by L J Morris
‘Who are they? What if they found him through me too? What if he’s dead because of me?’
McGill had to calm Porter down. It was obvious that the young man was afraid. His hands were trembling, and he struggled to put a sentence together. McGill spoke to him calmly and quietly, as he had to the young soldiers in Afghanistan, the ones who looked to him for guidance and reassurance. ‘It’s not your fault, Callum. If they knew about you, you’d be dead already.’
Porter was sweating and his heart racing. He had hoped that the authorities would realise someone had murdered Justin. He hoped he could go back home to the states and rebuild his life. He wasn’t a naturally courageous man. He was quiet, timid, an introvert. The man sitting in front of him, on the other hand, looked the opposite. ‘What do you…they…I mean…’
McGill had to secure the information he was looking for and get out as soon as possible. ‘The call to the consulate mentioned a notebook.’
Porter nodded. ‘Justin gave me a book. He told me that if anything happened to him, I had to keep the book safe, and watch my back. I thought he was being over dramatic.’
‘I’ll need to see the book, is it here?’
‘Yes, I’ll get it.’
Porter went into his bedroom and slid the wardrobe away from the wall. Taped to the back was a small, brown, paper parcel. He pulled it off and took it through to the living room. He held the parcel in both hands, reluctant to let it go. ‘I promised to keep this safe.’
‘You can trust me, son. It’ll be safer with us.’ McGill held out his hand.
Porter knew that he couldn’t protect the book and the information inside, he knew that McGill was right. He handed the parcel over and stepped back, sitting down on the couch.
McGill tore open the brown paper parcel and revealed a small notebook. The front cover was plain and a little dogeared with J Wyatt written in the top left corner. McGill opened it up and flicked through it, page after page of handwritten notes and drawings, names, dates and places filled the book. McGill recognised some of the names but most of the information meant nothing to him, it would be something for the geeks back home to have a look at and de-cypher. He put the notebook into a plastic zip lock bag and tucked it into the inside pocket of his jacket. ‘What were you planning to do with the book, Callum?’
Porter shrugged his shoulders. ‘I don’t know, maybe post it to the Embassy in Berne but I didn’t know who to trust. There are some high-ranking officials mentioned in there.’
‘You’ve read it?’
Porter shook his head. ‘No. Justin told me about some of the people who are in it. I’m not sure I believed him, to be honest. What if he was right and they are involved? If his notes fell into their hands, no one would know about them. He would have died for nothing.’
McGill patted his pocket. ‘You don’t have to worry about it now, Callum. All you need to think about is staying safe.’
‘I should call my dad. Tell him what’s happened. He can help, he’s a…’
‘US Senator. Yes, we know. I’ll stay with you until you’re out of harm’s way. We don’t want anything to happen to you over this.’
The conspiratorial atmosphere in the apartment was shattered by a loud knock. Porter jumped to his feet and stared at the door. Within seconds, McGill was standing next to him and whispering into his ear, ‘Are you expecting anyone?’
Porter shook his head. McGill moved silently over to the hallway and pulled a silenced Glock from under his jacket. He signalled for Porter to open the door. The young man was unable to move, scared out of his mind. Another loud knock made him jump and McGill, once again, signalled for him to open the door. Porter, hand trembling, reached for the lock and turned it slowly.
The door was kicked open, violently, and a large man dressed all in black pushed his way into the apartment, forcing Porter backwards. ‘Where is the book?’
The man didn’t shout but spoke with quiet menace. He pulled out his own silenced semi-automatic and pointed it at Porter. ‘I’m going to count to three. Tell me where the book is,’ he lowered his weapon to point at Porter’s legs. ‘Or lose a kneecap.’
McGill had weighed the guy up quickly. If he had been a real professional, he would have looked behind him by now to check for any threats. If he was police or security services, he would have identified himself and he wouldn’t have been alone. There was no back up following him into the room, he had left himself wide open.
Porter was terrified. McGill didn’t blame him; it can be very disconcerting having a gun pointed at you for the first time.
Porter’s attacker started his count. ‘1…2…’
McGill raised his weapon and pointed it at the back of the big guy’s head. ‘3.’
The man spun around, but it was already too late. Just as the realisation that he had fucked up showed in his eyes, McGill shot him in the forehead.
The big guy dropped to the floor like a column of water from an upturned bucket, straight down. There was no resistance in his legs to stop the fall. He was dead as soon as the bullet hit him.
McGill quickly checked outside in the corridor for any late arriving backup. The corridor was deserted. He stepped back inside the apartment and closed the door.
Porter was frozen to the spot. He hadn’t moved at all. McGill grabbed his arm. ‘Callum.’ Porter didn’t respond, he just stared at the dead body in front of him.
McGill grabbed both of Porter’s shoulders and shook him. ‘Callum. Snap out of it, or you’ll end up the same way. We need to get away from here as quick as we can.’
Porter finally looked up at McGill. There was blood on his face and his skin was a pasty white. ‘Who …who was he.’
‘I don’t know but he wasn’t here to invite you to a party. At least it confirms that Justin was onto something big. If you’d given that guy the book, he would have killed you. There’s no doubt about that.’
Porter slowly shook his head, still rooted to the spot. ‘I feel sick.’
McGill dragged him across the living room and pushed him into the bathroom. ‘Do what you need to do Callum. Throw up, splash water on your face, whatever, but get on with it. Get your shit together. I’m leaving with or without you.’
Porter realised that McGill had just saved his life, but he wasn’t used to such extremes of violence. He’d never seen a dead body before, never mind a man shot right in front of him. He looked down at his shirt. There was a fine spray of blood across the front of it. He closed his eyes. He could still picture the cloud of pink mist that had signalled the fatal shot. If he had been standing in the wrong place, the bullet could have hit him too. He shook the thought from his head. McGill was a professional, he knew exactly what he was doing.
Porter took two deep breaths. The feeling of nausea began to leave him. He splashed some water on his face and pulled off his t-shirt.
McGill checked through the pockets of the body. No ID or cash, just a car key and a photo of Porter with the address written on the back. Whoever had sent this guy had access to the same information that McGill did. When the bathroom door opened, he turned to check on Porter. ‘You ok?’
‘Yeah, I think so.’
‘Good man. Now, do you have some kind of back pack?’
Porter pointed towards the bedroom. ‘Yeah, in there.’
‘Right, pack some clothes. Nothing fancy, just something to change into. Throw in any cash you’ve got, passport, that kind of thing. And hurry up.’
Porter pulled clothes out of draws and threw them into his bag. T-shirts, socks, underwear, toothbrush. Did he need to take shampoo? Christ, he felt like he was packing for a holiday. He grabbed his wallet and shoved it into his jacket pocket along with his passport. He pulled on a clean t-shirt and was ready to go.
McGill opened the door an inch and looked along the corridor, it was empty. He opened the door fully and stepped out looking both ways, nothing. He looked back at Porter, who stood in the hallway. ‘You ready?’
Porter nodd
ed.
‘Good. Follow me and stay close.’
Porter hurried after McGill, he knew that his best hope of survival was in this man’s company. He also knew that the book was in McGill’s pocket, so he didn’t really need him. McGill could have just left him alone, in the apartment, with the corpse. He was helping him even though he didn’t have to. That made Porter feel safer.
McGill led them along the corridor and through the door to the fire escape. After a quick check, they moved quickly down the stairs and out of the back door of the apartment block.
They stopped at the corner of the building as McGill retrieved his own small back pack, full of essentials, from behind a dumpster. He threw it on to his back and winked at Porter. ‘Always travel light son, you never know what might happen.’
After one last check for any followers, they walked across the car park and out on to the street.
Porter kept his head down. He didn’t want to make eye contact with any passers-by. He was sure they would know what had happened. Like he had a mark on him somewhere that let everyone know there was a dead man in his flat. ‘Where do we go now? The consulate?’
McGill shook his head. ‘We don’t know who to trust, son. The guy in your flat had the same picture of you that I had. Someone had tipped him off, given him the information, probably blown my cover. Someone high up wants you dead and the notebook in their hands. We need to disappear.’
‘How do we do that?’
‘Just keep your head down and follow me.’ McGill pulled up the hood on his jacket as the rain started to fall again. Porter pulled on a baseball cap and thrust his hands deep into his pockets as they headed back along the Rue Saint-Joseph, away from the apartment.
Acknowledgements
The publication of this book marks the realisation of a lifelong ambition. In common with all authors, I couldn’t have achieved this on my own. I would like to thank the following people, without whom this book would not exist.
Ali, the inspiration for my main character. Matt Hilton, who published my first short story, read my first draft and made me believe I could do this. Jo Craven, my wonderful editor. Mike Craven, for the friendship and advice that helped turn my story into a novel. Graham Smith and all my friends at Crime & Publishment, you know who you are and you’ve all helped to get me here.
About The Author
L J Morris is an author with a love of books and storytelling that he developed as a child. After a career in the Royal Navy, which spanned most of the 80s and 90s, he settled back in the North of England, and soon realised that an unsuccessful attempt to write a serial killer novel at the age of 12 hadn’t blunted his ambitions.
He started to write again and has enjoyed success with his short stories appearing in several anthologies. ‘Blood on Their Hands’ and ‘Cold Redemption’ were published in Volumes 1 & 2 of Best-selling author Matt Hilton’s anthology series ‘ACTION: Pulse Pounding Tales’.
Other anthologies he has appeared in include ‘Happily Never After’, ‘Wish You Weren’t Here’, and ‘Liminal Time, Liminal Space’ where one reader described his tale ‘True Colours’ as “Riveting and powerful”
Although he still enjoys writing short stories, his dream has always been to write thriller novels and he has spent the last few years following that dream.
