Mark Gatiss - Black Butterfly

BLACK BUTTERFLY

Also by Mark Gatiss

The Vesuvius Club

The Devil in Amber

First published in Great Britain by Simon & Schuster UK Ltd, 2008
A CBS COMPANY

Copyright Mark Gatiss, 2008

This book is copyright under the Berne Convention.
No reproduction without permission.
All rights reserved.

The right of Mark Gatiss to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.

Simon & Schuster UK Ltd
1st Floor
222 Grays Inn Road
London WC1X 8HB

www.simonsays.co.uk

Simon & Schuster Australia
Sydney

A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

ISBN-13: 978-1-84737-559-9
ISBN-10: 1-84737-559-6

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either a product of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

For Mauricebecause dads, like diamonds, are forever

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Grateful thanks to Caroline Chignell, Francesca Main, Joe Pickering, Julian Rhind-Tutt, Nigel Stoneman, Ben Willsher and especially Ian, as ever, with all my love.

CONTENTS

T he Hammerheads mouth was jagged as a knife-wound.

The ghostly form of the shark pressed itself against the wall of the glass tank, oblivious to the thrum of the generators and the pellucid light that dappled its pale flesh. Shadows moved like living things, leaping and sloping over the oppressively low ceiling and concrete walls of the Aquarium.

Lucifer Box was dead tired. He thrust two more Benzedrine tablets into his mouth, stepped closer to the creatures enclosure and watched his reflection balloon as though glimpsed in a fairground mirror. A step back and the reality snapped into focus: a tall, slim, saturnine figure in the clinging form of the Siebe Gorman wet-suit, the damp black hair scraped off the forehead, the cruel blue eyes dilated by the queasy gloom.

Stealthy as a cat, Box moved on, leaving wet footprints on the concrete. The heat was suffocating and beads of sweat stood out on his forehead like dew on a rose. He wiped them away with the back of one hand and swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry.

Damn her! Damn the blasted girl!

If it hadnt been for Stiletto hed be out of Hong Kong now, settling down on the Cathay Pacific out of Kai Tak: catching the eye of a tulip-slim stewardess as he downed his third single malt. Looking forward to dear old rain-swept England and getting away, far away, from the sweaty horror that had been the search for Gottfried Clawhammer.

What a punishing three months it had been! From the freezing saltmines of Petrograd to the nightclubs of Macao and finally to a confrontation with Clawhammer himself: twenty stones of pallid flesh, the shaved head like a bullet, the eyes obscenely liquid just like those of the deep-sea creatures that twisted and writhed in this very Aquarium.

And then there was Stiletto, Clawhammers mistress. Box recalled the moment hed first seen her: blindingly beautiful, clad only in an ivory-coloured bathing costume, lying prone on the deck of the Beguine . As the yacht bobbed at anchor his eyes had devoured her. The long, lissom legs, the proud mound of the bikini, the perfect breasts in their pearly cups

There was a movement to his right. Box tensed and took a swift step into the shadows, his hand closing on the comforting chill of the Beretta strapped to his waist. His eyes, mere slits beneath dark brows, narrowed further.

The sound had come from another tank, this one blooming with the pulsing plumpness of a dozen blue-ringed octopus. One, its suckers big as two-shilling pieces, was clamped to the glass. The creature seemed to consider Box with detachment, then, tentacles spreading like petals, it darted away into the cloudy water.

He moved silently on, the thrumming metronome of the generators keeping time with his own thumping heart. Shaking his head, he tried to clear the image of Stiletto from his mind. He needed to be alert now as never before. But the girls shimmering beauty, the memory of her bodywarm and urgent beneath hisjutted to the forefront of his mind like the Hammerhead against the glass wall of its prison.

Damn the silly bitch! Shed get such a spanking when all this was over.

Box shook his head and bit his lip. First they had to get out of there alive. And his plan? He had none.

Boxs left hand, slippery with perspiration, clutched the solid plastic handle of the Leibach translator machine. The instrument was compactabout the size of a portable typewriterand it was heavy. But it was the price of Stilettos freedom.

He turned a corner and what he saw made his heart stop.

Yet another huge glass tank stood before him. Within, submerged and bound hand and foot, stood Stiletto. Big lead weights were roped about her waist, her feet firmly anchored to the white sand that lined the bottom of the tank. Where the ropes had chafed too tightly against her wrists, droplets of rusty blood rose lazily towards the surface like a rosary.

The girls turquoise eyes bulged with fright behind a diving mask, the ugly rubber mouthpiece of an aqualung clamped between the perfect O of her lips. She saw Box and tried to move, sending a stream of air bubbles rocketing to the surface.

She is unharmed, whispered a sibilant voice. Whether or not she remains so, Mr Box, is entirely dependent on you.

Box whirled round but he could make out nothing in the stygian shadows.

The voice came again: Please put down your weapon.

Box unholstered the Beretta and let it drop to the concrete.

Kick it over to me.

I cant see where you are, damn it, spat Box.

The softest of treads and suddenly the bloated shape of Gottfried Clawhammer glided from the gloomlike a conga eel from behind a nigger-head.

A ghastly smile, the blubbery lips peeling back to reveal tiny teeth. Now you see me. Suddenly, from the sleeve of his well-cut kimono, the muzzle of an automatic protruded. Your gun, if you please.

Box put one bare foot onto the Beretta and kicked it across to him. Clawhammer stooped to pick it up, opened the chamber and let the ammunition clatter to the floor. He tossed the useless weapon aside and, cocking his head to one side, looked Box up and down.

I have enjoyed this game, Mr Box, and, though it grieves me to say it, you have beaten me. My little scheme to replace all the worlds Swan Vestas with tiny sticks of nerve gas has, alas, failed.

You met your match, said Box, with a small smile. Your pals in Redland arent going to be very pleased, Clawham

But there is still one ace up my sleeve, cut in the whispering menace. His large round eyes swivelled in the direction of the tank. Miss Stiletto. Her body was pleasing to me in its way

Boxs fists clenched.

but now she has a use beyond the merely physical. I calculate she has two more minutes of air, Mr Box. If you are quick, you may be able to prevent her from drowning. And whilst you are occupied, myself and the Leibachsuch an ingenious device, dont you think?will be racing towards the Chinese border. The Riva speedboat is outside, as instructed?

Box gave a grudging nod.

Good. Clawhammer held out his free hand and the sleeve of the kimono gaped like the sickle-mouth of the Hammerhead. The translator, if you please.

Box stiffened with fury. There had to be a way out of this. Had to be!