Brock Steele Sphere

by Alex Bloodfire

  Pulling a bar stool up, she forked around the beans. “It may be something else, but …” She paused. “Someone I was once acquainted with reckoned it’s what agents call the building of the secret services.”

  “Another rumour, of course.”

  “Rumour? Get your breakfast. We can go over it all tonight.”

  Brock shovelled beans into his mouth. “Did this someone ever mention what Sphere was?”

  She shook her head, looking puzzled. I’ll look it up in the directories by the reception, see if it throws something. The phone lines are probably down or I’d tap into the phone and get us some internet.”

  “Tap into the phone? Can you do that?”

  “I’ll try. Before I met Lacy, I hit on hard times. I was a hacker for a pressure group.”

  Brock widened his eyes. “If you can tap into the phone, please do. I’d like to pay this Sphere a visit, whatever it is.”

  “Could be dangerous. You could get snatched, or worse, killed.”

  “I’m getting to the bottom of this. Nobody screws with me. Whisking me from the hospital to a phoney apartment, no wonder I didn’t recognise it. It was a temporary arrangement until they acquired …”

  “Acquired what?”

  “What Ty mentioned in the car yesterday: a USB, probably holding some controversial information. Must be, the lengths he’s taking to get it back.”

  “And you have no such thing?”

  He glanced to the floor. “It’s lurking somewhere.”

  “You should keep it, expose him.”

  “He’s afraid I will. And he’s desperate.”

  She smiled. “I can help, rack your brain tonight. I know just the thing.”

  Chapter 25

  Sun gleamed through the lush trees in the damp woodland. Sarah and Brock waited, standing behind overhanging branches overlooking the lay-by.

  “You sure you agreed to meet him over there? Why doesn’t he call you?”

  “We agreed to no mobiles. Whoever slipped this one into my pocket probably has a trace on it, so it’s switched off.”

  A long hour passed. Car after car rode by, oblivious to them hiding in the woodland. Sarah eventually crouched down against an oak tree. She’d mumbled to him to give up, go back to the hotel, consider other options. What if Ty had been snatched? Or killed?

  But Brock knew that although Ty was a risk-taker, it was more likely the idle git had overslept. He watched through the trees as car after car rode by. Eventually, a sleek black Mini slammed on its brakes, coming to a sudden stop directly in front of them. He shot a glance at Sarah, who jumped up, trudging further into the wood. Brock slid his hand across the pistol in his jacket as he watched the Mini in front of him. The car door opened and he instantly pulled out the pistol. Ty appeared from inside the newly nicked Mini. Another one.

  “What took you so long?” shouted Brock.

  Sarah stepped out from the woods, stretching, complaining about the stiffness in her legs and jumping onto the back seat. Brock slumped into the front passenger seat and kicked at some used fish and chip wrappers at his feet. Ty stared grimly forward as he pulled out of the lay-by. An intense smell of fish and chips permeated the car. Brock reached down and grabbed at the paper wrappers, winding the window down and throwing them into the road. Ty stared resolutely forward as though in a world of his own.

  “I need you to drive by my old place first. I’ve got something to collect. Park a few streets away—it’ll be safer. After this, we’re heading over to Mayfair. That’s when the real fun starts. How did your night go?” asked Brock.

  “Awful,” croaked Ty.

  Silence erupted throughout the car.

  Ty slammed on the brakes and the car came to a sudden halt. The three of them sat perfectly still, staring. It was unlikely anybody would be watching the flat. Not now. All that remained was a burnt-out black skeleton where Brock’s deliberately set-up residence had once stood. The entire block appeared to have succumbed to a massive fire, windows, doors, and even the plastic guttering burned to the ground.

  “This is it then,” Brock said eventually. “We better move quickly. To Mayfair.”

  “I’m sorry for you,” said Ty, appearing to wipe his eyes.

  “For what? Hardly lost my worldly possessions. This place was a fake, they can do what they want with it for all I care. My home is somewhere else. Let’s move on.”

  Sarah looked at him, concerned. Ty slammed on the accelerator hard, the car skidding as it pulled away. Ty coughed. “What’s in Mayfair?”

  “Sarah might have found something. We’ve established it could be some sort of building connected to Sighrus. Seems reasonable to assume, I guess.”

  “Wow, sounds dangerous. They’ll be ready for you the minute you go near. You’ll get snatched,” said Ty.

  “That’s what I said. That’s why we’re staying away,” snapped Sarah.

  Brock paused, rubbing his hand across his pistol. “Observation is the key.”

  Ty pulled up on the busy street next to a parking meter. Shops lined both sides of the road as people dressed in expensive suits and luxury dresses bustled past. All three checked their pockets for loose change: empty. Ty agreed to stay in the car and drive off at any sign of trouble. Brock looked through a small window of the stone-built building across the street. His gaze caught a hotel opposite.

  “Guys, if the hotel stairwell overlooks this building, we could monitor what sort of activity is going on. See if Sighrus pops in and out.”

  “Sighrus would be elsewhere, surely?” said Sarah.

  “Do you have one of your notorious credit cards?” Brock asked Ty. “We left the other in our hotel.”

  Ty grinned and yanked at the glovebox. It fell open and papers fell out. He reached in, felt around, and produced a colourful credit card, waving it in Brock’s direction while muttering the PIN. Brock opened the door and both he and Sarah scuttled into the crowd. Hovering over a cash machine, he noticed the card belonged to a certain Preston. He withdrew several hundred pounds, handing Sarah a small wad and stuffing the rest into his jacket.

  “Here’s the plan,” he said. “You pop to the reception. Smile, book us a room. Making sure it overlooks the road. Tell the receptionist you like the architecture of the street or something exciting. I’ll meet you by the stairs,” he said.

  “I’m worried. I’m getting one of my eerie feelings again,” she said.

  He leaned across the stairs, waiting, ducking his head as he heard someone running down the stairs. The stair door flung open and Sarah appeared, her face flushed as she waved the key. She climbed the stairs, he followed.

  “The woman was a right old cow, asking loads of questions, messing me around. She asked me to wait after 12 p.m., check-in time. It’s nearly that now, for goodness’ sake. Felt like a weird interrogation. Another thing—this dingy hotel is ludicrously expensive. I used all the cash and still owe her twenty quid. I told her I’d pop down later. You see if I do. She’s given me room 244—it overlooks the road. Can I ask, was your friend alright? I mean, he’s such a Jack the Lad, but he looked flustered in the car. For the first time, I felt sorry for him.”

  “Something must have happened last night. Trouble, I reckon. Explains why he was late. By the looks of him, he’d probably driven off to some lay-by on the other side of town and kipped down for the night. Don’t understand why he’s got Preston’s credit card though. I’ll talk to him later.”

  Sarah forced the key into the room door and a second later they were in. A dull magnolia wallpaper hit them head-on. Sarah pulled at the horrible orange duvet, throwing it back across the bed. Brock peered into the small en-suite and headed over to the window. Pulling back the ghastly bright orange curtains, he peeked through the white privacy blinds, looking directly at the office block in front.

  “This grotty hotel charges all this m
oney?” Sarah said in disgust as she joined him at the window. “Looks normal. A typical office building. What exactly are you looking for?”

  Brock’s gaze moved towards a large parked van. “I have to agree—it looks normal. A little too normal, don’t you think? Look at that white van. Something is odd with the way it’s parked. I can understand why someone would want to set up base on a busy high street. What’s throwing me is the white van.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I’m going to take a closer look.”

  “But we agreed it would be too dangerous. If your face is snapped up by their CCTV, security will grab you. It’s too risky. Please don’t go.”

  “All I need is a couple of minutes. I’ll stay close to the street. I promise I’ll be back.”

  He pecked her on the cheek, then headed through the door of the tiny room. Stepping onto the street, he blended in with the crowd as he made his way over to the cleaning van. He peered inside the front window. How oddly parked it was. It was empty, some cleaning gear placed on the dashboard and a mop sticking across the passenger seat. Had he made a mistake? He was so sure.

  The pace of the crowd pushed him forward, and he scanned around in case anyone stood out or was watching him. There was nobody. Edging towards the building, his slow pace blended perfectly with the passing traffic. He halted, peering into the meticulously clean reception area. A smartly dressed attractive woman sat chatting into the phone, while several men in perfectly fitting suits to the right were chatting loudly. He swung around, looking up at the hotel window and giving Sarah a cheeky wink, then stepped into the plush building. He was conscious of the men, who got up and walked out as he entered. The receptionist spoke loud and clear and Brock could hear every word.

  “No, my dear, this is a software development company. We only develop and design databases for prestigious companies. As we only work for select clients, it’s unlikely to be us.”

  She patiently continued, and Brock let out a guffaw. He could hear the caller at the other end. Eventually, she wished the caller farewell, placing the receiver over the phone. She glanced in Brock’s direction.

  “Do you have an appointment?”

  “Me, err, no. I’m looking for the nearest cash machine.”

  She rose from the seat, kicking back the black swivel chair and pointed towards the door. “Out the building to your right, over the road.”

  Crossing the road, he wandered back into the hotel. The receptionist there was much grumpier than the one he had just encountered. She was hard at it, banging words into her computer. Nearby, a man in a crumpled grey suit stood facing the window, talking quietly into his mobile. Brock went to the stairwell door, lowering his head. If anyone recognised him, he was screwed.

  As he stepped through, he froze: the guy on the mobile mentioned his name. The door shut behind him, and he pulled it ajar, sticking his finger between it to hold it slightly open. He felt for the pistol in his jacket pocket, ready to pull it at a moment’s notice. He peered at the man through the crack in the stairwell door.

  Who was this guy? Why was he here?

  Brock scoured his mind, trying hard to place him. Nothing. He stood patiently, trying desperately to listen to the conversation, keeping his finger in place and the door ajar. Moments passed; the muttered conversation continued. The receptionist shouted suddenly, beckoning the man over. She startled Brock and he pulled his finger from the door. He opened it again, just as the man ended his call and stepped over to the reception desk. The receptionist ran through her spiel, apparently bored and distracted.

  “I’ve given you room 301. It’s on the third floor, Breakfast is served between seven and nine in the morning. If you need anything, press 0 on your room phone …”

  Brock closed the door. Taking a deep breath, he sprinted upstairs and towards his room, tapping frantically on the door. When it opened, he leaped in, forcefully pushing against the door’s overhead mechanical device spring until it was tightly shut.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “We should leave. Now!”

  “Oh, it’s all safe. I phoned them. A dead-end I’m afraid, they’re a software—”

  “I know, I heard you on the phone.”

  “You knew?”

  “Of course, why did you bother them? I’d already worked it out from the signage above the door. They’re in the hotel.”

  “What, the people across the road?”

  “No, a guy at the reception downstairs mentioned me by name on his mobile. I only saw him, but chances are they’ll be more. He’s in room 301.”

  “We’ve got to get out now,” said Sarah, snatching her jacket. “I told you I had a bad feeling! You should have listened. It was a bad idea to come here. We should wait. He’s checked in, he’ll be coming up the stairs in a minute.”

  Brock collapsed onto the bed. “It might already be too late. The receptionist could have seen me. I’ve got a better idea. Call Ty on the mobile, use the hotel phone. Tell him to meet us in the room.”

  When Ty joined them in the hotel, they sat chatting in the tiny room over the noise of the traffic in the street below.

  “What’s going on, Brock? Who is he?” asked Ty.

  Brock shrugged.

  “This is a bad idea. We should leave right now,” said Sarah, rubbing her forehead.

  “He’s on his own, Brock, we can easily take him, smack him one,” said Ty.

  “Reckon we should at least find out who he is. He might have some answers,” said Brock.

  “I’m in,” growled Ty. “Anything for a fight. I’m in the mood.”

  He kicked his legs out in a fighting motion and Sarah sat up on the bed, sighing.

  “We should strike now. He’s checked in, he’ll probably drop his stuff, get settled and go out. Let’s give him a knock and bust our way in,” said Brock. “You should stay here and wait, Sarah. It could be dangerous.”

  She grabbed his shoulder. “I’m coming with you.”

  “It’s too dangerous. If he kicks off, he might hurt you.”

  She tutted, grabbing her jacket and following through the door. Brock groaned and insisted she remain in the room. She ignored him and kept on following to the third floor.

  Brock and Ty stood each side of the door, Sarah back in the distant corridor. Ty gave a sharp tap and stepped back. Brock reached into his jacket pocket, yanking out the pistol and holding it behind his back. Sarah’s eyes widened and she looked to the floor.

  There was rustling inside the room, a loud thump, and the door slowly opened. Somehow, Ty snatched the pistol right out of Brock’s hand and threw a high kick into the man’s stomach, knocking him across the floor. Brock reached for the pistol, but Ty jumped into the room, hovering over the prone man and pointing it directly against his head. Brock, flabbergasted, quickly followed inside the room. Sarah peered around the door, slowly stepping in and pushing it shut.

  “Ty, what are you doing? What’s going on?” said Brock.

  Sarah’s eyes bulged as she stood quietly at the door, watching. Ty ignored him, ramming the gun into the man’s temple as he lay across the floor, his body shaking. Ty screamed at him, demanding to know who he was.

  “Stop screaming, someone will hear us. Give me the gun,” said Brock.

  The man wriggled, coughed, and his hands trembled. “Please don’t kill me, what do you want?” mumbled the man.

  Brock paused. “I heard you on the mobile, you mentioned my name. Who are you?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Sarah looked up at Ty as he pressed the pistol deeper into the man’s temple, scratching the skin.

  “He’s hurting me, get him off,” screamed the man,

  “Stop it, Ty,” said Brock, trying to snatch the gun. Ty swiped it pointing, it at him. Brock’s mouth fell open, but he glanced back at the man.


  “Look, I heard the conversation on your mobile downstairs. Who are you?”

  The man pulled himself up, leaning his back against the bed, rubbing his cut, blood appearing from it.

  “Look what you animals have done, and to think I tried to help you, Brock.”

  Brock stepped back; Ty hovered pointing the pistol over him.

  “Of course you know who I am,” he grunted. “It’s Dalton, you idiot.”

  Brock turned the name over in his head. “Dalton?” Then he remembered. “Wait … Dalton Fisher? Hang on, you signed the tenancy on my apartment. Why?”

  Dalton stared at the ground, avoiding his glance. Ty aimed the pistol towards his head.

  “Answer him!”

  “Sighrus is blackmailing me.”

  The room stood in silence; Dalton opened his mouth to speak. “Over an affair. I tried to help you. You’ve caused so much trouble.”

  “Let me get this straight: you’ve put my life and the bloody country at risk over one of your silly damn affairs and you’re blaming me?”

  “No. Please, Brock, there is more. I loved my wife—”

  “Save it,” interrupted Ty.

  “He was out to ruin me, my kids, my job. She walked out, filed for divorce, it was a stupid mistake. He threatened to kill me. I put my life on the line for you.”

  “Intelligent woman, obviously,” muttered Sarah.

  “How did you put your life on the line for me? What am I supposed to have done?”

  “He’s talking crap, all lies. Let me finish him off,” shouted Ty.

  “No, give me the gun. There is something sinister going on here and I need to know the truth. Tell me what it is,” said Brock.

  “I’m disgusted with myself. I should have realised what he’s capable of. I’ve every intention of putting it right now. The intelligence service is complex—he’s too respected and covers his tracks well. He’s planning something, something big. We have to do something,” said Dalton.

  “Putting what right? What’s he planning?”

  “Understand, Brock. That drug you had your drink spiked with at the party … I tried to intercept it. It caused such a reaction because it was manufactured in a lab. He gave it to you. Police and security services were sent to infiltrate dealers in Leicester Square in a joint operation. You know, get intelligence on where the supplies were coming from.