Bentwhistle the Dragon Box

by Paul Cude

  By now he was fully engrossed in all the excitement and adrenaline of the match. More than a little disappointed that he hadn't seen the ball yet, he was determined to take it from the opponent now heading straight for him at quite a speed. Having watched some of the better players tackle throughout the evening, he knew just what to do. He waited until the onrushing player was nearly on top of him, and moved his stick to the open side, leaving an inviting hole to his left hand side, knowing full well his opponent would perform a dummy and take it down his so-called weaker side. The player took the bait and the dummy came. At the very last moment, Peter flipped his stick over and laid it flat on the Astroturf, as strong as he could with his one handed grip, taking the ball off the opponent with an amazing reverse stick tackle that anyone there would have been proud of.

  Having made the tackle, he could feel the excitement running through his veins (although technically not his) but was determined not to get carried away and fought the impulse to try and do anything else clever, but instead played a simple pass to one of his teammates on the other side of the pitch. Within seconds, words of encouragement from all around bombarded him, with even the odd pat on the back being thrown in for luck. That feeling was like nothing else he'd ever experienced. It was amazing. It was then that he realised. THIS WAS IT! Richie's secret. He knew that the current smile on his face would easily match any of Richie's from her lacrosse matches.

  'It was so simple,' he thought. 'I just had to join in.'

  The training match continued a little longer, during which time he made another couple of tackles and a few more passes. As the session came to an end, he received more pats on the back, whilst at the same time getting on the end of some of the banter. One of the captains came to take Peter's contact details on his way out and the rest, as they say, is history. He was well and truly hooked.

  It was pretty much the same scenario for Tank, except that he didn't get the same lightning bolt of excitement until he played in his first game proper on a Saturday. After that, he too was hooked in very much the same way as Peter and Richie. For the three friends, the thought of not joining the humans to participate in team sport was now unfathomable, something alas most dragons could not comprehend, more's the pity.

  Really excited at the thought of going training on Tuesday, Peter wondered if he'd be selected for one of the two sides to play the following Saturday. With it being September, there were usually two or three friendly or interclub games before the league season started, normally in the first week of October. Peter's thoughts turned to Tank, who had resumed training many weeks ago and would be participating in his first league game this coming Saturday.

  'Perhaps I'll go and watch some of his game and get to play hockey as well. Things are looking up,' thought Peter.

  With a spring in his step, he wolfed down his breakfast, breezed through the housework and settled down in front of his computer. Much as he fancied gaming for a few hours, he needed to sort some things out beforehand. Determined to design a spreadsheet that could be easily filled in with all the information he was gathering on Manson, he cleared his mind and concentrated on the task at hand. He'd thought that by putting it all in spreadsheet form, in a clear and concise manner, he might be better able to see where all of it was leading, if indeed that was at all possible. Also, a plan had been brewing deep in the back of his mind, to design a computer programme that would collect all the data from Manson's computer at Cropptech, if, that is, he could find some way of downloading it onto the former Major's computer in the first place. His software and programming skills were nowhere near what they should have been, having not been his strong suit in the nursery ring, but he did have a strong grasp of the basics, which in time should allow him to carry out his plan.

  It didn't take long to create the spreadsheet, but it was time consuming adding all the data he'd already collected. He struggled to read his own writing when looking at the notes he'd already jotted down.

  'Clearly,' he thought, 'I'm qualified to be a doctor or maybe even a teacher, going by this. On second thoughts, even my writing's not illegible enough to be a teacher's and I'll be damned if I'm wearing one of those crazy jackets with the patches on the elbows,' he thought with a smile on his face. 'Human teachers seem to have the worst fashion sense on the whole planet. Fact!'

  After a couple more hours he'd finished transferring all of his previously collected data. He sat staring at it for an hour more, without gaining true insight or finding any significant pattern. It was then that he gave up.

  Grabbing himself some lunch, he returned to his desk, determined to make a start on producing a programme that he could upload to Manson's computer. This proved harder than even he would have thought, having not been under any illusions in the first place. During his search of the internet, he'd had to be very careful. It wouldn't be prudent to type into the search engine: 'Wanted - computer spy programme, Trojan or virus', particularly if he didn't want anyone to know what he was up to. Peter's head felt like the hard drive of his computer sounded... in need of a rest. So far today he'd spent over five hours sitting at his pc, and it was only mid-afternoon.

  Closing down the computer to give the whirring components a break, he slumped down on the sofa and decided to catch up with all the news from the Daily Telepath. Closing his eyes, he dispatched his consciousness, just giving it a little prod now and then to guide it in the right direction. It returned in no time at all with that day's edition. Remarkably, it contained the scores from last night's Global Cup Quarter final games. He was astonished. He'd been so caught up in the events of yesterday, that he'd totally forgotten that the Indigo Warriors were playing one of the most important matches in recent history. Speed reading the back page, his heart racing, he noted with relief that the Warriors had won and made it through to the semi finals. He continued to the in depth match report that was further inside.

  Sometime later he opened his eyes and stretched his entire body, almost off the end of the sofa.

  'That was pure bliss,' he thought. 'Well, nearly anyway. The only thing better would have been to be at the match itself. Pity Tank couldn't get any tickets, nevertheless, being through to the semi finals... FANTASTIC!'

  Sitting up sharply, he got a bit of a head rush for his troubles, having been lying down for so long. Jumping to his feet, he proceeded to search the house for his mobile phone. Not for the first time, he couldn't remember where he'd left it. Where was that eidetic memory now? Eventually finding it in his bedroom, he fired off a text to Tank, asking if he knew any teams good enough to get to the semi finals, including a plea for the possibility of any tickets to the match. Tank replied only moments later saying that he was off coaching rugby and that he would check out the ticket situation later that evening. Peter rubbed his hands together and did a little jig on seeing Tank's reply. The Warriors reaching the semi final of the Global Cup was beyond his wildest dreams.

  Returning to work the next day, he was exhausted from everything that had happened at the weekend. Although tired, he was still on a high from hearing about the Indigo Warriors and couldn't help but check his phone regularly in the hope of a text from his best friend. He had no idea how Tank managed to get hold of good laminium ball match tickets, particularly since demand always considerably outstripped supply, but he knew the contacts Tank used usually dealt in days rather than hours. Still, he could hope, couldn't he?

  After clearing a little of his backlog, he focused all his attention on trying to account for all of Manson's movements, seeing if he could determine some kind of goal that his nemesis might be working towards. With access to all the security systems (CCTV, web cams, computer access and one or two trusted allies) you would think that tracking Manson's whereabouts at any one time wouldn't be too much of a challenge, but things were quite the opposite in reality. All too often he managed to slip out of the upper building undetected and then turn up in some far flung part of the complex completely by surprise. All routes in and out of Garrett's off
ice were covered by the security cameras, and there were no blind spots: he'd checked. That said, Manson seemed to have a knack of somehow getting out of Garrett's office without being seen. The more Peter tried to work out what was going on, the more puzzled he became. Eventually he decided to get the maintenance crew to strip down all the cameras in the main building and give them a thorough overhaul, on the grounds of routine maintenance. Crews were also ordered to look out for anything suspicious and report directly back to him. Twenty four hours later, the crew chief made his way to Peter's office to report his findings.

  A tall, pale skinned, gangly man named Alastair, who Peter had dealt with many times before and found very competent and extremely knowledgeable on any technical subject, knocked and entered Peter’s office. The two sat either side of the paper strewn desk.

  "Hi Alistair, how's it going?"

  "Good thanks Peter. We've finished the maintenance you requested," affirmed Alistair, sliding a huge pile of paper across the desk. "There were no problems to report. One or two of the cameras in the stairwells had got a significant amount of dust in them, which if left much longer may have caused an issue, but other than that, nothing untoward."

  Peter nodded as he picked up the top piece of paper from the pile to study.

  "So does that mean it would be prudent to decrease the maintenance intervals of all the cameras in stairwells across the entire complex?"

  "Already done Peter," remarked Alistair, sitting back in his chair proudly. "We've adjusted the schedule on the computer system to flag the stairwell cameras every nine months instead of every eighteen, as it was previously."

  Peter leaned across the desk to shake Alistair's hand.

  "Great work as always. Thanks for fitting us in at such short notice."

  "Anytime, for you Peter. We value the security of this place almost as much as you do, so adjusting our schedule isn't that much of a problem. I have to ask though... it sounded when we first spoke as though you were looking for something specific. Clearly we didn't find anything. Is it something that I should be concerned about?"

  For a split second Peter's brow creased as he thought about sharing his burden with Alistair. He was sure he could trust the man and didn't doubt for second that he was sincere in valuing the security of the complex, but he just couldn't bring himself to do it.

  "No, it's nothing to be concerned about. I just... well... I've just been working hard and have had a few late nights. I must have imagined the odd glitch on one of the monitors and wanted to be safe rather than sorry," Peter lied.

  "Well, I know the feeling about working too hard. Try and catch up on your sleep. You're no good if you're nodding off in front of the monitors. And don't worry, your secret's safe with me. We've all done it at some point." With that the two shook hands and Alistair turned and headed towards the door. Before he left, Peter called out,

  "Don't forget to thank your team for me, for doing such a great job."

  "Of course," replied Alistair, disappearing off down the corridor.

  Peter sat back in his chair, more puzzled and frustrated than ever, now that each and every camera had been checked. He felt guilty about lying to Alistair about the reason he wanted the cameras checked in the first place, but deep down he knew it was probably best not to get anyone else involved, especially as he didn't know exactly what he was dealing with.

  The day dragged on, with Peter mainly staying in his office fielding phone calls, catching up on emails, all the while keeping a close eye on the security monitors. The thought of hockey training that evening was the only thing keeping him going.

  With only an hour of the working day left, a high pitched warble from his phone disrupted his chain of thought. Retrieving it from his jacket, which was hanging up on the back of his office door, his heart nearly skipped a beat when the phone's display showed there was a text from Tank.

  'He's got the tickets... YIPPEE!' thought Peter, opening up the message. Peter's joy soon turned to sadness. The message read:

  'Sorry couldn't get tickets to the game. However, may still be able to watch it. Will be in touch soon. Regards.' Peter let out a long sigh, disappointed at the lack of tickets.

  'The biggest match of my life and I don't get to go,' he thought. 'I wonder what he meant by “may still be able to watch it”?'

  Saving the email he was working on, he shut down his computer and grabbed his jacket before leaving, slightly earlier than normal. He'd had enough for today, and was once again taking advantage of his accrued flexi-time. About to get into his car, he suddenly noticed that Manson's Mercedes wasn't parked anywhere. He'd spent all afternoon keeping a close eye on the car parks, or so he thought, and Manson had still managed to slip out, in his car this time. He felt like banging his head against the roof of his car in frustration, but didn't, mainly due to the number of other workers leaving all around him.

  'How does he do it?' he thought as he started up the engine and clicked his seatbelt into place, before driving home.

  On getting home he made himself a light snack, and continued for an hour or so with the programme he was trying to develop on his computer. Although nothing special so far, he was quite pleased with his progress, given his limited skill set in this particular field. Zooming upstairs, he slipped effortlessly into his freshly ironed hockey kit, grabbed his water bottle, stick bag and trainers (which smelled as though they could have walked to the sports club on their own) and just about remembering to grab his phone and keys, he headed out to his car and off to the sports club.

  Surprised by the sheer number of cars on arrival, it took him nearly five minutes to find a parking space. The place was nearly full, and that hardly ever happened on a busy Saturday, let alone in the week. What was going on? On his way to the pitch, he noted that not only was it hockey training, but the men's and ladies' lacrosse teams seemed to be here as well as the entire rugby club by the look of things. As he watched the rugby players trot out of their dedicated dressing room, he spotted Tank jogging out onto the pitch. His friend must have sensed this, as he turned his head and gave Peter a little nod, which Peter duly returned. As well as all the sports, there seemed to be some sort of function going on in the clubhouse, with lots of well-dressed people going in carrying gifts and flowers.

  'No wonder it's so busy,' he thought. As he got closer to the Astroturf, he had to join a queue to get in.

  'Wow, I've never had to queue to get into training before. Lots of new faces as well as old ones. Everyone seems to be here, they must have missed it as much as I have over the summer.'

  At precisely seven o'clock, the two groups of footballers that were using the pitch finished and the queuing hockey players streamed out onto it. As Peter made his way through the crowd, he nodded and exchanged a few friendly words with teammates. All in all it was a staggering number of people for just training, especially considering all of the first team squad was missing as their training session was separate and didn't start until eight thirty, directly after this session finished.

  Being back on a hockey pitch with all these people was nothing short of awesome for Peter, with it only now dawning on him just how much he'd missed playing, and how much it meant to him. Starting with some light fitness work, the session then split the ladies from the men to work on basic stick skills. As the evening wore on, the exercises became more intense and complicated, eventually leading to a series of mini games for everyone. Eight thirty came around, with the coaches wrapping things up, allowing the first team men and ladies respectively on to the pitch.

  Exhausted and baked in sweat, Peter trudged over to the sideline to find his stick bag and, more importantly, a drink. As the cold water trickled down his throat he noticed a familiar, smug face looking with contempt at those already leaving the pitch... MANSON!

  'Why on earth would anyone look down on others representing the same club as you?' he thought, wiping the sweat from his forehead and neck with the bottom of his tee shirt. 'It makes no sense.'

  Sli
nging his stick bag over his shoulder, he made sure to keep his back to the first team players, for fear of being confronted by Manson. After grabbing his wallet from the car, he headed for the bar in the hope that Richie and Tank would be there, given that the lacrosse and rugby had finished at exactly the same time as his session.

  Slipping quietly into the clubhouse, he was pleasantly surprised to find the bar wasn't nearly as busy as he'd thought it would be. The private function was being held in the room upstairs that had its own bar, keeping the large main bar free downstairs for all of those club members who had just finished outside. Peter waited his turn; even though it wasn't that busy downstairs clearly some of the bar staff were serving upstairs.

  Eventually getting served, he scanned the room for his friends. Richie was ensconced at the far end with a gaggle of lacrosse girls all chatting and making far too much noise for his liking. Glancing through the mass of rugby players, he could just make out Tank having a very animated discussion with two other players about tactics or a game or something, waving his hands all over the place to emphasise a point. Rather than interrupt Tank's heated conversation, he chose to prop up the bar instead, way too intimidated by all the gorgeous lacrosse girls to even think about approaching Richie. Shuffling along the bar, he turned his attention to a rather competitive doubles pool match that was taking place in the far corner between four of the rugby boys. Abruptly a hand landed on his shoulder. He turned ready to confront Manson... only to find it was the second team captain, Andy, who was clearly disturbed by the look on Peter's face.

  "Sorry Andy, I thought you were someone else," Peter quipped, breaking into a big toothy smile.

  "That's quite alright Peter. Good to see you at training. How was your summer?"