The men sneered, beginning to enjoy Crowley’s impotent rage. He ground his teeth, found his phone and snapped a photo of one man’s brand. He sent the image to Cameron, his army intel buddy, with a message asking what it meant, especially if it was a known brand of any gang or organization. What the hell might he do if Cameron found nothing? Intel, even the depths and vast variety the army had access to, could only go so far. A stray thought inserted itself into Crowley’s mind, flashing across his consciousness like a car’s headlights on a dark night. A name. He had heard a name somewhere, thought it might be useful, then forgotten about it. Only now, thinking about Cameron again, did he remember. Where had he been? The voices had been muffled, as if from far away…
The oubliette! That was it. When he had been hiding out in the broken golem, those idiot thugs who had come looking for him had mentioned a name. He racked his memory, and slowly recalled the bones of the conversation.
Why did they leave the rope? Leave evidence they were here?
I guess they were in a hurry. Or maybe they just didn’t care.
What are we gonna tell Landvik?
Landvik? Nothing right now. We’ll have to decide what’s next before we tell him anything.
Crowley smiled. The old brain wasn’t entirely spent yet, even if it did take a while to throw back vital information. He sent Cameron a follow-up text.
Cross check with the name Landvik (sp?)
The phone pinged back almost immediately.
Leave it with me.
Crowley nodded to himself. Good old Cameron. Meanwhile, he would see what these thugs might tell him, whatever it took. He returned to the men tied together on the floor.
“You will tell me what I need to know,” he said, his voice calm and measured now. He had skills of which he was not proud, and had vowed to never use again since his discharge from the armed forces. But for Rose’s sake, he knew he would do pretty much anything.
“I’ve done this before,” he said quietly. “Many times, to my shame. Now tell me. Where. Is. Rose?”
His calmness and threat had no greater effect on the men than his rage, so Crowley stood up straight, nodded as he drew in a long breath. “Right. Let me put on some pants and then we’ll get started.”
Chapter 35
Waves rocked beneath the boat and Rose trailed a hand in crystal clear water almost as warm as her blood. Silver bullets of fish shot past in glittering shoals, changing direction in an instant. Bright coral rose and banked as her boat drifted, many-branched sculptures in orange and blue, yellow and red. Busy white and red banded shrimp danced and worked across the reef, industrious and focused. Alongside them, parrotfish pecked and plucked as they fed.
A dark shadow swept over the idyllic blue and Rose lay back in the boat to look up. Into a cerulean sky rode a deep, roiling black cloud, lightning arcing and flashing inside. As Rose’s brow creased in confusion, drenching rains dropped from the clouds, stirring the calm surface of the ocean, soaking her to the skin in moments. The rain felt like a million tiny darts, spiking her flesh, battering her face. Rose thrashed and tried to turn over, tried to shield her head with her arms, but her body wouldn’t respond. Something hard and sharp bit into her wrists, ground against her ankles as she kicked. A deep buzzing drilled into her ears and the rain faded as her eyes flickered open. Fluorescent strip lights high above, fastened to a sheet metal ceiling, flickered and hummed.
Rose couldn’t hold in a sob as real life flooded back, men attacking, punches and crushing hands, then a needle, then blackness. She passed out again.
When she next came around, her hands were numb where the bindings restricted her wrists against the arms of what seemed to be some kind of dentist’s chair. She lay reclined almost flat, her ankles tied to the end of the long seat. She wriggled her fingers, pins and needles dancing up her forearms as she forced the blood to move. The memory of the needle came back to her, harsh-faced, angry-voiced men holding her down, the stinging strike of it and then a hot, painful swelling in her shoulder. Her vision swam almost immediately, like she tried to see through frosted glass, then blackness. She frowned, tears tumbling over her cheeks, as she tried to remember more. A rushing, tiny squares of light… No, tiny windows. A plane? Yes, she had been flown somewhere. In a small plane, a private jet with beige leather seats. She struggled, twisting and hauling against her bonds, but they wouldn’t budge. Her head pounded, her stomach swam, like she’d been drinking far too much and just needed to sleep… She closed her eyes and darkness took her again.
Rose woke to the sound of a door sliding open, metal grinding on metal. She had no idea where she was except that it appeared to be a large warehouse or workshop of some kind. She craned her neck to see back behind her, ignoring the sickening thump of her headache, and caught the movement of someone large and blond moving into the room, closing the door behind himself.
The man was tall and well-built, muscles pushing against the fabric of a dark suit and white shirt but he wore no tie. His shoes were shiny, though soft-soled and silent on the cement floor. He approached Rose with a neutral expression on his square-jawed face. His blond hair was cut short, his eyes piercing blue. Rose began gasping, panic washing over her, and she struggled again against the ropes that wouldn’t give an inch.
“Please, remain calm,” the man said, though his face gained a hard edge that frightened her further.
“Remain calm? When I’ve been kidnapped and held captive? You’ll excuse me if I don’t take your advice!” Her tongue was large and dry in her mouth, her words slurred. Just how much had they drugged her? How long had she been out?
“Well, I’m sorry for your discomfort, I really am. But you have information that we absolutely must retrieve. And we simply can’t take any chances on you slipping away again. You have proven most elusive.”
Rose frowned, trying to pinpoint the singsong nature of the man’s voice. Her head was stuffed and muggy, thoughts dragging through it like they weighed a ton each. “If it’s the stuff about the Codex Gigas you want, the Devil’s Bible, it’s all on my phone. I’ll give you the passcode. We found all kinds of stuff…”
The man tipped his head to one side, his face apologetic. “We’ve already cracked your phone, thank you. And we’ve taken everything that was there. You know, you really did us a favor.” Scandinavian, Rose suddenly realized. His accent was Swedish or Finnish or something like that. He smiled. “We must thank you for finding that particular artefact. There really is some very helpful stuff there.”
Rose swallowed, her face twisted in discomfort and confusion. What the hell did this man want then? And how many were with him? Were they the same people who had been trying to capture her in London and Prague? They must be, though she hadn’t seen this particular guy before. Maybe it was another group, a rival group. She just wanted to be rid of the whole ridiculous situation.
“We also enjoyed the photos that were presumably for your boyfriend. Or girlfriend? We’ll definitely be keeping copies of those.”
Rose scowled but was too frightened and confused to really care. The photos he referred to had been part of a short-lived but very enjoyable relationship that involved a lot of sexting. That particular affair had burned bright and short, and she really should have deleted those pictures, but it never really occurred to her that some kind of international gang would be abducting her and cracking her phone. It was all too surreal to even get mad about.