The Deadly Game(5)

Of course, he could always throw the envelope away, unopened. But someone had deliberately come into his flat and placed it carefully there for him. And he reasoned, if they wanted to kill him, there were plenty of easier and more straightforward ways to do it.

This was to do with the hidden Malichea books, that was obvious. And any piece of information he could get about them could be a step nearer to freeing Lauren.

Jake picked up the envelope carefully. Whatever was inside it was light. And soft. Nothing hard-edged or rigid. Not metallic. So, hopefully, not a bomb.

Jake opened the flap. It wasn’t sealed. Cautiously, he peered into the envelope. There was something thin and dark in there. He upended the envelope, and an object dropped out on to the table. He recognised it straight away: old darkened leather, still soft, dull but with a strange sheen to it where it had been made waterproof. It was the cover of a book, with its pages removed. On its flat surface was the embossed symbol of the Order of Malichea, a capital letter M with a snake coiled through it. And carved into the leather, the Roman numerals CXXI. 121.

It was a protective cover from one of the hidden books, hundreds of years old. And it was book number 121. It was identical in style and material to the book that Jake and Lauren had rescued from the research centre at Hadley Park. That book had been number 367.

Why send me just the cover? thought Jake. Straight away, he knew his question was idiotic. The information in the books was what was valuable. So where was the book? And what was it about?

Jake looked again into the envelope, and saw there was a piece of paper inside. He took it out. On it were typed the words: Suggest we meet.

Yes, please, thought Jake. This could be exactly what he needed to get Lauren back to England: one of the books. Proof of the existence of the library.

The sound of his doorbell ringing startled him. He wondered who it could be, he didn’t get many callers. Then it struck him that his caller could be the person who’d delivered the cover to him. If so, why didn’t they just walk in, like they had before? Perhaps they wanted to play it carefully, not frighten him by just appearing inside his flat unannounced.

The doorbell rang again. Whoever it was, was impatient.

‘Coming!’ called Jake.

He hurried to the front door, and looked through the spyhole on to the landing. A figure in a courier’s yellow top and wearing a crash helmet was standing there, holding a small parcel. Could this be the book itself?

Jake unlocked the door and opened it. As he did so, he was aware of another figure out of the corner of his eye, this one appearing from by the wall of the landing. Then something was sprayed into his eyes. He let out a yell and stumbled back, groping for the door to slam it shut, but before he could do so, they were on him. Strong arms wrapped themselves around him, pinioning his arms to his sides, and then a pad was pressed over his mouth and nose. A sickly smell filled his nose. Chloroform . . . !





Chapter 4




Jake came round. He felt sick. His head felt heavy. He was blindfolded and with a gag over his mouth. For a second, he couldn’t work out where he was, he seemed to be suspended. Then he realised he was tied to something with ropes across his chest. He was sitting on a hard chair with his head hanging forward. His hands were tied behind him at the wrists, and his ankles were also tightly bound.

He lifted his head up, and pain flooded through it.

Where am I? he thought. Who’s doing this to me? Why?

He strained his ears for movement, trying to work out where his attackers were, but there were no sounds nearby. Maybe he was in one room and they were in another. He tried to work out his location from the acoustics, but there was nothing to help him. No echoes, no noises up close.

He sniffed the air, seeing if he could get any clues that way. Indoor smells. Industrial. Grease, timber and other things he couldn’t quite place.

He tried to move, but the chair itself was heavy, and his own weight made it hard to manoeuvre. He attempted to push himself up and bring the chair down on its legs, but he was tied too firmly for that. All that happened was the chair moved a bit, its legs scraping on the ground. But the sound of that scrape was metal on concrete, not wood. And there was a hint of an echo.

He waited, just in case anyone had heard the chair scraping and was coming to him. No one came. He tried again, dragging the chair this time. It only moved a few centimetres, but there was definitely a touch of an echo. He guessed it was a large building with a high roof. The smell of wood and grease suggested it was a warehouse of some kind.

Suddenly he heard a sound. Footsteps in the distance. Careful footsteps. Someone moving cautiously.

They don’t want me to hear them coming, he thought. Why? What are they going to do? Creep up on me and hit me to silence me? They must have heard the scrape of the chair.