All or Nothing (31 page)

Up close, Kathryn noticed that the girl had a pretty, if slightly chubby, face. Her left eyebrow was pierced with a small metal bar, and Kathryn detected a lick of red in her hair, which was faded but visible. Her right ear was pierced several times with small silver rings. She had ferocious green eyes, and her skin was pale and unblemished. Beneath the street lamp, she looked like some kind of weird, black angel.

Kathryn stepped back a pace. “Can I help you?”

The girl eyed Kathryn in silence. Kathryn stood still, aware that she was being scrutinised. After a moment, the newcomer said, “Where did you come from? You look like hell!”

Kathryn suddenly realised that she hadn’t looked in a mirror for some time. She imagined that she must appear bruised, battered and bloody, her face further ravaged by crying and lack of sleep. She managed a weak smile. “It’s just been another normal night, really.”

The girl smiled, running her tongue over her lips. Kathryn noticed that she had a tongue stud, noting that this person had a penchant for sticking pieces of metal into her body.

“So what’s normal for you?” the black-clad woman asked her. “Did your boyfriend beat you up?”

“No, nothing like that. It’s. . . It’s just been a long night. What are you doing out here?”

The girl gave a whistle. “Oh nothing much, just hanging out, I’ve got nothing much to do.”

Kathryn eyed the girl with disbelief. “Where are your parents?”

“Fuck off, I don’t need any parents. I’m old enough to be out on my own.”

“So how old are you?”

“Old enough to smoke, drink and fuck, if that’s what you mean! What’s the matter, have you got a lady boner for me? Sorry, lady, it’s just my mummy always told me never to speak to strangers. And I made the decision myself never to fuck them. So back off!”

Kathryn took a step back.
What a weird woman
. After a second, she questioned herself as to why she’d done so. She shook her head and rubbed the back of her neck. What a crazy night it was turning out to be. “I wouldn’t worry about my intentions. I have a boyfriend,” she lied.

“That’s totes cool. Have to put it out there, you see, didn’t want you trying to take advantage of me.”

Kathryn stopped rubbing her neck. “How long have you been out here?”

The girl seemed amused about something. “You mean tonight or in my lifetime? Tonight it’s been about three hours. As for in my lifetime, man, I don’t remember—”

“—Tonight, I meant tonight!” Kathryn cut her off, feeling awkward.

“Yep, well, as I said, three hours, maybe four. Why?”

“No reason.” Kathryn didn’t want to leave the girl behind here if she could help it. Who could tell if she’d be safe? Kathryn closed her eyes and breathed in deeply, allowing her breath to escape slowly before she opened her eyes again.

“You okay?” the girl asked in concern. “You don’t look so good. I can hook you up with some dope if you want to relax?”

Kathryn laughed. “Trust me, that’s the last thing on my mind right now. I need to get going, okay? You take care out here. I hear there are some unsavoury characters floating about.”

The girl nodded. Kathryn turned around and continued towards the McDonalds. The gradual bend now straightened out into a long road that led uphill. She knew that, ten minutes away, lay her freedom. Kathryn, for the first time, felt a glimmer of hope, although a shred of doubt still lingered.

Expect the unexpected,
thought Kathryn.

“Excuse me, lady?”

The girl was back. Kathryn turned and smiled weakly. “Yes?”

“I have a message for you—”

As Kathryn turned, at first she didn’t see the baseball bat swinging towards her head. By the time she’d ducked, it was too late. The wood connected with the side of her skull. A sickening wooden
clonk
filled the still, night air. Kathryn felt a white-hot searing pain, then she felt groggy. Her knees buckled beneath her and she fell to the floor. Just before she lapsed into unconsciousness she was aware of the cool concrete pressing against her face as the girl walked into view.

“Nice to meet you, Kathryn.”

Her mind faded to blackness.

A glimmer of hope. Dashed.

THIRTY-SEVEN

The BMW idled slowly. Rupert sat in the driver’s seat, unmoving. The vehicle’s lights were off and the car was parked in a small alleyway.

Following the GPS, Rupert reached the end of the journey. It was a tall, slick building, all glass and smooth edges. Rupert had seen buildings like this before, they radiated wealth and class: places such as insurance offices and banks. Generally speaking, it seemed to him that a high cashflow meant shiny black glass. It was the norm, apparently.

He saw the structure on the horizon and before he even pulled up outside, he knew it was where he needed to be. It was the only building in the street with any charisma, and the only one with a presence. The other structures nearby were warehouses, empty lots and storage rooms. This ‘shiny black glass’ building looked out of place, but after the events of this evening, nothing surprised Rupert anymore.

After leaving his ‘home’, Rupert had driven the route as directed by the GPS. He drove past a Range Rover that was parked on the roadside. It looked new and clean. He assumed it had been Gunnar’s car. After half a mile he came to a sloped wall and had to stop because his path was blocked. However, once his car had halted, a small red laser beam appeared in the wall. It scanned the number plate on his vehicle, and after a few moments, a hidden door opened up. The road obviously led to the outside world. Rupert quickly drove through it. The red laser repeated the number plate recognition process once he was outside of the structure. Once through the opening, having driven a short distance, he stopped and turned around in his seat and had a look.

He was dumbfounded.

Rupert was looking at a black dome, something similar to the Millennium Dome in London, a lot smaller in size, but very similar in design. It was pure black, with no visible windows or other noticeable entrances. Rupert wasn’t good at estimating measurements, but he guessed that it must have been about forty feet high, maybe a bit wider.

Evidently John had built a dome, constructed a copy of his house inside it, and created a miniature universe just for him. Revenge, it seemed, didn’t have a price tag. John had pulled out all the stops for this. The sheer audacity of something this vast amazed Rupert. How could this be happening without anyone knowing about it?

He got his answer a few minutes later. Rupert was back in the BMW and drove past several structures, some of the same design. He was in an industrial estate of some description, with warehouses, storage lockers, and empty lots. Some buildings were still in the early stages of construction, and the entire estate seemed to be in a huge, isolated plot of land. No one would even notice the black dome was there. No one apart from the business owners would have a reason to drive there.

John had been clever about it.

Rupert drove for twenty minutes, taking in the surroundings.

Then Rupert had seen the large building with the black glass windows. He slowed his pace a little, taking in the scenery, not wanting to lose his bearings. As he came closer the GPS chirped to him in its electronic voice:

“You have reached your destination
.”

Rupert drove past, undeterred.

With a flick of his wrist, Rupert silenced the GPS. The small LCD screen went black.

If anyone was watching the street, he didn’t want to be noticed. Pulling up in John’s car would have been the worst mistake of the evening. No, he drove past and went around the block. He completed a full circle, then turned around and headed back. However, he soon changed his mind. En route he had discovered a small alleyway that linked his road to the one in front of the building. Rupert drove past the entrance, stopped, and reversed. Then he turned into the alleyway, killing the lights. He moved slowly to the middle of the narrow alley and stopped. The engine was still running.

Rupert needed a plan.

His first decision was to keep the car, realising that he might need the means for a quick escape. As enjoyable as it would be to set fire to this bastard’s vehicle, he needed it. Since entering the industrial park, he had seen only one solitary vehicle. It was an abandoned milk truck, three wheels and all of its contents smashed on the ground beside it. It wasn’t going to get him anywhere.

The BMW, it was.

Rupert sat in the seat, thinking. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. After a moment, he knew what he needed to do. He opened the glovebox, and the lid fell down, exposing some documents, a flick knife and a wallet. He took the knife, placed it on the seat beside him and then reached for the wallet. It was a small leather billfold, solid and heavy. He flipped it open. A picture of an unknown woman faced him. Several credit cards sat neatly in its compartments. Turning the wallet over, he discovered two hundred pounds in cash in an inside pocket. Two small plastic cards sat wedged beneath the money. Rupert removed the cards. Each had one simple word on it:

PASS

BASE

Nothing else. The cards were silver, sleek and nondescript. The fact they had been packed underneath the money in the wallet suggested that they were important. Rupert slid them into his pocket, folded the wallet and put it back in the glovebox. He closed up the door and picked up the knife, he placed it in the duffel bag beside him.

Rupert took several deep breaths.

This is your chance to end it
, he thought.
The one thing you’ve wanted to do for years and you can do it right now. John is out of commission. All you have to do is shut him down.
The building before you is the key to doing this,
he reasoned.
Not far to go now.

Then he flexed his arms, gripping the steering wheel tight.

He killed the engine, pocketed the keys and climbed out of the vehicle. He closed the door silently behind him. The night air was cold and moist and it felt as if rain was imminent. The freshness of the air turned Rupert’s breath into steam.

Rupert opened the passenger door. On the seat was his bag of weapons. In the car’s footwell sat a briefcase, which Rupert picked up and opened. He saw some files, a stapler, and some stationery. He emptied it out onto the car’s floor and laid the briefcase on the seat. Looking through his duffel bag, he picked out two knives and put them in the briefcase, slipping them behind some Velcro holders in the lid. Seconds later, his silenced pistol joined them. Next he placed a meat cleaver into the case, concealed between two folders retrieved from the floor, and then closed the lid. He gently shook it to and fro. There was no rattling noise:  everything sat tight and snug.

Excellent.

There was a black coat on the back seat. Rupert grabbed it and placed it under his arm. He placed the briefcase out onto the ground beside him, put the coat on, grabbed the case and prepared himself. He pulled the coat tight and buttoned it, covering his clothes. It was one size too big, but felt comfortable.

With silent strides, he exited the alley and crossed the road to reach the building. There were no signs, no indication of who resided inside. He walked closer, stopping just short of the entrance. There was a revolving door in front of him. Rupert squinted but couldn’t see anything beyond it. He pushed the revolving door firmly and it slowly swivelled around, allowing him to step into a lobby.

What a lobby!

The essence of expensive leather hit him immediately. The walls were made of dark, smooth oak, whilst the white marble floors perfectly combined with the oak to create a luxurious space that radiated wealth and class. A dark oak desk was positioned to the right, the kind that concealed the person behind it until you came up close, but today it was deserted.

Expensive looking art works lined the walls – Rupert thought that he recognised two of the paintings as original works by eminent artists. The floor angled off into a bottleneck. At the end of that were two lifts. The steel of the doors looked as if it probably cost more than Rupert’s entire house. Two plush leather sofas were to his left, probably the source of the wonderful aroma, and a glass coffee table, with three magazines on top, was between them. Rupert took a stride forward and approached the desk. He looked over it and saw nothing but a small laptop with its lid closed. On closer inspection he could see that the computer was embedded into the desk’s wooden surface.

Rupert advanced towards the lifts. As he did so, he glanced up. Strangely, he saw no cameras. Then he realised that, judging by the luxuriousness of this place, there was probably surveillance equipment hidden in the walls. He stepped up to the lifts. There was no button. On closer inspection, Rupert saw a small LED panel. He looked around nervously, checking that the room was silent. He slipped the small silver cards from his pocket and swiped the one labelled PASS across the panel. A second later, he heard a DING and the door to his left opened. An electronic, female, voice greeted him:

“Welcome, Mr C
.”

Rupert wondered what that meant. He stepped into the lift, whose interior was solid steel, its shiny surface so polished that he could see his reflection in it. The doors closed smoothly behind him. The lift began its ascent and after several seconds came to a smooth halt. After a moment, the doors opened. Rupert stepped out slowly.

A long hallway greeted him. The entire left-hand wall was glass, clearly an exterior glazed wall. The night sky was beautifully dark and mysterious beyond it. The stars actually illuminated the hall, casting beams and shadows onto the minimal décor. One solitary door stood at the end of this hallway.

Rupert paused for a second, allowing his eyes to adjust to the light. The walls were white and plain, while the carpet was black and new. As he moved down the hallway, he noticed more artwork on the wall. Another door, to his right, stood open. Rupert stopped and peered in. A lamp was on. Through the open door he could see another leather sofa and a vending machine. He continued.

He reached the door at the end. Rupert looked to the left and took in the view. He could see right out across the industrial park. The dome that had been his home for the past several hours was there in the distance. From here, he could see three more domes like it. Various structures were built in a pattern. It seemed as if the buildings were constructed to form a grid, arranged into squares with the roads criss-crossing one another. In the distance, he could see the horizon. Several tower blocks idled, multiple lights on all floors turning them into colourful beacons. A black sky and stars hovered over everything. It was a great view.

Rupert turned back and stood in front of the door. After a couple of breaths, he opened the door and stepped through into the room.

Closing the door behind him, Rupert found he was in a luxurious office. The lights were off, but even in the dark, he could see that no expense had been spared. A desk stood central, backlit by a huge window. The view was busier from this angle, an entire city sat silent, illuminated and uncaring. If this was John’s office, he picked the best view.

A monitor sat on it, a blue reflection cast into its glass. There was ample floor space before him and around the desk. Another leather sofa sat to the right of the door, accompanied by a coffee table. On it sat a chess set. Some of the pieces had been moved. In the corner was an armoire, while a huge Persian rug was positioned centrally. As Rupert looked around, he noticed that everything was organised in perfect order, as if arranged by someone suffering from OCD. All around, there were straight lines, no curves. The only things out of place were the chess pieces.

Crossing the room, he moved behind the desk and lowered himself into the leather chair. The monitor was on. Clearly whoever normally sat here did not lock their computer. On the screen there were several small squares. Some were coloured, some were black and white. A few smaller squares were black. In the corners of the latter, it read NO FEED. Rupert found the computer’s mouse on the desk: it was a small circular hub, no bigger than an orange. Rupert clicked on one of the squares.

When it enlarged, he could see the facsimile of his own house. The camera was positioned high up, outside. It was probably one of the dome cameras. They were globes positioned in the ceiling so they could spin three hundred and sixty degrees at any time. Rupert clicked on several more of the squares: more shots of his house, a low angled shot of his porch – he could see the broken glass at the base of the shot. One was the exit door of the dome. He could see the Range Rover in the distance and his house, a defined shadow among many. Then the shots changed. He saw a leg lying prone on the ground. One camera was zoomed in and a dead face, splashed with blood, stared back at him: one of John’s men.

These were the cameras the men had been wearing.

The NO FEED cameras, Rupert assumed, were the ones he’d broken. He ignored them. He scanned a few more and realised that no other cameras were switched on. Rupert smiled.

I totally fucked John over
, he thought.
He had no choice but to come for me.

I ruined him in The Game. I did this.

Rupert felt happy in the knowledge he had outsmarted John, feeling it to be the least he deserved.

He minimised the windows on the screen and checked the desktop. Two folders were sitting there. One said THE GAME. The other said BACKUP. John looked around the desk and found two drawers. He opened the top one. Several magazines were stacked in a pile. A half empty bottle of Jack Daniels lay on its side, a tumbler clinking against it. A black plastic lip sat just inside the drawer’s edge. Rupert pulled it up to reveal a slim black tray containing paper clips, pens and general stationery items.