Blood Prize by Ken Grace

smiled and slapped him across the side of his face.
    The shock came in stinging waves. Tom rubbed at his face and felt his anger rise.
    “Do your best. I’ve got nothing else to say to you.”
    “Really …?”
    As Vogel returned to his seat he slid his hand inside his jacket pocket and removed a pre-World War Three, Beretta automatic pistol, putting it on the table just out of Tom’s reach. He placed a single nine-millimetre bullet beside the gun and sat back in his chair. Then his face bunched into a smirk, as he made a pretend gun out of his hand and pointed it at Tom.
    “I’m going to make you an offer. So listen carefully.”
    Tom tried to hold Vogel’s stare, but couldn’t. He felt powerless and looked away.
    “You’ve got three days to deliver your father’s plans. If you back out for any reason, I will personally take up that bullet and blow your stupid brains out. Is that clearly understood?”
    “Yeah, whatever …”
    Tom hadn’t understood at all.
    Plans. What plans?
    “You don’t seem that eager to please me. Perhaps some time with our friend out there, might change your attitude.”
    Vogel nodded and without a word, his men replaced their goggles and re-covered their ears.
    “If you manage to survive, don’t forget our arrangement.”
    Tom didn’t resist when they dragged him from the office. Nor did he fight back when they beat him and threw him onto the warehouse floor. How could he fight the inevitable? Death remained the one truth that no-one could deny.
    He rose to his feet, turned and searched for the glowing figure.
    “Alright, you bastard …”
    The creature remained in the same position, hovering fifteen metres from where he stood.
    “Let’s get it over with.”
    The colossus shrieked; pulsing brilliant light and without perceptible movement appeared right in front of Tom. It captured him before he could manufacture a single thought.
    An electrical current engulfed him; tongues of blue lightning inflicting agony; pain that tore through him with no resistance. He could smell his flesh burning and his torso shivered, like a fish on a line.
    Tom didn’t feel his body hit the floor. His eyes opened on impact and he saw a shimmer reflecting off the shattered glass. He could also see smoke rising from his clothing and blood pouring from his cut hands. Then his eyes closed and the blackness came.

Chapter Eight
    N oah struggled through the small opening in the fence at the rear of the building. Every year, keeping fit became increasingly difficult. Despite the rigours of his life, he estimated that he remained a good fifteen kilos over his preferred weight.
    He hated his beer belly. He understood the calories equation well enough. If he ate more than his body could burn off in the course of a day’s energy usage, then his system stored the excess as fat and deposited it around his middle.
    There appeared to be an easy solution. Stop drinking fabulous red wine in large quantities and refrain from eating anything that tasted terrific and he would soon look like an athlete.
    He shook his head in disgust.
    That’s not likely.
    His communicator began to buzz and a flashing green light appeared above its screen. This warned him that his team followed Vogel and the SRP from the warehouse.
    Noah closed his eyes and relaxed his shoulders.
    They’re coming. Just hang on a little while longer, young man. I’ve got no use for a corpse.
    He sat in the shadows, scrutinising the target area from a second story window at the far end of Queen’s Avenue. Hidden inside the disused building, he focused his Tasco field glasses, clarifying the targeted image that lay seven hundred and twenty-one metres to the north.
    “I’ve got you, young man.”
    He spotted the black SRP vehicle arriving in Burrow’s Street; a narrow lane running west off Queen’s Avenue. It jerked to a stop, directly adjacent to Tom’s old residence.
    “You’re as predictable as ever, Vogel. You’ve got nasty blood in your