Justine and the Psychic Connections

by Ruth Hay

  I swear, I was more pleased about seeing him safe than knowing I could finally diminish the pain in my leg. I praised him mightily, flipped the cap of the bottle and swallowed four gel capsules in quick succession.

  Ramses, purring mightily at his cleverness, confirmed his exceptional qualities by stretching out on the couch, all along my right leg, warming the very area of deepest pain that was now rapidly cooling.

  We slept in this position throughout the rest of the night and well into the morning.

  Sixteen

  “Simon, It’s me.”

  “Well now, this is sudden, even for you! Weather turned bad again? Need a ride?”

  “Don’t mock, Simon. It doesn’t suit you. Listen to me.

  Do you remember that old injury I have? It’s flared up. Send someone to my location. Male masseur preferred.”

  “Oh, you naughty girl! Wait till I tell the guys in the office about this.”

  “Goodbye Simon.”

  Despite his rather poor sense of humour, I knew Simon would respond quickly. He was there when my leg was first damaged, and he would not forget the circumstances of that mission.

  We were a small group sent ahead of a larger force, to check out the situation in a Mexican town where a notorious drug lord was terrorizing the local people and exacting the kind of servitude from men, women and children that was more suited to a Russian slave labour camp.

  Word had reached us of their desperate plight from an agent holidaying in a luxurious resort some miles away on the Mayan Riviera. He carried a powerful phone with him and it picked up a distress call from the Mexican town. The call was from the mayor who was pleading for help for his people using a device left behind by a government official on a visit to the nearby abandoned mines.

  It was these deep mines that drew the attention of the drug lord. He needed labour to clear passages into the depth of the ancient workings to conceal drugs and other ill-gotten valuables.

  The mayor’s mayday message made it clear that the drug lord’s intention was to kill every person in the town and dump their bodies in the mines as soon as the excavation work was completed.

  * * *

  Simon and I, and three colleagues, were dropped into Mexico by helicopter, and we made our way through dense jungle until we reached the site of the town.

  It was easy to see who were the townspeople, and who were the invaders. The guards were armed, well fed and careless about their charges. The families were dirty, exhausted and starving, rounded up at night to sleep on the dusty ground near a well that provided their only sustenance.

  The decaying body of the mayor was hanging from the tallest tree in the town square as a warning. Three or four bodies of small children were covered over in tree branches and flowers awaiting decent burial that would never come.

  Our mission was to confirm the situation and retreat, but I was overwhelmed instantly by the feelings of despair that flooded over me from these women. I begged for a chance to give them at least a tiny bit of hope, but I was overruled by Franklin, and others in command.

  We had taken photos from a distance as evidence and were about to leave for our rendezvous with the helicopter when a sudden tropical storm drenched the area and wiped out our route.

  We could do nothing until the storm had passed.

  I could not rest while being bombarded by silent distress from the captives. Their guards had taken over the houses and kept dry and warm inside, while the women and children huddled together out in the open. As a precaution, the guards had tied the men up to trees in groups.

  I waited as long as I could.

  While my companions slept under a large tarpaulin, I gathered all our remaining dried food supplies, stuffed them inside my jacket and crept toward the well in my camouflage outfit. All the prisoners were trying to rest with heads bowed against the relentless rain. I reached the outer layer of women and whispered in the ear of the nearest one who was still awake. She jumped in alarm but did not call out. I handed over the food packages and told her to throw the container evidence into the well as soon as the food was shared out.

  I had chosen a good woman who still had her wits about her. The food was quickly broken into bits and passed around, to be eaten immediately, softened with mouthfuls of water from the rain. I crawled over to the men and gave them food and basic information, also passing them a knife with a caution as to how and when they should use it.

  I was on my knees, with my eyes closed, radiating my final messages of imminent rescue and hope to all the captives, when a guard emerged from one of the houses to relieve himself. He glanced over toward his prisoners and caught a glimpse of my camouflage clothing. His cry alerted the others and his first bullets headed straight to me.

  I ran for my life, but one bullet hit my arm and went right through without stopping. The other lodged in my leg muscle and I was only able to run forward for a few more steps before the pain hit. My last thoughts were that the prisoners were safely eating all the food while their guards were focussed on stopping me.

  My group reacted at my first cry. We were trained to respond immediately under any circumstances. Franklin was sent to collect me while the others directed a hail of bullets toward the house where the guards were beginning to emerge. Franklin’s first bullet felled the one who shot me.

  It was all over in seconds.

  Our group dived back into the undergrowth unseen, and set out at full speed using a GPS to find a clearing.

  I was on Franklin’s shoulder and then passed to another of my companions in turn. I remember very little of that escape, but we did find the helicopter.

  As a consequence of my actions, the planned military intervention and capture of the drug lord was expedited and the majority of the townspeople were saved.

  I was later reprimanded, although given much positive support from my companions, especially from the one I now called Simon.

  The leg still ached but it was bearable. I shifted Ramses from his position alongside my leg and reached down for the tree branch. With its help I knew I could hobble to the bathroom and then to the kitchen for some food. Ramses waited patiently on the kitchen table beside his food bowl for my arrival. He seemed unaffected by the mind-meld of the previous night.

  It was good to get moving again, even if slowly. I ate cold cereal and drank hot tea, and took more pills. I could not do much for the laird and his wife in this state, but someone would arrive soon to help me.

  I fed Ramses and limped back to the couch to sleep.

  Seventeen

  The sound of a key in the front door wakened me from the fevered dream of being back in Mexico.

  I looked toward a window to get a sense of the time of day. I had slept for almost twenty-four hours.

  There was no way to disguise the state I was in with my tree branch for support and still wearing the dark clothing of our midnight adventure. I stood unsteadily behind the door and waited to see who was entering.

  “Oh, hullo there, lass! Glad to see you in one piece. Simon was worried you were taking on villains all on your own again.”

  This was close to the truth and I knew at once this man had been sent by Simon’s group. He was tall and bearded and with a strong Scottish accent, revealing he came from somewhere nearby to save time.

  He looked me over with a calculating eye, assessing my condition.

  “Right then! Let’s get you upstairs so I can inspect the leg, then into a bath while I make food for you. No, don’t try to tell me the reason why you are in this condition. First things first, and then we’ll talk and we’ll deal with it all later.”

  All my senses relaxed. This man was medically trained, aware of my situation and part of the network that spanned continents. I was safe in his hands and no longer alone.

  He caught the look on my face and quickly took charge, first taking my branch away then lifting me bodily in his arms and trotting up the stairs as if I were light as a feather.

  He placed me on my bed and took
a pair of shears out of an inner pocket of his coat, cutting the cloth of my right trouser leg from ankle to thigh. He then donned a pair of spectacles, removed his coat, and proceeded to examine the old wound scar and whatever damage I had added to it recently.

  I still had not spoken a word to him.

  “What should I call you? “ I ventured, in a quiet voice.

  “Pardon me, Justine, I should have introduced myself. Call me Jackson, Jack for short. Now you lie back on the bed for me, and rest. I left my supplies outside your front door in case I met trouble on arrival. I’ll be back in a jiffie.”

  I heard his steps thumping down the staircase and got the feeling from his haste that Jack was worried about my leg.

  I raised my head from the pillow and ventured a look.

  There was bruising from the fall and a portion of the original scar had torn loose causing blood to flow down into my socks. The blood loss had stopped now, but the socks had turned from light grey to dark brown. I suspected stitches would be required to close the wound.

  I was correct in that assumption. Jack cleaned the area and injected painkiller first. I felt nothing of the stitching process. He ended by covering the wound with an adhesive plastic sleeve. Then he produced a walking stick that, when opened up, had four feet to guarantee solid support. While I tried out the stick, Jack filled the bath and placed a towel on the side for my right leg to rest on.

  “Now, I’ll leave you to get out of these clothes and try the bath. Call if you need help. Your dressing gown and towels are on the stool beside the bath. I will be in the kitchen preparing a hot meal and after you have eaten enough we will talk. Right?”

  I could not remember the last time I had been in such capable and caring hands. I felt like crying for the relief that swept over me, but I chose to gather my courage and step into the bath with my strong leg, draping the other over the edge, on top of the towels Jack had left there.

  It was a small bath just deep enough to cover all the essential parts of me. The comfort was instant. Sweat and cold vanished. Hot steam rose to soothe my lungs. I could feel my left leg responding after all the stress I had placed on it.

  I did my best with sponge and soap then carefully raised myself up using the two metal handholds, one on either side of the bath. When I was dry again and dressed in the towelling robe, I could stand with the aid of the walking stick but I knew the stairs were beyond my current ability.

  One call to Jack and I was up in his strong arms again and soon set down on the kitchen chair waiting for the meal to be served.

  The delicious smells in the kitchen drew Ramses back home. He popped through the cat flap and stood assessing Jack with his cool blue gaze. I waited to see what Ramses made of this stranger in my kitchen but I need not have been concerned.

  Jack turned at the sound of the cat flap, introduced himself to Ramses and declared he was the finest Siamese cat he had ever had the pleasure of seeing.

  Ramses jumped up onto my lap and purred approvingly. I would be hard pressed to say whether he appreciated most the smell of freshly broiled fish, or Jack’s fulsome praise, or the fact his adopted mistress was now in a far better state than when last seen. Whichever, it mattered not. There was peace and plenty in the kitchen, and in my heart.

  Only when three plates had been cleared of every scrap of food, and a whole pot of tea consumed, did the discussion begin.

  “Now then lass, if you’re feeling up to it we’ll find out what’s been happening here. I must say I was surprised. I understood you were listed as non-operational after Mexico.”

  I brushed the last crumbs of shortbread from my lips and brought Jack up to date.

  “I am not fully operational in the mission sense, but I am employed for other reasons including assessing new operatives and also assessing a variety of scoundrels who are trained to resist other kinds of probes.”

  “Ah I remember now! It’s those eyes of yours with the laser focus that scares the bejesus out of them.”

  I had to laugh. “You might say that!”

  “So then, how did you get yourself into such trouble in this wee, out-of-the-way village?”

  “I guess you should blame the cat. He has been leading me into mischief ever since I got here.”

  Ramses took offence at this reference and promptly left the premises again.

  I continued with my explanation.

  “It’s nothing earthshattering; just a matter of theft on a fairly large scale from an elderly couple living in the local mansion. I believe the thieves have now been alerted, and they are likely removing everything portable from the house as we speak. I would like to call a halt to this and make sure the housekeeper never darkens their door again.”

  “I see!” Jack sipped his tea and looked thoughtful.

  “May I presume you tried to intervene and that’s when you hurt your leg?”

  “Correct.”

  “Well, you are sidelined for now, Justine. Simon’s orders.

  Let’s put our heads together and see how we can resolve this matter without bringing too much attention onto you.”

  We batted ideas around for a while across the table. I had the number plate of the van and a photo of Mrs. Kelso that I had taken surreptitiously during my official visit to the house.

  Jackson offered to use my idea of the Scottish Historical Society and try to take the housekeeper aside and strong-arm her into submission.

  I countered with tracking down the rental van and finding out who hired it so we could see how organized the thieves were and how easily, or not, they might be scared off.

  “Do you think we have any chance of retrieving the stolen furniture?”

  He looked doubtful about those prospects.

  “The most valuable items are probably far away in a London auction house by now. We can only hope the elderly couple have good insurance.”

  At this point in the discussion, I felt the blood drain from my face. Fatigue was setting in again.

  Jackson noticed at once and whisked me upstairs to my bed. He set a glass of water on the bedside table with a saucer of pain meds ready if needed. Then went into the bathroom, hung up the towels on a pulley over the bath and found a blanket and pillow for the downstairs couch, which was the only spot where he could sleep. I imagined his long legs hanging over the arm and smiled to myself. I was thinking what an excellent househusband he would make. As well as his medical skills, he was definitely the domesticated type and his dark good looks were no liability at all.

  As I drifted off to sleep again, I noticed that he had run downstairs with his bedding and run up again, so as to place the walking stick handily beside my bed.

  Eighteen

  My absence for a day or two now, had been noticed in the village shop.

  Miriam Mackenzie mentioned that her Siamese cat had been staying closer to home than was usual.

  Kelvin asked his Auntie Sadie if Mrs. Jordan had bought a new car, as there were now two cars parked in front of her house. He was interested in the possibility of buying the older one, on a slow installment plan, of course.

  Sadie Turner sent him home to his mother with a flea in his ear, but she wondered if she should send one of her cronies to the door of number 23 to see if all was well.

  Before Sadie could put this plan into effect, the mystery was solved.

  A tall, dark and handsome stranger walked into the shop with a request for enough food to feed a small army and asked for the supplies to be delivered to number 23.

  “Ah,” said Sadie, “You’ll be Mister Jordan then?”

  The stranger did not deny it. He merely quirked a dark eyebrow and smiled broadly.

  “I was wondering if you could help me to get in touch with a Thora Kelso? I believe we are related through our grandfathers.”

  This announcement sent a quiver of excitement through the listening ears dispersed along the shelves as well as behind the counter. Sadie had been longing for the chance to find out more about the ‘stuck-up bitch�
�� in the mansion.

  “Well now, Mr. Jordan, I do know where you can find her, but may I ask what the occasion is? For several months now no one has come anywhere near Mrs. Kelso. That is, not until your good self, of course.”

  Jackson was too wily to fall into that trap. Whatever information he revealed would be linked to number 23 in seconds. He knew Justine wished to avoid that.

  “Oh, it’s a matter of a small inheritance. I act on behalf of a family solicitor. So is Thora nearby?”

  “Indeed she is. If you proceed further along the High Street, you will soon come to the gates of the mansion house. That is where your Thora works as housekeeper to the Laird and Lady Evelyn.”

  “Thank you. I’ll just take these smaller items home first, then I will tidy up and take care of my legal assignment.”

  The plan we had devised was working.

  Before Jackson had returned to number 23, the gossip was racing at lightning speed from mouth to mouth around the village. I sensed it in the vibrant feel of the air.

  The Kelso woman’s name is Thora. Did you ever hear the like?

  What a lovely man that is! He doesn’t look at all like he could be related to that grumpy Mrs. Kelso.

  Wonder how much the inheritance will be?

  Will she leave the old couple in the lurch, do you think, now she’s going to be an heiress?

  * * *

  The person chosen by Sadie to relay the news to the woman in question, was Agnes Little. Agnes was a part-time cleaner formerly employed by Lord Lennox and dismissed as unnecessary by Mrs. Kelso. Agnes had an axe to grind because of this and she made her way as swiftly as her legs would allow to the kitchen door at the back of the mansion.

  “What the devil are you doing here, Agnes Little? I have told you repeatedly we do not need your help.”