Murray sat in the corner of the room, staring up at the unseen ceiling. The room was pitch black and stank of dampness and stale air. He had seen no-one since being brought in at gunpoint many hours earlier and had spent the first thirty minutes banging on the door and shouting abuse at his captors. Finally, realising there was nobody there; he retreated into a corner and waited for someone to come, afraid to even contemplate the horrible possibility that they might not.
Eventually after what seemed like a lifetime, the sound of distant footsteps echoed down the unseen corridor. An overhead lamp switched on, and he turned his head away from the unexpected light. The door swung open and two men entered the room, setting up a small table with two chairs situated opposite each other. A third man came in and sat on one of the chairs, while the other two stood either side of the door.
Murray stayed in the corner, staring at the man at the table, waiting for someone to speak.
Eventually, the man at the table spoke, nodding towards the empty chair.
‘Sit,’ he said, simply.
‘I’m okay here, thank you very much,’ said Murray.
The man glanced at one of the guards and gave a slight nod of his head. Both men marched over to Murray and before he could do anything to defend himself, one of them punched him on the side of the head, sending him sprawling across the floor.
‘What the fuck?’ shouted Murray, but before he could say anything else, they dragged him to his feet and the bald guy’s mate sent a punch deep into his stomach, and as he doubled up in pain, followed it up with a knee to the face.
Murray’s nose shattered and he slid down the wall in pain and shock. The two men returned to their positions by the door as the man by the table lit a cigarette, as if in boredom. He blew out a lungful of smoke before repeating his earlier instruction.
‘Sit,’ he said again.
For a second, Murray didn’t move but when the stranger’s eyes rose in mock surprise, he forced himself to his feet and approached the empty chair. Blood poured from his mouth and nose and he felt at least one broken tooth with his tongue. One of the thugs stood behind him.
‘Thank you,’ said the man in the chair.
‘Why the fuck did you do that?’ asked Murray through his rapidly swelling lips.
‘Simple,’ said the man, ‘I am going to ask you some questions. You will answer quickly, and honestly, leaving nothing out. Do you understand?’
‘Yes but why set your fucking monkeys on me?’
‘You need to understand I am not playing games,’ said the man. Fuck me about and you will get more of the same. If you do as I ask, and don’t play funny buggers, there’s the slightest chance you may still get out of here alive. Now, I’ll ask you one more time. Do you understand?’
Murray nodded nervously, realising he was in a world of shit.
A massive blow to the side of the head sent him flying once again, before he was dragged back into the chair.
‘When Mr Smith asks you a question,’ said the thug, ‘He expects an answer.’
‘Okay, okay’ he screamed, ‘I get it, just stop fucking hitting me.’
‘Okay,’ said Mr Smith, ‘Let’s get started, First of all, what is your name?’
‘Murray,’ he said, wiping his bloody mouth on his sleeve, ‘Stephen Murray.’
‘And, where are you from, Mr Murray?’
‘London.’
‘And your job?’
‘Taxi driver.’
Mr Smith paused, writing notes on the pad in front of him.
‘Okay,’ he said, ‘Tell me Mr Murray, why are you here/’
‘Sorry?’
‘Easy question!’
‘I genuinely don’t know. I’ve done nothing wrong. I was sat in my cab when one of your thugs pressed a fucking gun against my head. What’s all this about?’
Murray flinched as the thug behind him leant forward, and spoke speak menacingly into his ear.
‘Mr Smith asks the questions, you provide the answers. Savvy?’
Mr Jones stopped writing and sat back in his chair.
‘I know the circumstances of your capture, Mr Murray. What I need to know is why you were there in the first place?’
‘I was dropping off a customer.’
‘In the middle of nowhere?’
‘Murray thought furiously. No matter what trouble he was in, he saw no mileage in dropping the army guy in the shit.
‘He was a writer,’ said Murray, ‘Seemed interested in the history of the area and particularly wanted to learn about some nunnery that used to be around here.’
‘My sources tell me you seemed to be quite friendly with the man, in fact, you got quite aggressive with one of the gate guards.’
‘He was a prick,’ said Murray, ‘No need for rudeness.’
‘Hmm, quite,’ said the man, ‘Tell me, Mr Murray, where is your patch as a taxi driver?’
‘West London.’
‘Do you often get fares all the way out here?’
‘Nope.’
‘And you didn’t think it strange when you picked up this one?’
‘When someone waves a grand in your face, you don’t ask too may questions.’
‘So you don’t know him personally?’
‘No.’
‘You sure?’
‘Before this morning I had never set eyes on him.’
‘Yet you spend most of the day with him, then drove off to God knows where and brought him back a rucksack.’
‘I didn’t know what was in the bag.’
‘Wasn’t you curious?’
‘Like I said, a grand is a lot of money to me.’
‘What was in the rucksack?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘When he left you, did he say where he was going?’
‘To search for the nunnery, I believe. Murray looked nervously over his shoulder. ‘Can I say something please?’
Mr Smith nodded.
‘Look, I don’t know what this is about but you have got this all wrong. I only met him this morning and I have ferried him around all day. Yes it is strange, I admit, but for a grand I would have driven him to land’s end and back. We didn’t talk much. In fact, he was quite ignorant, We went to two churches but I waited outside while he went in. He didn’t tell me anything. All I know is he ended up very interested in finding this nunnery.’
The man calling himself Mr Smith stared at him for a long time.
‘You know what?’ he said eventually, ‘I think I believe you.
‘Thank God for that,’ said Murray, placing his head in his hands.
Mr Smith stood up to leave.
‘So, can I go now?’ asked Murray sitting up straight again.
Mr Smith paused, before speaking over his shoulder.
‘No, I don’t think so,’ he said, ‘There are too many loose ends here, you being one of them. We will speak again soon.’ He left the room, closely followed by the two guards.
‘Shit!’ cursed Murray when the door was locked, and laid his head in his arms on the table.
Outside the cell, Mr Smith turned to one of the guards.
‘Any news on the other guy?’ he asked.
‘Not yet,’ came the answer, ‘We lost him in the woods but it won’t be long before we find him. We have every man on the case. Don’t worry, he can’t get in here, it’s locked up tighter than a ducks arse.’