Operation Hurricane: The Evan Boyd Adventures #1

by Benjamin Shaw

  Bishop immediately stopped weaving and started pushing and shoving his way through the crowd. This led to the people around him starting to protest, which just made him even more anxious, so he pushed harder. Within seconds, any notion he had of getting out of the hotel without rousing suspicion had evaporated. He was causing a commotion that started to spread out around him like ripples in a pond – and now he had to run for his life.

  He bulldozed his way free of the pack of protesters and, as he did, he saw that the mountain was now moving towards him, ready to cut off his chances of getting to the front door. Bishop looked ahead and saw he had one chance. It was a crazy idea, but if he didn’t try it, then the big man would be on him in a matter of seconds.

  He took a run up and leapt onto the round sofa, planting his foot between a boy, completely lost in his Nintendo Switch, and a man reading a newspaper. Bishop leapt, crashed through the leaves of the big plant and stumbled off the other side of the sofa, just as the Mountain was coming in from the right. As Bishop landed on the floor, another man stepped forward to berate him: a small, officious American, with short, spiked hair that gave his pale head a perfectly flat top. The man waved an arm weighed down with a big, gold watch. Bishop looked through him to the Mountain, who was allowing himself a confident smile as he closed in.

  Bishop took two steps and powered upwards through Flat Top, hitting him in the chest like an American football player, lifting the tourist off his feet and forcing him backwards. Mountain was ridiculously huge, more like a character from a graphic novel than a real human; but the force of being hit by Flat Top was still enough to send him into a spin. The American and the Mountain tumbled backwards onto the floor and Bishop didn’t hesitate – he burst past the tangle of limbs and made straight for the front door.

  Blair was still very weak. Her mind was sharp, but she had so little strength that just walking here had left her completely exhausted. Her father had been right about the strains of making the jump, so she had found a place to hide and stayed out of sight for a few hours.

  She checked the large bracelet around her wrist. Her father had clamped it on her before she’d climbed into the Chamber and she was pleased to see that all of the lights around the bracelet were still gleaming, which meant she had plenty of time. Her father had explained to her that the lights let her know how much power there was left in the Chamber back in her own time. If the lights went out, she would be lost here and could give up hope of ever getting home.

  Blair knew where Bishop was going to be, she knew when he was going to disappear, she just didn’t know how or why; but she was about to find out. She walked slowly along the edge of Hyde Park. It was a huge space and was probably quite beautiful, especially on a summer evening such as this, but Blair didn’t have the luxury of looking at the world through the eyes of a tourist. Like every other place she had been in her life, she had a specific purpose. She looked out over the park, which was mostly empty now, and thought about the best place to position herself. Then she heard it – a scream from somewhere behind her.

  Blair turned to see a man explode out of the door of the Dorchester Hotel. He stopped for a moment, his head spun left and then right, before he burst into a run, straight towards her. Instinctively, she knew this had to be Bishop. Her father’s warning sounded in her head like an alarm; she couldn’t come into contact with him, she couldn’t influence what was about to happen, even though she had no idea what exactly was about to happen.

  Blair looked behind her – the nearest entrance to the park was five metres away. She walked calmly, not too fast and not too slow, her legs still felt like jelly. She heard a car horn blast a warning and turned to see Bishop scrape himself from the bonnet of a taxi as he crossed the road towards the park. Blair made it to the entrance before Bishop was up on the pavement and as she turned into the park, out of sight from the road, she started to run.

  Her legs immediately felt like they wouldn’t hold her, the blood rushed to her feet and every muscle was screaming at her to stop. She ignored it, gritted her teeth and pushed harder. Somehow she was sprinting but she didn’t know where she was heading to. She looked left and saw a bench sat in front of thick bushes. She reached it, skidded to the ground, and lay down behind it in the cover of the foliage. She immediately looked right towards the entrance, but there was no sign of Bishop. She closed her eyes for a second; the blood was throbbing through her legs and her heart was racing. She was in total agony, but she controlled it and swallowed the pain back down. She would have time to lick her wounds later but for now, she had to focus. Where the hell was Bishop?

  Then her question was answered. First, a single arm and leg swung over the wall into the park, further down from the entrance. As he threw his other leg over and fell to the ground, two men appeared at the entrance around 20 metres away from him. Bishop was a big man, but he moved quickly. Blair could see he was fading, though, and even from this distance she saw the signs in his body language that he was resigned to his fate. He turned his head and saw the two men; they were jogging now. That was it, Bishop was done and he wasn’t going to fight the inevitable – he knew it was all over.

  Then the strangest thing happened, and Blair had to almost hold her breath. Bishop reached the bench Blair had hidden behind, stopped and collapsed on it. He was panting like a dog in the sun, gasping from his exertion. The two men arrived; they seemed unhappy at having to run after him, like it was an inconvenience. Even before anyone spoke, Blair could tell that she was watching three people who knew each other. Not like friends or brothers know each other; more like two bullies tormenting their favourite victim.

  There was a streetlamp next to the bench, and through the thick cover of the shrubbery, Blair could see the back of Bishop’s bald head, gleaming with droplets of sweat under the light. She could also see the two men now. One of them was the biggest man Blair had ever laid eyes on, absolutely colossal, like a refrigerator in a suit. His face was powerfully ugly, everything just looked too big, it was like a child had drawn the image of a devil they saw in their nightmares.

  ‘Why did you run?’ the big man spoke, and his entire hideous face seemed to play a part in forming each word.

  ‘I didn’t exactly have a lot of fun the last time we got together, Bakker,’ Bishop replied. He didn’t sound scared at all, more frustrated.

  ‘Oh, Bishop. That hurts my feelings.’

  ‘Yeah, well, disappointment is one of life’s harsh realities – deal with it.’

  The big man, Bakker, laughed. The sound was deep and rasping, like a motorbike misfiring; it made the hair on Blair’s neck stand on end.

  ‘Why are you even here? I gave your boss everything he wanted. I gave you the kid and you paid me back with some rather poor hospitality. So whatever Mr Van Cleef wants this time, consider me unavailable.’

  ‘You lied to us.’

  ‘No, I did not.’

  ‘You told us you didn’t know where the Capshaw woman was. That wasn’t true.’

  ‘It was. I don’t.’

  ‘You telephoned her, Bishop! We know you did!’

  Bishop was quiet. His breathing had finally begun to settle back to normal. ‘I contacted her, yes. But I didn’t know where she was, so, technically, I didn’t lie to you.’ He held his hands up, like a magician who had just made a dove disappear. ‘You didn’t ask me if I knew how to contact her, you just asked if I knew where she was. Wherever you came from, they didn’t teach interrogation very well, I’m afraid, old chap.’

  ‘You think you’re so clever, you English, but you’re just boring.’

  ‘Oh, say it isn’t so. I honestly thought we were onto something, you and me. Does this mean no third date?’

  ‘Keep going with your jokes.’

  ‘I mean, it’s not like I was going to invite you over to mum’s for Christmas dinner or anything, but I was planning to follow you on Instagram.’

  Bakker took something out of his pocket. Blair couldn’t see what it was, bu
t she noticed a flash of silver as it caught the lamp light. Was it a knife? Were they going to kill him here, in front of her? Her breath snatched in her throat as Bakker stretched out a long leg and put it on the bench next to Bishop. The big man leant forward and rested an elbow on his knee. Then, almost in a whisper, so quiet that Blair had to strain to hear it, he spoke.

  ‘You know something, Bishop? We’ll find Miranda Capshaw and when we do, she will know that you gave up the kid. I will tell her that myself. We will have him very soon.’

  ‘It’ll be too late,’ Bishop said, his bravado faltering under his quivering voice. ‘You really don’t get it, do you? It’s all about her, you total cretin! And the fact is, you’ll never catch her – she’s already gone back.’

  ‘Back? Back to where? What are you talking about?’ Bakker looked at him, unsure if Bishop was just stringing him along.

  Bishop leant forward and put his head in his hands.

  ‘I asked you a question, Bishop. Where has Miranda gone back to?’

  Bishop’s shoulders began to move up and down, sobbing noises growing louder as he rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms. Bakker turned his face towards his little friend and shook his head at the pathetic sight. But when Bishop pulled his hands away, it became clear that he wasn’t crying at all; he was laughing at them.

  ‘You’re never going to tell me, are you?’

  ‘Of course I’m not!’ Bishop said. His laughter died out and he took a long breath. ‘Whatever you’re going to do, just get on with it.’

  Without warning, Bakker raised his hand and there was a burst of light. Blair tried to blink it away. The light disappeared almost as soon as it arrived but as her vision cleared, what it left was something Blair would never forget. She quickly clamped her hand over her mouth to stifle a scream and watched as Bakker and his accomplice turned and walked out of the park, back towards the road. She allowed herself small breaths behind her hand and felt the tears pour down over her fingers. Because now she knew how Bishop had vanished without a trace.

  What was left of the old spy oozed and dripped down through the wooden slats in the bench and onto the ground, Blair knew she had to get back to her father without delay. She had to tell him that the people hunting down everyone involved in Operation Hurricane had come back here from the future; and they had brought some toys with them.

  I’ve Got This Friend

  FrakeNews Headquarters – Present Day

  ‘We need to go,’ Boyd said, panicking. ‘We need to go now!’

  He had watched his aunt talking to the Italian man behind the counter in the café and now she was sitting outside in a 4x4, seemingly going nowhere. His heart was beating out of his chest. He felt like he was being chased, even though she was out there and he was in here. Surely there was no way she could really know where he was.

  She looked so different. On the black and white camera, Boyd could see her hair was light, like she had dyed it blonde and her clothes were so completely different to anything he had ever seen her wearing. This, along with everything else he had discovered in the last hour, just made him feel like his life was turning into some kind of nightmare. Maybe that was it, maybe he was still asleep in the van on Bloomfield beach and he would wake up to find that none of this was real.

  ‘Boyd, listen to me,’ Skye grabbed him by the shoulders, shaking him out of his daydream. ‘It’d take an army to get through the doors of this place and that’s even assuming anyone would know where to look.’

  ‘Think about everything I’ve told you. Now put that together with everything you’ve told me. Do you want to bet on these people not having an army?’ Boyd shrugged her off and started looking for his rucksack.

  Skye tilted her head, then nodded. ‘That’s a fair point but you need to calm down and think this through.’

  Boyd stopped and took a deep breath; he realised his fists were clenched so tight by his sides, his fingers were digging into his palms and his knuckles were pale white.

  Skye pointed at the image of the Range Rover on the screen. ‘We’ve got a camera as flat as a two-pence piece set into the logo on the café sign. So, if they make a move, we’ll see it coming.’ She turned to look at Boyd. ‘They tracked you here, which means they’ve either been following you all along, they accessed CCTV or they hacked the email you sent. But, they aren’t sure where you are now - which means, she is sitting there, banking on you letting your emotions take over and deciding your best option is to run for it.’ Skye sat down at the screen and pulled up the other chair. ‘She knows you pretty well, I reckon.’

  Boyd knew instantly that Skye was right; they were safer in here. He just had to come to terms with that feeling of not being able to control the situation;. he was going to have to wait it out. ‘So, presuming we get out of here, someday soon, what’s our next move?’ he asked.

  ‘A closer look at this guy, Bishop.’

  ‘The one who no one’s seen in two weeks?’

  ‘Right. We got into his bank accounts.’

  Boyd’s eyes widened. ‘Illegally?’

  ‘No, Boyd, we asked his mum really nicely.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘Yes, of course we did it illegally! Anyway, he rents a flat not far from here.’

  ‘How far, exactly? Can we get a bus?’

  ‘Typical teenage boy! It’s a half-hour walk, sweet pea, if you reckon you can manage it!’

  ‘Just to remind you, I’ve been shot at, thrown around in a car chase and pedalled halfway across London to get your handbag back, only to find it wasn’t stolen in the first place. So, I apologise if a brisk walk across town doesn’t exactly sound like my ideal way to spend an afternoon,’ Boyd said with a smile.

  Skye laughed and held her hands up. ‘Fair point.’

  ‘Surely the police would have been through this Bishop’s flat already, though, right?’

  ‘They don’t know he’s missing; no one’s reported it.’

  ‘So how do we know he is actually missing?’

  ‘Because MI5 have been talking about him.’

  ‘Did his mum tell you that?’ He smirked.

  ‘No – someone there talked to someone here.’

  ‘Okay, so we should get ready to leave. We need to be over there as soon as this lot have left.’ Boyd pointed at Aurora’s Range Rover on the screen.

  ‘We can go tomorrow, when Hae is back,’ Skye said.

  ‘Who’s Hae?’

  ‘She works for me. She has the ability to make doors open, if you get me. So, we wait. Unless you know someone else who can pick a lock and disable an alarm system?’

  Boyd smiled. ‘Funny you should ask,’ he said.

  Escaped Prisoner

  Fitz had spent most of the morning doing everything in his power to avoid starting the painting in the front room. He had loaded the dishwasher, put some washing on, unloaded the dishwasher, hung the washing out and was now gluing his mum’s favourite vase back together. Fitz was inspecting seventeen pieces of broken china under the magnifying glass on his worktop when the computer pinged; Boyd was calling.

  Fitz opened the channel so they could speak and put on his headphones. ‘Boyd, you okay?’

  ‘We need you up here, as soon as possible.’

  ‘I’m grounded, remember? I’m an actual prisoner in my own home.’

  ‘Listen. I’m going to send you an address. It’s a flat we need to break into. Get your backside on a train and meet me there. I’ve got to go.’ He hung up.

  ‘Boyd!’ Fitz yelled into his computer. ‘Boyd!’ No response. He sat back in his chair. ‘Oh, for crying out loud,’ he said quietly.

  ‘Fitzgerald, are you going to get on with this painting or what?’ Marjorie Tork called up the stairs.

  ‘It’s next on my list.’

  ‘Glad to hear it. You know I can’t abide the smell of paint; I’ll be outside in my office.’

  ‘Of course, mummy dearest.’

  ‘Sarcasm, young man – is the lowest form of wit.’

  ‘
But the highest form of intelligence.’ Fitz muttered.

  ‘Excuse me?’ His mum called out.

  ‘Nothing.’

  Fitz got out of the chair, grabbed his rucksack and started packing some supplies for a trip to London. Breaking into a flat – that was a step up from getting suspended. It would be easy enough, depending on the alarm system.

  When he had everything he thought he might need, Fitz put the bag aside and thought about the painting.

  He made a clicking sound as he looked around the room, his brain whirring, shuffling through one idea after another. Then it came to him – he knew exactly how he was going to paint the front room without actually being in the house.

  A Fly on the Wall

  Roger Tork had been told he could leave work early and take the afternoon off. Normally this would be a welcome surprise, especially in half-term and with Fitz at home. But today wasn’t normal at all for more than one reason. Firstly, his son was painting the front room at home today and the boy was prepared to do virtually anything to get out of doing the job. He also knew that the smell of paint set off his wife’s migraine headaches, so the opportunity of a half-day at home was not quite as sweet a prospect as it had first sounded.

  Another reason today was far from normal: his boss had told the whole team to go home – the entire floor, every single one of them. Roger had watched as they packed up and were shuffled out the door. Working for the Home Secretary meant you often stayed at the office long into the night, came in at weekends and gave up a large slice of your life to help keep the country safe. The modest glass office was always buzzing with government workers and visitors;. There was a constant hum of people on phones and days were packed with meetings and conferences – it was part of the reason why Roger enjoyed his job so much.