BLOOD GURKHA: Prophesy (James Pace novels Book 5) (4 page)

They had assigned her to ARC and her instructions had been crystal clear. Do whatever is necessary to gain Josephine Roche’s confidence. Stay by her side and find out everything possible about ARC and its global intentions. Similarly, she was to ensure that no sensitive, historical documents that might link Germany to the
Scorpion
affair ever came into Doyle McEntire’s hands. Deborah Miles, sadly, had just been collateral damage in the charade to gain Josephine’s trust.

‘I am afraid that you will not be coming with me,’ explained Josephine, her voice growing cold as she dropped the bombshell. ‘Your usefulness has expired and I cannot afford to take the risk of our surgical adventure being made public.’

Before Shilan could respond, she felt a sharp sting in the side of her neck, whipping around just in time to see Professor Prior pulling an empty syringe from her skin. Instantly the world began to blur and spin, darkening within a single breath.

Prior caught Shilan as she slipped off the chair, laying her down on the carpet, satisfied to see her chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. How many times had this beautiful creature stared at him with pity in her eyes? How many times had his hidden yearnings to hold her flesh kept him awake at night? Now, she was going to learn the meaning of his true power.

‘Do what you want with her,’ said Josephine, standing up and stepping over the fallen form of Shilan on her way to the door. ‘Just make sure that when you’re done, she disappears.’

‘Doctor Shilan will, I believe, meet an unfortunate accident trekking in the mountains at some point in the future. It will be tragic but an event that is very common in these parts.’ He grinned wickedly.

‘Just make sure you are on standby whenever I need you, and try not to let your ridiculous belief in the Yeti draw prying eyes in my direction, understand?’ He nodded solemnly. ‘By all means continue your research with our Chinese friends but do it quietly. Of course,’ she added sweetly, ‘if you do ever find one of those beasts, ARC will naturally get the credit, and any money that might come along with the discovery. You, of course, can take the scientific credit.’

‘Of course,’ he replied softly. ‘That is all I would ever want.’

As though reconsidering her earlier decision, she eyed him closely. He was very useful to her, so she would indulge him for a short while.

‘You have a week with her, no longer,’ Josephine clarified. ‘Use her as you wish but make sure that she dies.’ Before Prior could offer another assurance, she fixed him with a prophetic stare. ‘If she is ever heard from again, you won’t be.’

Then she turned on her heels and climbed the stairs back to her room, dispensing with the dressing gown in favour of a sharp trouser suit, high heeled black boots and a decadent mink coat.

By the time the Toyota Landcruiser began its careful descent of the gravel road, the unconscious form of Doctor Shilan was safely locked in a holding cell in one of the smaller buildings and Professor Prior was busily planning a series of punishments for her rudeness to him.

Very soon, he knew, she would pray for death.

3

Pace needed to hold her tightly, and whisper that she was going to be alright, but he could not get within twenty feet of her bed. Shrouded in plastic sheeting, an isolation unit had been rapidly erected around it by the medical team who now efficiently monitored a host of computer screens. The tent even came with its own air circulation and filtration system, which normally would have taken days to procure. Since the onset of the
Scorpion
affair, McEntire had made sure that there was a supply of the tents kept close at hand, in case any of his people had been infected. Luckily, none had been, until now.

As an added layer of protection against contamination, the door into her room had also been fitted with a plastic curtain. Nobody was allowed inside the room unless they were one of the medical team. A quick headcount revealed a dozen people caring for Sarah; a mixture of nurses, doctors and consultants, each wearing full protective clothing. All were on call for the McEntire Corporation at a moment’s notice and had convened in the medical unit within twenty minutes of receiving Doyle McEntire’s call for help.

Doyle McEntire was in a similarly shrouded bed alongside Sarah’s.

The plastic sheeting was slightly opaque so he could only make out a blurred image of her face through it. A clearer view could be seen on a nearby monitor. She looked deathly pale and had been placed in a medically-induced coma by one of McEntire’s personal consultants; Mr Carter.

As soon as he had arrived at the McEntire HQ, and taken the elevator directly from the underground parking garage up to the medical facility, on the sixth floor, Baker and Hammond greeted him. Taking him to one side, they had explained everything they knew, which wasn’t much.

‘What we know is this,’ began Hammond calmly. ‘Sarah stopped at the set of traffic lights just across the street. While she was waiting for the lights to change, someone ran up to the driver’s door and smashed the window in with something heavy.’ Pace shot him a questioning look. ‘We don’t know what it was. Sarah did not see it. Before she knew it, the glass imploded all over her and someone was leaning in and grabbing her by her throat.’

Pace felt the fury boil up inside him as the words sunk in. Why had he decided to stay behind? If he’d been with her, he could have protected her.

‘Something was blown in her face and then whoever it was made good their escape on a moped. Again, she didn’t see anything but she remembered that the engine was very high pitched and whiny,’ added Baker. ‘Our people are reviewing all available CCTV from the area as we speak. We will find whoever did this.’

‘Okay,’ frowned Pace. ‘But she’s in an isolation tent and you don’t need one of those for being choked. What did they put in her face?’

‘We’re not sure at the moment,’ said Hammond evenly. ‘It wasn’t acid, or anything like that, and it wasn’t a powder either, so we can rule out anthrax or something similar. Sarah said it was a fine liquid, like a spray from an aerosol. She breathed it in, James, that’s all we know. Something is inside her lungs and the doctors are trying to find out what it is as quickly as they can.’

‘Who would do this?’ was Pace’s next question. ‘She wasn’t on an operation and she was no threat to anyone.’

‘She is Doyle McEntire’s daughter,’ explained Baker. ‘There are a lot of people out there with an axe to grind against the McEntire Corporation. Some have business gripes and some have been on the receiving end of the protection services we operate on behalf of the British government.’

‘And some people just hate him for being so successful. There are some fanatical anti-capitalists roaming the streets of London nowadays who would love to strike a blow against what they view as a pillar of capitalist society.’

Pace stole another glance towards the shielded door. ‘And Doyle?’

‘Sarah managed to drive into the car park. She used her security pass to ride the elevator straight up to her father’s office. He was up there alone, waiting for her. She collapsed in his arms and he raised the alarm.’ Baker’s explanation made sense. ‘Whatever she’s been exposed to, so has he. The doctors are treating them both but Doyle is showing no symptoms of anything yet.’

‘Wait,’ said Pace, suddenly struck by a thought. ‘You said that she collapsed in his arms. Why?’

Hammond and Baker exchanged a quick look, which was meant to be covert but Pace caught it.

‘According to Doyle, she was fine when she first stepped out of the elevator, just tearful and shocked. He gave her a glass of water and she told him what had happened, which is what we’ve been able to tell you,’ Hammond said. ‘Then she started to complain that she could not breathe. She began to vomit and choke.’

Pace felt any remaining colour draining from his face. He wanted to say something but a sense of numb despair suddenly gripped him and his mouth stayed shut.

‘He managed to get her into the recovery position and kept her breathing until the medical response team arrived. They stabilised her, got them both down here to the medical floor and set up an isolation area.’ Baker’s words helped calm Pace a little. But not much.

‘How long before we know what she’s been exposed to? Any idea?’

‘No,’ replied Hammond. ‘They have all the equipment they need to find out and to keep them both alive. There’s nothing more we can do for them. We just have to let the professionals get on with their jobs.’

‘Are they giving her any medication?’ Pace asked. ‘It would be sensible to try her on antibiotics. I mean, while they’re waiting, wouldn’t it?’

Hammond nodded. ‘They’re both being given strong, broad-spectrum antibiotics and fluids right now. That’s all the doctors will risk until they know exactly what they’re dealing with.’

‘If Sarah had not deteriorated so fast, I might even have thought that it was a hoax,’ said Baker. ‘You know, someone out to make a splash in the tabloids with a fake attack like all those idiots who sent pretend anthrax packages to politicians a few years back.’

‘No,’ growled Pace. ‘This is for real and I won’t rest until the bastard who did it is in my hands.’

The conversation would have turned to one of mutual agreement about the guaranteed demise of Sarah’s attacker but events suddenly overtook them.

A disturbance erupted behind the curtained door, signifying a drastic change. The methodical, calm, soft-footed approach of the medical team switched into high gear. Shouted instructions rang around the room and Pace had to be forcibly held back from barging his way through the plastic veil.

Yet it was not Sarah who was the reason for the chaos.

Inside the room; overwhelmed with residual shock and fearing for his daughter’s life, Doyle McEntire had been seized within the vicious grip of a catastrophic heart attack.

4

‘It is a message,’ concluded Hammond coldly. Seated at the huge conference table in Doyle McEntire’s cavernous penthouse office, he directed his words at two equally dishevelled men seated opposite. Baker and Pace, like himself, had not left the building for the past two days. They all needed a shower and a fresh set of clothes but none of them was willing to step away from such a delicate situation, even for a minute.

Pace met his gaze squarely, nodding slightly. ‘At least we know what it is now and we know how to fight it.’

Baker rose from his chair wearily and moved across to a side table, where he poured them each a fresh mug of hot, black coffee. The dark liquid had been practically their only sustenance since Sarah’s attack but they were all grateful to feel its invigorating bite in their mouths once more. Once re-seated, he noted that the watery light of a London dusk beginning to settle over the great city, heralding the rapid onset of another night. The weather was cold and heavy rain hammered against the many windows, accentuating the sombre mood with its staccato rhythm.

‘I don’t know what she hopes to achieve with this attack,’ he opened. ‘She clearly understands that we have the resources to identify the agent used and treat Sarah. As a message,’ he glanced over at Hammond, ‘it seems self-defeating. She has no way of knowing the true nature of our business but she knows enough to recognise that she’s just signed her own death warrant.’

‘You’re talking about someone who kidnapped an innocent woman, then robbed her of her most sacred organs,’ replied Pace bitterly. ‘Who presided over the brutal murder of dozens of people so she could further her own ambitions.’ He paused, swallowing down useless anger for the hundredth time that day. ‘Maybe she’s just mad; a psychopath perhaps?’

‘Whatever she is, or whatever her intentions,’ interrupted Hammond, ‘I promise you, James, we will not rest until she is found and dealt with.’

Pace failed to suppress a wry smile. ‘I know, Max, I know. In time, we’ll find her and I will personally send her to hell, where she can spend eternity with that evil bitch she used to call her personal assistant.’ They all remembered the now-deceased Fiona Chambers; glad she was gone. ‘For now, let’s just focus on getting Sarah well.’

‘And hoping her father survives too,’ added Baker ruefully. Having worked with Doyle McEntire for decades, he was struggling with the thought that his boss, and friend, was currently hanging on to his life by the thinnest of gossamer threads.

Life had a strange way of working out, Pace knew. If Sarah had not received such immediate, expert medical care, she might not have survived the first few hours. Similarly, such was the extent of Doyle McEntire’s heart attack that if he had been anywhere but in a clinical bed, surrounded by some of the best doctors in the world, he would already be dead.

Luckily, one of the consultants attending at the moment the attack struck was the heart surgeon who had been badgering McEntire to book himself in for a quadruple bypass procedure. Within five minutes, the surgeon had opened him up, throat to belly, at one point physically massaging McEntire’s heart until it began to beat again. A ten-hour operation had left him with long wounds to his legs, where veins had been stripped out for the emergency bypasses, as the medical team fought to keep their patient from tipping over the eternal precipice.

Both father and daughter remained in medically-induced comas, with Sarah’s prognosis looking a great deal brighter than McEntire’s.

When the doctors had diagnosed bubonic plague, more specifically;
Scorpion
, as the agent Sarah had inhaled, there had been an initial moment of sheer disbelief around the table.

But, after the shock had melted away, the reality took hold and they finally understood the reason behind Sarah’s attack. Revenge.

Josephine Roche, who had managed to slide out from under their very noses just before the bloodbath in ARC’s Namibian desalination plant, had exacted vengeance against the men she blamed for exposing her. Forced to flee for her life, and now vanished into thin air, she’d lost her company, her credibility and everything she had been scheming to build. Personal wealth and assets had been frozen by a dozen governments and she was being actively hunted by law enforcement agencies across the globe.

Pace had assumed, wrongly, that Josephine would lie low for a year or two; perhaps even forever, to avoid spending the rest of her life in jail or facing an African firing squad. Now, it seemed, she was behind the calculated attack on Sarah.

What she did not have known, however, was that the McEntire Corporation was not simply a powerful, international company. She could not have known of its darker underbelly, nor joined the dots to realise how self-destructive her fateful instructions to attack Sarah would be for her.

Josephine Roche understood that the McEntire Corporation was behind her downfall but she had assigned the blame to a few, overzealous, adventuring employees who just happened to have Doyle McEntire’s connections and wealth behind them; enabling a civilian outfit to bring down the power of both military and law enforcement crashing down upon ARC; destroying her dreams.

Unfortunately for all concerned, the damage had now been done and the clock could not be wound back. Like an angry viper, the McEntire Corporation’s covert resources were now coiled, quivering, watching and waiting to strike.

Its venomous fangs would be the heartbroken men sitting around the conference table.