Bright Angel (22 page)

‘Yes,' he went on, oblivious to my thoughts, ‘it would've looked like our unknown kidnapper had taken us both. It was an elegant plan. It would've worked if Stan hadn't gone off half-cocked and spoilt things. After that of course I had to go along with it.'

‘What a pity Stan spoilt things,' I said with heavy irony. ‘Forgive me if I don't cry. In any case I would've ended up in the same place, I suppose.'

‘In Chateau Espinous, yes. It's a fantastic place, don't you think? Stan found it. He's good on
that
sort of thing. The owner lives overseas. He was happy to rent the place out to us and he's safely far away. But now we can't go back there. We can't risk it, in case they are asking around if any foreigners rented any remote properties round about. And we have to split you up till the time's right. You here with me, the others with Stan.'

‘He's a brute,' I said. ‘You know he is. He bashed that poor nanny so hard she's still in a coma. You didn't want that to happen, did you?'

He shook his head. ‘There was no need for it. It just complicated things.'

Emboldened, I went on. ‘Exactly. He knocked me out hard, he didn't give me a sleeping drug like you did. You don't actually like hitting people, do you?'

‘Of course not,' he said. ‘There are other ways. Better ways.'

‘Then please, Mick – I mean, Steve – please, I do understand why you're doing all this – you loved your brother and I understand that. I love my sister and if anything happened to her, I'd–' I bit my lip. ‘But please, if you really do care for me, if you really do like me – promise me you'll make sure he doesn't hurt my friends.'

The thought of that two-faced criminal jerk liking me made me feel sick. But there was no other way. I tried to give him an anxious, pleading smile as he searched my face. It felt stretched and insincere. But he didn't seem to notice. Slowly, he nodded. ‘Okay.'

‘And please untie me. My feet at least. They're so sore. I won't run away. Can't. I twisted my ankle last night – it's killing me.'

That was true. I didn't think I could run on that ankle. It was red, puffy and swollen. It hurt a lot.

He looked. He nodded, and bent down to untie my ankles. A fierce desire rose in me then, to kick him hard in the teeth. But I resisted the urge, of course. What on earth could I have done, after that? How would I, with my bad ankle, have escaped from a ruthless and determined criminal, maddened by a kick to the face? I was trapped again, and for the moment I could think of no way of getting out.

So I stayed well-behaved and didn't even wince when he put a hand under my elbow and helped me up onto a chair. I asked to have my wrists untied, but he just gave a small smile and shook his head. He was about to say something when his mobile suddenly beeped with an incoming text. He pulled it out of his pocket and glanced at it. ‘Okay, we're on. Udo's on his way.' He grinned.

His mood had changed again, I thought. His eyes were shining. With excitement, pleasure, triumph. I thought, he's got everything where he wants it, now. The small hiccup to his plans that Radic's impulsiveness and our brief escape had represented was safely over. Things were back on track. And the destination of that track was...

‘Please,' I said, ‘please let me talk to Daniel. Just to say I'm safe.'

‘Think he'll be worried? Nah, not him. He'll probably just think you've gone off with me.'

I hated him with all my heart then, looking at his mocking face, his cynical eyes. I said, controlling myself with an effort, ‘Just let me have a quick word. Then I promise I'll help you.'

He laughed. ‘Wow, that's big of you, promising to help the enemy. You must really think I've got a huge crush on you. And so maybe I have.' He reached out and touched my arm, lightly. It was all I could do not to throw him off.

‘Please,' I said, through gritted teeth.

He looked at me. ‘Nah. I like the idea of him sweating that you've gone off with me. Teach him a lesson, posh bastard.'

‘Why do you hate him so much?' I said. ‘He had nothing to do with your brother's death.'

‘Nothing? He and the kid profit from Udo's crimes. They're sitting pretty. They'll inherit all that blood money one day. So he's in it up to his neck.'

I looked at him and saw there was nothing more to be got from him. And at that moment all trace of pity or mercy for him fled from my thoughts and my feelings. I just wanted to beat him, to thwart his plans, to defeat and crush him absolutely. The force of hate-filled rage and revenge that swept through me at that moment was both frightening and exhilarating. Whatever it took, I thought, I'd stop him. But I had to be careful. Very careful.

I didn't answer him, I just made as if I was utterly crestfallen and defeated, hanging my head. He shrugged and went to the cupboard, and brought out a small bottle of Orangina, the French version of Fanta, and a bar of chocolate. He unscrewed the bottle cap, put a straw in and unwrapped the chocolate, placing both in easy reach of me on the table. ‘You'll be able to have these even with your hands tied. That way you won't starve till I get back.'

‘How long are you–' I whispered, not even bothering to protest.

‘Till it's done,' he said. He looked at me. ‘Sorry there's no TV to watch, but I expect you've got lots to think about. But don't think silly thoughts about cutting your bonds and escaping from here. There's no knife or other helpful cutting stuff here. And all around you is just forest. On foot, it would take you a very long time to get to St-Bertrand. That is, if you didn't get lost.' He made as if to go, then turned and looked at me again. ‘But don't worry. As far as I'm concerned, Daniel and the kid aren't in line for the chop or anything. They're just bait. You'll get to see them again once it's all over.'

Once it's all over. I shuddered. They were definitely going to kill him, I thought. They were going to trap Udo and kill him like a dog. They'd promised to come unarmed but they'd have some way of doing it.

‘But you're meeting him in a church,' I faltered, ‘a sacred place – a sanctuary.'

‘I don't believe in that rubbish,' he said quite calmly. ‘Stan does but I expect he'll just say a prayer to cover it and beat his breast or whatever. No problems. He can always square it with his God later.'

‘Don't do it, Mick,' I pleaded, ‘Don't. For the sake of–'

‘Of what? My family? My immortal soul? My career? My future? Don't make me laugh. All that matters in this crap world is to keep faith. When Tommy died, I swore I'd avenge him. And I will, blood for blood. I'll keep faith with his memory.'

He was mad, I thought, looking at the pale face, the eyes burning behind the glasses. Quite mad, setting himself up as judge, jury and executioner. ‘The police'll catch you,' I said. ‘They'll lock you up.'

‘I doubt that. And even if they do, I don't care. It'll be done. I've seen the trail of misery, of broken lives and violent deaths these sorts of revolting crooks leave behind them. The law can't touch them. They do whatever they want when they want to who they want. Enough! Stan and I are doing a public service, ridding the world of at least one of them. Maybe it'll be a warning to others. Think of it like that, eh?'

And with that, he was gone, closing and locking the door behind him. An instant later, I heard his car start up and then pull away. I was alone.

As soon as I was sure he had gone, I got up. I hobbled to the window, and looked out. I could see nothing but trees, and a track leading up through them. I didn't know what the time was – there was no clock in the caravan – and in the forest it was difficult to tell. But I remembered Mick saying I'd been asleep for hours – and something about the quality of the light made me suspect it was sometime in the afternoon. How many hours I had till the midnight meeting, I didn't know for sure. And I had no real reason to doubt what Mick had said, about this place being a long way from St-Bertrand. I might well walk for hours and hours and still not get there in time. I might even, as Mick said, get lost. And then what good would it be?

But I couldn't just sit here, twiddling my thumbs, waiting till it was all over and they saw fit to release me. If they did, of course. What was to stop them really from getting rid of all the witnesses? Daniel, Gabriel, me ... Mick might not want to do it himself, but he could pass the job on to Stan, who'd just say a prayer and square it with God afterwards. I shuddered. Yes. It made sense, from their point of view. A clean sweep of everyone. A mystery never solved, because nobody apart from us knew about the Radic connection. Maybe they'd get to it, sometime.

But without us and without Freddy's computer.

My family. They must know by now. Tears started in my eyes. They must be all so worried, so frightened. I had to get out of here. I had to find my way back. And I had to get help for Daniel and Gabriel. Whatever it took.

Crying, I hobbled around the caravan, feverishly searching for something, anything, to cut my bonds with. But Mick was right. There wasn't a knife or a file or a pair of scissors in the place. Well, too bad. I'd have to go even with my hands tied. But how would I get out? It wasn't like Chateau Espinous here, the door was flimsy and I might be able to bash it open if I could grab hold of something. But with my hands tied, it was difficult, if not impossible. I could kick it in, maybe.

But how? If I tried to kick it in with my good leg, my other leg would give way. And I couldn't try it with the other one, obviously. I tried picking up the chair as best I could and throwing it against the door but it was plastic and did nothing at all, and then I couldn't pick it up again. I couldn't do anything like this, I was helpless as a kitten.

And then my eye fell on the Orangina bottle. An idea flashed into my mind. A corny idea, a vague memory from some movie. But it was worth trying. I bent over the bottle, swallowed all the drink in one go – spluttering as the fizz filled my throat – and as soon as it was drained, awkwardly picked up the empty bottle and hurled it at the metal sink, aiming for the sharp corner. It worked! The bottle shattered into several pieces. I hobbled over to the biggest piece, which was nicely jagged with a good cutting edge and, bracing it against a corner, began sawing away at the rope around my wrists. It was that thin blue rope stuff, quite strong, and it took a while, but the glass was very sharp and though I cut myself once or twice, I eventually got through the rope, and the bonds fell away. My wrists felt rather bruised, and the glass cuts on them were bleeding, but I soon stopped that with a couple of tissues. Now my hands were free and I could have another crack at the door.

I picked up the chair again and instead of throwing it, rammed it against the door. Nothing happened, though the caravan shook. I tried again, harder, with all my strength. My wrists ached but no matter. The door began to buckle. Harder still, and I could feel the lock giving way. Harder again and the door flew open, so suddenly I almost flew out after it.

I hobbled down the steps, and looked around. Nothing but trees everywhere. The track down which Mick must have gone stretched off into the distance, surrounded by trees. No indication as to how far it went. Normally, you could walk about five or six kilometres in an hour. But with my dodgy foot I doubted I'd be able to walk at even half that pace. And I had no idea if the track was five or ten or twenty kilometres long, or much longer. Unsupported, I didn't stand a chance, not unless he'd been lying and we were actually much closer than he'd said.

Unsupported, yes. But what if I braced my ankle, somehow, if I had a crutch or something to help me? Then I could at least walk some way down the track and see whether I could get some idea of how far I had to go. I heaved myself back up the caravan steps. First, to brace the ankle. I pulled one of the curtains off – they were of flimsy cotton – and ripped them across to make a bandage, the way I'd seen Mum do it once when Claire had sprained her ankle. I rolled up my jeans leg and tied the cloth tightly around my ankle – it already felt better – and then I looked around for something to use as a crutch. I needed wood of some sort, I thought. Or metal, at a pinch. The chair, being plastic, was useless. The table was one of those built-in ones of plastic and metal, also useless. The cupboard, ditto. Then the obvious thing flashed at me and I shook my head at my own idiocy. Picking up the rest of the curtain, I hobbled outside again and hunted around till I found what I was looking for – a good strong sturdy stick with a fork at the top. I tried it for size. It was just about perfect, fitting snugly under my arm. I balled up the rest of the curtain and put it under my arm to cushion it against the wood, then rested the fork of the stick under that – and hey presto, a crutch!

I was pretty pleased with myself, I can tell you. I tried walking with the crutch and found it a lot faster and easier than when I'd been unsupported. I nearly cheered all by myself in that silent forest. I was on my way!

I left that place without looking back, leaving the door wide open. I set off down the track, thinking that the instant I heard a car engine, I'd plunge into the forest at once and not come out. But I didn't think he'd come back. He thought me safely out of the way, unable to walk very far even if I managed to somehow get out. He didn't know me very well, either, I thought exultantly. He didn't know I was a stubborn contrary thing who just hated to be beaten. And he didn't know – though he might suspect – quite how much I hated him and quite how much I loved Daniel and Gabriel. I would not let that treacherous manipulative creep get away with it. Never!

I needed all my determination in the hours that followed. At first, I made quite good progress on the crutch. The track wasn't too hard to negotiate, and every step I took I felt I was going towards help and redoubled my efforts. But there was no end in sight to the trees, and the track wound on and on and still I couldn't see a way out. I had to stop a few times and rest. My ankle started aching and I had to take the bandage off, rub the ankle, brace it up again, before continuing. Then I began to get thirsty but of course I'd not brought any water.

And then I came to a fork in the road. There was no sign on either of the roads, and I had no idea which one to take. I looked at one and then the other, my heart beating fast. Which one should it be? What direction should I be heading for? If only I knew whether the forest was north or south or east or west of St-Bertrand! I stood there, thinking hard, trying to visualise the situation of the town, and the roads that led off from it.

One led eventually to St-Just and then through villages eventually to the motorway. One up a slope past the forest where the film was being shot, and where I'd met Mick. Another in the opposite direction into farmland and towards the foothills of the Pyrenees. There'd be forest there too, somewhere. And the town itself was on that hill. Behind it might be yet another road, for all I knew. Which might lead to more forest. This place could be anywhere. And it might be even further than that, like miles away, in another region or something. Despair nearly filled me at that point. But then I had a flash of thought, about how Mick must have been camping here, and how often he'd been in the town or round about, and I thought, it
can't
be that far away from St-Bertrand. It must be somewhere in that region.

But that still didn't help me with choosing the path to take. In the woods, it's not easy to get your bearings unless the sun is right overhead, and it certainly wasn't now. The light was still good but getting that golden tone to it that you have with late afternoon. I remembered seeing this old film with Mum and Dad once, it was called
The Edge
and was about these guys who crash in Alaska and have to try to find their way back through a forest where there are grizzly bears and such. They didn't have a compass but one of the guys, I think he was played by Anthony Hopkins, he had thought of using a needle and a leaf on a bit of water – apparently that works as a makeshift compass – but I didn't have a needle or any water, though there were more leaves around than you could count of course – so that didn't help. And anyway it hadn't helped them, if I remembered rightly, they'd gone round in a circle. Besides, even if I did have all that stuff and it did work, what good would it be to me knowing which point of the compass to walk towards, as I didn't know where St-Bertrand was in relation to this place?