Guardian (12 page)

Roz was fretting. She had finally allowed Malcolm to convince her that acting as his driver and waiting with the Jeep warmed up and out of sight was pivotal to his plan and ultimate safety. However, what she really thought was he had come up with a relatively devious, if pretty obvious, way of ensuring she remained out of harm's way and, in particular, out of any action that might arise. She had to concede that someone was needed to drive and since Jomo couldn't talk, in the event something went wrong she might very well be Malcolm's only salvation. And now she was convinced something really had gone wrong. It wasn't that she could put her finger on it, but she was experiencing more and more often an almost tangible presence and preternatural insight whenever she really needed help. A new, indefinable spiritual sensitivity she was beginning to trust. An insight that was far closer to real assurance than mere supposition. And right now, she considered this curious awareness was of more importance than reason.

Leaning forward in the seat and looking over the collapsed windscreen, she strained her eyes and ears to pick up a clue. Nothing. Nevertheless, she eased the clutch in, slipped into first and let the Jeep teeter forward, balanced on the accelerator. No other movement, no other sound. Until with shocking suddenness and high above the throaty gurgle of the engine, the crack of two rapid-fire shots rolled around the narrow street in which she was parked. A shout echoed thinly from somewhere ahead in the direction of their target and Roz knew, beyond a doubt, that Malcolm was in deep trouble. With no thought but concern for Malcolm, she stamped on the accelerator and, barely pausing to let the engine catch up, threw the car into second gear, double declutching for all she was worth with only a yard covered, and shot round the corner into the straight that paralleled the base of the fortress-like house they were trying to access.

As the walls came into full view she was just in time to gain the impression of a falling body that suddenly jerked to a halt mere feet above street level, thereafter to slide rapidly the rest of the way to the ground as the line paid out around the leg apparently caught in its coils. It didn't take much intuition to know this was Malcolm, or that he was in desperate straits. She had seen how his arms hung slackly over his head as he dropped the remaining few feet to the ground. For an instant panic threatened to disable her, but the knowledge that she alone could hold the key to survival and would have to take charge if they were to stay alive gave her all the impetus she needed.

There were only seconds left to get clear of the walls, to get out from the predictable arc of fire. She knew beyond doubt there would be no mercy here. And with that realisation came understanding that whatever Malcolm had or had not found, this place really was tied to Paul. Desperately she stood on the brakes, sliding in a welter of dust almost broadside to the body that now lay in a motionless heap just ahead of her. Where, oh where was Jomo? She knew she would never manage to get Malcolm's inert bulk into the back of the Jeep on her own. But she needn't have worried. Even as she slid to a halt, Jomo broke cover from her left and ran straight towards Malcolm. Leaping out, Roz caught up as Jomo grabbed Malcolm by the shoulders and started pulling him round towards the back of the Jeep, legs dragging along the ground. Swiftly she bent and, gathering the trailing legs, straightened herself with a supreme effort to stagger along behind Jomo until they came up against the tailboard. There was no time to release it and, groaning with the effort, the two of them managed to roll Malcolm unceremoniously over the top, from where he fell with a dull, glutinous thud.

Apprehensive, Roz looked in and, with a sudden horror, saw a gush of sticky black liquid spreading rapidly under his body, liquid that could only be blood. Momentarily she froze again, but a hard knock against her back from a clearly agitated Jomo brought her back to reality and the precariousness of their situation. Glancing upwards, she caught sight of a head appearing against the skyline followed immediately by several others, one at least of which was aiming a rifle directly at her. Simultaneously, a stab of flame sparkled at her, but the man had been in too much of a hurry and the clang of a bullet glancing off the Jeep right alongside served only to galvanise her into even faster action.

Arriving in the driving seat like a rat on hashish and praying she wouldn't be hit, Roz began to drive as though her life depended on it, which it probably did. She heard at least one other bullet chew into the back of the Jeep before she reached the first bend, taking it so fast she slid broadside into the close-pressed wall, only to bounce off onto the opposite side of the street, before managing to straighten up and build on what was left of her speed. Then, with the engine howling, she attacked the narrow, claustrophobic streets as though all the hounds of Hell were on her tail, oblivious to anyone or anything that might have had the misfortune to get in her way. It was pure luck that after four or five minutes of this she emerged onto a street she recognised, because it was this recognition alone that brought sanity. Her foot eased away from its flat prone position on the accelerator and, with a conscious effort, she sat back in the driving seat and flexed her shoulders from their hunched concentration. Her hands were another matter and it took a moment or two to straighten her fingers and break their almost manic grip on the steering wheel. Only then was she able to turn and look at Jomo, whose face clearly showed he was less than impressed with the whole experience. If he'd ever seen a circus ‘wall of death' in action, he would now know exactly how the participants felt, but Roz had no time for that. Right now she had a badly wounded man on her hands and nowhere to go. She glanced over her shoulder into the back of the Jeep, not sure whether to take Malcolm to hospital where the authorities would undoubtedly interrogate him once they discovered the bullet wound, or whether to risk the drive out to Jill, in the hope she knew a friendly doctor. However, one searching look was enough to determine Malcolm needed professional help and needed it right now, or he would be beyond anything the world had to offer anyway. In some despair, she faced forward. “Jomo, show me the quickest way to the hospital.”

Deep in the bowels of the cellar, its labyrinthine chambers excavated by slave labour some hundreds of years earlier, I was still locked in solitary confinement, sprawled in the space tunnelled out from the living rock below the high white walls. Faintly, however, my ears registered the distant sounds of rifle fire and shouting, all diffused into a soft silkiness by the solid rock and, I must admit, they barely disturbed my reverie. In any case, even if I had been able to determine what was going on, the knowledge probably wouldn't have pierced the stupefying haze that now clouded my mind, probably wouldn't even have sparked the beginnings of interest. Isolation and total blackness had long since sapped any latent effort towards attentiveness – attention to life, even. The considerations of these two treacherous companions, each one feeding off the other, had all but completed their task. By now it needed far more than distant sounds to bring me back to reality. I remember I simply kept my eyes closed. Why open them? I was in a world of my own and I doubt my eyelids even flickered. Certainly, my slow, shallow breathing was the only thing of which I was aware, as its hypnotic rhythm provided the only other sound in my universe. Days were dawning, as they must, and nights were falling, but none of this registered on my mind.

***

With cruel delight, Ahmed ordered the sarong stripped from the girl who stood in front of him. Her baby had already been forcibly removed and she stood with her face half turned away in shame as her nakedness was revealed. She was tall and almost too thin to be beautiful, but the high-boned cheeks and narrow nostrils marked her out as a half-breed. As Ahmed stared at her, his lust, never far from the surface, began to throb and satisfaction flooded him as he contemplated the deal he had struck. For a moment he even considered an expansive gesture of thanks to Abdel-Aziz. But not yet. Let Abdel await that moment. He, Ahmed, was in no hurry. Not with such a fine slave standing naked before him and not while he could indulge the luxury of deciding how he would first make use of her body. He let his eyes wander over her, taking in the slender limbs and milk-swollen breasts, their dark nipples enlarged from recent feeding. Like many of her kind the tight, dark pubic curls that should have been guarding her prominent mound were completely shaved away and the secret parts of her sex, meant for her husband alone, were now openly on display to the two men. Returning his eyes to her face, Ahmed thrust a callous hand deep between her thighs and grasped the labia hard, watching with amusement as she gasped and stumbled back in startled dismay. Tonight he would treat himself to something exceptional. Abruptly, he let her go and turned back to face the ever inscrutable Abdel-Aziz.

“Very well, you shall have your white boy. Barzac will bring him to the courtyard.” Ahmed had no idea how this particular prisoner had fared, but then he had little interest in the finer details. It was enough that Barzac had not seen fit to report anything untoward. As far as he was concerned, delivery alive to Abdel-Aziz was all that was required. Why waste money on pampering a prisoner you would never see again? Moreover, apart from using him as a convenient source of profit, he had little regard for Abdel-Aziz and was beginning to feel that the time was fast approaching when it would be prudent to cut this particular link and seek other outlets more amenable to his little foibles. Abdel's only real asset was he usually made sufficient profit to not only reimburse the subsidy for each voyage, but enable Ahmed to fund further rounds without having to beg from the family. However, Abdel was not only beginning to demand far too much, he was getting a little careless in the way he came and went and there was no point in attracting unnecessary attention. So it might serve everyone well if he were to disappear. Permanently.

Having been up all night, Roz was tired and, as she had long since discovered, when fatigue struck, dejection was quick to raise its ugly head. In particular, she was anxiously aware that Jill could appear at any moment. Malcolm had been alive when she delivered him to the hospital, if only just, but he had yet to regain consciousness and no one would commit themselves to a prognosis on his chances of survival. The bullet had missed vital organs, but one lung had collapsed through the shock of its passage and he had lost a considerable amount of blood. Not only that, but he had severe rope burns to his leg and had taken a brutal blow to the top of his head. There was no doubt that if his leg had not caught in the rope he would now be lying in the mortuary and Roz still didn't know what she was going to say to Jill. Moreover, she was painfully aware that Malcolm had deliberately omitted to tell Jill exactly what he was planning to do. Like many large men he had a healthy respect, bordering on awe, for his small but feisty wife. But now, with Malcolm unable to defend himself, Roz was left to placate Jill in the certain knowledge that if she hadn't made what now looked like highly unreasonable demands, Malcolm would not be facing the future as a possible invalid – assuming he made it at all. She knew Malcolm was Jill's whole world and for perhaps the thousandth time, Roz glanced despairingly through the glass at the nurses surrounding the intensive care bed where, oblivious to her misery, they continued to bustle around the bed like bees round a honey pot.

“Roz!” The sound of Jill's voice caught her unawares and she cringed. “How is he?” Not waiting for an answer, Jill swept on into the intensive care ward and marched straight up to her husband's bed. There she stood for several minutes, her animated back leaving no doubt she was questioning the nurses closely, though her eyes never left the still form of her husband. Eventually and apparently satisfied for the moment, she turned back to where Roz now hovered uncertainly in the doorway and laid a firm but gentle hand on her arm. “Come on, Roz, you and I are going to find a cup of coffee and you're going to tell me exactly what's been going on. All of it.” There was a crackle of steel in her manner, but her innate kindness was mixed with the very real grief playing out in her eyes as she gazed at her young charge.

“So in the end Malcolm decided there was only one thing he could do. He had to get in somehow, or we'd never be sure and it was the only lead we had. The first I realised there was real trouble was when I heard two shots. I drove round the corner and Malcolm just seemed to fall down the rope he had been using to climb the wall. When I got to him he wasn't moving, but somehow Jomo and I managed to lift him into the back of the Jeep – it's all a bit of a blur – and then Jomo showed me how to get here. The rest you know.”

Roz petered out into anxious silence, waiting for Jill to react, to shout at her, cry, do anything. But Jill just sat quietly, eyes half hooded, sifting through the events of the last twenty-four hours, mind and heart at odds while she searched for a way through the dilemma posed by her beloved husband's dreadful injuries. She knew she had to be strong for him, had to take his place somehow as she confronted the world, yet still comfort Roz. But what to do, how to respond? Should she call a halt to the search, tell Roz the two of them had done their best, but now it was time to give up on Paul? Should she rant and rave about the stupidity of their escapades – something she supposed any normal wife would do? Or should she try to take over where Malcolm had left off? Not once did she consider playing the distressed wife. For a moment she toyed with the idea of asking the medical staff to keep things quiet, but in her heart of hearts she knew that was a non-starter. Bullet wounds to white people were too difficult to explain and with the hospital involved, she couldn't hope to keep a lid on the night's exploits. Once Malcolm regained consciousness, she guessed it wouldn't be long before the police started asking him questions. And when that happened and an official enquiry got under-way, she very much doubted if it would help their efforts to find Paul. She was all too well aware they already had a good deal of explaining to do and could hardly imagine what the authorities would say when they realised who Roz was trying to find and, by implication, warn. Inevitably, the police were going to be far from pleased when they discovered the Paul in question was wanted up country for questioning about a double murder. Annoyed that she was still thinking defensively about a young man she hadn't even met, while her husband lay unconscious on his account, Jill tried to put the Moncton boy forcibly aside and concentrate on what was best for Malcolm. The trouble was she knew what would happen, if and when he began to recover. Although out of the picture for now, he would still demand to know what was being done to find Paul. Having got the bit between his teeth, he would never give up and, knowing what he was like, there was no doubt in her mind that being attacked would only stiffen his resolve.

Jill sighed and, as she did so, heard a commotion further down the corridor. Irritated, she spun round in time to see Matron firmly diverting the local Chief Inspector of Police away from the ward and into her office. The die was cast. She knew immediately that she couldn't let Malcolm down, or Roz for that matter, and would have to find a way round the dilemma posed by the officer's presence.

Whipping round she hissed “Roz, the police are here. Go now, quickly, before they see you. It's better they don't know you're here, for now at least and I need time to think. Keep the Jeep and get on home. I'll call you when I can, but stay out of sight until we've had time to discuss where we go from here. Quick now, while that man is still in Matron's office. Use the stairs over there. Find a way out.”