Viper's Nest Read online

  There was an angry scrape of metal on tarmac and Cate’s nostrils were filled with the hot, dirty stench of burning rubber. She released the handbrake, her other arm screaming from the effort of holding the wheel in lock, but somehow, amazingly, the car made it through the gap in the barrier, careered down a slope and along a wide gravel path before finally coming to a halt in the grassy parking area.

  ‘Ritchie, get out – get out of the car!’ Cate was already looking over her shoulder. Unable to stop, the truck had gone roaring on up the road, but she knew it was only a matter of moments before it U-turned back on the empty highway.

  Ritchie’s head lolled as he tried to look at her. ‘Sorry,’ he said. He was fighting to keep his eyes open. ‘Sorry. Feel bad. Really bad. Leave me. Go.’

  ‘No way,’ said Cate, slinging her bag across her shoulders. She pushed desperately at her dented door, then, when it refused to open, swung round and kicked hard with both feet and the cool night air rushed in, cutting like a sword through the fetid smell of sweat and fear.

  She jumped out and ran around the front of the car. The bumper was hanging off, half under the car, the front tyres were so shredded that there was hardly any rubber left, and smoke was seeping out from under the bonnet. The unmistakable smell of petrol hung in the air like an invisible haze.

  Cate yanked at the driver’s door and Ritchie almost fell on to her, his eyes closed, his body floppy. She staggered slightly under his weight, recovered her balance and slid her hand across him to undo his seatbelt, grimacing as she felt the hot, sticky liquid dripping from his forehead on to her bare arm.

  She had to get him out of there. Even if the guys from the pick-up truck didn’t come to finish them off, there was a very real risk of the car going up in flames.

  ‘Ritchie!’ She found herself whispering even though she knew that they were alone. ‘Ritchie, please get out of here. We need to hide.’

  Ritchie grunted and opened his eyes slightly. He seemed to understand. He gripped hard on her shoulder and with the other hand pushed against the steering wheel, and somehow he was out of the car and swaying slightly on his feet.

  Cate could hear the growing sound of a powerful engine in the distance. Her stomach lurched.

  The moon was out again now, its light revealing the dark shapes of trees and bushes set away from the parking place. If they got to some sort of cover at least they would have a chance of hiding.

  Her heart pounding, Cate steered Ritchie towards the edge of the clearing, praying that he would make it without collapsing. His breathing was heavy, his legs kept buckling beneath him and every step seemed to take for ever.

  Finally they were into the woods. Cate guided Ritchie into a patch of low-lying dense bushes, where he collapsed on to the ground.

  She looked around. She needed something to protect them both. The noise of the approaching vehicle was loud, almost over her head. She sprinted back towards the car where an ominous glow from the underside was sending spiny flickers of smoke and flames up around the doors.

  Cate yanked on the partially attached bumper. The hot metal burned her fingers but she kept going until part of it finally tore away, and she saw to her satisfaction that the broken end was jagged and sharp. She looked again at the car and an idea came to mind. She quickly slammed the doors shut before running back and diving into the bushes, just as the dark pick-up truck rolled silently down the slope towards them.

  CHAPTER 7

  The truck came to a halt close to Cate’s hiding place and stood still, silhouetted against the moonlight, the engine sighing as it cooled down.

  Hardly daring to breathe, Cate slipped her hand into her bag and switched her phone to silent. Just a few metres in front of the truck the fire had taken hold in the car, the flames licking steadily up through the floor and devouring the seats in which she and Ritchie had been sitting just a few minutes earlier.

  It was eerily quiet. Only the muffled sound of crackling flames broke the silence of the night. Cate could feel her heart pounding as she waited for the occupants of the truck to make their move.

  She wondered how many there were and how big and how well armed they would be. She felt the adrenalin coursing through her body, priming her for action, sharpening her wits and her senses.

  Cate ran through some of her favourite mantras in her head, that she had learned in her self-defence and martial arts classes.

  Attack is the best form of defence.

  Surprise is everything.

  Your body is a lethal weapon.

  Brain beats brawn every time.

  Now more than ever she needed the confidence that they had always inspired in her.

  The truck door nearest to Cate opened slowly and a long pair of legs, clad in jeans and Doc Martens swung out and down on to the gravel. The man stood with his back to Cate, but his tall, thin build was clear. He walked towards the car and stood a few metres away, peering into the flame-filled interior, shuffling back as the heat became too intense.

  Keeping a respectful distance, he walked around the front of the car and Cate caught a glimpse of his masked face and gloved hands. This was no prankster, this was a serious criminal who would cover his tracks. He bent down to look through the passenger-side window, but he was forced to move even further away as the flames erupted.

  A voice came from the pick-up truck. ‘Can you see anything? Can you see them?’ It was a man talking, youngish. His accent was American but with a strong Spanish lilt.

  ‘I can’t tell.’ The tall man sounded Eastern European – Polish, Czech maybe? ‘It’s too damn hot to get anywhere near. But the doors are shut fast, so chances are they couldn’t get out when the fire started. Which means —’ he laughed then, a terrible, thin sound that sent shivers down Cate’s spine, ‘— they’re probably in there right now, roasting like two spit chickens. Job done.’

  Cate felt sick. It was hard to believe that anyone could be so callous.

  ‘Well, let’s trash the evidence,’ the driver sounded impatient. ‘By the time the cops find that car they’ll have no idea what happened to it, let alone the kids inside.’

  The tall man stood back from the truck as the engine revved and growled, like a bull waiting to charge. The truck rolled forward until it was bumper to bumper with the blazing car, then Cate watched with a mixture of sadness and horror as it rammed the car closer and closer to the edge of the cliff.

  Suddenly, from behind her, Cate heard the unmistakable sound of a mobile phone ringing. She froze. Ritchie!

  It cut off almost instantly, but the tall man had heard it too. He turned on his heel and raced towards the truck, waving his arms. ‘Hold it,’ he shouted. ‘Wait.’

  If he heard him, the truck driver was enjoying himself far too much to stop. There was an ear-splitting, grinding noise from the edge of the cliff as the car was pushed against the crash barrier.

  The man stood, his head cocked, listening for another ring. Cate crossed her fingers, praying that the answerphone system hadn’t been triggered.

  She held her breath, feeling the sweat trickling down the small of her back. Then, to her horror, a loud bleep signalled the text alert for a message. The man gave a last glance to the truck and then set off at a brisk trot towards where Ritchie was lying. As he headed into the darkness, Cate tightened her fingers around her makeshift weapon. She had no choice – it was time to go into battle.

  Cate backed out of her cover and edged around the clearing towards where she had left Ritchie. He was lying half propped up on his elbow, his eyes open. He saw her and tried to sit up, looking at her with a dazed expression as she held her finger to her lips.

  The man was heading straight for them, his masked head up like a hunting dog, his body language aggressive and angry. He lifted up his right hand. Her heart sank as she saw he was holding a small gun, carrying it ahead of him like a pro. Now all she had left on her side was the element of surprise. She had better make the most of it.

  He was just a metre away f
rom her when she struck, racing out of the darkness with her weapon raised above her. She brought the metal down hard on his shoulder, felt it make contact with his neck, and he staggered sideways then fell to his knees. The blow should have stunned him, but this man was strong and somehow he struggled to his feet. No sound came from him, but through the slits in his mask, Cate could see his eyes staring at her with an intense hatred. He brought his right hand up, the metal of the gun flashing in the darkness. Cate kicked out high with her left leg, catching his elbow and pushing his arm far above his head. The impact sent the gun flying from his hand in a backwards arc into the darkness.

  The man swore angrily but Cate sensed he was weakening, not so sure about what to do next. While he wavered, she brought the metal shaft round at waist level, cracking it into his pelvis. He doubled forward and fell on to his knees, moaning. Cate brought the bumper down on his neck once more and he collapsed on to his side.

  Beside her, Ritchie was staggering to his feet, a shocked expression on his face.

  ‘Am I dreaming?’ he said, staring at Cate in amazement. ‘Did I just see you take on a man twice your size and bring him down?’

  Cate gave him a quick grin. ‘I don’t make a habit of it, honestly.’ She glanced at the man who was lying, face down and silent, but still clearly breathing. ‘Ritchie, we have to get on to the main road fast. Our only hope is to flag down a car and get out of here. Can you walk?’

  He nodded. ‘After what I’ve just seen I think I’d better put myself completely in your hands.’

  The truck had reversed back up the clearing. The driver was obviously waiting for his partner to return. ‘Hey, big man,’ he shouted. The voice sounded irritated, fractious, his accent more pronounced. ‘Come on, now, we need to get outta here.’

  There was silence.

  ‘Quit messing. Get your butt in here and let’s go.’ He got out of the truck, leaving the engine running and turned towards Cate and Ritchie, who were standing in the shadows of some pine trees.

  Cate could just make out the close-shaven head, the narrow lips; and, as he came closer, she stared in horrified fascination at two metal points glinting in his chin, sticking through the flesh like nails. Despite herself, she shuddered. If this man was even a tenth as mean as he looked they could expect no mercy.

  He kept walking towards them. For one dreadful moment Cate thought he had spotted them, but he veered around the truck and headed back towards the edge of the clearing.

  An idea was forming in Cate’s mind. ‘Are you up to driving?’ she whispered in Ritchie’s ear. He stared down at her in surprise and then, as he understood what she was saying, he nodded. ‘Yep. Pick-ups are my speciality.’

  Cate raced to the truck and Ritchie stumbled after her. He headed for the driver’s side as Cate threw herself into the passenger seat. Within seconds, Ritchie reversed up out of the clearing. Then he slammed on the brakes, rammed the gearstick into first, and slapped his foot hard to the ground. As the truck hurtled forward, Cate saw the man stop, turn on his heel and start to run back towards them.

  Cate wound down the window and, iPhone in hand, aimed the lens carefully at their pursuer, pressed the button and a flash lit up the sky.

  He drew closer as the truck picked up speed. ‘Drop the phone, kid,’ the man screamed after her, ‘or you’re dead! Drop it!’

  ‘I don’t think so, mate!’ said Cate, resisting the urge to wave as Ritchie roared up the road. Cate sat back in her seat and examined the picture of the man, noting with satisfaction how the two metal points had caught the flash. ‘Not a bad shot, considering the circumstances,’ she said to Ritchie proudly.

  It was past midnight by the time they reached the Santa Monica police station, but the main waiting room was packed. There was a gang of disgruntled kids, a surprisingly tuneful drunk warbling his way through ‘We’ll Meet Again’, and a middle-aged couple who were arguing furiously about whose turn it was to bail out their daughter yet again.

  Ritchie and Cate picked their way through the mayhem towards the reception. To Cate’s utter dismay, it was still the same sergeant on duty. When she saw Cate, her expression turned from one of bored indifference to surprise and then pure malice.

  ‘You in trouble again, kid?’ she said, ignoring Ritchie.

  ‘I didn’t know you were a regular here, Cate.’ Ritchie shot Cate a half-amused, half-questioning glance. The blood on his face had dried and, although he was still pale, his eyes were now brighter and alert.

  ‘Look, ma’am,’ he said, turning to the sergeant, ‘my name is Ritchie Daner and I’m a second-year med student at UCLA. We’re here to report a crime. My friend and I here were pursued and rammed on the Santa Monica highway and someone tried to kill us. We managed to escape in their pick-up. It’s parked right outside. Here’s the licence plate details.’ He shoved a piece of paper across the desk. ‘Surely you can find out who owns it and catch them from that. In any case, they’re probably still where we left them, at the highway pull-in close to Topanga Beach.’

  The sergeant turned to stare at Ritchie, taking in his dishevelled appearance and battered face. ‘OK, son,’ she said finally. ‘Start again, slowly. The truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, or you’ll wish you never set foot in this building.’

  ‘Tell them what happened, Cate.’ Ritchie turned to her.

  But Cate wasn’t looking at him any longer. Her gaze had shifted to the other side of the waiting room, where Dave Osbourne had just walked in through the large glass doors.

  ‘Cate, Ritchie, what’s going on here? You OK?’

  Next to Ritchie, Dave’s slender frame looked even less substantial yet there was, Cate thought, a toughness about him, an inner hardness that she recognised.

  ‘Sir, these kids say they’re the victims of dangerous pursuit and intent to harm,’ said the sergeant, suddenly respectful. ‘I was just checking out their story.’ She paused, her eyes wary behind her glasses. ‘You know them, sir?’ she asked.

  Dave nodded brusquely. ‘Sure do,’ he said.

  ‘They want me to send some cops out to the Topanga Beach pull-in and look for two males. They’ve got the licence plate of the truck the men were driving. It’s parked outside.’

  ‘Well, what are you waiting for?’ Dave asked her. ‘Get some men out there and get forensics on to the truck. Run the licence through the usual channels – and Sergeant,’ he continued, ‘call the doctor, now. I want someone to look at this boy’s head. In the meantime, I’ll talk to this young lady and find out what’s been going on.’

  The sergeant glanced nervously at a chart on the wall beside her. ‘You can use the small meeting room.’ She picked up a phone. ‘I’ll call the doctor in right away.’

  ‘Make sure we’re not disturbed,’ said Dave, taking Cate by the elbow and steering her through the crowds towards the room. He turned to Ritchie, who was still following them. ‘Head injuries can be dangerous things, you need to get it checked out,’ he said to the younger man firmly, gesturing towards the sergeant. ‘Wait there. The doc is on his way. Once he’s given you the all-clear, come and find us.’

  The room was hardly bigger than a cupboard, airless, windowless, and only a single overhead bulb lit the two, dirty, brown chairs. It smelled of dust and chewing gum.

  Dave leaned against the wall and gestured for Cate to sit down. As she did, Cate suddenly realised she was totally shattered, the adrenalin that had kept her alert over the last hour finally deserting her.

  She stared blearily up at Dave, forcing herself to concentrate. His dark slicked-back hair gleamed in the harsh light, his grey-eyed gaze never wavered from her face.

  And then she remembered. It was in Australia a few months ago. She was in her diving gear, onboard a small rubber dinghy, headed out towards the island where the Cotian criminals were hiding their kidnap victim and plotting their assault on Snapper Bay. The diver next to her gave her last-minute instructions on her equipment in the same soft Californian drawl – and ha
d later dragged her exhausted body back out of the dark water and wrapped her in a blanket whilst Henri lectured her on her recklessness. There could be no mistake: Dave was no LAPD cop. He was an IMIA agent.

  ‘How’s Marcus?’ she asked him suddenly. ‘And Henri?’ I haven’t heard from them in a while.’

  Dave looked at her thoughtfully. ‘I wondered how long it would take before you recognised me,’ he said quietly. ‘Marcus said a few hours, Henri reckoned a day. They send their regards by the way.’

  ‘Thanks!’ said Cate sarcastically. As usual the IMIA always seemed to be one step ahead of her. ‘And what about you? What was your estimation of my brilliance – or lack of it?’

  ‘Me?’ Dave smiled then. ‘I honestly thought you had me rumbled after ten minutes in Johnny James’s office. After all, your reputation does go before you.’

  She shook her head. ‘I don’t believe it!’ she exclaimed. Her tiredness was gone now, replaced by a growing indignation. ‘I come to LA for a holiday, a proper holiday for the first time in ages, and before I know it I’m locked in a bunker and then some maniacs in a pick-up truck try to kill me. To cap it all, I end up bumping into an IMIA agent. Talk about a string of bad luck. No offence,’ she added hastily.

  ‘None taken,’ said Dave gravely. ‘I can quite understand that after the last investigation you might want a break from IMIA. You did a fantastic job. Well, you and Arthur both did, and as much as we would love to have you working for us full time, we appreciate you may not feel quite the same way.’ He paused and then sighed. ‘However, Cate, things aren’t quite what they seem. What you may think are amazing coincidences, well – let’s just say we’ve been keeping an eye on you ever since you arrived in LA. For a very good reason.’

  His phone rang. ‘Hold on,’ he said as he took the call.

  Cate’s mind was a fuzz of random thoughts. As Dave muttered into his phone, she tried hard to concentrate. Why would IMIA be keeping an eye on her? She was on holiday for goodness’ sake. And what was Dave doing undercover in LA – and at Johnny James’s house?