The Doomsday Prophecy

  A woman’s voice called from inside. ‘Come in.’

  He opened the door and stepped inside the room. It was some kind of office, but it looked as though it had been abandoned quite a while ago. There was a desk and a plain wooden chair, an empty bookcase and a tall withered plant in a dried-out pot in the corner.

  The woman was alone in the room, standing by the desk. She was small and wiry, not much more than five-two, about thirty years old. Her hair was curly and long, dyed blond. She wore high-heeled boots, tight jeans and a suede jacket; a heavy-looking leather shoulder bag on a strap.

  ‘I spoke to a man on the phone,’ Ben said to her.

  ‘You spoke to Skid,’ she answered tersely.

  ‘Where is he?’ He took a step closer to her.

  ‘Stay right where you are, mister. I’m the one asking the questions here.’ Her hand dipped quickly into her bag and came out clutching a huge revolver. She clasped it tightly, pointing at his chest from across the room. Its weight made the tendons stand out on her wrist.

  ‘OK, you have my attention,’ Ben said. ‘What do you want to know?’

  ‘Who do you work for?’

  ‘What makes you think I work for anyone?’

  ‘If you’re one of Cleaver’s boys, you ain’t getting out of here alive.’ She sounded like she meant it.

  ‘I don’t know who Cleaver is.’

  ‘Sure.’ She frowned. ‘Where are you from?’

  ‘Not around here,’ he said. ‘Look, I need to talk to Steve. Skid. Whatever the hell you want to call him. It’s urgent.’

  She raised the gun. ‘Easy.’

  He eyed the pistol. It was a massive single-action revolver, large calibre, stainless steel. The kind of weapon hunters used to shoot grizzly bears in Alaska. He could see the noses of the fat hollowpoint bullets nestling in the mouths of the chambers. The muzzle diameter was half an inch across. Not a pistol for a woman of her build. She was having trouble keeping the long barrel level. If she let off a round, the recoil would snap her wrist like a piece of celery.

  ‘That’s not yours, is it?’ he said. ‘My guess is that belongs to Skid.’

  She grimaced. ‘Makes no difference whose it is. I can still blow the hell out of you. And I will. So keep your distance, and your hands where I can see them.’

  ‘He should have taught you how to use it before he sent you out here as his guard dog,’ Ben said. ‘It’s not cocked. It won’t fire.’

  She glanced down at the gun, keeping a mistrustful eye on him.

  ‘Try pulling the trigger,’ Ben said. ‘Nothing will happen. See the hammer there? You need to wrap your thumb around that, and ease it back.’

  She did as he said.

  ‘All the way back, till it clicks,’ he told her.

  The action made a smooth metallic clunk-clunk in the silence of the room. The big five-shot cylinder rotated and locked.

  ‘OK,’ he said. ‘Now you can rest easy. You can shoot me if you need to. But before you do, let me prove to you that I’m not one of Cleaver’s boys. Whoever Cleaver is. Now, I’m going to move my hand to my jacket and peel it back. Don’t worry, I’m not armed. I’m going to show you my passport.’ He slid it out and tossed it on the desk. ‘Freshly stamped by US Immigration, just today. My name’s Ben Hope. Benedict on the passport.’

  She reached out, picked it up and studied it. The gun wavered and he could easily have taken it from her. He just smiled. She glanced up at him, then back at the passport.

  ‘Now do you believe me?’

  She let the gun down to her side. Her face softened, a look of relief in her eyes. ‘All right,’ she said. ‘I believe you.’

  ‘Then maybe you should decock that revolver now.’

  ‘Oh. Right.’ She wrapped her left thumb around the hammer, squeezed the trigger and let the hammer down slowly.

  ‘You haven’t told me your name,’ he said.

  ‘Molly.’

  ‘It’s good to meet you, Molly.’

  ‘So what are you doing in Georgia, Mr Hope?’

  ‘You can call me Ben. I came from Europe to find Zoë Bradbury.’

  ‘You don’t look the kind who would hang around that little tramp.’

  ‘She’s in trouble.’

  Molly snorted. ‘She is trouble.’

  ‘And Skid’s in trouble too,’ Ben said. ‘Or I wouldn’t have been looking down the barrel of that hand cannon

  just now.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I had to be careful.’

  ‘Where is he?’

  ‘Hiding from Cleaver.’

  ‘Will you take me to him?’ Ben said.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Molly drove him through the night, southwards along the coastal highway towards Jacksonville. Gentle specks of rain on the windscreen became a drumming thunder and the road ahead was slick and glossy. They sat in silence for the first few miles, the wipers beating time.

  ‘Boy, I could use a drink,’ she said suddenly. ‘My hands are still shaking.’ She glanced at him sideways and smiled for the first time. ‘I’ve never pointed a gun at anyone before.’

  ‘You did fine.’ He reached into his jacket and offered her his flask. ‘It’ll calm your nerves.’

  She sipped. ‘That’s good. What is it?’

  ‘Laphroaig single malt Scotch, ten years old.’

  ‘Nice.’ She took another sip, smacked her lips and then handed the flask back to him. ‘See that glove compartment? Can you get me a smoke?’

  He opened it. ‘Havanas?’ he said, surprised.

  ‘My daddy used to smoke them. I got the taste. Have one yourself.’

  The little Coronation Punch cigars were sealed in silver aluminium tubes. Ben opened two of them, lit them up with his Zippo and passed one to her.

  She took a long draw on hers and let out a cloud of smoke. ‘So, Mr Hope. I mean Ben. Just who are you?’

  ‘Just someone who wants to help.’

  ‘You seem to know an awful lot about guns. For an English guy. I thought they were banned over there.’

  ‘I’m not really English,’ he said. ‘I’m half Irish.’

  ‘Which half?’

  ‘The good half.’

  She laughed. ‘That figures. Every English guy I ever met was an uptight sonofabitch.’

  ‘Tell me about Skid,’ he said.

  ‘We met at law school.’

  ‘So you’re a lawyer too?’

  She shook her head. ‘Couldn’t get past the bar exam. I get nervous. So I’m a paralegal. I worked with Skid for a while, but now I work uptown for a firm.’

  ‘Why did he send you to meet me?’

  ‘Because he can’t go anywhere. You’ll see for yourself, soon enough.’

  ‘What happened to him?’

  ‘Cleaver’s people. They got to him. Almost killed him. Would have, too, if I hadn’t turned up and called the cops.’

  ‘Who is this Cleaver?’

  ‘Skid’ll tell you all about him.’

  ‘Where does Zoë Bradbury come into this?’

  ‘Skid and I were serious for almost two years,’ she said. ‘Zoë Bradbury broke us up.’

  ‘I know she was here a couple of times,’ he said. ‘Staying with a Miss Vale.’

  Molly nodded and took another drag on her cigar. ‘It happened the last time she was here, six months ago. Skid was in a bar – he’s always in a bar, somewhere – and he meets this pretty English girl, and I guess he couldn’t resist. And I guess she couldn’t resist him either. Skid never had a cent to his name, but he’s a charmer, that’s for sure.’ She smiled grimly. ‘The one time I met her was in his office. He told me that she and he had a business deal going. What he didn’t tell me was they were screwing the whole time she was here. I only found out weeks later what all those late nights at work were about.’ She wound down the window a crack and flicked ash out. ‘Skid never denied it. That’s when I left him. Told him I’d never see him again. It was over. But then he kept calling and pesteri
ng me, saying he couldn’t live without me. He was leaving me phone messages, crying and threatening to shoot himself.’

  ‘With that big pistol there?’

  ‘Wouldn’t be much left, I guess.’

  ‘No, there wouldn’t.’

  ‘Anyway, I turned up at his office late one night to have it out with him face to face. As I went up the stairs I could hear all this screaming and yelling. There were three guys there with him. Beating the crap out of him. I called the cops, and there happened to be a patrol close by. They went in, but the three guys must have heard them coming. They got out the back way. Left Skid in pretty bad shape.’

  ‘When was this?’

  ‘Just over two weeks ago,’ she said. ‘Now Skid’s petrified that Cleaver will get to him again. Won’t even go to the hospital, though Lord knows he needs to.’

  ‘You’re looking after him.’

  ‘Guard dog, like you said. And nursemaid, all rolled into one.’

  ‘So was there a business deal between Zoë and Skid, or was that just a cover?’

  ‘There was a deal,’ she said gravely. ‘And that’s the reason Skid’s in trouble.’

  ‘What was it?’

  ‘Skid’ll tell you that too. We’ll be there soon.’ She pulled off the highway and within a few more minutes they hit roads that were dark and narrow and twisty. Molly drove fast, her face tight with concentration. A dirt track came up on the left and she took it. The car lurched past a dilapidated motel sign. The dirt track was all churned up into mud by the rain. At the end of it, they swung into a rough earth yard. The headlights picked out clumps of overgrown grass, discarded garbage sacks, broken furniture, flattened beer cans. The motel buildings were low slung and badly in need of repair. A fly-specked neon light threw a yellowish glow over the raised porches and parking spaces out front. Molly pulled up next to a pickup truck and killed the engine.

  They stepped out. The rain had stopped and the air was heavy and humid. Two Dobermans in a mesh cage barked furiously and hurled themselves against the wire, standing upright on sinewy hind legs.

  ‘Welcome to Skid’s new home,’ Molly said.

  Only a couple of windows were lit up. The muffled sound of a TV was coming from somewhere inside. The dogs were still barking. A man’s drunken voice in the distance yelled at them to shut up.

  Molly led Ben to room number ten. The old door was warped and peeling. She beat on it, three loud knocks. ‘It’s Molly,’ she called. She dug in her bag and took out the door key, unlocked it and they went in.

  The room was dark and smelled of must and antiseptic. Molly yanked the drapes shut and flipped on a sidelight.

  Skid McClusky had been sleeping, and his head jerked up. He blinked in the light.

  He was about thirty, like Molly. He might have been good-looking, but it was hard to tell under all the yellow bruises and half-healed cuts on his face. His dark hair was greasy and plastered over his brow. He was wearing a denim shirt with dark sweat patches, sitting in an upright armchair with most of the stuffing hanging out of it, his feet straight out in front of him and resting on a stool. Both legs were plastered from the knee down. There was a Mossberg pump shotgun resting across his lap, and he fingered it nervously.

  He looked up. His eyes were ringed with pain and fear. They darted around the room and settled on Ben.

  ‘He’s OK, Skid,’ Molly said. ‘He isn’t one of Cleaver’s.’

  ‘Pull yourself up a seat,’ Skid said to Ben. ‘And tell me what you want.’

  ‘I’m going out to get some beers,’ Molly said. ‘I’ll leave you boys alone to talk.’ She left.

  Ben and the lawyer sat in silence for a minute. ‘I’ll get right to the point,’ Ben said. ‘Zoë Bradbury is missing. She disappeared from her place in Greece twelve days ago. It’s my job to find her, and I think you can help me.’

  ‘I figured they’d get to her,’ Skid moaned. ‘They made me talk.’

  ‘The men who did this?’ Ben motioned to the plastered legs.

  Skid nodded. ‘I’m a real mess, man,’ he said desperately. ‘Look at me. I’m just fucked.’

  ‘Maybe I can help you too,’ Ben said.

  ‘Just how exactly do you figure on that?’

  ‘I don’t know yet. But I’m pretty sure the people who did this to you are the same people I’m after.’

  Skid rubbed his hands down his face. He was quiet for a minute. ‘OK, what do you want from me?’

  ‘I want to know everything,’ Ben said. ‘About the deal you and Zoë had between you. And about Cleaver. I keep hearing the name. Who is he?’

  Skid let out a long breath. ‘Pass me that, would you?’ He pointed to a half-empty bottle of Jack Daniel’s on the table out of his reach. Ben grabbed it and handed it to him. Skid took a deep swallow, wiped his sleeve across his mouth.

  ‘I’ll start from the start,’ he said. ‘Do you know who Augusta Vale is?’

  Ben nodded.

  ‘Then you know that Zoë was over here staying with her at her home in Savannah. That’s how we met. In a bar.’

  ‘I heard that bit already,’ Ben said.

  Skid shifted uncomfortably in his chair, winced from the pain in his legs. ‘She and Miss Vale were real close. At least, Miss Vale thought so. Zoë was more interested in her money. She was always dropping hints to her about this thing or that thing she wanted to do, hoping Miss Vale would pull out her chequebook. It’s not every day you have a friend with a two-billion-dollar estate, who calls you the child they always wanted but never had. And one thing about Zoë, she loves money.’

  ‘I don’t know her that well,’ Ben said. ‘I haven’t seen her since she was a child.’

  Skid took another swig of bourbon. ‘And she thought she was in with a chance to get a piece of the action. Until Clayton Cleaver came on the scene.’ The way Skid said the name, he seemed to think Ben would recognise it. ‘You never heard of Clayton Cleaver?’

  Ben shrugged. ‘Should I have?’

  ‘Bestselling author. Televangelist. Wannabe State Governor. And now, best friend of Miss Augusta Vale who thinks the sun shines out of his ass. Miss Vale is a good Christian lady, extremely devout, patron of a whole bunch of charities. But she’s being fooled. That fucker has her convinced he’s a saint. When Zoë came to stay with her six months ago, Augusta told her all about her latest plan, to give Cleaver money for his foundation. I’m talking a lot of money. A fuck of a lot.’

  ‘How much?’

  ‘Nine figures.’

  ‘A hundred million,’ Ben said.

  Skid nodded. ‘Just loose cash, as far as Miss Vale is concerned. She had some investments and bonds waiting to mature, a whole bunch of lawyers working on it and billing five hundred an hour while the money was still tied up. Clayton’s due to get it sometime soon, this month or next.’

  ‘I take it Zoë wasn’t very happy when she heard about this.’

  ‘Damn right she wasn’t,’ Skid answered. ‘She’d met Cleaver at one of the old lady’s dinners. Said he was a sleazebag and a con artist. She couldn’t believe that Miss Vale was so taken with this guy who was so obviously stringing her along. She was convinced that he was turning the old lady against her.’

  Ben leaned back in his chair and lit a cigarette.

  ‘You getting this?’ Skid said. ‘So, anyway, Zoë couldn’t stand it any more. She left and went back to England. We didn’t keep in touch for a while. I had my own problems this end. Molly probably told you. But then, a few weeks ago, I get this call from her. She’s excited. Just came back from some dig in Turkey and has thought of a way to get a whole lot of money out of Clayton Cleaver. It was perfect, she said. Foolproof. Nothing could go wrong.’ Skid stared down the length of his plastered legs and grunted.

  ‘She’s been blackmailing him,’ Ben said. ‘But with what?’

  Skid toyed with the whiskey bottle. ‘Truth is, I don’t know. She never told me details. Something dirty, maybe. Sex. Who knows? But whatever it was, it was wor
king. She called him from Greece and made some kind of a proposal to him. Asked for money. She knew he didn’t have the hundred million yet, so she said she’d be easy on him. For now. She wanted a down payment of twenty-five grand. Five of that was my cut. All I had to do was deliver a box to Clayton’s offices.’

  ‘A box.’

  ‘A box. Just a plain old cardboard box, about this big.’ Skid angled his hands out to make a six-inch cube. ‘It felt light. Don’t ask me what was in it. I have no idea. All I know is that when you shook it, it rattled.’

  So it wasn’t photographs, Ben was thinking. So much for a sex sting.

  ‘Cleaver took the box into a room while I waited outside,’ Skid went on. ‘I heard cardboard ripping, like he was digging in real fast. Whatever was in there, it persuaded him. He came back out with a case containing twenty-five thousand dollars in cash. Handed it right over. I took out my cut, the rest was hers.’

  That explained Zoë’s sudden wealth, the expensive hotel, the villa, the parties.

  ‘But she wanted more, didn’t she?’ Ben said.

  ‘She told Cleaver that as soon as the big money rolled in, she wanted ten million dollars from him in exchange for whatever she had. My cut was ten per cent. I didn’t even have to do anything, it was just a handling fee. It looked as if Cleaver was agreeing to the deal. I couldn’t believe it. A lawyer’s dream. I had it all planned. I was going to get out of that rat hole office and move the practice uptown, clean up my whole act.’ Skid sighed. ‘But evidently he changed his mind.’

  ‘The night you got beaten up.’

  Skid nodded. ‘I’d been pretty sure for a couple of days that I was being followed. Never saw anyone. It was just a feeling. I was spooked enough to keep the revolver around me. Then one night I was working late at my desk. I didn’t even hear these guys come in. Next thing I’m being dragged out of my chair with a gun in my face. They threw me down on the floor, started asking me where it was. “Where is it? Where is it?” I didn’t know what the hell they were talking about. Then they started asking me where Zoë was.’

  ‘And you told them.’

  ‘Not at first,’ Skid said. ‘I’ve taken beatings before. I’m no chicken. But then they opened up this bag and took out a couple of fucking hammers. Started going to work on my legs while the third one held the gun to my head. You’d have to be pretty damn tough to keep your mouth shut when two big guys are smashing your knees to shit. Of course I told them. You’d have done the same.’