the structure for our earthly community. More specifically … I am offering the Assembly families, the opportunity that they have secretly longed for.”

With a subtle nod of his head, the cardinal motioned for Frederick to follow him. He headed towards the front courtyard entrance.

“It’s been a pleasure, Mr Vogel.”

Cardinal Dal Santo ushered him through the doorway with a condescending smirk.

“Don’t look so perplexed, Frederick, my offer is this …”

He grabbed Vogel by the collar and pulled him into an uncomfortable embrace. He smiled as he whispered into the security man’s ear.

Frederick sucked in his next breath and exhaled loudly.

“My God …”

“Yes, Mr Vogel. When you confirm my meeting with the board, I will deliver my terms in person.”

The door closed and the light disappeared.

You black-hearted bastard.

His gut told him that the cardinal could pull it off. Now he knew for certain what the Assembly families wanted and because of this black-hearted Judas, nothing could stop them.