The Dunbar Case(58)

‘What?’



‘It’s okay. There was a bit of a collapse here first time and I wondered, but it seems all right now.’ He sounded nervous and as if talking helped. ‘Tell you one place I wouldn’t do it.’



I didn’t want him nervous. ‘Where’s that?’



‘Fucking New Zealand. Imagine being down here when—’



‘Shut up!’



‘Getting edgy?’



‘You were.’



‘All right, we’re nearly there. Here’s the next drop. Much the same.’



‘Any water?’



He shone his torch. ‘Looks all right.’



He went through the same procedure and dropped over the edge. I got out my Swiss army knife, hacked two chunks out of my denim shirt, wrapped them around my hands and went down the rope. The drop was nearly twice as long as the first but I was more careful and got down more slowly but without damage. Twizell studied me as I stuffed the cloth in my pocket.



‘You’re doing okay.’



A childish reaction, but I enjoyed his praise—momentarily.



‘The money. Where?’



‘Over here.’



He took two paces and our torch beams focused on a ledge in the rock wall. Eight bundles, sealed in heavy plastic, each about the size of a six-pack of beer, but without handy finger holes, sat on the ledge.



Twizell’s laugh was almost hysterical. ‘Here we are, mate. Not protected by snakes or skulls or anything. Just beautiful, beautiful money.’



I’d had charge of large amounts of money myself, and bodyguarded people carrying still larger amounts, but this was the most I’d ever seen in one chunk. It looked oddly innocent and it was in itself, but it was associated with a lot of things that were anything but innocent. My problem was its future associations. I thought this while taking off my jacket and unstrapping the backpack.



‘It’s just money,’ I said. ‘Here today and gone tomorrow. Load it up and let’s get out of this fucking hole.’



~ * ~



We loaded the plastic blocks into the backpacks, four each. Bulky, but not heavy. Then we retraced our steps. Twizell went up the rope at the second drop like a cat up a tree. I struggled; the backpack made me awkward and my hands hurt despite the wrappings. I made it with Twizell’s help.



The downward slope hadn’t felt very severe, but now it was upward and it seemed steep in spots. I had to stop for a rest a couple of times. I needed to catch my breath and the confinement and smell were getting to me.



‘How did they treat you?’ I asked on the second pause.



‘How d’you mean?’



‘Didn’t rough you up?’



‘Hec wanted to but bloody Rod wouldn’t let him.’



‘Were you worried about the bolt-cutters?’



Twizell had plenty of wind. He laughed. ‘That bloke got picked up by the cops. Warrants out on him, apparently. I wasn’t sorry to hear that. You right now?’



‘Just about. I’m wondering if Templeton has really gone over to the other side. Do you reckon he could still be the undercover cop playing along with Hector to ... ?’



Twizell shook his head, gestured, and his torch beam zoomed around the space. ‘No way. He’s in it with him a hundred per cent. Were you banking on that to get us out of this in one piece?’



‘Not exactly.’



‘That really fills me with confidence. Come on, we’ve still got that other rope to get up and we’re well past the time I said. They’ll be getting edgy.’



Despite giving me the hurry-up, Twizell slowed down from that point. He bumped against a projecting rock and swore as blood spread over his neck and dripped down into his collar. He stopped to mop it with the sleeve of his jacket. I shone my torch and saw where the wound caused by the end of Templeton’s sawn-off had been reopened.



I thought: Where’s that shotgun?



We reached the second rope and I stopped Twizell before he took his grip. ‘The shottie, where is it?’



‘I dunno. You looked in the SUV, didn’t you?’



‘Yeah. You sure he didn’t stick it under the seat in the Bobcat or something like that?’



‘I’m not sure. Shit, you’re putting the wind up me.’



‘Probably nothing. He seems pretty confident he can bring this off peacefully.’



‘Are you?’



‘No. Let’s get up this bloody rope.’



Twizell was much less nimble this time. He stood at the top with the rope in his grasp as I moved to grab it. His torch beam blinded me.



‘What’re you doing?’ I said.