Instinct (2010) Read online

  They followed Laura into the living room and sat down together on a sofa not quite big enough for two men of their size.

  The older man spoke first. ‘Dr Trent, my name is Major Carl Webster. This is Lieutenant Jeffrey Carter. Let me get straight to the point if I may. We know the whereabouts of your son and we would like to reunite you with him as soon as possible.’

  Laura looked at Major Webster with an unlikely mixture of bemusement, anger and relief.

  ‘You know where my son is?’

  ‘Yes I do, Dr Trent.’

  ‘You know where my son is?’

  ‘Uh … This afternoon at about 1600 hours myself and Lieutenant Carter did indeed persuade …’

  ‘Where the fuck is my son?’

  ‘… Andrew to accompany us, requiring the … uh … unfortunate disruption of his daily routine …’

  ‘WHERE THE FUCK IS MY SON?’

  Carter got to his feet and put his hands out to intimate that Laura should quieten down. ‘Uh, Dr Trent, we would suggest that you calm down and …’

  As his hands made the slightest contact with Laura’s arms, she whipped them away.

  ‘Get the fuck off me. What do you think you’re doing?’ Carter took a step back and looked to Webster.

  ‘One more time. Where the fuck is my son?’

  ‘It’s not as simple …’ Webster began meekly.

  ‘Right then, I’m going to phone the police.’ She lifted the receiver and dialled the first nine.

  ‘I wouldn’t do that if I were you,’ said Webster, raising his voice slightly. ‘I’m sorry, but having us arrested is not going to get you to see Andrew any faster.’

  Laura stopped, closed her eyes and tried to control herself. The handset shook inside her steel grip. Her knuckles were white and the nails of her other hand dug hard into her palm. She knew Webster was right but her fury suddenly had nowhere to go.

  ‘FUCK!’ she screamed. ‘Fuck you! What do I have to do to see my son?’ Anger squeezed every word, pushing them out of her throat in a grating strain.

  ‘Well, you, uh, have to come with us,’ Webster replied apologetically. Carter couldn’t even look up. Instead he hung his head down and concentrated on the worn paisley carpet beneath his boots.

  Laura was seething, taking directionless paces around her living room. ‘But … why? I mean, what could I have that you’d possibly want?’

  ‘I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to explain the details of the situation right now, Dr Trent. I simply have instructions to ask you to accompany us immediately. Anything beyond that, I’m afraid, is classified. This is very important to us, and speed is of the essence.’

  Laura shut her eyes so hard her cheeks ached. She could feel the throbbing blare of a headache building at her temples. When she opened her eyes again, she was looking at the ceiling, searching for words.

  ‘Aren’t you fucking ashamed of yourselves? The misery and … and … worry and all sorts of shit I have gone through tonight, it’s all been down to you. Kidnapping an innocent child to get to me …’

  Her tight, furious face froze as the realization made itself apparent.

  ‘Hold on. Speed is of the …’ She turned slowly to face them again. ‘You’re with him.’

  The two soldiers tried not to betray the concern they felt at her words.

  ‘What was his name … Bishop? The arsehole who came to see me today. Another bastard with an American accent. You’re in this together, you fucking pair of shits! Is that what this is fucking about? Really?’

  Again the two soldiers did their best to look impassive.

  ‘You’ve kidnapped Andrew to get me to come to your fucking insect lab in Venezuela, is that it?’ She almost laughed at how ridiculous it sounded. ‘Well, of all the fucking reasons. You are three disgusting fucking pieces of shit! How low can people get? And three of you! You’d better not have laid a finger on my son.’

  ‘No, no, it was nothing like that. American military ID can be very persuasive to most people, kind of a consequence of everyone growing up on our movies. We explained to Andrew that you were doing something for us in a highly secret capacity and that he was to come with us to join you at our headquarters. Not that different from the truth, just a little, uh, alteration to the chronology.’ Major Webster’s voice trailed off at the end of his sentence.

  ‘Look, arseholes, I want to see my son. Please just bring him in and I’ll tell you whether I’ll do what you want or not.’

  ‘Um … Dr Trent, I’m afraid it’s not that easy. We need you to come with us right now. You will see Andrew very soon but you have to come with us first – that’s the deal. We are going straight to him, just via a small detour, you have my word.’

  Laura looked at Webster, who could not bring himself to hold her gaze.

  ‘And what? I’m supposed to trust you, am I? You pair of slimy shits who took my son, the only thing I have left in the world?’

  Webster looked up and into her bright, green-grey eyes before offering a small nod. He was obviously hating every second of this.

  Laura got up. ‘OK. If I have to do this, I have to do this.’ She shook her head in disgusted disapproval. ‘Let me leave some food for my cat.’

  ‘Um … better make it a lot,’ said Webster.

  6

  As darkness closed in, Faisal Khayam and his goats were making their way up the foothills of the Hindu Kush. This far south, much of the sky was hidden by the jagged, red-brown mountains, bringing nightfall earlier and leaving the crags and hollows lurking in shadowy gloom.

  Faisal looked up at the disappearing sun, then across to the west. At this time of day he would usually be on his way back to the thin blanket and thinner stew of home, but an afternoon dust storm and a lost goat meant he was now too far from his village to arrive before dark. Recapturing the animal was important; if he lost one more his father would force his cheap gold rings on to his thick, hairy fingers and wordlessly explain to his son just how valuable the family livestock was. And even if he had come back with the herd intact, there would always be another dozen lessons his father felt the need to teach him. By now, taking refuge in the hills had become a regular occurrence.

  The tearing wind also reminded him that it was getting late. During the day it whipped a hot, dry gust across the rocks that left his face hard and sore, but at night it turned to a chill blast that shot through his patchwork of rags and gripped his bones like the fingers of a corpse.

  Although every direction seemed to offer the same lifeless features, he knew what he was looking for: the jutting cliff that marked the western edge of the Fardeen Caves. They were spread throughout several square miles, but Faisal had used them often enough to know which ones were large enough to provide shelter for the goats.

  Moving higher, he clambered over the last outcrop, driving the herd on as he went. The dull tinkling of their neck-bells combined with the clacking of clumsy hooves and occasional bleating to rise through the wind.

  Looking ahead, Faisal could make out the black shadow of a cave at the lip of the ridge. Although it did not look familiar, the mouth was large enough to suggest that there would be room for the herd and, at this time of night, he could not afford to be choosy.

  Faisal pushed through to the front so he could count the herd off as it walked by. Each additional number brought him closer to his thoughts of a night’s rest amongst their warmth, and as the final few passed him he could also take satisfaction that none had been lost.

  He gave the last one an encouraging slap and was surprised to find that it did not move on. Looking to the front of the group, he saw that the goats had stopped a few feet short of the cave entrance. He needed to know why, but there was not enough room to move to the front without sending one of them over the edge of the path, so he stood at the back, hoping to discover what could have disturbed them. He had fed them as best he could, they had just been watered,
the unique stench that still hung dankly in the air confirmed they had managed to relieve themselves recently, so unless there was some kind of illness –

  Suddenly the large male at the cave’s mouth gave a long, drilling shriek that turned Faisal’s spine to flickering rubber. Like a warning siren, it sent the others clattering back the way they had come, and Faisal was knocked to the ground as a hundred hooves scraped and dug into his legs and back.

  The pain was bad enough, but now he was faced with the impossible task of chasing after his herd without the benefit of light. Aching and bloodied, he cursed loudly. He might find them all together the next morning, chewing on weeds in the shallow slopes below, but if he didn’t … He thought immediately of his father’s rings and the imprints they would leave on his legs and back. However he looked at it, the day was ending about as badly as it could for a twelve-year-old goat herder.

  He used the faint, milky glow of moonlight to look down the slope and see if the goats had gathered somewhere close by. Although there was movement through the shadows, it was too quick and vague to be of any use. With little to see, Faisal wondered if he could pick up the sound of those dull bells, but all he could hear were firm gusts changing register as they collided with mountains and tunnelled their way through valleys. He picked up his bag and cursed again, then decided there was no point in trying to retrieve the herd now. He might as well get some sleep and continue the search at first light.

  It was only approaching the rock-toothed dinginess of the cave that he realized how the herd made him feel safer, and how the absence of a friendly heartbeat, even that of one of his goats, made the night a little chillier. He pulled his keffiyeh tighter around his neck and tried not to let the driving whoop of wind seem like anything more than a sweep of cold air.

  But as each step into the emptiness gave him less to see and more to hear, the sound became impossible to ignore. The wind was growing louder, and it was changing from a smooth, hollow rush to something lower; a grumbling drone that almost growled.

  Was it still just the wind? If not, what could it be? It didn’t sound like a jackal or a lynx. This was constant, as if whatever was making it did not need to pause for breath.

  It crossed Faisal’s mind that he’d never been all the way inside this cave, so the sound could be some kind of running water, distorted by acoustics. If anything, that was more of a reason to continue. He was thirsty as well as tired, and the cool refreshment of a mountain spring would be just what he needed before settling down to sleep.

  A little way in, the pitch of the growling changed and he was convinced that he was listening neither to wind nor water.

  The sound had developed a higher tone and, more disturbingly, a rapid, chanting rhythm that swelled into every corner of the cave and sent a fear through Faisal that scraped his guts.

  This feeling increased when the other sound slid its way into his ears: eggshells cracking and splitting beneath his bare feet. The breaking of the outer layer gave into a soft squelch as the insides released a light, sticky substance that felt like scrambled eggs.

  With his full weight on the floor, the moisture oozed between his toes, rising up through the gaps and spreading across his thin bones. He stopped, paralysed, his left foot frozen in mid-step behind him. Instantly, he understood what the dampness suggested: something had died here recently.

  The fear spread to his neck, stiffening it so he could not look down. These were not the corpses of birds or rodents, although they were about that size. They were too light, and he could not feel fur or feathers so much as something smoother.

  He wanted to move, but the hypnotic sound submerged his senses. At last he inched his neck forwards to peer at his feet and could just make something out in the dim haze of moonlight. Whatever he was treading on, it was indeed smooth and rounded, with wide stripes of dark and light.

  By now the noise was fierce and louder still, a purposeful hum that sent an insidious murmur through every part of him. It seemed almost to challenge Faisal to stop listening, to leave without finding out what it was.

  Then, like a child’s cry, the distant, howling bleat of a goat broke Faisal’s concentration. It gave him the presence of mind to realize he had to get out.

  But not soon enough.

  He could only distinguish shadows struggling to become clear shapes in the darkness, so he could not tell how close or how many they were until it was too late. A blur of dark grey swirled towards him, combining with the noise to plunge him back into a trance of confusion. As the shapes reached him, the first thing he felt was the light shh of something brushing against his left cheek.

  Then it landed. The weight was like a small bird on his back, but instead of two sharp claws digging into his skin, there were six. He tried to reach around to it but there was another pain, like a thin shard of glass sliding deep into his shoulderblade.

  Then nothing.

  He didn’t feel his legs collapse beneath him, sending his knees to land hard on the floor of the cave. He didn’t feel the wash of skittering breeze as more arrived to cover his face and body with their insistent wingbeat. And he didn’t feel the mandibles digging their way into whatever meat they could find, taking firm hold and tearing wet chunks of flesh into their throats.

  Although he couldn’t feel, he could still see, and the sight that was to be his last was that of a dark triangle of wasp’s eyes searching his own.

  They peered, processed and guided until the rough, hard jaws beneath delved into the socket and pulled out the soft ball of moist tissue. Now there was just one eye remaining, but not for long: two of them fought over it until it was nothing but a churn of white-red mush, then they hurriedly passed whatever their mandibles could grasp back into the voracious gnashing of their mouths.

  Faisal could feel and see no more. He was now but a corpse, moving in quick, shallow jerks as the wasps continued to pull the meat from his bones until bones were all he was.

  7

  Carl Webster couldn’t remember the exact moment his military career had changed from the guns and tanks of his childhood dreams to kidnapping small boys and blackmailing their parents, but it made him feel nauseous and it never got any easier. This was the first kid since early ’99, and he’d almost forgotten how it felt, but things were different then: more gung-ho and naïve, more whatever-it-takes-for-the-cause. This time, he and Carter had prayed that Bishop would not call, but when the number appeared on his mobile his stomach flooded with sickness and Plan B was set in motion.

  Using the rear-view mirror, he looked at Laura, squashed up against the side window. She was staring at nothing, overcome by too many different thoughts to be able to concentrate on any one of them. They often reacted like this, and Major Webster could not honestly say it surprised him.

  They had followed the usual stages of the procedure: Laura had informed anyone who knew about Andrew’s disappearance that he was indeed alive and well and had come home late after visiting his dad’s grave. He had miscalculated the fare home, which had meant walking several miles, getting lost on the way and of course he was incredibly sorry and thought that his mum had known that was what he was doing. The story had holes in it that could easily accommodate Major Webster’s Land Rover but the people who heard it were tired and relieved and wouldn’t think to ask questions until the next day. Laura also told them that she and Andrew would be taking a short break and that she would be back in touch soon. Again, not like her, but by the time her actions were questioned, she would not be available to provide any answers.

  The roads they were driving on became smaller and scrappier until they were using all the Land Rover’s torque and horsepower to negotiate a steep dirt track closely flanked by birch trees. Five minutes later, they came to a juddering stop. In the darkness, Laura could just make out a wide strip of tarmac that disappeared into the gloomy distance. There was a hut on one side of it with a corrugated iron roof, and it was here that Webster park
ed the car.

  Laura looked out through the other windows for some clue as to what this place was and why they might have come here, but before she had a chance to speculate, a row of lights illuminated the centre of the tarmac and she heard the unmistakable sound of an approaching airplane.

  At first she thought there must be a small airport nearby, but as the noise grew louder, finally pounding her ears with an overpowering scream, she realized it was meant for them. It touched down at the other end of the runway before taxiing in their direction.

  It came to a halt just in front of the Land Rover, the cargo ramp lowering a few feet from its front bumper. At the sound of metal on concrete Major Webster drove up the black steel incline and into the rear of the Spartan. The ramp started to rise before he had even applied the brakes, and they were manoeuvring towards the other end of the runway before he’d switched the engine off. Madison turned the plane around and within seconds they were speeding over the line of lights and back into the air.

  As they gained altitude Laura followed the lead of Webster and Carter and got out of the car. The inside of the plane was like nothing she had seen before. It was off-white, with jutting beams of metal that stretched across the ceiling. Webbing and cargo jutted and curved in and out of dark recesses, and the far end was stacked with a dozen crates, leaving only a small gap between them for access to the cockpit. Behind the boxes the seats were set out in rows, like in a passenger plane. (The Spartan’s original layout of a basic bench along each side had left the team exhausted and burning with cramp, so Webster had arranged for the interior to be refitted for a little extra comfort.)

  To Laura’s further unease, five of the ten seats were occupied by soldiers. Looking at them in the anonymity of their camouflage, she was trying hard but failing to think of a good situation that involved seven military personnel and an airplane. There was a seat on its own near the back that had a view of the dark nothing outside, so she slid into it and resumed her position, squashed up against the window.