Blood War (The Bloodeaters Trilogy Book 1)

by Rees, Kevin

  ‘Thoragan?’

  Sam shook his head. ‘I don’t recognise that name, sir.’ The van hit a bump, jolting everyone inside. Sam rubbed his shoulder. ‘Easy Dave, let’s make sure we can at least deliver the Commander back to his base in one piece.’

  The driver gestured with his middle finger and continued at high speed.

  The rest of the ride was just as bumpy, with Karl having to wedge himself inside the back of the cramped van. Without warning, the driver slammed on the brakes and shouted over his shoulder to Sam they had arrived. Sam wrenched open the side-door and stepped out. In the distance, police sirens were still closing.

  ‘Commander.’

  Karl stepped out of the vehicle, relieving the creaking suspension of his weight. Sam slid the door closed and ordered the driver to lead the police away.

  Karl knew they were safe from any cameras as this had been a pre-requisite demanded by the people who negotiated the terms of their involvement on British soil. No snooping, eavesdropping or covert observation by any means. Given what the UK Government had in return, they were practically salivating to sign the deal.

  ‘You lead, sir,’ Sam said, stepping to one side to allow Karl access through a gap in the fence.

  As Sam climbed through to join Karl, he saw the black outline of someone looking down on them from the roof. A moment later, he found himself face down on the grass.

  ‘Move and I’ll bleed you dry,’ a voice rasped.

  Out of nowhere a man had come silently out of the ground and held a very sharp knife to Sam’s throat. Instinctively, through his years of training, Sam knew he could break the hold, but things hadn’t gone lethal or he would be dead.

  ‘Let him up,’ Karl barked at the man. Instantly, Sam felt the pressure of the knife withdraw from his throat.

  Karl offered Sam his hand, pulling the man to his feet. He turned and ordered the six men, who emerged like ghosts out of the darkness, to return to duties. He gestured for Sam to follow him. Karl walked over to a door with some fancy, artistic graffiti acting as perfect urban camouflage. Sam stood rubbing his neck, feeling a small drop of something wet and sticky coat the tips of his fingers. The knife had taken a nibble. He watched as Karl flicked open a small, well hidden box and punched in a code. The door clicked. Karl walked into the darkness as if all the lights were on, while Sam groped along the walls blindly. At the end of the short corridor, Karl reached into a recess and pulled out a small head torch.

  ‘Here, put this on and follow me up the stairs.’

  Sam felt the torch being placed into his hands. He switched it on and clambered after Karl, who took three steps to his cautious one.

  Karl stopped in front of a broken lift, its doors wedged opened for anyone to see how unfit it was to carry people. He stepped into it and tapped on the back. Sam watched as a panel dropped down with a slight electronic whirr. Behind it was another lift. Karl waved him forward. Numbly, Sam stepped in. Karl punched a pad with gleaming numbers that glowed with a green hue in the darkness. Quietly the lift began to rise to the upper floors of the building. He glanced up at Karl, who was staring as if in deep thought.

  The lift stopped on the fifteenth floor. Sam felt a small pang begin to churn in his stomach. He’d picked up some things being around Sixsmith, who was the worst person to handle secret information. He bragged openly about his responsibilities, and all the covert knowledge he was trusted with. He always liked to tap the side of his head and wink when talking like this, as if to emphasise how important he was. On several occasions he had alluded to this place and the secrets it held. Now, Sam was in the Lair.

  As the doors parted, Sam made to step forward. Karl placed an arm across his chest and squinted down at the smaller man as if examining a specimen through a microscope.

  ‘How did you find me, Mr Cornick?’ Karl demanded.

  Sam paused and looked down at the thick arm barring his exit from the lift. It was no good trying to shift it, and this was no time to see who could piss highest up the wall. Matching Karl was impossible, but Sam was not easily intimidated. Crazy, many had said, but not intimidated by overwhelming size or strength.

  ‘Maybe we could discuss this somewhere more comfortable, Commander? I mean, the lift is very nice but I’ve been up for thirty-six hours and I could use a strong coffee... maybe then we could share notes on Sixsmith.’ Sam took a step back, disengaging the arm, which felt as heavy as a barbell on his chest.

  Karl hesitated. He was beginning to like the man, but didn’t know if he could trust him. Still, Karl reasoned, he had saved him tonight and that at least earned him a chance to tell his story. He went through the door and walked down the dark corridor with Sam following closely.

  Karl took him to his office and switched on two lamps. The machine had half a pot of stewed coffee keeping warm on the hotplate. Karl poured out two mugs and handed one to Sam. No milk was offered — only sugar — much to the bodyguard’s disappointment.

  ‘Okay, Mr Cornick, I’ll ask again. How did you find me?’ Karl sat behind his desk. He gestured for Sam to take the seat opposite.

  ‘I lost Sixsmith as soon as we left the hospital. I say lost, but he did a runner on me. He recalled the other two lads and sent the three of us to our second vehicle to pick up a briefcase. Of course, there was no briefcase, and when I got back to his car he’d gone.’ Sam felt relaxed and able to talk freely in Karl’s company. ‘My first reaction was fuck! My second was also fuck, when I realised we had been given the runaround.’ He drank deeply from the cup and winced at the bitterness.

  ‘Go on,’ Karl urged.

  ‘I’m a private contractor, so are the other two lads who were assigned to Sixsmith, so we don’t get much of an option to pick and choose our jobs if we want to eat and keep a roof over our heads. I served twelve years in the regiment, and done a few contract jobs overseas since, so I’m no-one’s patsy. But losing a client knocks your rep and some companies won’t take me on again.’ Sam leant forward, placing his cup on Karl’s desk. ‘I began asking around to see if anyone’s seen him, and suddenly a lot of people are talking.’

  Karl leant forward. ‘Why?’

  ‘I’ve got a mate in MI5, he said there had been some suspicion about irregular sums of money going into Sixsmith’s account. Sometimes they monitor accounts randomly, and his was making a few of the top brass in Whitehall sit up and take notice. I was then contacted by someone who didn’t give his name, but they knew an awful lot about what this bastard was up to.’ Sam took another mouthful of the coffee.

  ‘Did this person tell you if Sixsmith was a contact for Father?’

  Sam looked surprised. ‘Yeah. How did you know?’

  ‘I suspected he wasn’t enjoying our success in the hospital,’ Karl said. He got out of his chair and poured more coffee, offering Sam another, which was declined. ‘It doesn’t answer how you knew where I was.’

  ‘Bloody hard work and dumb luck.’ Sam grinned. ‘Okay, some of the lads working with me tonight are very good at what they do. Three men killed by someone tall, well built, looked like a killing machine. We guessed you would have an interest in Sixsmith and may try and find him. How is your son, by the way?’

  ‘He’s recovering, thanks to the nurse.’

  ‘Mmm.’ Sam nodded. ‘He’s got a good rep in the regiment. Saved my life. Good lad to have around. Good fighter as well. Did a cracking job today with those zombie things.’ Sam said, continuing. ‘We guessed you would take a specific route and, like you, no doubt, worked out Sixsmith was a bloke who wouldn’t slum it, not even to cover his tracks. We guessed Belgravia. Well, that’s a lie, really. We got a tip-off he was seen somewhere near Eaton Square or Eccleston Street. I saw you near the mews and we followed you. One of the lads was monitoring the radio traffic between the camera boys and the plods. They were following you all over London after killing those twats.’ He leant back in his chair, trying to gauge Karl’s reaction. ‘When armed response was called we had a narrow window to get you i
nto the van and ahead of the ARVs.’

  Karl watched Sam closely, looking for the tics and blinks that would indicate he was lying. He seemed clean.

  ‘Where is Sixsmith?’

  ‘I hoped you might know,’ Sam said. ‘All I know is that he’s in that area, but we can’t go disturbing all those very rich, very important people and ask if they are harbouring a bastard.’

  Karl smiled for the first time since returning from the hospital. The man was growing on him. ‘He’s in the mews.’

  ‘Off Eaton or Eccleston?’

  ‘We believe Eaton.’

  ‘Makes sense. How do we get in?’

  Karl cocked his head. ‘Who said you were joining me?’

  ‘Two heads are better than one, they say, and I’ve got a professional interest to put to bed. Deal?’ Sam said, grinning.

  ‘Just you and me.’ Karl considered. ‘We go back and send Sixsmith out of this world.’

  Sam raised his cup. Karl hesitated before raising his. The deal, it seemed, was set.

  28

  A white Transit van drove slowly down a road that separated identical tall, uniformly coloured buildings set in uniform rows along the length of a uniform street. The driver was craning his head as if trying to marry up something on the paper he held in front of the steering wheel with the imposing houses. On the side of the van it announced in faded blue letters the person was a jobbing tradesman. The piece of paper expertly obscured the man’s face, giving a familiar reference to the person watching his camera monitor that a builder was looking for an address.

  Behind the paper, Sam was slowly manoeuvring the van into a blind spot he’d found earlier. The façade, he prayed, would be enough for the camera operators to switch their attention to other interests. In the back, Karl was squeezing into the regulation workman’s boiler suit designed for someone a couple of sizes smaller. He persevered, eventually ripping the tough material to get his huge frame into the suit. Karl picked up a canteen of water and tipped some over his head. He smoothed the wet hair flat and put on a pair of glasses with thick brown frames. They both had tool bags that looked part of an everyday workman’s kit and would draw little attention. Inside the bags their weapons were primed and ready.

  ‘Do we need comms?’ Sam questioned.

  ‘Silence is all we’ll need,’ Karl replied. ‘Leave the radios here.’

  ‘Do you need to do any checks...?’ Sam stopped himself. ‘Of course you don’t. Shall we go?’

  Sam got out of the van and slid the side door open to let Karl out. A little kick of adrenalin caught Sam in the chest, making him cough to counter the flutter. They both wore yellow hard hats and high-visibility jackets, appearing to anyone watching that they were on their way to a job. Sam had the paper in his hand and began gesticulating to his partner, then looked at the paper again, and at the expensive rows of houses and apartments. Karl bent down pretending to read it, and pointed along the houses as if countering Sam’s directions. The acting was done to perfection all the way to the archway that led into the mews.

  They stopped to scan the cobbled street. A sudden movement made them both reach inside their bags. A streak of red ran across the cobbles and stopped for a moment to look at them before urinating on a tyre and running off.

  Sam puffed out his cheeks. ‘Bloody fox.’

  Karl motioned for them to move. He took the lead and walked into the mews with Sam following closely behind. Neither soldier welcomed the sudden change from flat pavement to uneven, smooth cobbles slipping under the soles of their boots. Karl nudged Sam and pointed to a house standing anonymously in the tight rows. Sam confirmed his sighting of the target building.

  It was a small, flat-fronted, three-storey property squeezed in between two larger houses on either side. Karl had hoped to breach through the garage, but this house didn’t have one. At street level, he saw three tall windows and an impressively polished, black front door. Above them were another three windows with a small unusable balcony housing a miniature garden. On the roof were two windows leading to an attic bedroom, Karl guessed.

  They had little time and this breach would have to go ahead in the next few minutes if they wanted some element of surprise. Sam tapped him on the shoulder and held up a locksmith’s gun. Karl nodded and took out a pair of bolt cutters. They walked casually over to the polished door. No one was up and everything was quiet. They knelt and took out their weapons.

  Sam expertly inserted a torque wrench and the pick-gun into the highly polished brass lock and squeezed the trigger. The click of the tumblers was instantaneous. Sam pushed the door open. Karl snapped a small gold chain securing the door with the bolt cutter and placed the tool down quietly.

  Sam and Karl entered the house.

  They both expected an alarm to trip as soon as they walked into the wide hallway instead it was eerily silent. A few lights were on, but dimmed down to a soft glow. In front of Karl was a spiral staircase with glass steps. The whole interior was slick and modern, decked out in brushed steel and glass brick. Sam tapped Karl on the shoulder and signalled he was sweeping downstairs. Karl nodded and started walking up the spiral steps — his fury beginning to surface with every footstep. He saw Cole, Tork, and poor Lars dead because of this traitor. His anger moved into a murderous rage, blinding him to any sense of caution. As Karl rounded the last twist he felt something hit him in the stomach. It ripped into his body and exited through the skin of his back. The force of the heavy impact and sudden shock dropped Karl to his knees. He tried to understand what was happening as an intense cold started to spread like a frigid plague around his body. Through a blurred curtain of sweat he saw a slim, steel rod with feathers attached to its end had passed through his overalls and was embedded in his flesh. Karl felt himself being sucked down into a spiral of confusion. He drew his hand along the shaft and felt a shell of broken glass mixed with a thick, treacly liquid. As the poison spread, Karl felt his breath stutter, coming only in laboured gasps. He dragged his head up and saw Sixsmith kneeling down at the end of the landing holding something in his hands. Karl tried to move his body, but found a paralysis was restraining his muscles and was slowly executing its host. Maya’s face hovered in front of his, and then slowly it changed into Marissa’s. She walked towards him with her arms outstretched. Behind his wife, Sixsmith was pointing the object at him again. Karl heard a sharp click and felt the immediate impact of another bolt hit his chest. The same ice-cold freeze began to crush his left lung and destroy the delicate tissue. His head fell forward, and he saw another steel rod buried up to its black, flight feathers sticking through the material of the overalls. The poison immediately destroyed everything it touched. Karl felt an agonising pressure in his chest as liquefied tissue started to build up inside him. With nowhere to go, blood, like oil from the bowels of the Earth, spurted out of his mouth and nose, spraying the polished wooden floors and walls in front of him. Karl sensed his breathing had stopped, and in a strange moment of clarity recognised the vague smell he was trying to identify from the bolt. It was Vathsanthin — a highly concentrated genetic poison.

  Far behind him, Karl heard Sam call out his name, closely followed by short bursts of gunfire flaring out of his silenced weapon. Karl saw a blurred shape dive into one of the bedrooms. Sam took something from his pocket and threw it at one of the walls. It caught the angle perfectly and bounced into the room Sixsmith was hiding in. Sam threw himself across Karl. Seconds later an explosion shook the whole house. Sam ran down the hallway and sent several bursts of fire into the room. Karl lifted his sinking eyes and saw Marissa smiling at him. He felt water drip down his face mingling with shame for forgetting how beautiful she was. She sat beside him and gently caressed his face. Soon, the pain would stop, she told him. The powerful poison contained many chemicals to kill, one being a strong anti-coagulant. Karl was almost beyond this world as another torrent of blood spewed from his mouth and nose. Marissa held his head to her chest. All the pain he had lived with since Father took
her away left him. Only the peace of love remained as Marissa took his hand. Karl felt his whole body lift up for a moment; then fall weightlessly, like a butterfly shedding its cocoon.

  ‘Bastard escaped over the roof,’ Sam cursed, walking back up the hallway and then saw the frozen look of death on Karl’s face. The man looked at peace, even had a faint smile. Sam had lost good friends before, but strangely this was a loss he knew he would need some time to get over. Even though he barely knew Karl, Sam recognised in him a brother warrior.

  ‘Well, old son, we sort of messed up on this one.’ Sam removed a small silver flask from inside his boiler suit and drank a soldier’s toast to a fallen comrade. His eulogy was cut short as police sirens began scything a path to the house. There wasn’t an option to take Karl’s body with him, but it was his duty to tell his team what had happened. Sam searched Karl’s body. The only thing he had was a small silver locket around his neck. Sam took it. He laid his hand briefly on the dead man’s face before collecting both weapons and leaving.

  Sam got back to the van unseen and ducked down as police cars entered the mews archway. Behind them, other vehicles were closing fast. He drove off slowly with his window down, listening for the direction of the sirens. Sam had planned three escape routes and drove until he came to some disused garages under a bridge. He backed the van into one of the empty spaces and heard the tyres crunching over the debris of the homeless. Sam got out and stuffed both weapons into one bag. He took off his overalls. Underneath he had on a black tracksuit. He pulled off his heavy boots and swapped to trainers. Now he could pass as some loony going to the gym at stupid o’clock in the morning.

  Sam hesitated. What would he say to Karl’s son and daughter? The mission was botched because Karl Felton made a mistake. That was the truth. He went in blinded by a need for retribution and was killed because he was reckless. Sam didn’t know much about Sixsmith’s past, but his respect had deepened for the man. He knew Karl was coming for him and prepared a well-executed counter-strike. The crossbow was genius; quiet and effective at close range, and he had used specialised bolts to deliver poison. Sam was familiar with the bolts and knew from the smell on Karl’s overalls something more than metal had been used to kill him. But who supplied him with the weapon and the poison? He didn’t get it from Argos.