Masters And Lovers 1-4

Chapter 25

Michael

Christ!

Trying to ignore the pounding under my ribs, I tap off my phone, hastily dropping it into my lap and Còntens bel0ngs to Nô(v)elDr/a/ma.Org

slapping both hands on the wheel as I pass a police car.

At least he knows…

James can look after himself, at least for a while.

Charlotte…

How far away am I?

At least an hour…

Shit!

I’m trying to get my foot down on the pedal but I’m moving through traffic.

The blue light drops away behind me and I fumble for my phone again, trying to tap in Charlotte’s

number.

A horn blares and I swerve. The pounding in my chest turns to a bang and my fingertips tingle.

And before I can try again, the screen flashes and Ben’s ringtone plays.

That’s all I need…

Fumbling, I tap to connect. “Ben, whatever it is, I can’t.”

His voice is surly. “I called to talk to you but it’s too much trouble is it?”

“Ben, gimme a break. I’ve got an emergency on my hands. This isn’t the time.”

“What?” His voice perks, the tone changing completely. “What emergency? What’s wrong, Bro?”

“Klempner’s out.”

“Klempner? The maniac from Blessingmoors?”

“Yes, him. And the timing’s too much of a coincidence. He’s got to be after Charlotte and her mother.

She’s not answering her phone. They don’t know. I’m trying to get to them, but I’m caught in traffic.”

“Mike, where are you? And where are they?”

“In the city center somewhere. Went shopping. I’m an hour away. My meeting ran late…”

“Whoa! Slow down. Stop panicking. I’m in town myself. I’ll go find them. Where in the centre? D’you

know where they were headed?”

“James says they were going to Francesca’s. You know… the tearooms.”

“On my way. I’m on my way. I’ll call you back.”

”Thanks, Ben. I owe you one.”

“No, you don’t, Bro. I’ll always look out for you. You know that.”

He rings off.

Foot hard down, ignoring the horns blaring at me as I squeal through traffic, dodging from one lane to

the next, then back again, I race to find my Charlotte.

*****

James

Down… Along the corridor to the end room… My playroom.

My mouth quirks as I consider the likely reaction of strangers entering here: racks, restraints, a

spanking horse, the four-poster at the end… Not a place one brags about in public, for all the pleasure I

have had there with my friend and my Jade-Eyes.

But this room holds another secret.

Making my way to a rack affixed to the stone wall, I press at what is apparently a knot in the timber.

With a quiet click, the rack swings and opens to reveal the entrance beyond.

I’d always hoped we would never need to use it, but right now, Michael’s tunnel represents my only

hope of safety. Stepping inside, I pull the door quietly closed behind me and breathe…

I have time now. No-one will find this entrance without a very careful search, and even then would

probably need to know what they were looking for. And no-one does.

The only person outside our Triad who knows of its existence is Richard. I told him because there was

always a small chance that if Klempner arose again to make trouble, Beth might somehow become

entangled. And Richard is utterly trustworthy. If any person feels anything like the love and affection

that Michael and I do for Charlotte, it is Richard. He would never betray her secret.

Part of me wants to panic; to run in stupid circles shouting that the sky is falling. But Michael is right.

The best thing I can do right now for Charlotte is to get myself to safety. We can take it from there.

I make my way along the passage, ducking here and there where the roof dips. Wires trail where

Michael had started on installing lighting, but not yet completed the work. No matter. I light my way with

my mobile, first passing through the stonework of the house foundations, then through earthen walls

shored up with timbers.

The sound of banging reverberates down. I pause, looking upward towards the source of the sound.

Forcing entry?

The shriek of splintered wood and metal screams through, followed by a crash. A fine trickle of dust

filters from the roof timbers and hastily I lower my face before I get an eyeful.

They’re in…

I keep moving.

The passage widens a little at one point to make space for a stack of sealed plastic crates. Despite the

emergency, I smile to myself.

‘Peering at the labels on the crates… Charlotte.’… ‘Michael.’… I pick another one: ‘James.’

Rummaging inside I find walking boots, thick socks, outdoor clothing, and lightweight waterproofs…

Of course, a man who once escaped gunmen by running naked into the snow would think of these

things…

Quickly I change into the boots and socks and pull on a heavy woolen sweater. It’s cool outside, but not

freezing or raining, so I stash the waterproof jacket and trousers into a rucksack hanging from a nail.

What else?

I check the remaining crates. Five minutes later my rucksack contains a bottle of water, several self-

heating food packs, a laminated map of the area, a compass, a high-powered LED torch, and a wind-

up phone charger.

Time to go…

Shrugging on the rucksack, I head for the exit…

A short ladder leans against the end of the tunnel. I climb it, lift the hatch a little…

… and pause… listening…

I can’t hear anything, but I am some distance from the house. Carefully, I ease the hatch fully open. I

can’t be seen here. The exit sits amid a scrambling mass of brambles, briars, and nettles, carefully

nourished and encouraged by Michael.

Night is falling fast. Very soon it will be completely dark.

Chewing a lip I descend the ladder again, heading back to the supply stash to look for what I think will

probably be there…

And it is…

Hanging from another nail, three pairs of walking poles…

No point risking a twisted ankle…

He thought of everything…

Returning to the exit, I climb up and out, then maneuver my way through the thicket of thorns, spikes

and brambles so carefully nurtured by Michael, until it opens into a woodland clearing. From here I

have only to make my way to the walker’s shelter on the trail and I can safely contact Michael again…

Has he found them?

My gut contracts at the thought…

Clear your head…

Walk…

Looking back, the house windows are brightly lit, the shutters raised…

Figures move, back-lit.

How many does he have in there?

My thoughts are ram-raided by sudden chaos from a different direction, the hotel. Through the trees

from…

… from where…?

…. from the kitchens… comes a gush of flame. Smoke billows, lit to an unearthly orange shade by the

flames. Alarms sound and people stream out. A voice I recognise, Chad's, shouts out, echoing over the

emptiness of the night.

“Ladies and gentlemen. Please assemble in the designated safety areas. As soon as we have you all

accounted for, we are arranging transport to alternative accommodation…”

I watch for a few seconds, then as I see the red glow reflecting from my hands, realise that I could be

seen.

Ducking back into cover, I find my bearings using the marks carved into the bark of nearby trees;

another idea of Michael’s to guide escapees to the shelter in the dark. The walk itself is easy enough.

Placing my feet carefully, and with the walking poles to help, I don’t stumble.

Beyond the range of Michael’s marked tree-trunks, I lose my direction slightly. But it’s not a problem. All

I have to do is head uphill and I’ll hit the trail. From there it’s a simple hike to the shelter…

Michael did this naked…

In the snow…

Gunmen right behind him…

I stand for a moment, inhaling clear cool air. Whatever is happening behind me, I am safe.

Safe enough to worry.

Safe enough to gnaw at the thought…

How did Klempner know about Mitch?

Who leaked?

Who’s the spy?

The trail is wide and clear. Almost strolling now, I see the shelter ahead of me, outlined in black and

silver by the rising moon. I step up my pace.

It's solidly built in stone, with a tiled roof and a hearth for any that need it. Not that I’ll be lighting fires.

But the prospect of being able to sit, breathe, use my phone, perhaps eat a little…

It feels good.

Jade…

Where are you?

Don’t dwell on it…

I lift the latch, push and step inside…

… something presses to my temple. “Don’t move.”

“What..?” I start to turn, but the something; cold, metallic, nudges at me. “I said, don’t move.”

“Who the fuck are…?” But my words are cut short. Abruptly, the shelter is flooded with light.

“Is that any way to speak to your father-in-law?” A figure sits on a bench, hands clasped behind his

head, ankle crossed over knee. “Good to see you, James,” says Klempner. “Do sit down.”

*****

The Story Continues In

‘Her Enemy’s Promise’