Read Online The Emerald Casket by Richard Newsome - Free Book Online Page A

tan,’ Ruby said. ‘Can you get sunburnt at night? This heat!’
    They waited. But there was no sign of Mr Hoskins.
    Gerald scanned the crowd. He spotted a lone figure standing by a light pole, maybe twenty metres away. He noticed that with all the coming and going this person hadn’t moved; a constant in the changing tide of faces. In spite of the heat, the person was dressed entirely in black: trousers, long-sleeved shirt untucked and a loosely wrapped headscarf. For a split second Gerald imagined it was the thin man back from the dead to torment them. He shuddered. The memory of that vile creature still haunted him: the sneer, the remorseless brutality, the rank odour of bleach that hung over him like his own personal nuclear cloud. Sir Mason Green had said his hired thug was obsessive about germs and thought humanity was infested with bacteria. This made him a poor dinner companion but a very effective killer.
    But the figure beneath the lamppost couldn’t be the thin man. The thin man was painfully pale. A narrow gap in the headscarf revealed a flash of nut-brown skin and piercing dark eyes.
    Eyes that were locked on Gerald.
    Gerald nudged Ruby. ‘Do you see that guy over there?’ he said, not shifting his gaze from those hypnotic eyes.
    Ruby looked up. ‘Yeah. What about him?’
    â€˜What did Mr Prisk say? About kidnappers?’
    Ruby moved her head to get a better view of the figure in the lamplight. ‘Whoever it is, there’s a lot of interest in you.’
    Gerald shuffled to his feet and stood behind Sam. The eyes traced every movement.
    â€˜Not being paranoid are you?’ Sam asked.
    â€˜No. But I wish Mr Hoskins would hurry up.’
    The black-clad figure remained motionless, staring. Gerald could feel the eyes drilling into him.
    â€˜This is starting to creep me out,’ he muttered.
    A piercing blast split the air: a car horn’s shrill rendition of La Cucaracha . They spun around. An iridescent yellow armoured vehicle bore down on them like a runaway tractor. It mounted the kerb with a howl of brakes and rocked on its springs. A second later a head emerged through the sunroof.
    â€˜What took you lot so long? I’ve been waiting for ages.’
    â€˜Mr Hoskins!’ Gerald said, with some relief.
    â€˜So much for being discreet,’ Ruby said as the rotund body of Mr Hoskins climbed down from the enormous vehicle.
    Gerald glanced towards the lamppost. The figure in black had disappeared.
    Gerald, Sam and Ruby piled into the back of the car and soaked in the cool air inside. It took Sam two hands and all his strength to pull shut the armour-plated door, which closed with a resounding clunk. Mr Hoskins and another man loaded the luggage into a second vehicle. The driver’s door opened and Mr Hoskins clambered in.
    â€˜Where’s Mr Fry?’ Ruby asked.
    â€˜He’s going to follow in the other car,’ Mr Hoskins said. ‘I thought you lot could use a break—misery guts that he is.’
    They pulled out into the traffic like an ocean liner leaving port and joined a line of vehicles heading towards the city. Mr Hoskins leant on the horn and unleashed a musical tirade as he changed lanes.
    â€˜Mr Hoskins,’ Gerald said.
    â€˜Yeah?’
    â€˜What type of car is this?’
    â€˜This, young Gerald, is a Conquest Knight XV—the foremost urban assault vehicle on the market.’
    â€˜I see.’ Gerald paused. ‘Are there many bright yellow Conquest Knight XVs in Delhi?’
    â€˜Reckon this’d be the only one.’
    â€˜I see.’
    There was an uncomfortable silence.
    â€˜Got a problem with the transport, sunshine?’
    Gerald shook his head. ‘No. No. It’s fine. Really comfy. But Mr Prisk said we should be careful and, um …discreet.’
    Mr Hoskins snorted. ‘That uptight pencil pusher needs to get into the real world.’ Another burst of La Cucaracha blared into