by R D Shah
‘Bullshit,’ the giant hissed. ‘They’d never let me out of this place.’
‘Under normal circumstances you would be right Drazia,’ Harker replied, ‘but what is happening outside is far from normal and the Home Office has agreed for you to be released into my custody – and that you will be granted clemency for your past actions if, and only if, you help me find the Magi base of operations.’
Heldon stared at him blankly. Even though he was clearly not fully convinced, he was certainly entertaining the idea.
‘You will of course remain under armed guard at all times. But if you keep your side of the bargain, then you will be free of this cell forever. That’s unless you decide to kill again and then, of course, you’ll be hunted down, but that is your choice to make.’
The casual mentioning of killing and actually having choice in the matter garnered a flash of excitement in Heldon’s eyes, but it was immediately replaced with one of anguish. He rubbed at his temples as his eyes began to flutter, the familiar pain of his condition causing a throbbing in his head.
The Class 1 form of chiari malformation was a genetic disorder and in the simplest terms meant the patient’s brain was quite literally too big for the skull and, without regular treatment, would cause blinding headaches. The chances were that the same genes responsible for Heldon’s abnormal size were the likely reason for this condition, and in most cases the illness would bring about an early death unless major surgery was performed. For Heldon, unfortunately, surgery had never been an option and the best he could look forward to was a lifetime of medication and the increasingly psychopathic tendencies that had manifested in him from an early age. Perfect Magi cannon fodder, and also the perfect candidate to be manipulated so long as he was off his medication. By the way the giant was clutching at his head in pain he was without doubt in the danger zone right at that moment.
‘This is your only chance for revenge on those who betrayed you.’ Harker coaxed softly, fully aware of the disorder that was tearing through the killer’s head.
‘I have been betrayed,’ he began to mutter in his usual deep monotone. ‘They should … They should have never left me here …’
‘That’s right Drazia, they shouldn’t have,’ Harker cajoled tenderly, not wanting to sound in anyway dominating and risk the killer’s naturally defensive nature bubbling to the surface. ‘But I don’t need to tell you what you already know.’
Heldon closed his eyes and rubbed at them with his thick fingers, then massaged the back of his neck before his eyes fluttered open once again. ‘My head hurts,’ he whined gazing at Harker with none of the malice displayed earlier. ‘I need my medication.’
‘I’ll have some waiting for you on the plane, Drazia. Just tell me where we are going and I’ll get you aboard quickly and then you can take your revenge.’
The calmness of the moment was suddenly broken by a bumping sound in one of the cells further along and for a moment the giant was distracted by it, turning his head towards the source.
‘Don’t worry about that, Drazia,’ Harker urged, not wanting Heldon to wake from his hazy state. ‘Tell me where we need to go, and then we can get the revenge that you deserve.’
Harker’s mention of revenge brought Heldon’s focus back on to him, and the killer began to nod slowly, his eyes still glazed.
‘Caracas,’ he muttered, the pain in his head clearly becoming increasingly debilitating. ‘When the time is near I must go to Caracas and head for the base of the hill in Macuira National Park.’ The sentence was delivered so mechanically that it sounded as if the assassin had been hypnotised into remembering it.
‘Then let’s go to Caracas and meet with the others,’ Harker suggested, still in the same soft tone so as to soothe the killer’s muddled state of mind. ‘Is there anything else we should know before we leave here? Anything else that might help us once we get there?’
Further along the corridor the same bumping started again, but louder this time as one of the occupants continued to engage in whatever activity he was up to and Harker made the mistake of allowing himself to become momentarily distracted. The interruption was all that was needed to break Heldon from his daze, and to have the killer now staring at him menacingly again. The fiery hatred was back with a vengeance as the killer jumped to his feet and lunged forward, slamming both his fists against the Perspex screen – sending Harker flinching backwards.
‘You’re trying to trick me, you piece of shit,’ Heldon raged as spittle flew from his lips on to the transparent partition. ‘You won’t get anything from me except a slow death.’
Harker lent in towards the Perspex barrier and eyed the Magi assassin with contempt. ‘Caracas? Thank you, Heldon, you’ve been most helpful. I couldn’t have known it without you.’
Heldon stood back wide-eyed as he realised what he had just divulged and then the giant let out an almighty roar and began pounding his huge fists against the divider, again and again, as Harker offered him a grateful wave of the hand.
‘Enjoy your new home you homicidal maniac,’ Harker yelled. ‘You belong here.’ He was about to turn away and head back to the exit when suddenly a thin crack appeared in the Perspex, directly under one of Heldon’s fists. The fissure began to spread outwards even as Holcroft began pulling Harker towards the door behind them. It was abruptly flung open and three burly prison guards burst in and surrounded the second cell with Tasers drawn.
‘Calm down, Drazia,’ the lead guard bellowed as Holcroft hustled Harker through the open security doorway, then slammed it shut behind them.
‘Time for your visit’s up,’ Holcroft announced grimly and he began leading Harker back to the main exit, with the sound of Heldon’s heavy blows still vibrating through the steel security door behind them. ‘Caracas,’ he questioned, ‘does it help?’
‘Yes, it does,’ Harker replied, hugely glad to be out of the Magi killer’s intimidating presence. ‘But I won’t know in what way until I get there.’
Holcroft came to an abrupt halt and he grabbed Harker by the shoulder. ‘Do you really think you can stop all this?’ the officer demanded with an air of uncertainty.
Harker could see the real fear in the other man’s eyes and he quashed his own feelings of doubt, because in truth he was not sure of the answer. ‘I hope so,’ was all he could offer.
Holcroft stared at him for a further few seconds before giving a nod. ‘I hope so, too. Well, then, you’d better get your bloody arse in gear then hadn’t you, Professor? Oh, and do me a favour,’ the prison officer added. ‘Don’t ever come back here.’
The obvious sincerity in Holcroft’s voice made Harker laugh. ‘You have my word,’ he replied firmly before continuing towards the security door. ‘I just hope there’s a here to come back to.’
Chapter 35
‘All UK citizens are reminded that as of this evening a curfew will be in effect between the hours of 6pm and 8am, and will remain in place until martial law has been rescinded. Citizens are further reminded that any persons found outside their residence between these hours face arrest and detention by Her Majesty’s armed forces. Please tune into channel 118.56FM for more information on how best to prepare for these temporary restrictions. In other news, the Home Office was unable say when normal communication services will resume. In a speech earlier today the Home Secretary declared that everything possible was being done to restore the satellite networks, and urged all members of the public to remain patient and pay close attention to the radio stations for updates as they become available … In a further appeal for calm, Britain’s most senior police officer Sir Richard Mitchell-Smith, the commissioner of the Metropolitan Police, has voiced his concern over the use of lethal force by soldiers from the Scots Guard, which saw thirteen people injured and two dead while disbanding rioters in Glasgow city centre earlier today. The Commissioner said that the majority of British citizens were law-abiding people and that it was essential that lethal force be used only as a last resort. His comments come as
fresh accounts of rioting have been reported in Manchester, Birmingham, Leeds…’
Harker switched off the radio and stepped out of the rented silver Ford Mondeo and made his way over to join Chloe, who stood waiting for him at the bottom of the Gulf Stream 450’s entrance steps.
‘Anything new?’ she asked, brushing windswept hair from her face.
‘Nothing we didn’t already know,’ he replied. ‘I just wanted to make sure.’
The trip back to Leeds International airport from Wakefield Prison had been a swift one given they had driven through the centre of the city itself and experienced first-hand the bedlam playing out on its streets. It wasn’t, to Harker’s mind, rioting just to cause damage but rather rioting through desperation. In a bid to stock up on essentials, the supermarkets had been ferociously cleaned out and they had passed hundreds of people with filled-up shopping trolleys, all making their way home before the curfew came into effect. The setting up of temporary checkpoints by the army seemed to be making matters even worse, by causing an already nervous population to become even more panicky. Harker had been extremely relieved to get back on to the motorway and out of the city, even if it meant having to go on a detour so as to avoid the worst affected areas of the city.
‘Deprive a society of three meals a day and you’ll have a revolution,’ Harker noted and quoting the famous saying as they watched the city’s inhabitants scrambling to get home. But, in the modern context it seemed more relevant to say: ‘Deprive a society of anything for a day and you’ll get pretty much the same result.’
Arriving at the airport had not proved a problem but if they had needed to approach by the main entrance, where heavy queues were brought to a standstill, instead of a private side entrance, it would have been another matter altogether. The military had, of course, been present at the entry checkpoint and as Harker now made his way over to the waiting Gulf Stream, the sight of hordes of people packed into the concourses beyond made him thank God he had access to a private jet.
‘Quick as you can,’ Brulet called out to them as he waited just inside the jet’s passenger door urgently waving both Harker and Chloe inside. ‘If we don’t get airborne right now we are likely to get grounded, along with all the other flights.’ The Grand Master stepped back into the cabin, allowing the new arrivals to join him inside. ‘Was Heldon any help to you?’ he asked, closing the airtight door behind them.
‘Caracas,’ Harker replied, as Chloe chose a seat. ‘We have to head to Caracas and then to the Macuira National Park.’
‘Venezuela!’ Brulet looked highly sceptical. ‘And you’re prepared to believe him?’
‘Yes, I am,’ Harker replied and this was received immediately with an accepting nod from Brulet who turned towards the internal cockpit door where the two pilots were awaiting instructions.
‘Can we make it to Caracas, Venezuela?’ he asked
The senior pilot frowned and then nodded his head. ‘We can but we’ll need to refuel mid-route.’
‘Good, then make the necessary arrangements.’
The pilot began pulling maps from a black leather briefcase resting on the floor next to him, then instructed his co-pilot to begin the aircraft’s start-up procedures. Meanwhile Harker took a seat next to Chloe, who was staring out the window with a vacant expression on her face.
‘I can’t believe it,’ she said, settling back into her seat. ‘Great Britain hasn’t seen any form of martial law since the early 1900s and even then that was only in Liverpool.’ This historical titbit drew a look of surprise from Harker and he raised his eyebrows. ‘I saw a documentary about it on the History channel,’ she explained with an embarrassed shrug of her shoulders. ‘What can I say except I don’t get out much.’
Harker tilted his head at this telling admission and he let out an amused laugh. ‘If we ever get through this, those quiet nights in are going seem fairly boring.’
‘Or possibly more appealing,’ she replied, and then squinted at him sternly. ‘And what do you mean if we get through this?’
Harker smiled once again. ‘I meant to say when we get through this.’
‘That’s better,’ she murmured as Brulet sat down opposite and secured his seat belt. Meanwhile the engines powered up and the aircraft’s wheels began to roll forward.
‘The pilot reckons our best bet is to refuel at Lajes airport, on the island of Terceira in the Azores, and then head directly from there to Caracas,’ Brulet informed them. ‘It should take around four or five hours, which will give us more than ample time for you to tell me exactly what the butcher of Racak managed to convince you of?’
‘The butcher of Racak?’ Chloe perked up at the mention of such a gruesome designation.
‘Yes,’ Harker said, interrupting the conversation but feeling a need to explain to Chloe some of the details he had previously and deliberately left out. ‘Drazia Heldon had an extremely disturbing history long before he was recruited by the Magi. He took part in the campaign of ethnic cleansing that occurred during the Yugoslavian war in the late ‘90’s.’
‘He sounds like a lovely fellow,’ Chloe gasped.
‘Indeed,’ Harker replied, ‘and what’s even more lovely is that his preferred method of execution was crushing his victims with a large wooden hammer.’ Harker paused there as what he had to say next was chilling even for him. ‘Which was usually after he had first raped them … men, women and children alike … The Bosnian government is pushing to have him extradited for war crimes, and that’s the reason he’s being held at Wakefield.’
Chloe looked sobered by the thought and she folded her arms tightly. ‘Fascinating … I would have liked to interview him.’
Her comment caught Harker off guard. Throughout all of this he had forgotten that she was a clinical psychologist used to working with the very worst of the worst. ‘Well, maybe once we’ve made it through all this, you’ll get your chance to,’ he suggested.
‘It’s a nice sentiment, Alex,’ Brulet said wearily, ‘I only hope it is justified.’
Brulet’s reaction brought a look of disbelief from Harker. ‘What do you mean? We now know where the child is.’
‘You mean we think we know where the child is,’ Brulet corrected, ‘and even if we do find him, how exactly does one go about bringing a halt to an impending apocalypse.’
The question was one that had been hovering at the back of Harker’s mind since the chaos in Jerusalem, and he still didn’t have an answer. Gratefully it was Chloe who broke the following silence with a question that any psychologist might raise.
‘You know what’s preoccupying my thoughts,’ she declared as Harker and Brulet both focused on her with interest. ‘Given what a monster Drazia Heldon clearly is I can only imagine what kind of people would hire someone like that.’
‘What kind of person indeed,’ Brulet replied, ‘but don’t waste time letting your imagination run wild,’ he settled back in his seat with a very grave expression, ‘because if Alex is right, you are going to have the chance to witness them first-hand … and, once you have, I can assure you will wish you never had.’
Chapter 36
Red and blue police lights flickered across the growing crowd pressed up against the police barriers, wanting a glimpse of the extraordinary event that had taken place on such an ordinary-looking road. Inside the cordon, Michael Shroder was perched on a gurney at the back of an ambulance with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, watching a team of firemen as they doused the still smouldering, burnt-out apartment with a fire hose. On the grass further along, a black plastic sheet covered the charred body of Lusic Bekhit, who had been launched out of the apartment window by the blast and landed in one of the many flower beds surrounding the communal garden below. His corpse had been so badly burnt in the explosion that it was now unrecognisable and had been the first thing covered up upon the emergency service’s arrival.
Shroder winced at the pain in his ribs but dismissed it immediately. The medic had already informed him how lu
cky he was to have escaped with only minor bruising and with no sign of breaks or fractures. But Shroder knew differently: luck had nothing to do with it. If he had not acted when he did, he would now be lying alongside Bekhit and covered by his own personal black bin-liner. Still there was something far more painful than any injuries he had sustained, which was the death of Lusic Bekhit and with it any hope of tracing the child, and he could only pray that Brulet and Harker were having more luck with that brute Drazia Heldon. Shroder was still brooding on his failure when the satellite phone in his jacket pocket began to buzz, causing him to recoil as its vibrations rippled through his midsection. He pulled it out and held it to his ear just as one of the medics appeared and motioned for him to move further back into the ambulance.
‘Hello,’ Shroder answered, as the medic joined him inside and closed the doors.
‘Michael, it’s me,’ the voice said, and Shroder recognised it immediately as Karl, his contact who had been keeping Bekhit’s apartment under surveillance. ‘I am sorry,’ Karl continued. ‘Looks like they made me.’
