Private Royals (Private 12.50)

‘What about them?’ he said.

‘The kidnapper – he called them the filth! He called the police the filth!’

‘So what?’

‘So, you didn’t know what that means!’ she said. ‘You didn’t know what that means, because you’re an American!’

‘And so is Waldron,’ Morgan said, his stomach turning sour as he came to the inevitable conclusion. ‘Our kidnapper’s not alone.’

CHAPTER 36

ABBIE THREW UP again.

She was on her hands and knees, vomit on her chin and in her hair. The comedown from her drug high had already kicked in when her world had begun to violently sway and screech, the contents of her toilet bucket sent spilling across the floor and over her bare feet. It had all been too much for Abbie’s stomach. She had puked, crying with misery as she did so.

She had then been thrown forward like an empty dress, crashing into the hard metal wall, blood running from her nose, her bones aching. She had stayed there for a while, curled into a ball and content to moan in her misery, but then the bile had returned and she’d rolled onto her hands and knees as she gagged.

It was in this position that she saw one of the walls to her cell pulled away. Seeing blue skies replace the swirling patterns of black and white, Abbie wondered if she was still tripping after all.

The harsh sunlight that flooded into the room made her squint, and she turned her head away quickly, only vaguely aware of a silhouette that appeared in front of her.

It was the silhouette of a man. The way he leaned heavily to one side reminded her of the injured soldiers she had once visited in hospital.

‘Abbie.’ She heard her name. The word was spoken through pain. ‘Abbie,’ the voice said again. A man’s voice.

‘I’m Peter,’ he told her, and she looked up.

She saw a face that was dirty with blood, but there was kindness beneath it. An open honesty. Abbie didn’t know why, but she felt as if she should trust this man.

He put out his hand.

‘I’m here to take you home.’ He managed to smile, but Abbie didn’t see it.

She was watching a second silhouette appearing next to Peter.

And then Peter fell down.

CHAPTER 37

‘GOOD GOD,’ COOK said softly, hitting the brakes hard as the traffic ground to a halt behind the mangled wreckage of Waldron’s truck and Knight’s smashed motorbike.

Morgan was already flying from the door.

‘Hooligan, ETA on the police?’ he shouted into the mic on his collar.

‘Ninety seconds.’

‘Jane! Stay behind the wheel!’ Morgan shouted. ‘We’ve got sixty seconds! We can’t get caught up with the police!’

He quickly moved about the scene, seeing the rear door to the truck’s cargo container open. A glance inside was all it took to confirm that it had been Abbie’s prison. There was blood on the floor, Morgan saw, but not enough to be fatal.

He then looked inside the cab. There was a bag there, a military-style backpack. He grabbed it and slung it over his shoulder. Then he saw a crowd of people looking at the ground and taking photos on their phones.

He ran over to them, and there he saw the body. There was KA-BAR buried deep in the corpse’s meaty thigh.

‘Oi!’ someone shouted out as Morgan bent to retrieve the knife. ‘You can’t do that. We called the police.’

Morgan pulled the blade free. It came loose with a wet sucking sound. All it took then was a look with the bloodied knife in his hand, and no one challenged him again.