The Pleasures of Summer (39 page)

He opened one and swore. Opened another box. Another. Fuck, fuck, fuck!

Bombs weren’t his area of expertise, but this had all the makings of a dirty bomb. He couldn’t leave it here for the other tangos to assemble.

Aw well, a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do.
Flynn dug out his C4 and timers and made sure no one would ever make use of this particular bomb. Unfortunately, the resulting bang would call attention to their getaway, but the guys were far enough ahead that it shouldn’t be a problem. They must be halfway to the waiting helicopter by now.

He set the explosives and switched on the timers. He had three minutes to get out of the cave before it went off. He swept the cave with his heat-sensitive glasses one more time before he left – and caught a glimpse of red in the far corner.

A dog? It was too small to be a man. He leaned to check – and found he was looking into the eyes of a woman. ‘Monsieur,’ she breathed painfully. Her brown skin had blended in perfectly with the darkness of the cave, and she was far gone, in much worse shape than the two reporters had been. Who was she? She sounded French, but he hadn’t heard of any French going missing recently.

It didn’t matter. He had to get her out of there before the explosives went off. ‘I’m here to rescue you,’ he said. ‘Permettez-moi de vous aider,’ he repeated and tried to help her to her feet.

Fuck, she was chained. The padlock holding the chain in place was new and solid. With a little time, he could pick it, but he didn’t have time. His internal clock warned him that he was already in the red zone.

He pulled out his Glock and shot the lock. It exploded into satisfying bits, releasing the chain holding the woman, but the noise was loud and unmistakable. They had to get out of here now.

He picked her up and ran for the mouth of the cave. The burst into night light seemed miraculous, but he knew they weren’t safe yet. The angry shouts behind him told him that they were being chased, and with his hands full of abused Frenchwoman, he couldn’t do anything about it.

Holding her as securely as possible, he belted down the mountain path. There was no question of silence or checking his footing. His only objective was to get the woman to safety as quickly as possible, and hope that his high-tech body armour was as good as it claimed. And that it would protect the woman in his arms.

He shifted her so that she was more protected from stray bullets by his body. Maybe it was lucky she was in such bad shape: she didn’t seem to be aware of the significance of the shouts and shots coming from behind him.

The memory of the last time he had gone down a narrow mountain path carrying a woman rose to torment him. Was there anything he could do in his life that didn’t bring him right back to Summer? The woman in his arms was a different shape, a different smell. Was every woman he met for the rest of his life going to be compared to Summer? And suffer in comparison, too.

Shut up and concentrate. This is no time to be thinking about Summer O’Sullivan. Focus!
As if the words conjured it, his foot slammed down on a rock. His foot went sideways and his knee twisted.

Agony shot up his leg, stopping his breath. He was running so fast that his momentum kept him going, but his right knee was a blaze of agony. The woman in his arms was suddenly the weight of a baby elephant. He had to drag every last ounce of strength from his muscles to keep holding her. To keep running.

Keep running. Keep running.
That was the only thought in his head. Everything else had gone. His world was reduced to the agony of putting one foot in front of the other. Dragging one more breath into his lungs. Holding onto the woman in his arms. Step. Agony. Step. Agony.

His knee was on fire. Every time he put weight on it, the pain increased. Now it was being stabbed by a dozen rusty knives. The knives were getting hotter. More of them.

Vaguely he wondered what he had done to himself. He knew he was running on adrenaline and sheer cussedness. Had he broken his kneecap, or just torn ligaments? he wondered. Maybe both. Was this the end of his career? Would he ever be able to walk again?

Somewhere at the back of his mind, a tiny vision of Summer egged him on. He ignored the pain that lanced through him and kept running. A bullet thudded into his back. Even through the body armour, it bruised him.

The boom of the explosion was a welcome change. The chase slowed up for a few minutes, but Flynn kept going.

The whirling rotors at the bottom of the mountain were the most welcome sight he had ever seen. With one last burst of speed, he flung the woman onto the floor of the chopper, and himself in after her.

‘Who is that?’ Niall demanded, but Flynn couldn’t answer. He passed out before the chopper took off.

Summer blinked several times, trying to adjust her eyes to the darkness. The lumpy mattress beneath her was nothing like her own.
Okay, don’t panic. Don’t panic. Just breathe.
The memory of Flynn’s words calmed her and she took several deep breaths.

She had a fuzzy memory of being carried down a flight of stairs and the smell of air freshener, which failed to mask the stink of cigarettes. A wave of nausea swept over her and she rolled over onto her side, kicking off the blanket. What the hell had they injected her with?

When the nausea passed she staggered unsteadily to her feet. Somewhere along the way, she had lost one of her pumps. She kicked the other one off and, arms outstretched, she moved slowly towards the crack of light at the far side of the room. She needed to see.

The chink of light was high above her head. Her hand hit something solid. The surface was uneven, like painted bricks. Where was she? A garage? Some kind of storage unit? Standing on tiptoe, she stretched towards the light, patting the wall lightly. There. Her fingers came in contact with something smooth, some kind of tape. She scratched with her nails until it came away from the wall.

More light flooded into the room and she looked around her. Apart from a bare mattress, the room contained no furniture. A cardboard box in the corner announced that
it killed all known germs and a single light bulb hung from the ceiling. She squinted at her watch, trying to figure out how long she had been here. Four-thirty.

Late afternoon. She had missed her lunch date with Sinead – her cousin would be pissed. But her dad wouldn’t be back until Wednesday. Would the men who took her know that? How would they convince her father that they had her? Would they chop off one of her fingers the way they did in horror movies and send it to him? Summer’s heard pounded at the thought of it.

Stop it. Don’t think like that. Positive mental attitude. Remember?
Flynn had told her that if she was ever taken, she should co-operate. Kidnappers didn’t want her, just the money she represented.

She took several deep breaths before she recommenced her assault on the layers of duct tape, pulling it away from the wall inch by inch. She winced as she broke one of her nails. Bugger. She bit down on it and removed what was left of the jagged edge. After what seemed like an hour, she was able to pull the covering away.

The small window had white painted bars. Through them, she could see a flight of stone steps with a wrought iron balustrade. She craned her neck and caught a glimpse of blue sky. ‘Okay, Sherlock, what does that tell you?’

Focus. Just focus and stay calm
. She had only been taken a few hours ago and already she was talking to herself. It was a basement, probably in a period house, and she couldn’t hear any traffic, only birds’ song, so definitely not in the city. Given the time lapse since they took her, she couldn’t be too far away from London.

The sound of voices made her jump. She patted the
tape back into place around the window and jumped back onto the mattress, pulling the blanket around her. The lock clicked and electric light flooded the room. She held her breath and heard footsteps as someone approached.

He shook her shoulder roughly. ‘Wake up. No more sleeping.’

Summer feigned bewilderment as she opened her eyes. ‘Where am I?’

He wasn’t one of the men who had taken her. His jet-black hair was flecked with grey and his swarthy complexion made him look like a gypsy. ‘Up. Up. You eat now. Then I take you to bathroom.’

The rattle of crockery announced the arrival of the second man. The one who had been with Uri. At the smell of oxtail soup, her stomach gave a welcoming growl. She had eaten hardly anything since the day before. He placed the tray on the bed. One bowl with a plastic spoon, a bread roll and a bottle of water. It was better than nothing. ‘Thank you,’ she said.

Uri’s friend grunted in response. As he stood up, his jacket moved and she caught a glimpse of a gun tucked into his belt. Any idea she had of making a run for it vanished at the sight of it. ‘Why have you taken me?’

A flash of amusement crossed his face and he broke into a laugh. ‘Why do you think? Your father will pay much to get you back.’

‘My father is in Atlanta.’

That piece of information took him by surprise. He exchanged a glance with Gypsy who shrugged. ‘No matter. He can take one of his own aeroplanes home. Be good girl and you will be free soon.’

With that, both men left the room. Summer heard the lock clicking back into place. At least they had left the light on. She ate the lukewarm soup slowly, trying not to gag. The door opened again as she scraped the last mouthful from the bowl.

‘Come now.’ Gypsy was back again, carrying a small plastic bag. Barefoot, she followed him into the corridor, glancing left and right from beneath her eyelashes, trying to establish where she was. She caught a glimpse of a row of brass pans in what appeared to be a kitchen, and an iron-gated wine cellar. At the end of the corridor, Gypsy opened a door that led into a toilet with a tiny sink.

He handed her the bag. ‘You have five minutes.’

As if to warn her, he tapped the face of his watch. Summer nodded and closed the door behind her. It was too much to hope that the bathroom had a lock. The plastic bag contained a travel-size toothbrush and toothpaste.

Summer used the facilities as quickly as she could. She was still brushing her teeth when he pounded on the door. She spat into the sink and rinsed her mouth quickly. Gypsy didn’t have a lot of patience.

When she returned to her room, Uri was waiting. ‘We make a little movie, yes?’

She nodded. Somehow she didn’t think that her dad would like this one any more than her last starring role.

Uri’s friend returned, carrying a mobile phone and a newspaper which he placed beside her. ‘You will sit on the bed and read from this.’

Summer took the paper from him. The prices of O’Sullivan Airlines shares on the stock market made her want to laugh, but the words on the page blurred before
her eyes as her new reality came home to her. If something went wrong, she was going to die.

Flynn blinked his eyes free of the narcotics that were trying to hold him asleep. There was something driving him, something he needed to do. His head was still full of woodpeckers with pile drivers, but he couldn’t stay unconscious any longer.

The soothing white ceiling and smell of a hospital greeted him. Fuck, not another one. He had spent far too long in hospital this year. He was getting old. It took a few minutes before the mission in Afghanistan came back to him. Ah well, not bad for an old guy.

He pressed the call bell under his hand. The nurse who answered looked tired, but smiled when she saw him. ‘Herr Grant. You’re awake.’ Why did medical people always need to state the obvious, he wondered. ‘I heard what you did. You’re the hero of the hospital.’

‘I’m a hero?’ he repeated stupidly. He knew there was no way Niall would ever have leaked anything about their mission to anyone here.

The nurse checked his chart, examined the machines beeping beside him and finally handed him a beaker with a bendy straw. ‘Yes, Doctor Blé told us all what you did, how you carried her down the mountain with a dislocated knee and torn ligaments.’

‘Doctor Blé?’ Flynn asked.

‘Doctor Simone Blé of
Los Medicos Voladores.
She had been held captive for two months before you rescued her. She can’t sing your praises highly enough.’