The Lost Testament

66

For a couple of seconds they both just stared, then Bronson walked across the bedroom, unsnapped the catches on the briefcase and took out the phone. He pressed the button to answer it, and lifted the instrument to his ear.

‘Yes?’

‘You have something that does not belong to you, and I want it,’ a harsh male voice stated, the English fluent but heavily accented.

Bronson didn’t reply, just listened, waiting for whatever threat or demand the unidentified caller intended to make.

‘And I have something that you might not want, but which I am certain that the woman with you will want to have back.’

‘I’ve no idea what you’re talking about,’ Bronson replied.

‘The British Museum clearly did not trust Angela Lewis to complete the purchase of the relic by herself,’ the man continued. ‘That is why they sent George Stebbins out to Madrid to work with her. If she wants to see him alive and in one piece ever again, you need to do exactly what I tell you.’

‘Who is it?’ Angela demanded.

Bronson held up his hand to indicate that she should stay quiet, then replied.

‘And how do I know that he’s alive now?’

There was a brief pause and then Bronson heard George Stebbins’s unmistakable voice in his ear.

‘Bronson, Bronson. You’ve got to help me.’ He sounded completely terrified. ‘You’ve got to get me out of here. Do whatever they say. I’ll— No, please, no, don’t—’

The other man’s voice was audible in Bronson’s ear as he issued an order.

‘No, you’ve already broken that one. Break the one next to it.’

There was a sudden confusion of sound, but dominating it all was Stebbins’s voice. It rose in sheer panic and ended with a piercing scream, loud enough to make Bronson move the mobile away from his ear.

‘I hope you’re satisfied,’ the male voice said again. ‘If you’re not, we can repeat the treatment until you are, though I’m sure Mr Stebbins would rather we didn’t. I’ll call again in five minutes.’

The line went dead. If there had been the slightest doubt in Bronson’s mind before about the competence and ruthlessness of the people they were facing, the details provided by the anonymous caller completely dispelled it.

‘Who was it?’ Angela asked.

‘That,’ he said, ‘was trouble. I have no idea who it was, but he knew who we were. And somehow he and his cronies have managed to get hold of George Stebbins. The noise you probably heard was Stebbins being persuaded to convince us to hand over the relic.’

‘Oh, dear God,’ Angela murmured, her face turning pale.

Bronson nodded. ‘If we agree to do what that man wants—’

‘What does he want?’ Angela asked.

‘He’s ringing me back in a few minutes,’ Bronson replied. ‘But I assume he’ll want us to hand over the parchment. And once we’ve done that, he will almost certainly kill us both. George Stebbins, in my opinion, is as good as dead already.’

Angela nodded slowly.

‘But we can’t just walk away and leave Stebbins to their mercy. There must be something we can do. Can we call the police?’

Bronson nodded.

‘Of course we can. The problem is that we’ve got nothing we can tell them. We have no idea who these people are or where they are. All we know for certain is that somehow or other they grabbed George Stebbins, that they have a proven track record for ruthless murder, and they want the two-thousand-year-old parchment that’s sitting in that briefcase over there. I don’t really see what the police could do to help either us or Stebbins.’

‘But when this man rings you, he’ll have to tell you where to go, where to deliver the parchment, surely?’

‘Whatever else these people are,’ Robson replied, ‘they’re not stupid. My guess is that the rendezvous will be in a public place and they’ll want you to be there, not me. There’ll probably be a public call box or a telephone in a bar, something like that, and you’ll have to answer that to receive your next set of instructions.

‘Then they’ll keep you bouncing around the city until they’re certain that you haven’t got a couple of van loads of police in tow, and only then will they finally tell you where the exchange is due to be carried out. But it won’t be an exchange. It’ll be three gunshots to eliminate you, me and Stebbins, and they’ll walk away with the parchment.’

Angela looked torn, and shook her head slowly.

‘I know that. I know that you’re right, but I can’t just turn my back on this. I have to be certain that we at least tried to save George. My conscience won’t let me do anything else. And you’ve got that man’s gun now, so it’s not as if you’re completely unarmed, is it?’

‘The pistol will help, but I only have two magazines for it. There’s the full magazine I took out of the assassin’s pocket, and the one that is in the weapon, and I haven’t checked how many rounds are left in it. We know he fired twice at the café, so if it’s a fifteen-round magazine at best we might have thirteen bullets left in it.’

‘Unlucky for some,’ Angela said, with a weak attempt at humour.

‘Quite. So assuming the spare mag is full, that will give me twenty-eight rounds, but really only fifteen, because if it comes to a fire-fight there probably won’t be enough time to change magazines. The reality is that if we do end up having to face these people, I might be able to take down two or three of them, but if there are more than that, then I’m going to find myself hopelessly outgunned. The best thing we can do, Angela — and I know you’re not going to like it — is to just walk away. In fact, to drive away as fast as we can.’

As the phone rang shrilly, Bronson looked at Angela for a moment, both still undecided. Then she nodded, and he picked it up again.

‘Yes?’ he said.

It was as if the man at the other end had heard some of his conversation with Angela.

‘You don’t have to worry about what will happen to you afterwards,’ he said. ‘I’m sure you know that certain people have died in unfortunate circumstances over the last few days, but there were very good reasons for those events, and we wish you and Miss Lewis no harm. All we want is for the item that is rightfully ours to be returned to us undamaged, and as quickly as possible. Once we have that in our possession, then the two of you and Mr Stebbins will be free to go.’

‘And you really expect me to believe that, do you?’ Bronson demanded. ‘There’s an expression in English: past performance is always the best indicator of future performance. Give me one good reason why you’d treat us any differently to the others you’ve killed.’

The man at the other end of the line chuckled softly.

‘I can’t, so you’ll just have to take my word for it.’

‘Like hell I will,’ Bronson snapped.

And he pressed the button to end the call.

‘What are you doing?’ Angela demanded. ‘You’re going to get George killed!’

‘I’ve been stupid,’ Bronson replied, ‘that’s what’s happening.’