obviously very busy with his other activities-but it was the only chance I had.
I hammered out a message.
I just came from your penthouse. You want to meet me, so name the time and place. I’ll do whatever you want as long as you let my daughter and the others go. Anything. Please, answer.
I sent it, hoping the tone was suitably craven, and left the e-mail program online. Then I sat down with my two remaining friends. We talked about what we would do if the Devil got back to me, we tried to plan and we kitted ourselves out as best we could with what Peter had in the house.
Then we waited, unable to eat or rest.
Answer, I kept saying to myself. Answer, you crazy freak. I swore to myself that if the Devil had done anything to Lucy, to Sara, to Rog and Andy, to Ginny and the kids, to Caroline, I would have no mercy on him.
After half an hour there had been no reply. We decided to drive up to north London in the Jeep and check the properties that Andy and Rog hadn’t got to. Fortunately Boney had a state-of-the-art laptop with an Internet connection via his mobile phone.
As we headed toward the Blackwall Tunnel, I had the distinct feeling that we were going in the wrong direction.
I sincerely hoped I was mistaken.
32
The White Devil stopped the van outside Free Forests Timber Supplies in Bethnal Green and waited while Corky unchained and opened the gate. He had set the company up under his mother’s name and it wasn’t likely that Matt Wells or the police would be on his track here-at least not yet. His accomplice unlocked the left-hand shed and the Devil drove in. Now they were completely out of everyone’s view. There was a converted Victorian school about fifty yards away, but the occupants of the flats were all young professionals. They were too busy getting pissed or stoned, shagging each other or catching up on their shuteye to pay attention to the wood yard.
Between them they carried the three bodies through to the main shed and laid them out on the tables that had been prepared. There were leather straps to tie the comatose victims down. Another six spaces were awaiting the arrival of Dave Cummings’s family plus Matt Wells’s daughter, and then Matt and Dave themselves. The last one, behind a partition, the Devil had set up himself. Corky didn’t know about it. He didn’t know about the explosive charges that had been set all over the building, either.
He checked for messages on his laptop. Matt’s desperate plea for an answer was gratifying. It meant that he knew he was at the Devil’s mercy. It was always good to put the opposition on the back foot. No doubt that applied in rugby league, as well. Soon Matt would have his answer, but in the meantime there was something else to be done.
The Devil selected one of several mobiles in his briefcase and found the number he wanted in the memory.
“Six six six,” he said when his partner replied.
“The number of the beast,” came the smooth reply. “All’s gone according to plan.”
“Where are you?”
“Should be with you in ten minutes.”
He cut the connection. That accounted for the Cummings family and little Lucy. They had all succumbed to the knock-out gas and wouldn’t come round for at least an hour. By which time Matt and Dave would be on site for a tearful reunion.
“What’s so funny?” Corky demanded, a roll-up in the corner of his mouth. “This is bloody sick, if you ask me.”
“I’m not asking you,” the Devil replied, his tone sharp. It was just as well that his school friend hadn’t seen what he’d done to the succulent receptionist in the penthouse. It was a pity he’d had to destroy the flat-he’d had some good times there and he’d have liked to take his dioramas. But if Matt hadn’t found the place, the police eventually would have. Watching the writer’s horrified reaction to the sight of the strung-up girl on the video link had been a lot of fun, and it got even better when the writer had forced himself to put his arms round the body. “Ah, Matt,” he said to himself. “I’m going to miss you.”
It wasn’t long before he heard the sound of the van outside. Corky opened the doors again. The Devil waved to his partner behind the wheel of the white vehicle and received a tight smile in return. The three of them transferred the comatose bodies to the tables. Matt’s little girl really was a looker. On the other hand, his friend Dave’s wife looked like she’d been several rounds with Mike Tyson.
“What happened to her?” he asked.
His partner shrugged. “The gas didn’t knock her out completely. She was stumbling around trying to protect the kids, so I had to lay her out.”
“Nice work,” the Devil said admiringly. “You didn’t have any trouble getting them into the van?”
“Do I look like an eight-stone weakling?”
He laughed, and then looked at Corky. “All right, it’s time for the end game. You both know what you’re doing?”
After they’d nodded, he turned to the laptop and tapped out his final message to Matt Wells.
I whistle and you’ll come to me, my lad…
And then the Devil felt an icy finger run up his spine. What if the men who had been on Corky’s tail, the men he was sure had cut up Terry Smail, had found a way to locate the wood store? Could his plans really be in jeopardy at the very last moment?
No, he told himself. He could take on anyone. He was the King of the Underworld, Beelzebub, the Lord of the Flies.
Let them come, whoever they were. They would burn in the fires of hell with all the rest.
We were near Euston when I heard the chime from Bonehead’s laptop. The Devil had answered. Boney pulled off to the side as I read out the message, my breathing shallow. Matt-how nice to hear from you. I hope you enjoyed the gift I left you in my penthouse. And the fireworks. I’m so glad you got out in time. You want to see your loved ones, do you? Lucy, Sara and…well, I don’t suppose Caroline is a loved one anymore. Don’t worry, I can oblige. Your mates Roger van Zandt and Andrew Jackson are with me, too. As is Dave Cummings’s family, all three of them.
I heard Dave curse under his breath from the backseat. Then he started checking the gear he had with him in a large holdall. I went on reading aloud.
So, why don’t we meet up? Just you and your friend Dave. No police, if you want any of your people to stay alive. Understood? Here’s where to come. Free Forests Timber Supplies, Mace Place, Bethnal Green.
Hurry on down!!
“He doesn’t know about Boney,” Dave said.
“I knew I was in the clear.” Peter Satterthwaite laughed humorlessly. “That means I can creep up on the fucker and brain him.” He drove forward at speed and managed to complete a U-turn in front of a lorry.
“Watch it,” I said. “The last thing we need is to attract the cops’ attention.”
“Wrong,” Dave said. “The last thing we need is to waste any time. He’s got our kids, remember?” There was a metallic sound that made me look round.
“Jesus, what’s that?”
“It’s a 9 mm Glock automatic pistol with a fourteen-shot magazine,” he said, putting it into the pocket of his leather jacket.
“Where did you get it?” I said, touching the useless Luger in my pocket.
“Never you mind. There are some dodgy people in the demolition business. It’s a good idea to have your own protection.”
I was staring at him. “Dave, you can’t use that. The bastard’s got our families. And he’s obviously not on his own. It’s too risky.”
Dave held my gaze. “You remember what I did in the army?”
