Cherry Picking

by Tim Heath

  Contents

  Title

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  Also By Tim Heath

  Thank You!

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Now Read...

  Best of the Reviews - so far!

  About the Author

  Cherry

  Picking

  By

  Tim Heath

  the debut novel

  Copyright © 2011 Tim Heath

  Second Edition Copyright © 2012 Tim Heath

  2014 Edition Copyright © Tim Heath

  Fourth Edition Copyright © 2016 Tim Heath

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN-13:978-1466307100

  ISBN-10: 1466307102

  DEDICATION

  This is for all those that struggle to write or speak, that find it hard to read,

  maybe starting later than others. That was me as a boy – but with help I

  caught up and now years later have finished this first novel.

  This is for all those that work hard with the gifts God has given them, that

  don’t settle for empty things but press on to win the prize.

  This is for those that don’t take no for an answer, that don’t allow one setback

  or disappointment to kill their dreams.

  This is for You.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  It’s not easy to write a novel and no one ever does so alone. When the

  premise and title dropped complete into my mind some eight years ago that

  was the easy bit. Getting the time, space and then help to write down what

  I’d seen in my mind was no small thing. But here we are, the finished book.

  My wife, Rachel, was the first to read it after the second draft and has helped

  me so much throughout. Following her helpful revisions were others – Chip

  and Helen Kendall, Alex Williams and Sophie Beal – all talented book writers,

  play writers, song writers and people!

  This revised edition is thanks to the hard work of Elizabeth Knight – the

  grammar queen! You've helped to smooth out this novel and do away with

  those inconsistencies. Huge thanks to you for your help and encouragement.

  For the book cover design I need to thank Taaniel Malleus my cover

  designer. He’s worked hard on this for me and I am so thankful.

  Thank you also to those who have already read and written such amazing

  reviews on Amazon about this book. It means so much to me!

  Other Books By Tim Heath:

  The Last Prophet

  The Tablet

  The Shadow Man (sequel to TLP and expected late 2016)

  The Hunt (this explosive series is being worked on now)

  SIGN UP for my VIP Readers’ Group and get a FREE copy of one

  of my books sent directly to your inbox!

  FREE BOOK! www.timheathbooks.com/books/the-last-prophet/freebook/

  Please remember to leave a review which greatly helps everyone.

  www.TimHeathBooks.com

  Please connect to my Author page on Facebook:

  www.facebook.com/TimHeathAuthor

  Follow me on Twitter @TimHeathBooks

  This novel was first started in England but the majority was written in St

  Petersburg, Russia, a city with a vast history of writers and poets and then

  finished in Tallinn, Estonia, so I’m grateful to all those who helped get us out

  to these cities in the first place.

  And I want to thank you too – the reader for whom the book was written in

  the first place. There always was a great premise to this novel and while it’s

  my first book, I trust it isn’t my last. Please forgive any errors, or bits that

  you don’t like, but overall please enjoy, please finish it and let me

  know what you think by reviewing it after.

  Prologue

  Monday 2nd September 1985 was to be no ordinary day. Had the nations of the world been aware they would have collectively held their breath, but it was only one man who would really know the true consequences as he waited for the day to arrive. His life by then had been totally changed, everything he once knew gone, layered with much bitterness and further hurt, most of it the actions of one greedy man, bordering on evil, who grew more desperate the older he got.

  Nigel, the man in question, was only young back then, just turned twenty-one and as he stepped through the door into the main workshop area to what once had been a bustling business, the stagnant air clung to his throat like treacle. Not unlike most small businesses around that town, they had gone under and now just the rotting empty shell remained.

  Having left all that was his home behind, Nigel had been eager to explore the new world that lay before him. There was no going back now, not with the way he had left things, the bodies still visible when he closed his eyes. What fuelled him now, even in those very early days, was a desperate desire to make up for it all somehow, to do more good than he had bad, doing away with the pain that had aged him it seemed, adding years onto his life already, years that he would never get back again.

  Forcing open what would have been the main doors on the side of the workshop, Nigel walked into the light of the bright evening sun, his watch showing that it was 6:25pm. On the cinema opposite it advertised that it was now featuring “ET,” the fact that it had taken the best part of three years to obtain the film only reinforced the sad state of things. The bright yellow building next door glared back at him making it hard to see anything, the sun reflecting with all its early evening glory from the old walls. The street was quiet as he looked around, his eyes now adjusting to the light and he closed the doors of the workshop behind him, banging a piece of wood back into place that had been keeping them closed. It was a quiet town but right now that suited him down to the ground. For a little while this town would be his new home. He walked down the road whistling softly to himself, now not a care in the world. Thirty metres on he passed a betting shop, one of the few businesses that still thrived there, such was the desperate hope for a better life for so many. He paused at the window, scanning down the list of things that you could bet on and taking a quick glance into a bag he was carrying, he turned back towards the door of the shop and walked inside. This was the first time he had ever been into a bookmakers, though it wouldn’t be the last.

  Chapter 1

  Twenty Years Later

  A door opened into the darkened room, Nigel glancing around cautiously out of routine. He lived alone. But still he always checked. The lounge was in darkness, with only a hint of light at the bottom of the thick, draped curtains. Stepping into the lounge and shutting the door behind him, he quickly locked it in two places, slid a book shelf in front of the door, which covered the wall from floor to ceiling, and locked this i
nto place as well. Then he slid another enormous book shelf next to the first, freeing the doorway to his kitchen, and locked this into place, a hidden seven digit combination lock being scrambled on the second shelf. Nigel carefully replaced the books, adding one that he had in his hand; he then checked a small sheet of paper that was in his jeans pocket. Pushing it back in, he opened the curtains all around his lounge using a remote control that sat on a side table against the wall. He peered out through his large Tudor bay windows, always watchful for the unexpected, but he’d have known if anyone was on any part of his one hundred and five acre home, and besides, that’s what he paid his twelve security guards to do. Walking into his large study, he poured himself a whisky. He was dressed simply in a black polo shirt and jeans, he was an attractive figure. A small amount of stubble and dark complexion gave him an Italian look, though this was only because he had not shaved for a couple of days. At forty-one years old, he had an air of sophistication about himself that went with his obvious wealth. Pulling his polo shirt off, he picked up a white shirt from the solid oak desk, and started to put it on, carefully doing up the buttons.

  A tidy man throughout his life, he liked things ordered and always in place. He’d learnt from experience that things left around tended to get lost, or worse still, taken.

  He quickly pulled on some black Armani trousers, but didn’t put on a tie, having adjusted to the comfort of not wearing one. Taking a deep breath, he finished his drink in one gulp, checked his hair in the sizeable study mirror and walked back into his lounge to face another day.

  **********

  At the same time in central Manchester, the offices of Harman Insurance Company Ltd (HICL) were coming to life. HICL had been around for thirty-five years, started by Brian Harman, an experienced broker who’d spent fifteen years as a cog in a large company learning everything, before setting up his own company. HICL grew quickly, mainly through reputation, and it specialised in corporate insurance, but through a semi merger and several takeovers, it became a giant, and though purchased itself eleven years ago, it retained its name, reputation and growth rate. Today HICL stood as the largest insurance company in Europe, worth over £35 billion. It had two offices in the UK and another ten across Europe.

  Brendan Charles was the CEO at HICL and had been since the takeover. He stood as a giant in his field, feared by many and not just because of his position and wealth. He stood at an impressive six feet six inches tall which naturally made him tower over almost all he came across, and he used this to his advantage on many occasions. A Gamble Holdings Group man through and through, he’d been given this ship to control when HICL was purchased, and had himself played a big role in the acquisition at the time. Aged forty-eight, with naturally grey hair, he was always well turned out in designer suits and expensive watches. A family man, he’d married his university sweetheart at twenty-six and had three children.

  “Get the Finance Heads to meet me in the conference room at nine o’clock sharp,” Brendan instructed his secretary from the intercom on his desk phone, his usual quickness of tongue causing her daydreaming to instantly stop.

  **********

  At nine in the HICL conference room, the five Finance Heads were sitting around the long mahogany desk, with Brendan Charles at the far end. The conference room was warm, lush and comfortable, with little expense spared in order to give the impression of wealth and importance for all those that had the honour of using the room. A conference phone sat in the middle of the desk and a female voice said:

  “I’ll just connect you now, sir.”

  A couple of seconds of silence and a voice spoke. “Are you there Brendan?” Nobody called Mr Charles, ‘Brendan’ and it wasn’t missed by the five around the table, all of whom earned six figure salaries.

  “Hello, sir,” Mr Charles replied. The five around the table collectively sat up even straighter. “Everyone is here who needs to be,” he continued.

  “Good. I shall keep this brief. Over the last two years, as Brendan is aware, we have been setting aside certain amounts of equity so that if a situation arose when liquid cash was needed at short notice, we’d have the means. Therefore each of you who oversee your own budgets must move the relevant amounts, as to be indicated, so that Brendan has it all centrally located by 10am today. We’ll leave much of the equity in place, but there will be around £20million moved this morning, with plenty in reserve. Brendan, you are then to contact our usual man and proceed at once with the purchase of Nottingham Forest Football Club. Account authorisation is with Brendan and he will hand these to you in a minute. Also enclosed are the forwarding account details and the contacts at the banks. They are aware that I will be moving funds but are unaware of what volumes. Please can you now collect your file from Brendan and proceed as instructed.” They quickly jumped to their feet, Brendan handing each of them a brown folder which contained all the required information, and leading them to the door, they went their separate ways with renewed energy. Brendan returned to the desk and picked up the handset.

  “It’s just us now, sir.”

  “Good. Once we make the move there will be a media circus. I need you in place to handle that side, which is why I’m running the deal through your books. As always, I want to remain in the shadows and do not want to see my name in the papers.”

  “Of course, sir, I understand what you are saying.”

  The voice on the phone continued: “Three years ago you recruited a man named Tommy Lawrence for me, if you recall.”

  “I do, a bright young man from Preston, if I remember correctly,” Brendan added.

  “He was put through your management training program there at HICL within one month of employment.”

  “He was indeed, upon your request, sir.”

  “As you will have seen, he has shown an excellent degree of management ability, as well as being a great people person. He has the character of a leader, always had, and I knew under your leadership there at HICL he’d be a wonderful asset. I now need you to contact him at once. You’ll find him in his office on the third floor. I need Tommy Lawrence installed as the new manager at Nottingham Forest first thing tomorrow.”

  Chapter 2

  The Department of Information was quiet that early on a Monday morning. It was opened up two years ago as part of a collective crack down on terrorism and it pulled together all the information on anything that was ‘out there’ and aimed to centralise it. Like a library, it acted as a resource centre where you could come and read up on anything, or anyone. Not limited to the printed page, it had over one hundred terminals that covered three floors and all with access to the main database. Military intelligence, of course, remained secret, but not much else did nowadays.

  Robert Sandal sat alone at one such terminal. With a coffee at his desk, he tapped away continuously at the keyboard. Aged twenty-nine, Robert had an intelligent look about him, which was aided greatly by his wire framed spectacles that sat on the end of his nose. He was dressed in a grey flannel suit and matching trousers. His prematurely greying hair only seemed to add to his style, as well as make him look a lot older than he was. He was a frequent visitor to the DoI, calling in at odd times and on different days. The young female clerk, sitting on the main desk by the entrance came to recognise him, though they had not spoken much. He never took anything out, just tapped away at the screens.

  “You know, you really aren’t supposed to bring coffee near the machines, sir,” said the clerk, coming over to Robert with a slight twinkle in her eye, taking in his appearance. She saw that there was a youthful life to him, his eyes giving him away and though grey hair was visible, she guessed he wasn’t as old as it appeared and he certainly had her attention.

  “You have pointed that out to me before, Jessica,” Robert replied, deliberately taking time to look at her name badge that was pinned to her top. She gave a small smile and played with her hair.

  “What do you do here all the time, if you don’t mind me asking?”

&nbs
p; “Just looking at what every citizen has a right to do, Miss Ponter,” he replied carefully.

  Jessica lowered her head slightly as he continued tapping and took in her name badge, which revealed, as she had thought, just her first name.

  “How did you…,” she started to say.

  “Information, my dear. Everything at your finger tips,” he cut in, tapping away and bringing up a DoI employee page with Jessica’s face on.

  “Miss Jessica Ponter, age twenty-two, born in Bolton but you moved to London with your family at age thirteen, who you lived with for a further six years before a death in the family meant you moved again.” He clicked on another folder that was at the bottom of the screen and this opened up on top. He continued, “You bought a meal at the Chinese Dragon last Friday night. One rice and one sweet and sour chicken, so I’d say you live alone, at Flat 5, Dorset Avenue. You shop at your local store once a week, never more than £20 a time, mainly meals for one, toiletries or fruit and veg. You don’t smoke, drink very little and keep yourself in shape at the Eccles Star Gym that’s on the corner of your block.” She stood there taking it all in, now in a stunned silence, studying this vaguely attractive man in front of her, who now seemed even more interesting than before, though she was rather concerned how he knew so much.

  “Are you flirting with me, sir?” she said shortly, secretly hoping he was.

  “No, I’d be flirting if I was showing you files like these,” he said while clicking on another folder that opened up on the top of the screen, “which shows your purchases at La Senza. 32C, ‘fire red’ lace underwear and bra set. You’re probably wearing the fire lace set right now,” he said, turning from the screen and facing her.