Quake (41 page)

Carter, eyes streaming, relaxed into the bike’s rhythm and allowed his mind to merge with the machine. He could feel the thump of the tyres over the rough terrain, the violent vibrations from the broken ground through the handlebars - and he grinned without humour into the wind as a sharp corner reared ahead. He leaned deep into the bend, feeling Mila squirming behind him - fighting the kick of physics - as tyres slid and barely managed to keep their grip on the dusty trail.

Behind them sand clouds bloomed.

Mongrel coughed in the dust-trail and cursed Carter with all his might.

Ten miles saw them reaching the outskirts of Ierapetra on a high coastal cliff which looked down over the distant narrow streets of Kato Mera, the old town of Ierapetra and the Kales medieval fortress which had once housed Saracen pirates.

Carter stopped the bike again and they stared down at the traditional white-walled buildings. Mongrel finally caught up, coughing on dust and glaring at Carter.

‘You fucking maniac on that thing!’

‘I try my best,’ Carter drawled through gritted teeth. ‘We going up to the Serakina?’

‘That’s where the co-ords specified.’

Carter wheelied the bike up the beginning of the rise, feeling Mila’s hands digging like claws into his hips, and as the front wheel touched down they hit the
really
rough trail, bouncing and bumping their way along.

The Serakina was a small white building, a single-storey hotel and bar overlooking the Mediterranean. The road to it led between two mounded hills, effectively giving a single entrance into and out of the compound. Tables and chairs had been set out on a wide lawn that ended with a fence and a steep drop down a cliff onto rocks and crashing waves far below. A couple of cars were parked next to the building, beside a large 5.0-litre BMW X550 off-road vehicle with tinted windows and heavy knobbled tyres.

‘I see George is home,’ muttered Mongrel as they kicked the bikes on to their stands in the shade beside the white wall of the Serakina, and stretched their aching backs. Shouldering their kit, they moved to the front door which was open, allowing access to the cool interior within.

‘George?’ bellowed Mongrel.

A large black man appeared, his biceps thicker than a normal man’s thigh, his face stern and scarred. But the scowl broke into a beaming smile when he caught sight of Mongrel. The two embraced like old friends, laughing.

‘The Dog is back.’

‘Nothing but a half-breed,’ agreed Mongrel. ‘You remember Carter?’

‘I remember Carter,’ said the heavily muscled man, transferring his focused round-eyed gaze and fixing Carter with a dangerous glare. ‘You not bring trouble to my house this time.’

‘That’s a promise I cannot keep,’ said Carter softly.

George stared for a while, then transferred his gaze to Mila. ‘My, what a pretty creature. What is your name?’

‘I am Mila.’

‘She’s travelling with us,’ added Mongrel helpfully.

George nodded. ‘Why don’t you go sit in the sunshine - I bring you out drinks. You look worn out.’

‘Is there somewhere I can have a bath?’ asked Mila.

‘I will see to you in a moment, my sweetness,’ crooned George and Mongrel flashed him a wicked smile.

‘She could do with some fresh clothes. And chuck her a sterile pad while you’re at it. I know you’re a dab hand at dressing injuries and you not turn down the opportunity to maul her flesh.’

Carter and Mongrel walked across the grass towards the cliff edge and the timber tables. At that time of year the tourist trade had quietened - trailing off after the heat of high summer - and with the recent earthquakes and their unpredictable effects and locations many people worldwide had chosen not to fly. The tourist trade had been seriously damaged by the quakes, but this suited the Spiral agents.

Mongrel slapped Carter on the back. ‘How you feeling?’

Carter sighed, glancing at Mongrel ‘Sore. I thought that fall from the sniper tower was going to break every fucking bone in my body. And it didn’t help with Jam trying to cave in my head ...’

‘
Da
, you’ve been through the wars, mate.’

‘I’ve felt worse.’

Carter went quiet suddenly and glanced out over the sparkling sea. They could just hear the crash of the waves on the rocks down below. In the distance the town of Ierapetra glittered like some ancient story of Arabian deserts and miracles.

The sound of an engine reached them, a large engine working hard up the incline towards the cliffs. Carter automatically found his hand on the Browning. Both he and Mongrel stared at the single entrance leading to the land in front of the Serakina.

A black Toyota Land Cruiser 70 4X4 rumbled into view and parked. The door opened and a lithe athletic woman stepped down. She glanced across at the two men, almost nonchalantly ... and then froze. Her gaze met Carter’s.

‘Isn’t that...’ stuttered Mongrel.

Carter nodded, swallowing hard.

She was tall and slim, pale-skinned and dressed in black trousers and a short-sleeved black blouse. Her face was oval and had a light sprinkling of freckles below piercing green eyes. Her hair was long, straight and dark crown, fanning behind her shoulders. And she wore a red hat, a striking contrast against the black of her clothing.

‘Didn’t you two ...’

Carter nodded again, slowly, watching as the woman tilted her head - almost in confusion, almost acknowledgement - and then turned and disappeared into the cool interior of the building.

‘
What’s that bitch doing here?’
snapped Kade.

Carter did not reply.

Carter couldn’t reply.

It had been a long time since he had seen Roxi.

A long time since he had tried to
murder
Roxi.

And the feeling tasted bad in his soul.

George arrived, bearing a tray with four bottles of beer and a plate of food. Mongrel stared at it suspiciously.

George grinned. ‘Don’t look like that, bad dog. That is
v
rasti gida,
and that is
kolokithocorfades.
You will enjoy, this George promise you!’

‘It looks minging,’ growled Mongrel.

‘Minging?’ George frowned and boomed laughter. ‘Now, you eat your breakfast and drink your beer. The sun is shining and there is lovely lady who need bath and expert medical help from ol’ George.’

‘You be good to her.’

‘I always am.’

‘Different cultures, different customs,’ said Carter softly. ‘Don’t be such an English egg-and-chip heathen!’

George ambled across the grass in his flip-flops, his huge size making him look out of place. His shoulders squeezed together to allow him to fit through the doorway. Mongrel grasped his beer and took a long, refreshing pull. He slapped his mouth and patted his lips in appreciation. ‘I fucking needed that. Didn’t think I was ever going drink beer again, not when that Nex put gun to my head and beat me and threw me in the truck. Carter, we up against some bad enemies this time.’

‘The fuckers just won’t lie down and die,’ agreed Carter, taking the beer and staring at the brown bottle. He placed the chilled glass against his lips and heard a sharp intake of breath in his mind - Kade’s hiss ...

Carter paused, then closed his eyes and took a long cool drink.

It tasted good.

‘What the problem between you and George?’ asked Mongrel, poking suspiciously at the
kolokithocorfades.
He could have sworn the dish was staring back at him.

Carter shrugged. ‘I shot some of his customers once.’

‘Bad men?’

‘I always shoot bad men,’ said Carter sombrely. Standing suddenly, he said, ‘You wait here. I’m going to call Nicky.’

Mongrel’s battered face paled. ‘Are you ... you ... ?’

‘Am I going to tell her about Jam? You’ve got to be fucking joking! What would you say? Oh yeah, we found Jam but he’s not dead, and the enemy seem to have deformed him into some kind of super-breed of Nex and he’s grown body armour and tried to kill me. Should go down real well.’

‘Somebody has to tell her.’

Carter rubbed at his weary eyes. ‘I - just can’t do it. I’m running out of energy, Mongrel. Yeah? I’m running out of the fucking will to live. This world has just got so fucking crazy.’

Mongrel nodded, and watched Carter move towards the cliff edge. He watched Carter lean over the low fence and for a moment - a split second, a fleeting slice of infinity - he thought that Carter was going to jump. Carter fished out his ECube and punched digits into the tiny alloy device.

I’m running out of the fucking will to live.

Mongrel shivered.

If someone like Carter is nearly ready to give up, then what hope is there for the rest of us? he thought viciously.

‘Nicky?’

‘Carter. Any news?’

‘We’re on the trail.’

‘Have you ... seen him?’

‘No.’ The lie felt bad. ‘But he’s - not dead.’

‘Thank God!’

Carter felt a spear of ice pierce his heart. He could picture Nicky’s face. Read her eyes. Understand her tears ...

‘Tell her,’
said Kade softly at the back of his mind.

‘No.’

‘Fucking tell her. She’s a big girl, she can cope with it. Go on, make her fucking
century.’

Carter gritted his teeth. ‘How is Natasha?’

‘Stable. After you left she went into decline, but the doctors worked hard; they saved her life, Carter. But you will have to hurry - they can’t say how long she can hold on.’

Carter gazed down at the cliffs and the crashing sea. The gentle blue rolled away for eternity, and the sea breeze filled him with a sense of vastness and life. He took a deep, deep breath. The air felt good in his lungs.

‘Don’t let her die on me,’ said Carter softly.

‘I’m doing my fucking best,’ said Nicky. Carter could near the strain in her voice. And he did not know why he said the next sentence; could not explain to himself the lie ...

‘I will find Jam. I will bring him back.’

They cut the connection and Carter stayed leaning over the fence, allowing the sea breeze to ruffle his hair and soothe the bruises on his battered face.

‘Fuck.’

The frustration tasted bad.

Suddenly, Mongrel was there. His hand rested on Carter’s shoulder and for once Carter was glad of the contact, glad of the company. He turned red-rimmed eyes on Mongrel and felt his anger melt away like heated butter.

‘I’m scared, Mongrel.’

‘Don’t be.’

‘I’m scared she’s going to fucking die on me.’

Mongrel clumsily embraced Carter, hugging him hard. ‘You fucking listen to me, Carter - I never seen you like this before, but you just remember I here by your side and I give my life for you, I give my life for Natasha. We find this machine, and if we have to kill Jam in process then he is casualty of war. We not make these fucking rules - and we not have to play by them. Now, you come and sit down and damn well drink this beer, or Mongrel drip-feed it to you and make sure you be drunk when The Priest arrive!’

‘The Priest.’ Carter laughed, rubbing at his eyes. ‘Mongrel - cheers, mate. Thanks. You might be a dog and a cunt - and I know I toyed with the notion of shooting you in the face back at the hospital ... but - just thanks.’

‘You not mention it, bruv.’

The sky was heavy with purple contusions of cloud. Huge swirling banks filled the night sky, blocking out the moonlight. Occasionally, a beam of white would delicately find its way free and creep tentatively across the sea, across the black oil of churning waters. Tendrils would dance across the waves, taste the crests of foam, caress the rough cliff face leading up to a low rough fence, against which a figure leant, dressed completely in black. The figure stood nonchalantly, at ease, a sea breeze ruffling his short hair. From between thin, tight lips hung a home-rolled cigarette, staining the darkness with a silver plume of smoke. The figure coughed on the harsh Greek tobacco, gazed up at the shafts of moonlight shining down from the dark broiling heavens - then lifted a bottle to his lips.

He took a drink.

A long drink.

‘Fuck it,’ he said. ‘I can’t wait any longer.’

‘
You have to
,’ whispered Kade.

‘Why do I have to?’ The snarl was filled with whisky-fuelled violence. ‘What the fuck do
you
know about it?’

‘The Priest is coming. He has information. But he may betray us
-
and I will kill him. I will savour the death. ‘

‘Kade ... I truly am fucking sick of you. I’m sick of the metallic stink in my brain. I’m sick of your bad fucking advice ... What are you? What do you want with me? Why won’t you just
leave?’

Silence.

Carter lifted the bottle of cheap Greek whisky. He took another long pull. A little spilled down his black jacket and whisky spittle gleamed wetly on his lips, which he liked, leaving a nasty gleam.