The Lethal Target (2 page)

He looked at the text again.

Don’t go to Mull.

Well, the hell with that, thought Jake. The woman I love needs my help; and if that means going to Mull, then there’s nothing on earth that’s going to stop me going there.

At half past eleven that night, Jake arrived at Euston station by taxi, his overnight bag packed with essentials. He didn’t know how long he’d be away for: two days or a month. It didn’t matter. There was nothing for him to stay in London for.

At this time of night, the subterranean taxi area was almost deserted, just a few late-night people trying to get home and a couple of taxis at the rank. Jake headed up the stairs towards the ground-level concourse. Two young men wearing hoodies were coming down the stairs. Jake moved to one side to let them pass, but the two men moved with him, blocking his way. At first, Jake couldn’t see their faces — their hoods were pulled well forward — but then he realised they also had scarves pulled up under their hoods so that only their eyes were visible.

Trouble! thought Jake.

Jake moved again, to the other side of the stairs, but again the two men moved with him, blocking his way.

OK, thought Jake. I either stay here and fight them, and get beaten up and robbed, and miss my train; or I do a runner.

Jake moved suddenly to his left, sliding under the metal rail that divided the up and the down stairs, and began to run. He wasn’t quick enough. Being upstairs from him, the two men had the advantage. They both darted under the handrail and leapt at Jake. Jake swung his overnight bag and hit one of them hard, sending him stumbling back. Seeing that the man was caught off-balance, Jake swung his bag again, this time thumping it with all his might against the side of the man’s head. The man fell tumbling down the stairs, with a sickening crunching sound as he bounced down from step to step.

Jake went to swing the bag back to ward off the other attacker, but he was too late; the guy was on him, the fingers of one hand digging into Jake’s throat. Jake realised with horror that he had a knife in his other hand.

Frantically, Jake brought his bag up, just as the man swung the knife, and felt the knife blade sink into his bag. But his attacker’s fingers on his throat were like an iron claw, closing, strangling . . .

‘Oi!’

The shout came from down below.

Suddenly, the man’s grip was released, and then he was off running up the stairs. Jake looked down and saw a thickset man hurrying up.

‘Are you all right?’ asked the man.

‘Just about,’ said Jake. His voice sounded hoarse from where the man had tried to strangle him.

His rescuer shook his head.

‘Muggers!’ he said disgustedly. ‘More police here, that’s the answer! It’s all very well them being here in the middle of the day, but it’s this time of night those scum operate!’ He looked anxiously at Jake. ‘You sure you’re all right?’

‘Yes, thanks.’ Jake nodded. ‘Though I wouldn’t have been if you hadn’t come along. Did you see the other one?’

The man frowned.

‘The other one?’

‘Yes. There were two of them, but I knocked the other one down the stairs with my bag.’

‘Good for you!’ The man grinned. Then he frowned again. ‘But I didn’t see anyone else. He must have scarpered when he heard my cab pull up.’

‘Well, thanks,’ said Jake.

He felt the side of his bag. The knife wasn’t there. His attacker must have taken it.

Jake found his seat on the train and settled himself down for the long journey. There had been a sleeping berth available, but it would have meant sharing, and Jake didn’t fancy the idea of being trapped in a sleeping compartment with someone he didn’t know, who might be a drunk, or deranged, or snore loudly. He’d decided he’d rather spend the night trying to sleep in one of the comfortable seats.

As he sat down, his phone went. Another text:
We warned you. Don’t go to Mull.

A sickening feeling went through him. So those guys hadn’t been muggers; it had been a deliberate attack on him. The man had tried to stab him. If Jake hadn’t used his bag to stop the knife, he’d be dead!

The attack didn’t have the style of an MI5 operation: two hooded youths. But a late-night mugging in London, a stabbing, could be passed off as just another statistic. But why? What was there on Mull that was so important that they were prepared to kill Jake to stop him getting there? And who were
they
?

Chapter 3

Jake didn’t get any sleep for the first part of the journey. He spent most of the night watching his phone, waiting for further text messages warning him off, but there were none.

He was also too frightened to go to sleep in case his mystery attackers had put someone on the train. If they could arrange the attack on him at Euston station, they could certainly put someone on the train to follow him, and kill him.

Finally, after what seemed an age, he managed to doze off as tiredness came over him. But even then, it was a fitful sleep, half awake, opening his eyes every few moments. By the time the train pulled into Glasgow Central station just after quarter past seven the next morning, Jake felt exhausted.

But soon, I’ll be on Mull, he told himself. Providing there are no more unpleasant surprises waiting for me on the way.

It was half past nine by the time Jake left the car-hire firm in Glasgow at the wheel of a small car. He’d been waiting outside their doors when they opened at eight thirty, but then a whole hour had been taken up with filling in forms.

No one attacked him as he left the forecourt. No one crashed into him. No one seemed to be watching him; but then that was difficult to be sure of in a city as busy as Glasgow.

The motorway through Glasgow was a nightmare for Jake, with intersections every half a mile or so, and traffic criss-crossing lanes. Once he was out of the city and heading along the road winding round Loch Lomond, he felt he could relax. He didn’t spot any particular vehicle in his rear-view mirror as he drove. No one seemed to be following him. He was on his way.

As he drove he thought about Lauren, and how their lives had brought them to this. They’d met the year before, when Jake had been a trainee press officer at the Department of Science in London, and Lauren was a second-year science student at London University. It was love at first sight, and for six months Jake had been the happiest man in London, thinking their love was for ever. And then he’d ruined it.

A friend of Lauren’s was getting married, and he and Lauren had gone to the wedding ceremony and the reception. It had seemed to Jake that Lauren spent an awful lot of time talking to some rugby-playing bloke she knew. Too much time. Smiling at him, laughing, touching his arm, even flicking her fingers through his hair as she pretended to examine his scalp for nits. Robert was his name. Robert the rugby player. And Jake had got fed up with it. And he did the unforgivable. He went off and found one of the bridesmaids, who’d already given him the eye earlier during the ceremony, and he’d got off with her in the bushes behind the drinks tent. Where Lauren had discovered them when she’d come looking for him.

He shuddered even now as he thought about it. He’d tried using the excuse that he was drunk, but it hadn’t washed. It hadn’t deserved to. Because of that one stupid act it was over. Lauren told him she never wanted to see him again. And then, afterwards, he’d found out that Robert wasn’t a former boyfriend of Lauren’s but her cousin. They’d been playmates since they’d been small children.

It had been the hidden library of Malichea that had brought them back together again, after three months, during which time Lauren had rejected all his attempts to get in touch with her.

The Order of Malichea. A blessing and a curse. A blessing because, if it hadn’t been for the hidden books, Jake might never have seen Lauren again. But at the same time a curse, because their nightmare experiences after they’d got hold of one of the books — chased by government agents, under threat from mysterious organisations, likely international criminals and terrorists — had led to Lauren stabbing someone to death while defending herself against a deadly attack. And now she was in New Zealand, living under an assumed name, Samantha Adams, and they’d been told that she and Jake must never see one another again. If they attempted to, then Lauren would be charged with murder. The insinuation from Jake’s former boss at the Department of Science was that Lauren would be found guilty, whatever her defence, and put away in jail for life. And Jake would be locked away somewhere secure.

The hidden library of Malichea was a forbidden topic. The British government had decided that its existence must never be allowed to be made public — the sciences the books contained were considered far too dangerous — and Jake and Lauren had posed a major threat to that secret. To make sure they didn’t pose that threat ever again, they were kept on opposite sides of the globe, their phone calls, letters, emails and Skype talks monitored for any hint of discussion about the hidden books.

It had been five months since Jake had last seen Lauren face to face, held her in his arms just before she was put on the flight to New Zealand at Heathrow. Since then he’d seen her face on their Skype calls, heard her voice on the phone, but nothing took away the ache he felt for her. They’d been reunited, only to be torn apart again. And now they were further apart than ever.

The drive to Oban took much longer than Jake had anticipated. The roads twisted and turned round lochs and rivers, in between mountains and high hills. The scenery was amazing. If he hadn’t been in such a desperate hurry to get to Mull, meet this Miss Cooper and find out what had happened to Lauren, the reason for her sudden silence, he would have taken much longer over the journey.

He made it to Oban in time for the 4 p.m. ferry, and an hour later he was rolling off with the other vehicles into the tiny port of Craignure.

For the whole drive from Craignure to Craigmount Guest House on the shores of Loch Spelve, Jake was forced to keep a slow speed: the road was single-track, with passing places to allow oncoming vehicles to get past one another. The road twisted and turned as well, so it was impossible to get up any speed, without having to slow for yet another bend.

Finally he saw a cluster of buildings ahead of him, spread apart. Most were single-storey bungalows and old cottages, but there was one old two-storey house, larger than the rest, with outbuildings and gardens radiating out from it. A large cheerful wooden sign by the side of the road saying
Craigmount Guest House 200 metres
confirmed
his destination.

There were four cars already in the car park, so there were other guests staying here. He wondered if one of them was this Miss Cooper’s. He got out of his car, lifted out his bag, and entered the reception area of the guest house. A man with a big bushy grey beard was behind the desk, sorting through some papers. He looked up and smiled as Jake came in.

‘Good afternoon!’ he said.

‘Good afternoon,’ said Jake. ‘I have a reservation. The name’s Wells, Jake Wells.’

‘Of course, we’ve been expecting you. You spoke to my wife, Jeannie, yesterday on the phone. I’m Alec MacClain, owner of Craigmount.’

He held out his hand in greeting, and Jake shook it. It was a good strong handshake, welcoming.

‘You live in a beautiful part of the world,’ said Jake admiringly.

‘Aye, and we bless ourselves every morning and say the same thing to one another.’ MacClain beamed. ‘I’m sure, after your long journey, you’ll want to get freshened up. Miss Cooper said to send you right up as soon as you arrived.’

‘Thank you,’ said Jake. ‘Where is Miss Cooper?’

‘She’s in your room,’ said MacClain. He reached for a key, attached to a wooden marker on a board and handed it to Jake. ‘Room five. Turn right at the top of the stairs.’

‘Thank you,’ said Jake, and he followed the direction of MacClain’s pointing finger. As he mounted the stairs, his mind was in a whirl. What was she doing waiting for him in his room? Why not in reception? It could only mean she had something private to tell him, something about Lauren she didn’t want anyone else to overhear.

He moved faster up the carpeted stairs. Whatever news she had for him about Lauren, he needed to know. And he needed to know
now
.

He reached room five, put the key in the lock, opened the door, and stepped in. And stopped dead.

Lauren was there. Standing in front of him, turning towards him, her face lighting up with joy, her arms reaching out to him.

Chapter 4

Later, as Jake was making coffee, reality kicked in. ‘How did you get here?’ he asked, astonished.

‘I flew.’ Lauren grinned.

‘Yes, but . . . you know what I mean. How did you get past passport control in New Zealand? How did you get through immigration control?’

She smiled and tugged at her hair, which was now short and blonde.

‘Notice anything different?’ she asked.

‘You can’t get in and out just by cutting and dying your hair!’ exploded Jake. ‘Not when you’re on the Most Wanted list!’

‘I did it with this,’ said Lauren, and she reached into the drawer of the bedside table, took out a passport, and tossed it to Jake. Jake opened it, and saw a photo of a girl who
might
have resembled Lauren, but only just. Yes, this girl had short blonde hair. And there was something similar about the shape of her face. But to fool immigration, and MI5 . . .