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  He cast his eyes upon each one of the hostages in turn before holding out an opened hand, indicating his wish to be passed the sheets of paper spread before them. Dutifully Mel scooped them up and surrendered them in silence. Without Clive’s contribution they had still not completed the reformation of the drug list, which included anaesthetic agents, muscle relaxant drugs and opiates, as well as a variety of supportive agents and ‘just in case’ medications.

  While he carefully scrutinized the amendments and scored yet more items from the lists with a pen from his pocket, Mel wasted no time in pouring out three cups of hot coffee and spread open the paper towel containing the biscuits. She placed a cup in front of Clive, who continued to stare with unseeing eyes and appeared still mesmerized with depression. Silas and Mel took advantage of the hot refreshment. The coffee was good and strong, taming the raw dryness of their throats, which had assumed a permanent feeling like coarse parchment.

  After what seemed like an age, the papers were set down, shuffled into a neat pile. They waited. Folding his arms and drawing himself upright, the newcomer surveyed his waiting audience. Like an experienced politician, he waited long enough before speaking, to ensure absolute attention and maximum effect.

  “Right, then. There’s a lot to be done and not very much time. If you cooperate fully, none of you will come to harm. I think you realise that now,” he directed his gaze towards Clive, “that we mean business. You’ve been brought here for one purpose. Any attempt to mess it up or draw attention to this place will mean that you’ll never return to your homes. You are expendable and it is imperative that you remember that at all times. I hope you understand me.”

  His words were calm and articulate, but there was no mistaking the cold calculating glint in his eyes as he continually scanned the taut faces of his listeners. “It’s time for a few introductions. What’s your name?” he directed his question towards Mel.

  “Mel,” she replied calmly. No one ever called her Melissa except her grandparents.

  “These two guys are Mat and Kurt.” With a gesture of the hand he introduced the two guards standing beside the table, but offered no explanation as to why their identity should be revealed. Mat, the slightly shorter of the two, was a balding man with a hard and weathered face. Kurt, by contrast, was tall, in his early thirties and well over six feet in height. He had finely shaved blond hair, a broad jaw and facial lines that suggested a face more accustomed to smiling. Clear blue eyes sparkled with a hint of humour as though he was actually enjoying the charade about to be played out. Despite his outward friendliness, Silas was certainly wary of the man and positively scowled in his proximity, which only seemed to gratify the guard further.

  By the cold stare of recognition on Silas’s face, Mel guessed that this was the man who had abducted him from his hospital.

  “By tomorrow,” he continued, speaking slowly and deliberately, “when we have everything in place, you will perform whatever surgical procedure is necessary to save the life of our comrade. He is extremely important to us and your ticket to safety will depend upon your success. You will be taken from here to a suitable place where you will be able to carry out this operation, so an operating theatre will be at your disposal.”

  Silas drew a long deep breath. Mel knew just what he was thinking. That would be their golden opportunity to escape. They would all be together. Once away from this dungeon, they should stand a better chance. He continued to listen attentively.

  “First though, we need this stuff.” The young man tapped lightly on the pile of papers. “You will form two groups. Dr. Roberts will go with Mat to collect some and Mel will go with Kurt for the remainder. I will rewrite the lists accordingly. You will be driven to different locations and you will work as two teams. Mr. Maxwell will remain here.”

  “Hey, you can’t do that!” Silas interrupted. “I should go. I know what to look for. You can’t expect him” he gestured to Clive “to go anywhere in his state. And she won’t be able to carry everything.”

  “Shut up.” He barked, then returning to his unruffled composure, said, “If you do not return with the goods, undetected, by 2 a.m. the plan will be aborted and your noisy colleague here will not live to tell the tale. I cannot emphasize too strongly, that his survival will depend upon your ability to steal these things efficiently and without getting caught. Likewise, if you try to make a run for it, I think you should know that Mat and Kurt will both be armed and will have no hesitation in preventing your escape. You might also bear in mind, that if you should be caught by hospital security, no one is likely to believe that you are not committing a crime for your own ends. There is little risk to ourselves and our outfit has the means to be out of this country at extremely short notice.”

  Mel felt her stomach tighten. Just when she thought things could not get much worse, she was being coerced into becoming a thief! Clive sat stupefied. What little colour remained in his face drained away and Mel thought he looked as though he would be sick at any moment. His coffee was still untouched.

  “Drink it, Clive.” She pushed the plastic cup farther towards him. The man looked incapable of walking to the door, much less carrying out a raid on a hospital department without detection. Obediently he sipped the warm liquid, seeming not to notice the fat swollen lips that allowed some of the coffee to run down his chin and drip onto the table.

  She then dared to look at Silas. He looked distraught. His earlier plans for a united attempt to escape from the big house now seemed but a pipe dream. The realisation that now his own safety would depend upon an anaesthetist, who looked to be a physical and mental wreck, and a nurse, who emotionally looked incapable of carrying out such a daring raid, much less strong enough to carry the quantities of equipment needed.

  “No, come on, let me go instead,” Silas pleaded with the young man. “He’s in no shape to do what you ask,” he added, indicating the forlorn figure of his colleague.

  “He’ll be fine. Just needs a challenge to sharpen the mind.”

  The accompanying smirk invited a reciprocal punch to the face, but Silas pursed his lips and fought to restrain his anger. “You will finish your coffee and then you will be escorted back to Charlie’s room where you will give him your best attention. After lunch you will wait until we are ready to take you out. I am sure we can bring this to a satisfactory conclusion very soon.”

  The man rose from his stool, gathered the papers and the door was opened for his exit. For a short while the trio sat in silence, each digesting the information they had been given. Mel despaired that this whole nightmare seemed to know no end. With Mat, Kurt and the guard at the door still in attendance, they were not in a position to discuss this latest down turn of events. They would have to wait for a more suitable opportunity, perhaps when they were returned to the cellar.

  10

  Escorted in crocodile fashion back to Charlie’s room, the young lad who seemed to have assumed the role of carer for Charlie, had prepared a bowl of hot water, soap and towels and there appeared to be a pile of clean laundry and a pack of new pyjamas placed on a chair. He nodded faintly as they entered and withdrew from the bedside to allow the doctors to once more examine the patient.

  Charlie’s pale skin appeared almost translucent by the stark strip light in the room and shadows danced across his face from the flickering fire as he lay recumbent with one pillow. Reddened rims surrounded dark sunken eyes and his respirations were fast and shallow, the effort sapping what little energy remained. His pulse, now weak and thready, was difficult to count accurately.

  Silas stepped forward boldly and went through the motions of re-examining the injuries and palpating the abdomen of the dying man and passed a despairing look at Clive, who remained passively at the foot of the bed.

  “Let’s give him a wash and try and get him to drink something,” Mel suggested, trying to promote a positive attitude to their predicament and
keen to get her hands into the hot steaming liquid. “He’s becoming very dehydrated,” she added.

  “He needs a drip,” snapped Silas.

  “Well we haven’t got one, so we’ll have to do the best we can. We can at least give him a drink and a wash.” He noted her growing exasperation and withdrew slightly from the bed.

  “I’d like to help,” the young man suddenly volunteered from behind, “If you tell me what to do?”

  “Okay,” Mel answered gratefully. “Bring that chair over here and we’ll put the bowl on it. If you stand the other side of the bed, we can do this together.” Once again Mel ensured that she stood to the side of the bed nearest to the fire and prepared the towels and new pyjamas for Charlie’s wash while the water was still hot. Eagerly the young man obeyed her instructions.

  Despite their intentions to try to stay together, the two bodyguards removed Silas and Clive from the room, leaving just the young lad and nurse together with their patient. Mel guessed that they were returned to the basement. Clive was a beaten man. He needed time to recover from his altercation with the boss and regain his composure. She prayed that Silas would use tact and encouragement with his cellmate, fearing that if he lost his temper yet again, it might ruin what slim chance they had of effecting an escape or release. She attempted to concentrate on the matter in hand.

  Carefully, they removed Charlie’s sweat-soaked shirt and began washing his face and hands. The hot water was luxurious to the touch. Green soap, smelling sweetly of fern, stimulated her senses and she inhaled its fragrance appreciatively. Systematically they washed and dried each part of him. Clothing him in the pair of crisp new pyjamas, Charlie at last both looked and smelled refreshed. But the ordeal had exhausted him so that now he lay back against the pillow with his eyes closed.

  “My name’s Danny,” the young man whispered confidentially across the bed, as they gently rolled Charlie onto his side in order to scroll up the old sheet and replace it with a clean one.

  “Mine’s Mel. Charlie’s lucky to have you looking after him,” she encouraged.

  “It’s my duty.” Danny’s eyes gave the flicker of a smile. The phrase sounded old fashioned, somehow; out of place amongst what was evidently a section of the criminal fraternity more accustomed to violence and personal greed. Throughout their ordeal, Danny had behaved as though disinterested in the threats made to their captives and yet had shown a sensitivity and respect for the sick man almost accepting of the desperate conditions in this squalid ruin. He seemed a complex character. Did she dare probe further? She felt she needed to test the commitment of the only member of the gang who might just sympathise with the plight of their prisoners.

  “You take your duty very seriously,” she ventured.

  He drew in a slow deep breath and as he looked down towards Charlie, the muscles of his jaws clenched, relaxed and clenched again. She had touched a raw nerve.

  “He’s my dad,” he said eventually.

  The gravity of his statement matched his solemn disconsolate expression and Mel saw the desperation in his eyes as he stared at the fatigued figure in the bed.

  “I’m sorry,” she began awkwardly, “I didn’t know. In fact, I don’t know anything about him.”

  “He’s the brains of the firm, does all the planning an’ that.” There was pride now in his voice as he disclosed the reason for his constant attentiveness. “He’ll make it; I know he will. He’ll never let us down.”

  Mel didn’t share his optimism, but nodded agreeably. No wonder they were going to so much trouble. Would she dare to take this opportunity to probe further as to the nature of their business? “Do you rob banks, or something like that?” she ventured quietly.

  Danny’s eyes hardened and she saw a look of distrust set in his face. She had gone too far. “I can’t tell you things like that,” he hissed. “In fact I shouldn’t have said as much as I have.”

  “It’s nothing to do with me.” Immediately regretting her tactlessness, she tried to restore her credibility by adding, “as far as I’m aware, I am here just to help your dad get better. I’m no threat to you.”

  Quickly she returned her focus upon Charlie who was now difficult to rouse from his semi-conscious state. An hour later, half a cup of water was as much as he could manage to drink, before closing his eyes again to sink into a deep sleep.

  Mel thanked Danny for his help and decided to take advantage of his good nature to ask him if hot water for washing might be made available for the three of them. He looked embarrassed by her request and somewhat apprehensive, but cautiously promised to see what he could do. Together they tidied the room, reluctant to leave its warmth, but inevitably, with the arrival of one of the guards Mel was again taken back along the dark, filthy passageway and down to the cellar. She left Danny piling more logs onto the glowing fire.

  Silas and Clive sat facing each other at the table. Silas was grim faced and Clive had resumed his habit of grinding one fist inside the other. They both looked up as Mel approached and she was instantly struck by the puffy disfigurement of Clive’s face as the shadows of the swaying light drifted back and forth over the contours of his cheeks. He looked a mess.

  Joining them at the table, Silas complained, “You’ve been ages. Everything alright?”

  “Fine,” she assured them and proceeded to relate the care they had given and her discovery of the relationship of Danny to their patient.

  Silas fixed her with a quizzical expression that made her feel uncomfortable and looked as though he were about to say more, but instead said quietly, “Mel, when you and Clive get out of here, you have got to try and make a run for it. We’re not cooperating with these monsters. With only one guard with each of you, you’ve got to take a chance. Smash a fire alarm... anything,” he pleaded.

  “They’ll be armed,” Mel protested. “I’m scared enough without trying to get a bullet in my back. And you’ll never get out of here. They’ll shoot you as soon as they know that one of us has tried to escape. We can’t take that risk. We hardly want your death on our conscience. What do you say, Clive?” she asked desperately, looking for support.

  Clive, who seemed at last to have salvaged some of his composure, agreed. “Even if one of us did manage to get away, it’s true what they say. By the time we have convinced anyone who we are, I doubt the police will find this place very easily because we don’t really know anything about them. What good are a few first names? And we don’t even know if they’re real. You will be dead and they will be long gone away from here.”

  For a few moments they silently analysed the facts. Clive was right, and in their hearts they all knew it, but clearly Silas was still frustrated both by the lack of positive opportunity to work on their escape and of being the one member of the group to remain in the cellar, dependent upon others for his safety. Making them steal their own equipment was a shrewd move. Their knowledge and recognition of the packs and drugs was more likely to bring success to the venture than by those who had no idea what they might be looking for, or even less, where to find it. Hospital operating theatre suites contained a reasonably standard lay-out of storerooms and facilities, ensuring that equipment and drugs were within reasonable distance of the theatres in which they served.

  It was no surprise that Silas, the most volatile of the little team, was far more likely to be non-compliant and ruin their stratagem.

  Nausea was returning in waves as Mel thought of the task ahead. What if they were caught? What if Charlie died before they returned? Clive’s face was bound to draw attention to him; what if he was caught? She could sit still no longer and paced the floor of the cellar trying to get her nerves under control and calm the rising panic. Finally she sat down on the foot of the mattress which had been her bed the previous night. She felt she was getting into the same mental state as Clive and as such, would inevitably bring disaster upon all three of them. She had to t
hink more clearly. Closing her eyes she tried to consciously slow her breathing into a more controlled rhythm. So much had happened in the last twenty-four hours, although it felt as though they had been incarcerated in the dungeon for considerably longer. Still the nightmare continued unabated. They would be okay, she told herself over and over. She had to believe it.

  Clive walked slowly over from the table and joined her. Companionably he sat cross-legged on the mattress beside her. Several minutes passed before he said quietly, “they seem to have thought of everything, don’t they?”

  She nodded. “I just don’t think I can do it,” she confided.

  “You will. We both have to. Better to go along with them for now. We’ll buy as much time as we can. Someone out there,” he gestured vaguely with a sweep of his hand, “must be looking for us. It can only be a matter of time, you’ll see.”

  Why didn’t she feel reassured? How could anybody possibly work out where they were, much less rescue them without violent resistance resulting in a bloodbath? The man upstairs was obviously dying - what happens when he does? It was her turn now to wallow in misery.

  “Who’s there for you? At home, I mean,” Clive gently attempted distraction, but it only compounded her despondency.

  “Mum and Dad. They’ll be absolutely frantic by now.” She visualised the homely rotund figure of her mother, constantly watching from the window, repeatedly phoning all Mel’s friends from her address book and startled at every sound of the doorbell or telephone. Her father, a quiet and amiable man in his late fifties, with greying hair at the temples, would drift about the house aimlessly, unable to console his wife or offer any believable explanation for their only daughter’s absence. By now they will have contacted the police, she reasoned, but how seriously do they look into the disappearance of an adult who walked out of work? She wasn’t a child or last seen walking the streets at night. A rescue from here looked impossible.