by Emmy Ellis
“I did copy it, yes. I still have it should you need to see it, although I doubt you do since Sid is kindly taking care of the main problem while we take care of the other later.”
We?
“Right. So, the main problem hasn’t got anyone who’ll take over where he left off?”
“Sadly, he does. Knowing him, he’ll have it written down in code somewhere that he wants his son killed even after he’s dead.”
“What?” Jackson widened his eyes. “Your fucking dad wants you dead and you’re prepared for him to be killed?”
“Yes, I am, and of course he wants me dead.” A faint smile touched Randall’s lips, showing sadness. “I’m a bastard.”
Jackson held back a wry chuckle. This just kept getting better.
You’re in way over your head, Hiscock.
“Oh, fuck me. Does this shit still go on?” Jackson was surprised. “Do snobs still want their illegitimate children out of the picture so badly they’d have them killed?”
“Seems so. I’m not about to tell everyone who I am, who he is to me, but he can’t take that chance. He’s…well known. According to him, I could ruin his political future.” Randall laughed quietly. “What he doesn’t realise is that I don’t care about his political future. I want no part of it or his life. I just want to live here in peace, to study, to work, but then I’m on the verge of being well known myself. He knows that. I’ve heard it frightens him. He wants something from me, yet he doesn’t want me knowing he has it. Having me killed, my software stolen, would mean he could have what he wants without the fear of me letting anyone know he has it.”
Jackson was confused as fuck, and it was on the tip of his tongue to ask Randall to explain what he was going on about, but he changed his mind. “What exactly do you do?” He gestured at the computers.
“I’ve developed certain software over the years, hence me having enough money to own this house. I don’t like this place much, just bought it because I could, because it meant beating my father in the bid for it. I wanted him to see he couldn’t have everything he wanted. Childish, but something I felt I had to do at the time. And now?” He rubbed a palm over his stubble. “Now I have new software that many people want. There’s an underground bidding war going on over it, apparently.”
Jackson swivelled to stare out of the window again. “Right. And that software is?”
Randall closed his eyes. “I told you earlier that I needed someone I trusted because of…secrets. Well, this is my secret. This room and everything in it. My work…” He paused. “My work nearly wasn’t complete, ready for tonight, and I thought it wasn’t until that deer was killed. If I’d known it would work, my latest tweaks, you wouldn’t even need to be here.” He sighed.
“What is this software? Why wouldn’t I need to be here?”
The penny dropped, but before Jackson could say anything, Randall blinked then faced him.
“It would have killed the intruder for me.”
Jackson wanted to laugh. This was the shit of movies, fantastical crap. Yeah, he knew there were things out there that the average person wasn’t aware of, but something that would have killed a man, something that was governed by a computer?
It happens, you know it happens. It’s just that seeing it when the software is in someone’s house and not in a war situation… It’s thrown you off, that’s all.
“How?” Jackson asked.
Randall shrugged. “That’s a part of my secret you’ll never know. But I will tell you the man won’t make it to the house. Like that deer there”—he jerked a thumb at the monitor—“he’ll only need to step onto the grounds and he’ll be taken care of if that’s where I choose for him to die.” He thumped his fist against the window as though trying to contain his excitement.
Jackson should have been alarmed. Should have thought Randall a crazy bastard, but he didn’t. “I see. And if the software works later?” he asked.
“I’ll become a murderer.”
“And if you sell it?”
“I’ll be a killer several times over, I imagine, even though I personally will never have killed a soul.”
Chapter Twelve
Colin wasn’t best pleased. He’d stupidly allowed himself to have a little nap, thinking no one would be any the wiser because Randall and that bald man were probably well out of the picture by now. He went into the dining room, expecting to find Randall and that grim-looking fellow sprawled on the floor, having fallen off their chairs, drugged and out of it. No such sight greeted him. He spotted the full wine bottle immediately, the still-clean glasses, and cursed under his breath.
“I’m going to have to explain to my boss why I failed. That I fell asleep, of all things.”
He glanced at his watch. The two hours his boss had given him were well and truly up. He quickly cleared away the dinner things, dumping them onto the drainer beside the kitchen sink, then retrieved the wine and poured it down the plughole. If he tried to get them to drink it now, he’d alert them, get them all suspicious.
No, Colin would have to let things progress as they would have before he’d offered to get rid of Randall and his new friend. He’d rethink, perhaps let that Jackson man kill the person being sent here later. Let Randall think Colin had nothing to do with any of this mess. Then Colin could hand his notice in—tomorrow morning would be a good time—saying he’d been kept awake all night thinking and that working for Randall had now become too much. At his age, he couldn’t risk anything too stressful. With Randall being sympathetic, Colin could perhaps shoot him in the back before leaving the property, never to return. Never to live in this country again.
Yes, and he’d definitely pop into the village to drop in on Nellie.
He felt better for having a purpose, a new plan in place now his previous one had gone wrong. He went into his room, unsurprised that his phone was vibrating. Answered it. Listened to what was being said.
“But they didn’t want wine with dinner, sir,” he said. “So your man needs to visit after all.”
“I had a feeling you’d mess this up, Colin.”
“I’m terribly sorry, sir.” He gritted his teeth.
“It can’t be helped. So long as everything is squared away by the morning… Then you need to scarper. The funds will be deposited into your bank. But before you go, make sure to leave his top room unlocked.”
“I will, sir.”
“This should be the last time we speak.”
“Indeed. Goodbye.”
The phone clicked without a tarra or a Godspeed in return. Colin was oddly distraught by that. It was plain manners, surely, that his boss should thank him or wish him well. After all he’d done, keeping an eye on Randall…
He went into the little room behind his. He wanted to make sure the hidden screen there was in full working order. Then he’d check on Randall and Jackson. Let them know he was available to them should he be needed. Actually, he’d insist he wanted to be present. This time he didn’t want to risk anything going wrong. Not when he was so close to getting to that beach, that paradise in the sun.
Chapter Thirteen
Back in the vast lounge, Jackson sat on one of the sofas, leaning forward with his head in his hands. While Randall was in his study checking the main system that linked to his computers upstairs, Jackson tried to work out what the hell kind of software had the ability to kill someone. He came up with maybe an electrical force field being issued, bullets or silent bombs being set off, the kind of shit that already existed out there. He decided he didn’t want to know what Randall had been working on, that if it were something that would be sold to countries who chose to use it for mass murder and the like, he’d be better off in the dark.
Come on. Mass murder? That’s a bit much. Isn’t it?
As they’d left that circular room and made their way downstairs, Randall had said, “If I’d known the software was completely ready, the man coming tonight would have been taken care of, then would have just simply disappeared. You
wouldn’t have needed to know anything about this. I’m sorry that you do, because it might bother you when you leave here, but at the same time, I’m not. I’m glad I got to share a part of me with someone who…who understands that killing is sometimes necessary.”
Jackson hadn’t answered—what the fuck was there to say to that?—but it played on his mind now, even though he was trying to block it out. And if the software had the capability to kill someone who had just happened to step onto the outskirts of the property… No, it couldn’t be gas. It had to be some form of weapon.
He huffed out a laugh as his imagination ran riot, conjuring bullets tipped with poison.
I’m in neck deep…
The swish of the door opening had Jackson looking up.
Randall had returned and walked towards him. “Are you all right?”
Jackson turned his head to face him. “You’d prefer honesty, yeah?”
Randall nodded.
“No, I’m not all right. A part of me wants to know what the hell you’re up to, but another part?” He shook his head. “Jesus, I don’t want to know. See, I kill people, I explained all that, but when I’m doing it, I’m getting rid of a bad person.”
“As I will be tonight if everything has come together as it should have and the software doesn’t hit a glitch.”
“Yeah, and I get that. But this selling of the software? Bugs the fuck out of me. How can you be sure you’d be selling it to the right person? Or what if that person sells it on to someone else? Someone bad? You mentioned a bidding war, but what if the one with the most money wins—you’d sell to them, right?—and that winner has a different use for the software to what you intended? What then?”
“That’s been my issue for a long time, since the idea of the software came along. I developed it for my own personal use, then got stupid and wanted to tell people about it. To share what I’d done because it was so bloody amazing. I put the word out there on a secret forum that it would soon be finished, and I knew it would be wanted by many—after all, who doesn’t want to quietly eliminate people who want to eliminate them? It was meant for people in my situation. A covert acquiring of the software for those in the know. They could obtain the alarm system and software and it would keep them from harm. But others found out about it.”
“Others?”
“People in various governments.”
“Oh shit. Didn’t you realise they would once word got out?”
“Clearly, I didn’t think. My need to be recognised somehow overtook common sense. Although the information was put out there without my name being mentioned—I did it via my computer, used an alias—I knew it wouldn’t take an expert long to track it back to me, even though I took preventative measures.” He shook his head. “And it was tracked back. By my father—or someone working for him. I should have known they would have some kind of monitor on my computer anyway. They probably have all the data and now just need the actual software to run it from.”
He paused, biting his lower lip. “So, despite tonight and my immediate threats being taken care of, I may possibly gain more threats in the future if my father has told other people I’m the one who created the software. I shouldn’t have let the word out. Shouldn’t have been so damn needy for recognition.” He went quiet, then added, “Shouldn’t have wanted to show him I was worth something—that even though I was a bastard, we could… Fuck it.”
“Look, I get that, I really do, mate, but what’s done is done, and we need to deal with clearing this shit up. If this software is so good… They think it’s complete, do they? The people who know it exists, I mean.”
Randall nodded.
“So what kind of nutter would risk coming here to take it from you when they know it’s set up here, when they know what it can do?”
“Because some people want it very badly and would be prepared to risk lives to get it. Why do you think my father sent that last man here? Why do you think he set up a bloody timetable of return visits if previous ones didn’t work out? Because he knew the men he was sending to kill me, sending to get the software, would die.”
“Then you shouldn’t be here! If he has people in his employ like you, who know what they’re doing, who are able to figure out just from your data how it works, they’ll be working on ways to dodge being killed, to shut down your system in order to seize your software. They don’t have to be on your property to have your electricity supply stopped. I’m assuming there needs to be a steady supply for your software to work?”
“Yes. Generators come in handy there.”
Jackson shook his head and stared at the coffee table. “So no matter what they try, providing your generators don’t pack up, you’d be safe from them.”
“Pretty much. I wouldn’t have been, but that deer going down…”
“And say they got through, got to the house somehow. What then?”
“The software… I think I’m there with it.”
“So I’m just here in case your software doesn’t work?” Jackson got up and walked to the window he’d watched Sid through earlier. Anger burned inside him. If the software was basically complete, if there was something else that could kill the assassin instead of him…
“You do understand why I needed you here, don’t you?” Randall asked.
Jackson did, but it didn’t mean he liked being used. Then another thought struck him. What did it matter anyway? He was being paid, wasn’t he? He’d been employed to do a job. Whether or not he ended up doing it was neither here nor there—he’d get paid anyway. Sid had already been given the money. He didn’t need to know how their visitor had got killed, just that he was dead. And Jackson doubted Randall would be telling Sid his secret. Jackson would tell Sid he’d dealt with the body, so no one would be any the wiser.
“Yeah, I get it,” Jackson said. “I’d prefer it if I could just do the honours then leave, not have to witness you trying out whatever it is you need to try out.” He turned to face Randall. “But if it gets the job done…”
“Hopefully it will. What better person to do a final test on than someone who’s coming here to kill me? Someone who’s going to be killed anyway?”
Jackson tried to read whether madness lurked behind the man’s eyes. He didn’t see any. Nothing but the pleading for understanding. “I s’pose.” He nodded. “Yep, I think I can work with that. How…? What will you be setting off?”
“I already told you—you don’t need to know.” Randall smiled.
“I think I fucking do if it puts me in the firing line, don’t you?”
“It doesn’t. It won’t.”
“There’s a problem with your software,” Jackson said. “Unless you’ve thought of it already. What if someone buys it for protection and ends up setting it off and it kills an innocent person? What if some bloke who lives in a built-up area has it and the postman walks up the path and cops it? Or a kid out playing? Some girl skipping, laughing with her friends? What then?”
“The people who would have this software would generally live remotely like I do. It doesn’t come cheap. And it doesn’t kill people automatically. You have to press a button.”
“But what about the snobs, the stars who live in those multi-million-pound villas, all in a row at Sandbanks, wherever the fuck that is? I can’t see one of their friends being killed by accident going down too well, can you? If they’re just a figure on screen and they press that button… This is what I was saying before. You sell this to the wrong person, and it might well end up exactly like I just described. This is dangerous shit. You should scrap it, pretend you never created it.”
“I should, you’re right.”
“Then why don’t you?”
“I don’t know. I just can’t let it go. Not until I’ve seen it work on that man.”
“Right. So you test it tonight, and if it works you’ll be happy? Like whatever it was that drove you to create it in the first place will be satisfied that the job’s complete?”
“I hope tha
t’ll be the case. That would solve a lot of future problems.”
“If I were you, I’d test it then destroy the whole thing. You’ve opened a nasty can of worms here, letting governments know such a thing exists. They won’t rest until they have your system, you know that, don’t you?”
Randall sniffed. “If I decide to destroy it, people would want me to tell them how they could recreate it. I’d have to go into hiding. Always running.”
“Damn straight you would. What the hell made you do this?”
He shouldn’t have asked, hadn’t really needed to. This bloke had been more afraid of his father than he’d wanted to admit. Jackson would know soon enough who that man was. If he was as prominent as Randall had implied, his death would be all over the news come the morning. For Randall—for anyone—to have the need to create something so…so outrageous to protect himself, he had to have been frightened for his life. Had to have been threatened, to have believed the threats.
Who the fuck is his father?
“I rather thought you would have realised why I did this,” Randall said.
“Yeah, I do, but come on! Sid—”
“I started my research before I knew about companies like Sid’s. I had to protect myself. My world isn’t like yours. My father… Once he found out about me, it all started. Small things.”
“Like what?”
Randall shrugged. “People accosting me in the city, telling me I would disappear soon if I didn’t disappear by myself. That kind of thing.”
“Why not just get out of your dad’s range?”
“Because he would have found me wherever I went. And even with him gone, if he’s left instructions… They’ll find me wherever I go after tonight.”
“Unless you get a new identity. Move away. Sid knows people who can make it seem like you never existed.”
