Conspiracy Thriller 4 E-Book Bundle. Scott Mariani
when they betray me.’
‘Betray you?’ O’Neill burst out. ‘What are you talking about?’
Penrose tutted and shook his head, then activated the electronic device. O’Neill closed his eyes and went cold as he heard the metallic playback of his own voice over the miniature speaker. It was the call he’d made to London just hours earlier, reporting his boss to the overlords at the Trimble Group. Words like ‘insane’ and ‘psychopathic’ rang out horribly loud and clear, shooting through O’Neill’s brain like bullets of ice.
Megan was rooted to the chair, terrified to move and glancing from the gun to her husband and back again. Her eyes were imploring and full of tears.
Penrose switched the machine off. He paced around the room, toying with the pistol. ‘I’ve been waiting for this moment, Rex. I’ve known from the start that you disapproved of my plans. The simple fact of the matter is that you were unsuited to my team all along. And if you think this foolish attempt at denunciation will have the slightest effect, you’re sadly mistaken. The Trimble Group are behind me every step of the way. Nothing will change. My plans are destined to be realised, don’t you see?’
Any other time, O’Neill would have let out a scornful laugh at such crazy talk. But he couldn’t take his eyes off the gun. He could barely breathe. His mind was filled with the fresh memory of what Penrose had done to the prostitute. He had to do something. He didn’t even care if he got shot. He had to stop this madman from harming Megan.
Penrose stopped pacing and peered at his former assistant with the look of a schoolmaster forced against his better nature to mete out punishment to a wayward pupil. ‘Didn’t I tell you, Rex, that I wouldn’t let anybody stand in my way? You should have listened.’
He snapped his fingers. Three more men walked into the room. Megan let out a whimper. O’Neill’s blood turned a degree colder as he recognised the men. Suggs, Doyle and Prosser, three of Steve Cutter’s brutes whom Penrose had adopted as his personal bodyguards, professional hardmen and bone breakers who never had a thought of their own and would do anything for another cash handout from their favourite employer.
‘I can call the Trimble Group again,’ O’Neill said. ‘I can tell them I made a mistake. Explain that there’s been some misunderstanding. We can work this out. Really, we can.’
‘That doesn’t matter to me,’ Penrose replied. ‘What matters is your betrayal. Treachery isn’t something you can undo, Rex. There is no going back.’
‘What are you going to do?’ O’Neill quavered.
At a nod from Penrose, the three bodyguards closed in a circle around O’Neill and Megan. Doyle took hold of her arm and wrenched her roughly to her feet. She let out a scream of fear. Suggs and Prosser grabbed O’Neill.
‘Leave her out of this,’ O’Neill implored. ‘Please. I beg you, Penrose. I’ll give you everything I have.’
‘Oh, I know you will,’ Penrose said, then waved to his men. ‘Take them into the dining room.’ The bodyguards obeyed instantly without a word, and began marching their captives towards a closed door. Megan twisted and struggled in Doyle’s grip. He lashed out with a muscular arm and backhanded her across the face. She sagged to the floor, moaning.
‘She’s pregnant!’ O’Neill cried out, fighting to get free so that he could run to his wife’s aid. ‘For God’s sake! Have pity!’
Penrose flinched at the word. ‘For God’s sake? You’d appeal to him, would you, Rex? You want to believe in him? You think he’s going to send down a miracle to save you now?’
‘Please, Penrose!’
Suggs kicked open the dining room door. O’Neill felt the air leave his body as he saw what lay beyond the doorway. The dining room was no longer the same room in which he and Megan had shared so many happy meals and had looked forward to sharing many more. The table was gone, and so were the chairs and the antique sideboard. The floor was covered with thick, black, shiny plastic sheeting. The walls, windows and ceiling were draped completely over with the same material, stapled firmly into place. A pair of portable tool chests sat in the corner by the door.
But what threatened to send Rex O’Neill’s mind over the edge was the sight of the crude wooden frame that had been erected in the middle of the room, rising almost to the ceiling. Its top beam was fitted with four steel rings, each one of which had a length of chain passed through it. The ends of the chains dangled midway above the black floor, each attached to an iron manacle.
‘No!’ O’Neill screamed, and fought with all his might against the powerful grip of Suggs and Prosser. They were much too strong for him, and he could do nothing to resist as they dragged him into the room. The plastic sheeting crackled underfoot. He collapsed to his knees and they dragged him towards the wooden frame. Megan wasn’t screaming any longer. She staggered behind Doyle as if in a trance, her eyes staring and her mouth opening and closing soundlessly.
Penrose entered the room last, and leaned against the doorway. At his signal, Rex O’Neill and his wife were hauled up to the wooden frame and their wrists were tightly manacled above their heads. Prosser and Doyle each grabbed the free ends of a pair of chains and heaved downwards, hoisting their victims into the air, dangling from their wrists. Megan hung limply, virtually catatonic with dread. Her husband was thrashing and kicking like a captured animal. The ends of the chains were secured to bolts in the wooden frame, holding them in place. Prosser spat on his hands and rubbed his palms together.
‘You bastard! You fucker! You’ll die for this!’ O’Neill roared at Penrose, who was watching from the doorway, keeping his distance because he knew what was coming next.
‘Shout all you like, Rex. The room is completely soundproofed.’ While O’Neill had been biting his nails in the departure lounge at Naples airport and hustling through passport control at Heathrow, Penrose and his men had winged their way over in the Learjet in plenty of time to prepare the place for his arrival.
Suggs lumbered over to the tool chests, opened them up and began mechanically unloading their contents. One was stuffed with a pair of coroner’s bodybags and three sets of protective overalls. The other contained a selection of assorted hardware that clanked and rattled as Suggs reached inside. He handed a meat cleaver to Prosser and a butcher’s knife to Doyle. He took out a machete for himself. It had a rubber handle. Non-slip, for when the blood really started pouring.
‘Cut the child out,’ Penrose said. ‘I want Rex to see his baby before he dies.’
O’Neill went hysterical. Megan just dangled there, withdrawn into some altered state of consciousness.
Suggs, Prosser and Doyle paused a moment and exchanged glances. Chucking priests off bridges was one thing, but … ‘That’s a bit fucking much, innit, boss?’ Doyle muttered.
‘Thought you just wanted to scare’em,’ Prosser said.
‘Do it!’ Penrose roared at him. ‘Or there’ll be no money for any of you!’
The muffled screams in Belgrade Gardens would soon become far more intense. A full twenty minutes had passed by the time they eventually stopped.
Mr and Mrs Higgins next door watched television through the whole thing.
Chapter Fifty-One
With a rushed, delayed connecting midnight flight from Jerusalem and another five and a half thousand miles behind them, Ben and Jude touched down at Logan International Airport in Boston sometime after nine in the morning, Eastern Time, and hired a Jeep Patriot from Alamo car rental. They seemed to have arrived just in time for the snowy season; crews were out in force clearing the roads as they headed away from Boston and cut southwards through a picture-postcard New England blanketed in white.
In the poor weather conditions it took nearly two more hours to cover the seventy-five or so miles to Woods Hole. By the time they reached the coastal ferry