Zero Alternative, page 27
Something clanged nearby, wood against concrete. A shutter slamming in the wind.
The light vanished, then came back again. Maybe a broken window. And a paranoid brain. Walker bit on his tongue and stood up, going through the door. ‘Nothing. Just nerves, I guess,’ he whispered back.
Layla followed him and he ducked under a timber that had crashed through the ceiling, into the L-shaped room, stepping over the sliver of faint light. A window on the other side opened onto the night, the moon shining through the broken glass. A splintered blind swung back and forth in the wind.
Walker grimaced and passed underneath it to enter a larger hall, the ceiling sloping away into darkness. A floorboard creaked and gave way underneath his foot. He stumbled, almost losing his balance as the weight of the backpack dragged him down. Layla grabbed on his arm, helping him upright. ‘Fuck,’ he swore quietly.
‘Use your torch. I don’t want to get impaled by something.’
He nodded and risked a quick pass of the torch, trying to memorize the layout of the wide space ahead. He didn’t really know where they were: the hotel was huge and almost twenty years had passed since he’d last walked the place. But the moon was on their right, meaning they had to go around the other side, back towards the heart of the building. The grand ballroom started squarely at the centre of the ground floor, flowing to the farthest end where massive windows opened onto the mountains beyond. He was trying to decide which of the two doors in front of him to take when a distant coughing sound echoed from the rightmost corridor, before cutting off sharply.
Walker flicked the torch off, freezing, waiting for another sound.
‘Mosha?’ Layla asked.
‘I hope so,’ he whispered back. Though the world had tilted many times in the last few days, there was no way Pienaar could have tracked the Serb, or bought him. It had to be Mosha, probably starting to get bored and spooked as he waited. Walker took the door from which the sound had come, followed a couple of turns and a longer passage, more windows bouncing moonshine into the hotel, this time from the left. They were getting closer to the ballroom, travelling in the right direction now. His foot tilted forward and he felt another floorboard oscillate, then drop a few inches.
He swore and slid back before switching the torch on again. Several planks were broken and rotted, the entire aisle ahead sagging like an old hammock. He exhaled and tried to see further along, wondering if the floor got better a couple of yards on. It looked like it, and he considered jumping across instead of doubling back.
Layla must have guessed what he was thinking. She took his arm and leaned closer. ‘It’s too dangerous, I think.’
He nodded, started to say something.
The window behind him exploded in thousands of shards. The noise was deafening and Walker felt little glass bullets smash into his jacket and the back of his neck and head, like painful wasp bites. Stunned, he pivoted and saw Pienaar climb through the shattered frame as his beam of light fragmented on the broken glass. He was swiveling a large pistol in his hands, the barrel impossibly elongated. A second man emerged behind him from the far corner, pointing another torch mounted on some submachine gun.
Walker glanced at Layla as he stepped back. She nodded and he lunged forward, pushing off his left foot, trying to get as much lift as he could. Light bounced off the ceiling and he saw the rotten floorboards slide backwards below him. The heavy rucksack dragged against him, slowing his momentum. He flexed his legs in the air, trying to gain extra inches like an Olympic long-jumper. Then his right foot touched down, the wood giving away. He could feel something fly through the air behind him and a gunshot exploded, whistling above his head.
The floorboard crumbled. Walker let go of his torch and bent, almost diving, emptiness below his feet. He landed on his hands and slid further, something heavy thumping to his right. Layla bounced up and twisted just as he struggled to his feet. A heartbeat later they had pushed on through the last few yards, off the corridor and behind a dogleg. Another gunshot echoed, spraying Walker with plaster. Then heavy running footsteps, as the hunters prepared to jump after them.
Walker pulled on Layla’s arm and steered her into a doorway on the left, past a couple of empty rooms. They hurried along a narrow passage and through a cloakroom, slipping past massive doors into some kind of foyer. Behind them steps echoed on the old wooden boards, quick but not running. Pienaar must have realised how dangerous the floor could be, and was following with care.
Walker slid to a stop in the centre of the enormous room, Layla just a pace behind. He swung the beam around, searching and praying the planks were sturdier here, then found the staircase he was looking for and ran to the broken steps, climbing sideways and keeping his back against the wall. They were about to disappear from view when the huge doors smashed open and Pienaar walked into the foyer, his torch sweeping around. Walker pulled Layla up and stopped still, trying not to make any noise. A bright light circle slid up the staircase, stopping just a few inches short of her shoulder. Then it flowed back down.
Someone hissed angrily, footsteps retreated and the doors swung shut. Walker counted to ten in the deep darkness, still holding onto Layla. Her breathing was as ragged as his, and they were both shaking. He took a deep gulp of air and let go of her, rummaging in his pocket and finding his lighter. He risked a quick flick of the flame to get his bearings and pushed on along another service corridor, past a larger landing into one of the wings of the old hotel. Dozens of bedroom doors waited on their left, some shut, others splintered or hanging off rusted hinges. On their right a few widely spaced small windows opened onto the hills beyond, faint moonlight barely lighting the way ahead.
‘Where are we going?’ Layla whispered.
‘I think we can circle around from the third floor, to the main exit on the other side.’
‘Now?’
Walker shrugged, thinking. ‘Maybe not. Pienaar will be expecting that, and we don’t know how many men he has. I think we can stay hidden for a while – till daylight if we move about.’
He pushed on, turning a couple of corners, back towards the centre of the building and away from the windows. Eventually he found a door in perfect condition and tried the handle. The panel swung back into an empty windowless room and they hurried in, using Walker’s backpack to wedge the door closed. What now? He walked around with care, making sure the floor was safe. Layla sat down in a corner, exhaling. ‘Shit.’
‘How the fuck did he find us?’ Walker swore. ‘Do you think it could have been Mosha?’
‘No idea. I told you Pienaar’s good, though.’
He grimaced and flicked on his lighter again. The deep darkness split, revealing a second door on the far wall. ‘What do you think we should do?’
‘Isn’t there another way out somewhere?’
Walker thought for a second. ‘There is an old service tunnel that goes back past the hotsprings, but I’ve only walked it once. I don’t think I could find it again, it’s like a maze down there.’ He exhaled and went to check the handle on the second door, found it locked. When he turned he noticed a ghost of light from a mobile phone in Layla’s hand. ‘What…’
The doorframe exploded inwards, stinging him in a shower of splinters.
Smoke billowed from the opening and he coughed, unable to breathe. As it dispersed, bright light flooded the room from a couple of torches and Walker was blinded for an instant. When his eyes readjusted he found himself staring into Pienaar’s grinning face, the Australian’s large pistol aimed at his chest. He almost considered jumping him, rage and fear boiling his blood, but a second man walked into the room and pointed a short rifle at Layla. It was the tall French guy who had bumped into her at JW airport and Walker’s heart sank – they had been running behind since then, at least. A part of him wondered what had happened to Mosha, and how badly it was going to turn out for them. He shivered. Very badly.
‘Look what we found here, two scared little sparrows…’ Pienaar’s voice resonated in the narrow space. ‘Hands on your head, fuckers. Let’s go.’ He gestured with the torch, still keeping his gun trained on them.
Layla glanced at Walker, then she shrugged and stood up calmly, heading out of the room. He followed her into the corridor where the Frenchman took up the tail position, sticking his rifle in Walker’s kidneys.
Pienaar barged past and grabbed Layla’s arm, chuckling. ‘Come on – there’s a friend waiting for you.’ He led them down a service staircase, back to a ground-floor room decorated with an arched ceiling. He paused for a second before taking them along a couple of corridors, skirting some debris and turning again through a wide passageway that Walker remembered well, into a cavernous hall. The Grand Ballroom. Shining his torch to the floor Pienaar shoved Layla forward, dangerously near a gaping hole in the rotten boards.
‘Careful, pretty one. You’re on thin ground here and we wouldn’t want…’
‘Stay on the right, Layla,’ Walker interrupted him. ‘I think it’s the first room past that window.’ He realised his voice was shaking and swallowed, just as Pienaar turned to him with a snarl. A torch swung at Walker’s head and he swayed back, but the rough plastic glanced his temple. He felt skin rip and blood dripped into his eye.
‘Shut up. You’ll speak only when I tell you to.’ Pienaar faked another swing, then he chuckled and glanced at the Frenchman. ‘Good job, Michel,’ he said. ‘Now go back out and keep an eye on the entrance. We don’t want any accidental company, not when the fun is about to start.’
Michel left and they skirted the damaged floor, entering a windowless suite illuminated by a weak light bulb. Walker saw another armed man, wearing a balaclava. He was pointing his gun at Mosha, who sat on a stained mattress next to a pile of old blankets. The Serb’s hands were tied but he held his back straight when he looked up with a grimace. ‘Not quite what we planned, Yours.’
‘I’m sorry, man…’
Pienaar’s fist hit him just below the ear and Walker crumpled to the ground with a metallic noise as his backpack half-cushioned the fall. He groaned and tried to slip his arms through the straps but Pienaar kicked him hard in the stomach, driving the wind out of him. ‘I told you to be quiet.’
The Australian was about to hit him again when Layla raised her voice. ‘Enough! The stuff you want is in Scott’s rucksack. Take it and leave us alone. You win.’
Pienaar stepped back from Walker’s prone body and pointed his gun at her. ‘Shut up, bitch. If you had done your job instead of disappearing with this idiot –’ he waved the light at the trader’s face, just as he struggled to get back up – ‘we wouldn’t have to go through all this unpleasantness.’
‘You tried to kill me.’
‘Not my call. The client felt a bit rushed.’
‘Because you murdered a man.’ Layla’s tone was angry, defiant. Walker managed to get back to his knees, scared but proud of her courage. ‘You’re a monster, Francois. And a stupid one at that,’ she spat.
Pienaar slid forward and slapped her hard, sending her tumbling onto a mattress, just a step away from Mosha and his guard. She rolled sideways, then pushed off one of her elbows and crouched, knees bent. Walker saw that her lip was split as she struggled up.
The Aussie grinned. ‘Do you like her, Temur?’
The man in the ski-mask grunted and Pienaar nodded. ‘Maybe I’ll let you have a go, after I’m done with her.’ He stepped forward, pointing his torch at Layla’s face.
‘The lady is right, big man.’ Mosha’s voice stopped him. ‘Take what you came for, and run. If you hurt any of us… my friends will come after you, forever. They will squash you like a bug.’
Pienaar spun, angry. ‘I know about you, you fucking Serb. And I’m not worried about the Neapolitans. Dead men don’t talk.’
‘How did you find us?’ Walker croaked, trying to gain some time. He didn’t know what for, but things were crashing too quickly. He climbed back to his feet, the rucksack discarded.
Pienaar swivelled and punched him again, hard. He holstered his gun as Walker doubled over, then clubbed him on the back of the neck, dropping him. Walker’s face hit the floor and he struggled to breathe. Pain shot through his limbs, his insides on fire. He tried to inhale deep and push the suffering aside, as he would in the ring. It’s only pain. He prepared himself for another blow, but the Australian just stood over him.
‘Is it all in there? Your stupid program?’
‘Yes…’ Walker coughed, dragging himself to one knee. ‘Everything’s in the storage driver.’
Pienaar grabbed his hair, forcing his head up. ‘No fancy tricks, like the last time?’
‘No…’
A shout echoed from outside the hotel and they all froze. Pienaar pressed his hand to the receiver in his ear, then turned to Mosha. ‘What the fuck is this?’
The Serb stood, a tentative smile on his lips. ‘No idea, but it sounds good…’
Pienaar swore, looking around the room. He nodded to Temur and growled, ‘Kill him.’
Balaclava-man raised his gun and Mosha dove away. The assailant managed to fire off a shot just as Layla sprang from the floor, tackling his legs. They both went down and Walker saw a flash of metal as she tried to free her knife. Then he reacted, bending lower to grab his rucksack.
Pienaar was about to pull out his pistol when Walker hit him with the heavy bag, swinging with all his strength. He caught the Australian across the shoulder and the gun flew away through the open door, into the large hall beyond.
Feinting to the right, Walker dodged left and squeezed past Pienaar as he recovered from the blow. He glimpsed Mosha lying on a mattress and heard a shout from Temur as he struggled with Layla, before another gunshot echoed. Then he rushed through the door, eyes scanning the floor for the Aussie’s weapon. He heard footsteps behind him and saw the barrel glinting in a shaft of moonlight. He dived for it but just as his fingers closed around the grip Pienaar’s heavy body landed on his back. The old wooden boards screamed and they crashed through the floor, tumbling into darkness.
Tunnels
Layla rolled on top of Temur, struggling to keep his gun away from her chest. The man shifted below her, shoving back, and she realised he was too strong to hold down. She let her grip slacken for a second, allowing him to turn his shoulder, then pivoted and kneed him in the crotch. Temur’s body convulsed, breath exploding out of his mouth when she hit him again, savagely.
As his body contorted she pushed off, drawing her knife and bringing it up in a smooth movement. The blade slashed his throat as she swung it back, before thrusting it down into his chest, again and again. The steel sank deep with a soft, squelching sound of freed blood. Steady rhythm, grunts, a letting of fear and anger and frustration.
Seconds passed, until a loud noise brought Layla back from her frenzy. She breathed in and stood up, glancing at Mosha’s prone body and Temur’s bloodied torso.
Neither was moving.
Knife in hand, she sprinted into the main hall and saw a cloud of dust floating up from a large hole in the floor. She grabbed someone’s discarded torch, approached the edge and looked down, into the void. Rubbish and broken timbers shone back at her, a cloud of dust still floating upwards.
Pienaar’s voice drifted out of the chasm, angry, followed by the noises of a fight. The hole was maybe five yards deep, the bottom a mess of debris. She was about to look for a way down when Walker’s shout echoed from below, followed by the mad Australian’s laughter. Without a second thought Layla closed her eyes and jumped into the gap, preparing for the impact.
Walker fell for what seemed a very long time, in the end landing awkwardly on his shoulder, the wind driven out of him. He rolled to the side, left arm spasming as he bumped against a broken board, splinters penetrating his skin. He shook his head and tried to clear his vision as he got up, then dropped again to one knee to avoid Pienaar’s fist. Jesus, he’s fast. The big Australian was on him, unleashing a flurry of punches that he struggled to block in the dim light, stepping sideways, away from the hole in the ceiling.
Pienaar stopped chasing and glanced around, bending to grab a long beam of wood to swing it in a wide circle. Walker scanned the floor as well, found nothing. He backed out of range, swiveled and ducked at the last second, the staff grazing the top of his head. He knew he needed some weapon but Pienaar was harrying him, and he was too busy trying to dodge the staff’s sweeps. He feinted and jumped to his left, going for a kick to the Aussie’s legs but the big man just danced back, twirling the beam in his hands and stubbing him in the stomach.
Walker doubled over and slid back; his left foot tangled in some old cable and he stumbled to the floor. The shaft cracked against his left wrist and he shouted in pain, driven down by the force of the impact. Pienaar cackled and closed up to him, lifting his arms for a final blow.
Something heavy dropped to the ground a few yards away and they both froze for an instant. Walker glanced sideways and saw Layla, crouched, pointing a torch at them. She stood and brought her right hand back, then snapped it forward again. A bright shadow flashed through the air, just intersecting the light beam. It hit with a solid noise and Pienaar growled in pain, turning away. Layla’s combat knife was stuck in his shoulder blade, more than halfway to the hilt.
Someone shouted ‘Francois!’ from the room above and a gunshot echoed.
Walker saw Layla stumble, heard her cry out. He struggled back to his feet just as she half-fell, half-jumped to hide behind a mountain of rubbish. Fear and rage exploded more adrenaline through his muscles and he slashed into Pienaar’s legs, almost knocking him over. Arm pulsing with pain, he spun and pushed off his left foot, connecting with a right cross that sent the Aussie reeling backwards.
Pienaar recovered, tried to swing the beam and his shoulder caught, Layla’s knife still buried in his back. He grimaced and dropped his staff. Another gunshot crackled but they were hidden away from the hole, deeper into the tunnel. Walker ignored it and attacked in a flash, feinting to the head and landing a couple of uppercuts to the midriff, just missing the solar plexus. The Aussie grunted and swayed, still holding his stance. Walker feinted again, dipped his right shoulder and whipped his torso around, letting his abdominal and dorsal muscles generate torque as he went for a massive left hook to the face. His arm rang with pain as the fist connected but Pienaar’s nose burst and he stumbled and fell back onto a large pile of debris.
