Brock Steele Sphere

by Alex Bloodfire

  “Brock, we need to get these files over to the relevant people. It’s our only chance,” said Sarah.

  “Files?” Gunner asked.

  “We’ve some compromising evidence to bang this Sighrus up for a very long time. Have him banged to rights.”

  “Err, what you’re asking is a little out of my remit,” said Gunner.

  “Please? Pretty please?” said Brock.

  “Surely you want this monster locking up, don’t you?” said Ty.

  Gunner needed much persuasion but eventually agreed, and they discussed how they could snatch some guns out the gun store. Sighrus’s home address would be fairly easy; they just required access to the gun range computer. Getting the guns, however, would be more of an effort: a massive effort. Brock devised a plan to make themselves members, attend the first session, and snatch the guns. However, Ty pointed out all new members could only be issued low-level guns. Brock needed to acquire more top-level guns and somehow get them out.

  “We heard Sergei was sacked,” said Brock.

  “That’s correct—sacked for robbing the till, but it was me. Not for the money, I’m no thief, I just hated the old codger. Sergei worked the reception that day. He popped outside chatting to someone, the reception was empty so I nipped behind it, snatched the cash, and made it look as though he did it. At least that’s what I thought.

  “He started a sacking spree—first kicking the instructors, a cleaner, it’s obvious I would be next. Truth is, the owners knew it was me all along … they watched me on the CCTV. I should have realised but they were desperate and happy to boot Sergei out. He brought in some Russian friend of his and they caused some right trouble.”

  “What happened to you when the men burst into the gym and shot Lacy?” said Brock.

  “Absolutely poleaxed. One of the guys knocked me flat on the floor. I was out cold. I came around quickly, though, and slipped into a cupboard. Shortly after all the commotion, the men disappeared. Sergei called an ambulance, but they ignored me, and just put Lacy into a body bag and whisked her off. Strange thing … they hushed everything up. I gathered by this point that some serious shit going on. And by the way, Lacy’s funeral is on Friday,” said Gunner.

  Sarah sniffled.

  “Unlikely we can make it. I find it odd why Sergei employed me in the first place. Did he know something?” pondered Brock.

  “I’d love to go to the funeral,” said Sarah.

  “You reckon Sergei is involved with Sighrus somehow?” asked Ty.

  Brock shook his head.

  “Russian agent perhaps?”

  “Doubt it very much. Sergei’s not agent material, more like a screwed-up alcoholic.”

  Gunner stepped out the Mustang and made his way into the thick brick building. They waited five minutes before jumping out of the car and following. Gunner was perched on a chair behind the reception desk, staring into the computer. He jotted Sighrus’s address on some paper and passed it to Brock. Then he registered them into the computer using fake names and addresses before pointing to a grey metal door.

  All three ambled through it into a big cold hall. A cage hung over them, separating them from the range, and an old man sat behind a dark reception desk. The place was empty, and the old man insisted on a whole ten-minute briefing. Brock managed to style his way through the chat and the old man handed over three Glock 19s of fairly decent calibre.

  Pacing over to the range opposite, Brock aimed towards a target, letting off a round. His shooting was almost perfect: only a couple of bullets strayed. A woman shot him an intrigued stare. Quickly, he signalled to the others, and they quickly headed to the door. The old man spotted them, and the woman across the range started screaming.

  “It’s him!”

  Brock sprinted over to the door, but it was on a control lock. Ty darted over to the old man, pointing the gun directly at his temple and reaching his hand around, fumbling for the lock. Brock slammed himself against the door and they sprinted through, out of the complex towards the Mustang. A siren blared in the distance; Sarah let out a big gasp. Jumping in, Ty twiddled the wires, starting the engine, and Brock hit the accelerator. The tyres skidded as they headed directly towards the home of Sighrus.

  Chapter 32

  “Brock, hear me out, please. This place is far too dangerous. Think of the tight security around his house … chances are the street is crawling with police,” said Sarah.

  “She’s right. First we should dump these USB drives in a safe place. Sighrus might be working late somewhere. He’s probably not even home,” Ty said, scratching his head.

  The busy traffic slowed and Brock cruised the Mustang along. “We wait for him.”

  “Another one of your crazy ideas. If we’re pulled now, they’ll snatch the drive and our lives into the bargain. Let’s go through the contents first to know what we’re dealing with.” Sarah held her hand out.

  Brock ignored her, manoeuvring the Mustang onto a dual carriageway. “This is why you are both staying put in the car. I’ll park it somewhere near his house, suss out the security, and only make my move if it’s safe. In the meantime, you and Ty take the car over the bridge. Give me half an hour and I’ll meet you by the bridge somehow. Anything happens, you both drive up north and hand the USB to—”

  “The black jeep!” shouted Sarah. “Over there.”

  Brock stared out of the window. The dark figure next to Sighrus slipped out of view. He slipped back into the first lane, and the jeep slipped into the second lane behind a silver Audi heading directly towards them. Sarah wrung her hands.

  “What if they’ve spotted us already? I told you this was a bad idea.”

  She slipped her hand into the door compartment and pulled out a newspaper, holding it across her face. Ty ducked down to lie across the back seat.

  “They’re close now, almost at the side of the car,” said Sarah.

  Brock checked his wing mirror; his view of the passenger in the jeep was obscured. Noticing a left turn coming up, he indicated left, slowly easing the car into the turning. The jeep rode by on the main road, and he swung the car back into the dual carriageway.

  Brock followed the car, squinting into the front passenger seat.

  “Do you think he spotted us?” said Sarah.

  “Judging by his reaction, no.”

  “I hate to tell you this, Brock, but the guy in the car next to him … he mighty resembles our prime minister.”

  “You’re having a laugh,” said Brock.

  “Perhaps it’s time to split. Pull into the next left turning quickly. Security services must be following him all over the street,” said Ty.

  “His car’s switching lanes. I think he’s about to turn right. Maybe we should continue on the road,” said Sarah.

  “And if he continues?” asked Ty,

  “Well, I’m screwed if I know,” said Sarah.

  “We should head to the hotel. It’s safer there.”

  “It’ll be crawling with police. We need to find a new joint. Anyway, I’m following him to the house,” said Brock.

  “The prime minister is sitting in his car and you’re going to pay him a visit?” Sarah put her head in her hands.

  Sighrus’s jeep pulled up into the driveway of a big mansion house, dark-green ivy hanging across its entire structure. Automatic gates slowly closed behind him; it was the exact address Gunner had written on the piece of paper. Brock slowed the Mustang, noticing two occupied cars moving into place on each side of the road. The jeep door swung open and Sighrus stepped out, slamming it behind him, some files under his arm. He made his way to the front door of the house and the other man followed him. He swung his keys towards the door but it swung wide open. A little girl with long ponytails stood in the doorway. “Hi, Daddy!” she shouted.

  He lunged forward, lifting the little girl into his arms and slamming the d
oor behind him. Brock hit the accelerator, pulling into a nearby street.

  “Take the car, Ty. Drive up that way and I’ll meet you in about twenty minutes. Trust me, I’ll be there.”

  Before anyone could say a word, Brock jumped out, throwing the keys into Ty’s lap and hurrying up the street. He slipped behind a wall, scrutinising the two silver cars full of security services agents. There were probably more lurking. Jumping over the gate of another big mansion two houses up, he made his way around the back. He ran his hands reassuringly over the Glock 19 in his jacket pocket.

  As he stepped into the garden, a dog barked from inside the house. He pushed himself behind the fence, watching Sighrus making for a shed. Among the shrubbery, his two children played together. Brock waited, as Sighrus stepped inside the shed. A woman appeared and both kids meandered towards her, holding some toys. Brock slid quietly and slowly towards the shrubbery; his heart started to race. Making his way to the shed, he peered. Sighrus was rummaging through equipment, shouting out to the children, adjusting a crucifix around his neck. Brock hovered over him, pointing his 9mm Glock. Sighrus glanced up.

  “Stop being ridiculous, Brock.”

  “Why?”

  “You’re holding everyone to ransom. I only want you to stop all of this stupidity.” Sighrus reached into a box, grabbing a black leather wallet and throwing it towards him. It landed on the floor. Outside, there was the click of a gun being loaded.

  “It’s yours. Pick it up.”

  “I’m only holding you to ransom, I know you’re working for Russia.”

  He knelt, slipping it into his trouser pocket. Rustling in the garden and someone screaming in the distance startled him. He aimed the Glock towards Sighrus’s leg. Two men in black suits were sprinting towards him; Sighrus’s wife was pulling the kids into the house. Sighrus snatched at a white decorator’s sheet just as Brock fired, and the bullet missed.

  “Give yourself up, Brock. It’s over.”

  Brock’s finger massaged the trigger as Sighrus stared at him.

  “If they shoot, you’re finished,” said Brock.

  “Hold your fire,” shouted Sighrus to the men outside.

  “Tell me what Sphere is.”

  Sighrus’s breathing was heavy. He whispered something to him, but the sound of a gunshot outside pierced the air. Brock dived onto the floor. A familiar voice was shouting outside.

  “Come on, Brock, these men are everywhere.”

  You have a nice daughter, Sighrus, you play silly and she—”

  “Don’t shoot in front of my kids!”

  Brock peered around the shed. More shooting. But the men in black suits were taking cover. Then he saw Ty beckoning to him from the fence.

  “What are you on, a suicide mission? Get out, moron!”

  Brock broke out of the shed and sprinted towards the fence. A spray of automatic gunfire filled the garden like a hail storm. Ty fired back into them as Brock somersaulted over the fence, landing into some shrubs. Both sprinted across the garden, over the concrete patio, and jumped over another fence around the front of a house. The suited men sprinted towards them, spraying bullets in their direction. Ty and Brock ran down the tree-lined main street, turning into another street where Sarah was patiently waiting in the Mustang. Brock snatched at the door and Ty twiddled the wires underneath to fire up the engine. Brock hit the accelerator and the car rolled forward. He checked his rear-view mirror; suited men in the distance pointed their Glocks, firing towards them. Sarah’s hands were trembling and she was crying.

  “You nearly got us killed again,” she wept.

  “I’m sorry, I should have known better. I just needed to know,” said Brock.

  “To the country,” said Ty.

  “No, I have one last visit to make.”

  “Oh God,” said Sarah.

  Chapter 33

  Brock hit the brakes pulling the Mustang between some trees on a quiet street close to the residence of Lady Ranskill. He sprawled over the seat, overlooking the silent pitch-black heath.

  “It’s unlikely she’ll be expecting me,” he said to Ty and Sarah. “For my security, I’d like to disable the two secret servicemen in the car over there. I have a surprise for her. …”

  After several minutes spent discussing Brock’s plan, all three pushed their car doors open and slipped out, heading towards the two men in the car. Sarah smiled at the men, tapping on their window; the other two stood close by in the pitch-black park, ready to pounce.

  “Excuse me, sir, could you tell me where I could find the Tube station?”

  The man slowly wound down the window, pointing to the top of the street. He had just opened his mouth to speak when Brock jumped out, grabbing at him and yanking him through the window and onto the ground. The other man jumped out of the car and Ty stepped up to him, pointing his Glock towards his head. Brock swiftly fastened the handcuffs around their wrists, and Sarah ripped one of the men’s shirts into several pieces, tying the makeshift gags around their mouths. Ty pulled open the boot of the car and the two security men were rolled inside.

  Brock paused by Lady Ranskill’s front door, then slipped into the neighbour’s garden and made his way around the back. Locating and cutting the telephone wire, he moved across to the kitchen window. She was lounging over the big dining table, nibbling some cake and sipping coffee. He tapped on the window; it startled her and she looked up, making her way to the back door.

  “Hello, Brock, nice of you to pop by.”

  “Are you going to invite me in for some coffee?” said Brock.

  “Of course,” said Lady Ranskill. She stepped away from the door, staring right at him as he walked into the kitchen. He rubbed his hand over his jacket, feeling for the Glock, as he sat down.

  “Let me switch the percolator on,” said Lady Ranskill. Flicking the switch, she hovered over him by the table. “Sarah missed her flight, I gather. No worries, we have another one arranged.”

  “As soon as I jumped on the bridge in Richmond, I remembered everything,” Brock said.

  She stepped away towards the coffee machine. “It’s dangerous here, Brock. Outside is swarming with MI5—they’ll have no hesitation in killing you.”

  “Stupid me volunteered to join MI5. I went into the training. Quite harsh methods … I’m sure you know what I mean. I knew Sighrus very well –you are very aware of that too. After all, he is the top-brass trainer of the security services.”

  Lady Ranskill stepped further next to a set of knives and reached over, grabbing one.

  “Then I met Dalton. I knew I hated the little pipsqueak from somewhere. His attempt to expose Sighrus was good. Do you agree? And Sighrus found out, holding me against my will at the training ground, the installation in Richmond. Dalton arranged my escape. I’m surprised Sighrus allowed him to live. Sighrus had gathered I had compromising information on a drive and simply ordered his trainees to chase after me.”

  “Do you have the drive?” said Lady Ranskill.

  “It’s in a very safe place. He arranged for me to take the drive and pass it on to the powers that be. You, I believe. Stupid Dalton failed to make other copies—the one in my possession is the only one. Doubt Sighrus knew. That’s probably why he allowed Dalton to live so long. Sure, he could have passed the drive onto you, but Sighrus would have him monitored and his equipment tapped. He knew he’d be killed in an instant, so it’s unlikely he would risk his life. Mine, maybe,” said Brock.

  “So, give me the drive, have Sighrus over and done with. It’s what you want,” said Lady Ranskill.

  “Because, unknown to Dalton, you were working for Sighrus all along.”

  “These are extraordinary allegations you are making against me. You’ve completely lost it.”

  “It’s the money. Stop you going bankrupt and having to give your precious house up? How much did he offer for the in
volvement?”

  Brock yanked the Glock out of his jacket pocket. “The CIA knew about Sighrus. I worked that out for myself. Somehow, he connected himself to the Kremlin. They probably paid him a considerable amount of money and offered a safe haven in Russia.”

  “This is utter rubbish. You must stay out of this, Brock. The CIA are my friends. I can help you … I can get you and this Sarah out of the country. You’ve gone rogue now. You’re on the run and a known fugitive, and only I can help. Everyone out there thinks you’re a carjacker and a murderer. We can help each other.”

  “But it’s you who is rogue. You left me little choice but to run. The security services meeting in the 401 club to have Sighrus called out and arrested … it was rubbish and you know it. It’s why I managed to get away so easily—I bet you or someone else ordered the agents to deliberately miss, let me go, and eventually bring you the USB. That’s why I just left you on the floor. I’d already clicked you’d be safe and that it was another setup. Sadly, one I walked into again.”

  “But you still came … Baffling.” Lady Ranskill smirked. She gripped the kitchen knife tightly.

  Brock aimed the Glock higher towards her head. “He was going to pay you substantial amounts of money to befriend me and acquire the USB, wasn’t he?”

  She didn’t say anything.

  “I visited his house, or should we say mansion. No way he could afford such luxuries on his salary. Come to think of it, neither can you on your husband’s income.”

  He dug deep in his jacket pocket, pulling out the drive. Lady Ranskill moved her eyes to it and then back to the Glock.

  “Sebastian works as foreign secretary. He attended the MI5 conference too and watched you parading yourself around like a fool, but he’s done nothing wrong. Things were withheld from my husband, important things. The prime minister takes control of intelligence when he’s elected, Sebastian deals with them and signs authorisations for intelligence-gathering operations. You’re delusional, Brock. This place is bugged. They are listening in, and there are agents are outside.”