Eeny Meeny - [10]

She was so deep in thought that she didn’t notice Charlie until she was virtually on top of her.

‘Boss. You’ll want to see this.’

The day had already been full of nasty surprises, but Helen sensed she was about to get another.

Charlie handed her a pair of photos – two smartly dressed business types, one in his thirties, one a fair bit older.

‘Ben Holland and Peter Brightston. Reported missing three days ago. They were travelling back from a legal pow-wow in Bournemouth. Never made it home.’

A sickening feeling was creeping over Helen.

‘Their car was found in the New Forest. Local plod and the park rangers have scoured every inch of the forest. No sign.’

‘And?’ Helen sensed there was more.

‘Coats, bags and wallets still in the car. Their mobiles were found near by – the SIM cards have been deliberately destroyed.’

Another abduction then. And this one even stranger than the first. Two grown men, smart, strong and able to take care of themselves, had vanished into thin air.

13

How do you wake yourself when you’re dreaming? When you’re in the midst of a nightmare, how do you climb out of the abyss?

Ben Holland rolled these thoughts round and round. He must be dreaming. He is dreaming. Perhaps he and Jennie hit the off licence after work and picked up a bottle of Bison Grass? Maybe he’s dreaming a vodka dream right now? Any second now he’ll wake up with his head pounding and a stupid smile on his face…

Ben opened his eyes. He’d known all along of course – the smell down there was overpowering. How could you imagine you were anywhere else? And even if you could, then the constant whimpering from Peter would bring you back to your senses. Ever since their abduction, Ben had been a riot of anger and disbelief. But Peter had opted for despair.

‘Peter, would you shut up for God’s sake…’

‘Fuck you’ was the reply, spat back. Where are your leadership qualities now, Ben thought venomously.

They were trapped. It made no sense but it was true. One minute they had been in the van, relieved and happy, the next they had woken up here. Groggy, bruised and covered in thick, clinging dust. Ben had stumbled to his feet in disbelief, screwing up his eyes to penetrate the gloom and make sense of their surroundings. They were in some sort of giant silo or storage facility, the floor of which was covered with coal. This is what covered them, coal dust creeping into their ears and eyes, making their tongues thick and dirty. Instinctively Ben scrambled towards the sides. The going was tough, the surface constantly shifting beneath his feet, but eventually he made it. Cold, smooth steel. Using the wall as a guide, he stumbled round, hoping against hope for a door, a hatch, some means of escape. But the sides were smooth and having done a couple of laps, he gave up. Casting his eyes upwards, he noticed light spilling through the join of a massive hatch. This was how they had fallen into this strange hell.

It was now that Ben became aware of the cuts and bruises that covered his face and torso. It was a good twenty feet drop down from the hatch and the compacted coal wouldn’t have made for a soft landing. Suddenly everything hurt. The shock was wearing off and his battered body was protesting. A noise made him turn. Peter was stumbling towards him – his face a picture of dull, stupid astonishment. He was looking for explanations, but he would get none from Ben. And it was as they were standing there, exhausted and hopeless, that the phone rang. They both froze for a moment, then simultaneously scrambled for it, Ben just getting there first.

After they’d been given their deadly ultimatum, they both laughed maniacally, as if the whole thing was some preposterous joke. Slowly, however, the laughter evaporated.

‘Let’s call the office.’ Suddenly Ben needed to be out of this pit.

‘Good idea. Call Carol, she’ll know what to do,’ said Peter, feeding off Ben’s energy.

Ben punched in the familiar numbers. But the phone was pin-locked. Four small digits separating them from freedom.

‘What shall we try?’

Already Ben’s eye was drawn to the battery sign at the top right of the screen, flashing low.

‘We’ve only got a few goes at this. What shall we try?’ Ben’s voice was tight, the impossibility of their task starting to register.

‘I don’t know. 1, 2, 3, 4.’

Ben’s look was withering.

‘Well I don’t fucking know,’ Peter responded angrily. ‘What year were you born?’

It was desperate but as good as anything else. Ben tried Peter’s birth year, then his own. He was attempting a third combination when the phone died in their hands.

‘Shit.’

The word echoed around the vault.

‘What now?’

The pair stood quiet, staring forlornly at the locked hatch above them. Light seeped in through the cracks, illuminating the gun nestling quietly on the floor between them.

‘Nothing. There’s nothing…’

Ben’s words petered out as he turned and retreated into the dark. Slumping down in the coal, he was suddenly overwhelmed with despair. Why was this happening to them? What had they done?

He shot a glance across at Peter, who was pacing up and down, muttering to himself. Ben had never liked Peter, but he didn’t want to kill the guy, for God’s sake! Perhaps the gun wasn’t real? He got up to check, but the look Peter shot him made him sit straight back down.