Hawk's Cross

by David Collenette

  It’s hard to know for sure if he would have run even if he wasn’t tied. Jeremiah had a knack of making everything he said instantly a fact. He didn’t give instructions; he simply stated what was going to happen and, as if it already had, most people simply complied.

  They walked together until they reached the entrance to a tall building. By the appearance of the stark, marble interior it seemed to be an office block except that the entrance appeared to be uninhabited. Jeremiah led Dennis to the lift block and extracted a card from his jacket pocket which he slid through a reader near the lift doors.

  The two of them stood side by side waiting in silence for the lifts until the deafening silence became too much for Dennis and he said, “Look, whatever you want I don’t have it. I’ll do what I can. What do you want?”

  Jeremiah continued to stare at the numbers above the lift doors. He continued his silence until a lift arrived and he gestured for Dennis to enter the car.

  “Please,” he said, gesturing with his free hand as if Dennis had a choice. They rode the lift in silence up to the top floor and Jeremiah placed a hand on Dennis’s back to guide him out of the lift and towards the right, around the back of the lift block.

  Behind the lifts was a single door, with a notice on it in French. Although Dennis couldn’t read French he guessed that it was a warning that only certain people were allowed.

  Jeremiah swiped his card through a slot next to the door and a buzzer sounded. He pushed the door and the magnetic lock released the catch with a ‘schluck’ as they stepped through.

  A flight of metal steps lay ahead of them and they climbed in silence. At the top of the steps was another door, this one unlocked. They stepped through into the lift machinery room.

  Four large units sat on the ground; each held coils of cable and was covered in a wire frame. From the side of these units were large electric motors.

  Against one wall a tall metal cabinet stood with displays and lighted buttons. Four identical LCD displays indicated the relative position of the lift cars. A click indicated activity and the lights changed on one of the four sections as one of the four motors started to run. The heavy hum of the cable being spooled through the mechanism made the floor vibrate, and Dennis watched the unit turn as Jeremiah led him across the floor to another door on the far side.

  He pushed the door open and, with a hand on Dennis’s back, bending his arm backwards, urged him through the door and out onto the roof.

  Jeremiah paused to turn the lock in the door so that it didn’t shut completely. He then indicated for them to continue walking around the side of the lift room. It occurred to Dennis that anyone happening to walk into the lift room wouldn’t see them and only a close inspection of the door would indicate that anyone had used it.

  Out of his pocket Jeremiah retrieved a small knife and slipped it between their hands and the plastic strap, slicing it off. He bent to pick the strap up and pushed it into his pocket along with the knife.

  “Do you know a man named Craig McDonald?” asked Jeremiah.

  “No,” replied Dennis. “No, I don’t.”

  “I’m fairly certain that you do. I’m also fairly certain that you attempted to purchase some detonators for plastic explosives from him, Mr Carver. Please don’t frustrate the situation further by denying what we both know you know.”

  Dennis considered maintaining the charade but stopped himself. “Look, it wasn’t me. I was told to do it. I can give you names and addresses of the people I got them from.”

  “That all sounds very reasonable, Mr Carver, would it not be for the fact that you made the same promise to one of my colleagues last week and immediately left the UK for France, which is where we now find ourselves.”

  “Look, I just needed some time. I’ll have the information by the weekend.”

  “I regret having to tell you, Mr Carver, that time is not a luxury you possess. I was called in because things have reached a point where civil resolution is no longer possible. I have not brought you here to negotiate. I have brought you here to end your life.”

  Dennis’s eyes widened as his body slumped. “No, please. There has to be something I can do! Please let me make it right!”

  “I’m afraid that right and wrong is no longer the issue. The issue is now one of honour and respect. We already have the information you are talking about and I have every confidence that you will continue your endeavours in the future.”

  “Oh God, please no.”

  “I usually find that people meet their end best if they accept the inevitability of the situation and contemplate their lives rather than wasting their remaining time trying to change the situation.”

  Dennis started to cry.

  “I’m not a monster, Mr Carver, if there is something or a message you wish passed on to a relative or friend I will be happy to oblige.”

  All things considered, Dennis made a break for the lift room door.

  Jeremiah sighed and reached into his jacket, pulling out a Taser. He carefully aimed it at Dennis’s receding back and fired. Two metal bolts shot from the end of the Taser, followed by unravelling wire from the main unit and struck Dennis in the back. A crackle and he crumpled to the floor.

  He lifted Dennis to his feet and propelled him towards the edge of the building where a low wall separated them from the drop.

  “I know that this must be a stressful time for you, Mr Carver, but if you consider your situation from a philosophical perspective, every life is exactly the same length when compared with eternity. You see, man is mortal but mankind can be immortal. If we work to lengthen our own mortal lives at the detriment of mankind’s future it has no purpose. If we sacrifice our mortal lives to enhance mankind then we’re working towards its successful immortality.”

  Still stunned from the Taser, Dennis seemed incapable of conversation or voluntary movement, so Jeremiah, without another word, tipped him over the edge and watched him fall silently, landing on the top floor of a deserted car park twenty floors below.

  Jeremiah loosely wound up the Taser and slipped it into his coat to be discarded later. He brushed himself down and made his way out of the building the same way he’d arrived. By the time he arrived at the British Airways Executive Lounge at Charles De Gaulle airport he’d discarded the Taser and the security card, and was sitting with a glass of Merlot reading a copy of the latest UK newspaper brought over on an earlier flight.

  He checked the board and saw that his flight to Heathrow was boarding so he got up and headed out of the lounge and to the gate. He settled into his business class seat at the front of the aircraft just as his phone vibrated. He retrieved it from his pocket and read the message.

  He was heading back to the UK just in time. He read the message again before deleting it and repeated the name in the message to himself as his aid to memorising the details: ‘Matthew Hawk’.

  ***

  Max stepped out of the station in Windsor and walked up through the covered shopping area until he met the main road running past the castle.

  The streets were full of tourists, eager to take photos of themselves and the castle. Across the road a red, open-top bus was waiting for the next crowd wishing to be driven around the town.

  Max crossed the road and walked down the hill slightly to the taxi rank. He jumped into the back of the first cab and barked an address at the driver.

  The driver hung up his phone, pulled away from the curb and drove off.

  The Sikh driver said, “You on holiday, sir?”

  “No.”

  “Business, is it?”

  Max didn’t respond. Instead he just watched the world drift past his window, oblivious to what was taking place.

  They drove for about ten minutes and came to rest at some tall, iron gates at the end of a long drive.

  The taxi driver said, �
��Well, here we are. That will be twelve pounds fifty, please.”

  Max handed the driver fifteen pounds and got out. He pushed the door shut and the taxi pulled away, leaving Max standing by the gates alone.

  He walked up to the gate post and pressed a button on an intercom. A voice from the little box said, “Yes?”

  “Max Gorski. Here to see Robin.”

  Silently, the two large gates started to swing inwards and Max walked through the gap and up the drive.

  Robin Taylor wasn’t your usual mob leader’s name but it was his name. He despised nicknames and saw power as something you earned by your behaviour, not by a name. Everyone who knew him called him Robin but there was never a hint of disrespect; humourless and focused, Robin asked questions that required direct answers, rewarded those who did well and punished those who messed up severely. Betrayal meant death.

  Max had been working for Robin for the past five years. He’d arrived from Poland in 2002 and worked hard to open his first club. Club ownership was difficult but he’d managed to open a few small clubs across London, which had brought him to Robin’s attention.

  Impressed with Max’s eye for business and his ability to make his clubs work, Robin had made him an offer he couldn’t refuse, and Max had joined Robin’s organisation, adopting the responsibilities that came with the financial backing and kudos.

  Max walked up the long drive to meet the imposing Victorian house that sat in the grounds; doors always open, he stepped in.

  He’d been here only twice before but knew where to go. He turned left and opened two large, wooden doors. You didn’t knock when you were called to see Robin. If he called you it was because he wanted to see you. Knocking was questioning his judgement or memory.

  Robin was sitting at a large desk against the rear wall, hands on the table staring straight at Max as he walked in.

  Max closed the doors and walked up to the desk where Robin was waiting.

  Robin was a heavy-set man, adopted by British parents as a refugee orphan with Ugandan heritage. He regarded Max with a fixed stare and, after a moment, he indicated for Max to sit down. Max sat down.

  Robin picked up some paper from his desk and skimmed through it.

  “I see,” he started, “that, despite the general decline of Soho’s adult district, you’re continuing to make a profit on all three of our clubs there.”

  “Thanks to your low-price alcohol, yes,” replied Max.

  Robin waved his answer away. “It wasn’t a question.”

  Max sat quietly as Robin continued to read through the papers.

  “Do you know why I liked you, Max? When we first met and you explained your intentions for the clubs, do you know why I liked you?”

  Max just shook his head.

  “No surprises.” He looked up at Max for the first time and stared straight at him.

  After a few moments Robin broke the stare and stood up, walked across the room and stood by the window overlooking the front lawns.

  “I don’t like surprises, Max,” he continued, “I like to know what is happening, where it’s happening, who to, who by, when and why. Knowledge is, as they say, power. I liked you because I knew what you were doing. You were open, honest and transparent. I knew how much you’d make, from who and by when. You were a known asset and consistent.”

  Max nodded.

  Robin walked up and stood behind Max, who felt vulnerable; the conversation had started out positively but he could sense a dark tide rising. He had no idea what Robin was doing behind him but he wished he could see and his imagination started working overtime.

  Unexpectedly, a photo appeared in front of him. He took it.

  “Do you know who this man is?” Robin asked.

  Max stared at the photo, desperately trying to identify the man.

  “That was a question,” added Robin, “in case you didn’t realise.”

  “I… I don’t know.”

  “Well then, let me help. This is Ethan Connelly.”

  Max just stared at the photo.

  “Aw, I thought you’d be much more enthusiastic than that, seeing as this is the man you’ve been asking about.”

  Max just nodded.

  “Why the interest?”

  Max explained, “I don’t know who he is but he’s been terrorising one of my customers. I wanted to find out who he was and see if I could stop him.”

  “One of your customers? Ah, you mean that weird kid who gets free drinks when he’s not talking to that woman who works on the door.”

  “Yes,” replied Max.

  “It wasn’t a question.”

  Max just sat there, not knowing what to do.

  “Are you an animal lover, Max?”

  “Erm, no, not really.”

  “Oh, I am. Reptiles are my favourites. Take a look.”

  Robin walked over to the far corner of the large room and Max got up and followed. An alcove set into the wall was home to a large vivarium with branches and rocks scattered about. A large heat lamp provided warmth and light.

  Max scanned the cage and it took him a while to spot the snake, curled up in a corner near a water dish. Once he’d spotted one, he saw another and another. Five in total.

  Smooth, brown scales helped them to blend in against the wood of the branches and logs.

  “Do you know what these are, Max?”

  “No.”

  “These are Inland Taipans. I love these guys; they’re the perfect hunter. Do you know that one bite from one of these can kill a person in thirty minutes with enough poison to kill a hundred men?”

  Max just shook his head.

  “They’re fast, aggressive and they strike multiple times. I’m not really allowed to own them in this country; they’re highly illegal. But, well, everyone needs a hobby, right?”

  Max said nothing.

  “Ethan Connelly is one of the most dangerous men I know. Rumour has it he murdered his own kid to prove a point. Now, that takes a considerable amount of style, not to say balls. Don’t you agree?”

  Max felt pain in his hands and realised that he’d been clenching his fists too tightly and his nails were digging in to his palms. He forced himself to relax.

  “Ethan and I co-exist. We know of each other but our businesses don’t cross paths. As such, we leave each other alone. That is, unless one of us decides to go poking our nose where it doesn’t belong. If, say, we were to order information about each other, or accept payment for a hit. Do you see what I’m saying, Max?”

  “Robin, I didn’t know who…”

  “Relax, Max. I know you didn’t do this on purpose. I know that you were just helping out some homeless kid. It’s fine. There’s a reason why I’m sat in this enormous house with my pets and you’re running a few sleazy strip clubs; you struggle academically. However, in five years you’ve not made a single mistake or put me in an embarrassing position. Until now.”

  “Robin…”

  “It wasn’t a question.”

  Max nodded.

  Robin twisted a handle on the vivarium and slid open one of the glass doors. Max could smell hot, humid air and vegetation from inside. One of the snakes must have detected the scent from outside and lifted its head to see what was going on.

  Robin leaned in closer. “See how they taste the air? They pick up particles on their tongues and place them onto a Jacobson organ at the roof of their mouth. They can taste you, Max. They know you’re here.”

  Max watched the snake which lifted its head, his heart rate rising, and he could feel beads of sweat forming and running down his neck. One of the other Taipans resting on a branch started to uncoil itself and slowly sink towards the bottom of the tank, its smooth brown scales silently sliding over each other as it unwound.

  Max took
a step backwards but Robin placed a hand on his back to hold him in position.

  “I’ll make this very clear for you, Max, in case you decide that you want to give thinking another try in the future. I will deal with the mess you’ve created this time and I’ll put it down to a learning experience. However, if you ever need to be brought here again then you will be going into the tank. Do you understand me?”

  Max nodded.

  Robin smiled a wide grin at Max. “Great.”

  He closed the vivarium’s sliding door and walked Max back into the centre of the office, turned to him and said, “You can go.”

  As Robin headed back to his desk, Max turned and left without a word.

  12

  The problem with using words like ‘always’ and ‘never’ is that the universe has a habit of changing your mind; of thrusting events onto you that you just cannot avoid.

  Today I had one of these moments.

  I swore that I was going to stay here forever. I like it here and could quite easily see myself settling down to this new lifestyle. I’ve made some friends (including a duck) and from time to time I can forget the grizzly details of what brought me here and I can sit and look out over the hills and relax.

  However, on this Tuesday morning as I was heading down to the Spar to buy a coffee and a newspaper, fate seized its opportunity and reached out from the front page of the Daily Express.

  “Multiple Soho Killing. Woman Missing.”

  A killing in London wasn’t unusual but six people at a club was at least newsworthy. However, it was the picture that accompanied it that slapped me in the face and I almost sank to the floor.

  There was no mistaking the photo: Claudia.

  As usual, I was sitting on a bench by a small bridge drinking coffee and reading the paper, and I nearly dropped my coffee when I read the article. My heart sank and I immediately felt the pit of my stomach tighten into a knot.

  I stared at the photo for a while and then read the story. I kept losing my place as thoughts ran through my head and I had to start reading over again.