Holy Island Trilogy 03 - The Final Countdown (8 page)

Fighting back!

I’ll keep my eye on her, see how it plays out. For now I need to get back downstairs and let Coral know about the locked room, as well as the grand master plan that was brewing.

Quickly she handed the towels over and made her way back to the lift, noting the door number before she left. She would keep her eye on the goings on in there, in case there was the slightest hint that the woman could be rescued.

Back downstairs, she said she was nipping out for a smoke before knocking off time. They weren’t allowed to smoke in the hotel. That pleasure was for families only. Figuring themselves above the law, they smoked wherever they wanted to. Once outside, she wandered over to the old wishing well, carefully looking around to make sure she wasn’t being observed, but knowing the need to be very careful. Just because she couldn’t see anyone didn’t mean that there wasn’t someone there watching. She dropped her lighter on the far side, away from the windows. Pretending to search for it, she prised a brick loose and pulled out a mobile phone. Quickly she dialled a number and, still on her hands and knees, put the phone to her ear.

Within moments it was answered by Coral. Ella quickly told her of the locked room. The rest she would tell her when she got back, there was no time now.

‘Hmm, interesting. It could of course be full of fresh slaves,’ Coral said. ‘Do what you can to find out without putting yourself in danger. Your post there is too important to lose.’

‘Will do.’ Ella switched off immediately. The less time on the phone, the harder it was to trace.

With the phone tucked in her sleeve, and smoking her cigarette, she walked a further fifty yards and stubbed her cigarette out on an old tree trunk, dropping the phone into a hole in the trunk, knowing that it was too dark for anyone from the hotel to see at this distance. She pushed the piece of loose bark back over the hole and, hands in her pockets, casually sauntered back to the hotel.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

The sun was just starting its long crawl up a pale pink sky as Aunt May walked down the path, with Brother David close behind and towering above her.  It had been a long night, nearly a six-hour drive from Seahouses in Northumberland to this quiet, unassuming back street in Norwich.

Just before Aunt May reached the door, and as Brother David was stifling a yawn, the door opened. Aunt May was at once engulfed in a hug by a young woman whose large hazel eyes sparkled as she met Brother David’s eyes over Aunt May’s shoulder.

Her smile was so dazzling that, slightly confused by it, Brother David stepped back.

‘It’s so good to see you, Aunt May.’

‘And you too, my lovely Coral.’

Coral turned to Brother David. ‘And you must be big Mike. Wow, you never told me he was so gorgeous, Aunt May.’

The next minute she had her arms wrapped around Brother David, and planted a kiss firmly on his mouth. Leaning back, she looked into his eyes and winked.

‘Erm… I think you’ve put your bloody foot in it again, my dear,’ Aunt May laughed, and went on, ‘Bloody hell, Coral. This isn’t Mike, this is David. Brother David. He’s a monk.’

‘What! Oh, my God.’ Coral backed off. It was hard to tell who had the reddest face, her or Brother David, as she went on, ‘I’m so sorry, so sorry. I mean, you don’t look like any monk I’ve ever met.’ She looked him up and down. ‘Not that I’ve met many, that is.’

‘It, it’s fine…really, no harm done.’ Brother David held his hand out. He tried his best to ignore the delicious tingle he felt as they shook hands. With his other hand, just for something to do with it, he nervously fingered his jacket, as he went on, ‘You, er... you weren’t to know, um…were you.’

‘OK, again, I’m sorry. It, er... it won't happen again.’ This time Coral laughed, and pulled a face at Aunt May who was still grinning. ‘Kettles on, beds are ready. You will be wanting sleep, won’t you? Gotta be shattered after the drive down.’

‘I’m fine, napped nearly all the way, but Brother David drove most of the bloody night. I suspect he’ll need some shuteye.’ Aunt May raised her eyebrows as she looked at Brother David.

Still slightly embarrassed, Brother David nodded. ‘I’ll skip the tea, if you don’t mind.’

‘No bother,' Coral said.

By this time they were inside the house, and passing the door to the garden. ‘Your bedroom, Brother David, is upstairs, the first door on your right.’ Coral pointed up the stairs.

 Brother David nodded and made for the stairs. He could hear her giggling to Aunt May, who was shushing her with a smile in her voice, as he reached the room. Quickly he opened the door and went in. The bed was a very welcoming sight.

Stripping his clothes off as he walked the half-dozen steps to the bed, he gratefully sank onto the comfortable mattress, and sighed. After a few minutes he turned over, praying for the sleep that, even though he was exhausted, was evading him.

He flopped onto his back for a few minutes, then onto his right side, then, with a big sigh, heaved his body back over to the other side. No good. He knew the reason why he couldn’t sleep. The image of the girl and the kiss would not leave his mind.

It had been a long time since he’d felt like this, in fact just before he’d joined the monastery. He closed his eyes, squeezing them tightly. Remembering one summer’s night after a local teenage party, and a particularly pretty blonde girl, he began to pray.

Downstairs Aunt May was sipping tea, with her feet up on a small red leather stool.

‘Bloody well needed that all right.’ She took another sip, then smacked her lips and said, ‘Come on then, Coral, fill me in.’

‘Right, sorry about the mix up.’ She grinned. ‘But the last news was Mike Yorke had gone AWOL. I assumed when you walked in with the brother in normal everyday clothes that you’d found him. I mean, he is dishy, isn’t he? What the hell did a gorgeous bloke like him want to become a monk for?’

‘Well, for question one, I do have. a good idea where Mike Yorke is being held.’

‘Oh?’

‘Not very far from here, actually.’

‘Let me guess.’

‘You already have. You see, Mike’s biological father is one of the families.’

‘No way!’

Aunt May nodded. ‘Yes. And as to question two, why the dishy Dave became a monk...’ She shrugged. ‘I have no idea. It sort of happened overnight. Why? You’ll have to ask him. So, a question for you now - who do we have slaving away in the Hotel California?’

Coral smiled. ‘You got that right, you can check in but you can never leave.’

Coral’s phone rang before she could answer Aunt May. She took the phone out of her pocket, looked at it and said, ’Gotta take this, Aunt May. It's Ella.’

Aunt May nodded.

A minute later, she put the phone away and looked at Aunt May. ‘That was Ella. She’s down at the hotel, and she reckons there’s a locked room. Mike Yorke, do you think?’

‘Definitely.’

Upstairs, Brother David, his faith sorely tested, continued to toss and turn.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Detective Inspector Mike Yorke held the gun and, slowly pointing it straight ahead, squeezed the trigger. Once, twice, three times he fired, but no one fell - well, no one that he could see in the thick fog that surrounded him. Slowly, his legs feeling as if he was struggling his way through waist-high mud, he moved forward towards the light. With each step, it grew brighter. He stepped through the last tendrils of fog, blinked, and opened his eyes to bright sunlight. He blinked again twice, then looked around.

No bodies, just a dream, he thought with relief, drawing air into his lungs then exhaling loudly.

‘Wherever the hell I am,’ he muttered a moment later, shaking his head, ‘I hope I’m not fucking paying for it.’

His eyes scoured the opulence of the room, from the thick red velvet curtains, the red carpet, which looked like he would sink in ankle deep if he was to stand on it, the real gold trimmings on the cream furniture, and finally resting on the gold back-to-back unicorns on the ceiling, which looked both solid and real gold. He finally gave into his thoughts, and the fact he’d been trying to dodge, that his right hand was handcuffed to the headboard.

He slumped, as everything that had happened last night flooded his mind. ‘No way,’ he muttered. ‘No fucking way is that bastard my father. Impossible!’

There’s gotta be a mistake.

Fucking hell.

He gave his arm a shake, and his heart sank further when he heard the rattle of metal on metal. Pulling himself up the bed until he was eye level with the cuffs, and seeing no way at all to free himself, he let his head fall back on the headboard and stared at the ceiling in deep despair.

His memory coming back, he remembered every punch, slap and kick he’d received yesterday.

 So, he reasoned with a sinking heart, if he’s my father, then the twat who did this has got to be my brother.

No fucking way. Talk about the family from hell!

‘Or half-brother,’ he muttered. Looking down at his naked body, he expected to find a whole mess of bruising, but was surprised to see what looked like only shadows of bruises. He’d always had good healing skin, but this looked like he’d had the shit kicked out of him four or five days ago, not last night.

Unless… no, it was last night!

So what the hell have they been pumping into me?

Just proves another point Cox raised, the bastards have a cure for everything that the ordinary bloke doesn’t know about. Bet they live a lot longer and illness free as well.

And some fucking brother!

But we’ll meet again, bro, hopefully without the fucking handcuffs, and God help you.

Too much water under the bridge to feel any emotion towards a family he’d never known existed till now, and too much information to take in properly.

He stretched, luxuriated for a moment, before giving a sudden vicious yank on the handcuffs, which did nothing but make his wrist hurt. ‘Fucking hell,’ he muttered. ‘How the hell am I gonna get out of this?’

Turning on his right side, he reached his left hand up and felt the cuffs. No way, far too flaming tight. He felt along the bed frame, looking for a weak spot, pulling the cuffs as he moved his hand along, but it all seemed pretty solid.

‘Shit.’ He gave another yank on the cuffs.

No way out of this, mate. He moved sideways along the bed in the other direction, but still failed to find a weak spot in the frame. That was when he spotted the glass of water on the bedside cabinet. The water was just within his reach, but further along, right at the very end of the cabinet, was a key. And this was totally out of reach.

‘Tormenting twats!’ he muttered.

He looked down at his naked body again, and shrugged. If they think keeping me clothes-less will stop me getting outta here... big mistake. ‘Bastards.’

He sighed. Really, this whole friggin’ predicament is nothing short of surreal.

But wasn’t everything these days? His eyes had been opened to a different world, one that co-existed with his own, and had done for many centuries.

Who else knows?

And just exactly how many families are involved?

The information he had been given was patchy, but the blanks had not been to hard to fill in, because so much of what he’d been told definitely added up.

How to put it right, though!

His plan had been to go after the top guys. No point in taking the legs out - this had to be done from the top. And if Tony--

What the fuck am I thinking about? IF?

He’s involved right up to his armpits.

The bastard.

And what about Aunt May?

Surely not.

Weird though that Tony’s involved, and Aunt May seems to know a lot of things.

She wouldn’t!

Dave?

No way…but maybe's that’s why he turned into a monk, too much for him to handle…No, he wouldn’t have been able to keep it from me, and Aunt May wouldn’t be involved in anything shady. What the hell am I thinking?

Angrily, he yanked again on the cuffs, with as much success as he’d had the last time. He wanted to scream and yell, bang his feet up and down on the bed, but deep inside he knew it was pointless. All he could do was go along, and hopefully fight his way out of it once they unchained him.

Suppose they kill me, it’s better than this!

And you can guarantee I’ll take more than one of the bastards down with me.

NORTHUMBERLAND

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Around about the time that Mike Yorke opened his eyes, Danny once again opened his, only to much less extravagant surroundings, and having no recollection of waking up frequently through the night. Like Mike Yorke, he stared around in complete puzzlement for a moment, wondering where he was.

Then he realised again. It’s a friggin' hospital!

Jesus Christ.

How?

What the hell happened?

He looked to his right. An old man, with a bald head with as many wrinkles as a turkey has on its neck, and nearly as red, sat on the edge of the next bed staring at him.

‘You all right, mate?’ the old man asked. Then, without giving Danny a chance to answer, he went on, ‘I’m surprised you haven’t woken up in a straightjacket in the nutter ward, to tell you the truth, the way you were flaming well carrying on last night. Oh aye, and not a frenemy in sight.’ He grinned at Danny, showing a toothless mouth.

‘What?’

‘What? you say? I’m telling you, mate, not a single flaming soul has had a wink of sleep all friggin' night, in fact at one point we was wishing "them", whoever they flaming well are, would come and get you.’ He looked around the ward at the sleeping old men. ‘Well, us that were awake, that is.’

‘Sorry,’ Danny muttered, before groaning, and flopping his head back on to the pillow.

The man shrugged. ‘Guess we’ve all been in that state a few times, son. But a bit of advice - don’t, whatever you do, mention "them" again, whoever the hell they are, to the docs or anyone else. ‘Cos they’ll have you outta here and in the nut ward in a flash.’

Danny stared unblinkingly at the man. He had nothing to say, and knew it. No one would believe him anyhow.