Read Online The Care of Time by Eric Ambler - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Eric Ambler
Ads: Link
spoke faintly-accented, elocution-class English. ‘Do absolutely nothing, please, and you will be quite safe.’
As she put the gun away in her shoulder bag the other two began to move. They were very fast. Before I could open my mouth to ask a question, the young man had me bent double with an armlock and was forcing me to lurch forward so that the husky girl could kick my legs from under me. I hit the floor face downwards, the impact converting the cry of rage that I had been about to utter into a muted yelp. The armlock expert, sitting on my back, at once grabbed one of my feet and did something with one of his knees that immobilized me completely. I knew that the woman was now kneeling beside me on the floor because she had started giving orders to the girl. They were in a language that sounded a bit like Arabic but wasn’t, though I have to say that I did not listen very carefully. I was preoccupied by my awareness of strong fingers busily rolling up my left shirtsleeve.
A final explosion of orders, then the shoulder bag appeared on the rug about eighteen inches from my left eye. She began to take things from it. A disposable hypodermic syringe pack was followed in my field of vision by a plastic vial with a printed label on it and her fingers unscrewing the cap from a small bottle. As the cap came off there was a smell of surgical spirit.
With an effort I managed to get enough air into my lungs to make speech possible. ‘What the hell’s this?’ I croaked.
‘This, Mr Halliday?’ She picked up the vial. ‘Thiopental sodium.’
I said: ‘If it’s kidnapping you’d better know the score right now. Nobody’s going to pay a cent for me.’
She produced a cotton-wool swab from the bag and tilted the spirit bottle against it. ‘My name is Simone Chihani,’ she said, ‘and you have a choice. You know who I am because Mr Pacioli will have told you. Now, you can either come with us quietly, walking for yourself, co-operating, or we can put you to sleep and take you downstairs covered with dirty sheets before driving you to keep your appointment with Dr Luccio. But we have no time to waste. So, make up your mind please. Co-operation or dirty sheets. Which is it to be?’
FOUR
Co-operation meant walking between Chihani and her armlock specialist to the service elevator, descending to the basement area and then walking to the door where the hotel staff clocked in and out. On our way we passed a room-service kitchen, then a laundry before we came to the time-card rack. Just beyond was a little glassed-in office with a fox-faced doorman inside to check the comings and goings. He had his radio tuned to a soccer match commentary and, though he looked straight at me as we approached, all he did when I glared at him was to give Chihani a blank stare.
‘Friendly or blind?’ I asked.
‘One of several paid helpers here. His wife is in charge of the room maids on your floor. His brother is a senior porter.’
‘And
you
chose this hotel for me. I begin to see.’
‘I’m glad of that, Mr Halliday. The more security-conscious you become, the easier things will be.’
We were outside now in a delivery area. Ahead there was a steep ramp up to street level bordered by a narrow sidewalk for pedestrians and a parking bay for motor scooters. Blocking the sidewalk immediately in front of us was a beige Volkswagen minibus with its nearside wheels up on the kerb and a sliding side-door that was open.
‘Get in quickly, please.’
I did as I was told and she followed. A dim roof-light showed that all except one row of the rear seats had been removed, the windows covered with flowered cretonne curtains and a screen of the same material stretched tightly across the space behind the driver. No one travelling in the back would be able to see where he was going.
‘You sit in the middle, Mr Halliday.’
She took the seat by the nearside window. The boy slid thedoor to behind him and sat across the aisle from me. There was
As she put the gun away in her shoulder bag the other two began to move. They were very fast. Before I could open my mouth to ask a question, the young man had me bent double with an armlock and was forcing me to lurch forward so that the husky girl could kick my legs from under me. I hit the floor face downwards, the impact converting the cry of rage that I had been about to utter into a muted yelp. The armlock expert, sitting on my back, at once grabbed one of my feet and did something with one of his knees that immobilized me completely. I knew that the woman was now kneeling beside me on the floor because she had started giving orders to the girl. They were in a language that sounded a bit like Arabic but wasn’t, though I have to say that I did not listen very carefully. I was preoccupied by my awareness of strong fingers busily rolling up my left shirtsleeve.
A final explosion of orders, then the shoulder bag appeared on the rug about eighteen inches from my left eye. She began to take things from it. A disposable hypodermic syringe pack was followed in my field of vision by a plastic vial with a printed label on it and her fingers unscrewing the cap from a small bottle. As the cap came off there was a smell of surgical spirit.
With an effort I managed to get enough air into my lungs to make speech possible. ‘What the hell’s this?’ I croaked.
‘This, Mr Halliday?’ She picked up the vial. ‘Thiopental sodium.’
I said: ‘If it’s kidnapping you’d better know the score right now. Nobody’s going to pay a cent for me.’
She produced a cotton-wool swab from the bag and tilted the spirit bottle against it. ‘My name is Simone Chihani,’ she said, ‘and you have a choice. You know who I am because Mr Pacioli will have told you. Now, you can either come with us quietly, walking for yourself, co-operating, or we can put you to sleep and take you downstairs covered with dirty sheets before driving you to keep your appointment with Dr Luccio. But we have no time to waste. So, make up your mind please. Co-operation or dirty sheets. Which is it to be?’
FOUR
Co-operation meant walking between Chihani and her armlock specialist to the service elevator, descending to the basement area and then walking to the door where the hotel staff clocked in and out. On our way we passed a room-service kitchen, then a laundry before we came to the time-card rack. Just beyond was a little glassed-in office with a fox-faced doorman inside to check the comings and goings. He had his radio tuned to a soccer match commentary and, though he looked straight at me as we approached, all he did when I glared at him was to give Chihani a blank stare.
‘Friendly or blind?’ I asked.
‘One of several paid helpers here. His wife is in charge of the room maids on your floor. His brother is a senior porter.’
‘And
you
chose this hotel for me. I begin to see.’
‘I’m glad of that, Mr Halliday. The more security-conscious you become, the easier things will be.’
We were outside now in a delivery area. Ahead there was a steep ramp up to street level bordered by a narrow sidewalk for pedestrians and a parking bay for motor scooters. Blocking the sidewalk immediately in front of us was a beige Volkswagen minibus with its nearside wheels up on the kerb and a sliding side-door that was open.
‘Get in quickly, please.’
I did as I was told and she followed. A dim roof-light showed that all except one row of the rear seats had been removed, the windows covered with flowered cretonne curtains and a screen of the same material stretched tightly across the space behind the driver. No one travelling in the back would be able to see where he was going.
‘You sit in the middle, Mr Halliday.’
She took the seat by the nearside window. The boy slid thedoor to behind him and sat across the aisle from me. There was
Similar Books
