Hobson glanced around. The door to the basement was shut, and
there was very little else apart from a central heating boiler. Certainly very few places to hide a key.
That would be another statement without a grain of truth.
He stared at the vials again, debating what to do, when he noticed two plain white envelopes on the floor beneath them.
It took every ounce of strength he had to move. Finally, he bent down and retrieved them.
He opened both envelopes.
In the first he came across a card. He hadn’t the faintest idea what it was or what it meant.
Against a white background, he saw a king sitting on a throne between two columns, holding a sword in his right hand, and a pair of scales in his left. The king’s robe was red. Behind him was a purple backdrop – curtains maybe. Above his crown were the Roman numerals XI. Along the bottom of the card was one word: Justice.
Hobson understood that the card was meant for him because of the one word, although he had no idea where the card had come from. It didn’t matter. He would, however, make sure the surgeon understood his version of the word justice.
Breathing heavily, he took a card out of the second envelope.
He had no idea what that was either. It had a figure on the front, obviously a judge because his name was The Lord Chief Justice Dunne. He held a gavel in his right hand, and pointed his finger at the viewer of the card with his left, no doubt for the benefit of whoever held it.
Losing interest, he threw both cards onto the floor, glancing at the vials yet again.
Hobson made a decision. He’d been given no reason to trust the monster at all.
Fuck the vials. He was no longer prepared to play the game for anyone else. He was a dead man anyway. So, with what little time he had left, he was playing it his way.
He walked slowly towards the basement door.
Chapter Fifty-two
The ringing phone startled him.
Gary stole a glance at the dashboard. His mobile was lodged in a hands-free cradle, and he could see from the display that it was Sinclair.
He pushed the button and immediately went on the attack.
“You’re not going to talk me out of it, Sinclair!”
“I have no intention, Gary.”
“Good. Then why have you called me?”
“To ask you to think about what you’re doing.”
“So you are trying to talk me out of it.” Gary slowed down as he approached the bend. As a policeman, he should know better than anyone else the dangers of using a phone while driving, hands free or not.
“On the contrary, Gary, I’m simply asking you to be careful.”
Gary couldn’t understand what Sinclair was doing. Fifteen minutes ago he’d shown no remorse whatsoever, hadn’t even tried to stop him leaving the Foundation. So what was he playing at now?
“Just fuck off, Sinclair,” shouted Gary. “You had your chance. Too late now.”
“Like I said, Gary, take care. Dusk is approaching. Roads can be treacherous.”
Gary hurled further abuse at the phone, but it was too late. The connection had been cut.
“Bastard,” he shouted, and then screamed again due to the pain in his left leg.