But one of the rusty machines had what he needed.
He hurried to it and pulled loose a handle; a hefty corrosion-scabbed metal bar about two feet long. Wielding it like a baseball bat, he ran to the entrance and took up position to one side. A faint electrical hum reached him from outside, but he couldn’t hear any voices. Had Irton finished his call?
Footsteps, frighteningly close, told him that he had.
The door opened. Irton stepped through, phone still in his hand. Shock crossed his face as he saw that the room was not as he had left it—
Eddie swung the metal bar.
Irton’s reactions were good, his right arm snapping up to ward off the blow — but not good enough. The crack of the phone’s screen shattering and the dull thud of the club striking first his hand and then his abdomen were almost simultaneous. He collapsed to his knees, winded.
‘Ay up!’ Eddie snarled as he slammed the bar down on the other man’s shoulders, knocking him flat. ‘Remember me, you bastard?’ He kicked the fallen American hard in the side, then crouched to search his pockets.
Wallet, loose change, key ring. Eddie examined the keys. The smallest was for the handcuffs. He unlocked the bracelets and with huge relief tossed them aside, kneading the deep red grooves in his skin.
He checked the wallet. It contained a Nevada driver’s licence in the name of Walter Jefferson Irton, a credit card in the same name, about two hundred dollars in banknotes and a small wad of receipts. ‘So you’re a torturer who claims expenses?’ he asked. Irton made no reply.
A flick through the tabs showed that most of them were for convenience stores and fast-food joints in Brooklyn. There was also a parking receipt for the Brooklyn Navy Yard. Was that where he was, across the East River from Manhattan? Eddie glanced at the door, considering making a run for it before Raddick returned, but changed his mind. He might be free, but whoever these people were, they still had Nina.
He hauled Irton bodily back into the illuminated circle and slammed him against the dirty wooden bench, knocking the laptop to the floor and toppling the camera’s tripod. ‘Oi! Wake up!’ Irton opened his pain-filled eyes. ‘Where’s Nina, and what do you lot want with her?’
His only response was a malevolent glare. ‘Okay, so you’re not going to tell me anything,’ said the Yorkshireman. ‘Good job there’s all this stuff I can use to make you talk.’ He gestured at the equipment cases.
The American’s face betrayed a moment of fear, but it was immediately replaced by defiance. ‘You won’t break me,’ he growled. ‘I can withstand pain for days if I have to. I was trained by the best.’
‘Funny, so was I, and I don’t remember seeing you at Hereford.’ He made as if to turn away — then smashed a fist into Irton’s face before ramming his head down on to the table. ‘How’s the withstanding going?’
Irton spat out blood and a broken tooth. ‘Fuck you!’
‘Oh, you’re using rude words now? Guess that must have hurt.’ He stood behind the other man. ‘Where’s Nina?’
‘Go to hell!’
Eddie kicked him hard behind one knee. Irton cried out as his leg buckled, hands splayed across the wooden surface to hold himself up. ‘See, the thing is,’ the Englishman said, ‘you’ve been trained in all this enhanced interrogation bollocks — waterboarding, electrics, stress positions, psych stuff. Break the mind, not the body, that’s the idea, right? Now me, I’m not that subtle.’ He again regarded the equipment in the cases, then spotted something better amongst the debris on the floor and picked it up. ‘This is more my style. Last chance: where’s my wife?’
Breath hissing through his clenched and bloodied teeth, Irton glared at him over one shoulder. ‘Go fuck yourself, Chase. You think you can break me? Not a—’
A grimy hammer smashed down claw-first on his left hand with such force that it dug into the wood under his palm. Irton screamed and flailed, but was pinned in place. ‘I can break that,’ Eddie said coldly. ‘Tell me where Nina is, now.’
He twisted the hammer. Irton made a keening sound, face clenched in pain, but said nothing. Eddie frowned — then grabbed Irton’s left wrist before yanking the tool free and flipping it around. The torturer tried to pull away, but the Englishman held him in place and pounded the hammer down on to each of his knuckles. Bone cracked. Irton wailed in agony.
‘Where is she?’ Eddie yelled, letting go. The American crumpled to the floor, clutching his mangled hand. ‘Talk to me!’ He stood over Irton, waving the bloodied hammer in his face. ‘Tell me why you’ve kidnapped Nina, or I’ll take your other fucking hand off!’
‘All right! All right!’ Irton gasped. ‘Stop, stop, oh God! I’ll tell you!’
Eddie gave him two seconds to compose himself. ‘Come on, then.’
‘God!’ He strained to force out the words. ‘Our leader, the Prophet — he needs her to find the angels from the Book of Revelation.’
‘What do you mean, angels? The guys with wings and trumpets?’
‘No, they’re… they’re statues, hidden away. The Prophet found one of them, and he’s trying to find the other three. The clues are in the Book of Revelation. He knows what to look for, but he needs an archaeologist to tell him where to look.’
Eddie frowned. ‘Why Nina? He could have just paid someone to do that. Why kidnap her?’
‘I don’t know. I don’t!’ Irton protested as the Englishman raised the hammer. ‘The Prophet chose your wife for a reason, but he didn’t share it with us.’
‘He’ll share it with me if I get my fucking hands on him. Where is he?’
‘At the Mission.’
‘And where’s that?’
Irton took another breath, eyes turning defiant once more. He was willing to endure more pain rather than give up the location. Eddie hefted the hammer again—
A bang from the entrance. Eddie spun. Raddick was back, arms laden with bags of takeaway food. ‘Okay, I got your—’
He froze as he took in the scene. ‘Shit!’ he gasped, throwing down the food and fumbling inside his coat for a gun—
Eddie hurled the hammer.
Raddick had just got the gun clear of its holster when the steel claws smacked into his forehead with a sickening crack. He fell backwards, the tool embedded in his skull.
Eddie whirled back towards Irton — as the American leapt up and shoulder-barged him, sending him stumbling into one of the lamps and falling painfully on to his side. He scrambled upright, readying himself for an attack, but instead saw Irton run into the darkness of the empty building.
‘Shit!’ He hurried after him. The American was limping from the kick to his knee, but after more than a day tied to a chair, Eddie was little faster, muscles stiff and aching.
But he had to catch him. With both Berman and Raddick dead, Irton was his only link to Nina.
He followed the noise of the American’s footsteps. Dim light appeared ahead through grimy windows high on the walls. A new sound reached him, a frantic clatter. Irton was climbing a metal staircase. Eddie made out the structure rising diagonally across the back wall and hurried to it, vaulting up the steps two at a time.
His quarry reached the top. A door was kicked open. Eddie saw Irton briefly outlined by the stark pinkish-orange glow of industrial sodium lights before he ducked out of sight.
He got to the door a few seconds later. Would Irton attack him as he came through? A split-second judgement: no, he was fleeing — flight, not fight. He booted the door and rushed outside.
Cold wind hit him as he emerged on a rooftop. Grim industrial blocks rose ahead. Where was Irton?